#and i am determined to get my drafts down

[emziess]

Aisha Hinds as Henrietta "Hen" Wilson 9-1-1, S08E05

[nctsworld]

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[anisespice]

“ baby steps ” || tokyo rev. pt. 2

continuation of this post.

pairings: bonten x fem!reader [ kaku, rin, koko ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, mild angst w/ comfort (mostly comfort), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), more on the lighter side compared to the first parts, this one doesn’t feel as “:((“, mentions of misbehavior and it’s slightly glorified? vandalism? and i think that’s it :))

notes: IF YOU SAW THE FIRST DRAFT/ACCIDENTAL POST OF THIS NO YOU DIDNT 🫵🏾😀. God this took me so so long, I kept changing ideas, and then getting new ones on top of those changes and ugh, and the next thing I know it’s FREAKING MIDNIGHT AND I HAVE WORK IN SIX HOURS :D but it’s fine it’s fine b/c it is DONE. Thank you so so so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

notes ii: not proof read, probably loads of typos, but will edit accordingly.

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @cherryblossiren , @niragiswhore , @awkwardaardvarkforever , @valentsoup , @lovely212 , @miffysoo , @yandere-kouhai , @i-am-just-a-girl-ur-honor , @wisteriarose214 , @kindadolly , @yuwaimo , @sweetbella1221 , @simpingfor-wakasa , @sirachano0dles , @yutahg , @slowlikehonee , @blurpleuni-squid , @haruchiyoreen , @istanstraykidss , @loyard176 , @msluccapotato , @luv444lay , @backgroundcharactera , @jegelskeranime , @magalimachete

KAKUCHO felt a lot of things at the moment. It ranged from nausea, to anticipation, to straight up panic as if he were actively being hunted for sport. But, instead of imminent danger, he was standing in the middle of the parking lot outside of your apartment building, flowers in hand, dressed in his Sunday’s best.

Cliche? Yes. Over the top? Absolutely.

But he was willing to risk his pride if it meant showing you his devotion, his determination in making things right. With every step he took, growing closer and closer into your world, into the world he chose to leave in the first place, his heart harshly thudded in his ears, thankfully drowning out those doubtful thoughts that plagued him ever since he saw you beneath those cherry blossoms not too long ago.

Before he knew it, he was standing at your door.

His grip around the flowers was deathly, blood cold as ice, sweat forming at his hairline. Kakucho gulped, reaching up to tug at his collar. The suit was tailored, and yet it never felt more suffocating. He could faintly hear your son’s screams of joy just beyond the door, followed by your sweet voice. It was pretty late, and Kakucho assumed the little guy would’ve been in bed by now. This only added more stress to his full plate. It would be hard enough trying to face you again, but to face your child as well? His flesh and blood?

“Oh, god…” he muttered, the reality starting to cave in.

He couldn’t do this…he wasn’t ready. Maybe he could try again tomorrow…or the next day…or the next— The front door clicks.

Next thing he knew, it was wide open. And there you stood, son on your hip and all. Kakucho had never felt more unworthy of such a tender sight in all his life, wanting nothing more than for whatever god above to smite him down so that he may die a happy man. You looked so healthy, face fuller and curves to show how kind the years have been. Your son eyed Kakucho curiously, fist in his mouth as he suckled on his hand. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, feeling like a bug under a spotlight. His lips trembled, words lost with only chopped intakes of air in their place, and soon came the tears.

You didn’t look angry. You didn’t even look perturbed.

If anything you looked…expectant. As if you were awaiting his arrival.

“[_]-..[____]…” he eventually spoke, meekly. You offered him a small smile, adjusting the boy from one hip to the other. “I..I don’t.. how’d you…?”

You gestured to the flowers. “Ms. Toshinori called. Said an old ‘regular’ came by requesting a big order of my favorites. And that she was happy to hear that we were… working things out.”

Kakucho’s brows furrowed. Then, came realization. It didn’t even occur to him where he was purchasing the flowers from, it’d been so long, he didn’t think twice. He used to visit Ms. Toshinori’s little flower shop on his way home from work just to see your smile. He supposed old habits die hard. “At first, I thought she was mistaken, chalked it up to old age and… I didn’t really have the heart to correct her. But, then I saw you standing in the parking lot. For quite a while.”

Kakucho flushed, gaze shifting away. You chuckled, your son resting his head on your shoulder while he fiddled with your necklace. “By the time you decided to come up here, I had already made up my mind. Figured if you’re going through all this trouble, then…it couldn’t hurt to pretend just this once.”

“Pretend..?”

“…That we’re working things out.”

Kakucho felt a slight pang, a bitterness blooming from the pit of his stomach and into his throat, like bile after a long night of drinking. A weak smile grew on his face, “For how long.. would we pretend?”

He spared a glance at you both, soaking in as much of it as he could in case it would soon be the last. You hummed in thought, reaching up to take the necklace’s charm out of your son’s mouth. “Not sure. This little one can play pretend for hours, sometimes days.”

You gently bounced your son making him giggle, snuggling his face into your shoulder. Kakucho’s smile grew wobbly, catching on quick to what you were insinuating. “I see…well. Lucky for all of us, I’ve got plenty of time to play pretend…”

Gnawing on your lower lip, you gave him a look that was full of yearning, years worth of unspoken words and unanswered questions hidden in the storm that was your gaze. Kakucho probably didn’t look any different, the dark circles under his eyes could tell a thousand stories. All of them with one ending—You. Always you.

Looking down at your son, you looked back at Kakucho with a tender smile and gestured to the flowers once more, “Trade ya?”

Kakucho stiffened, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Won’t that…upset him?”

“Trust me.” You reassured, already in the process of handing him over. Kakucho stuttered in his steps, especially when your son was already reaching out to him, content. “He’s real cuddly. When you’re calm, he’s calm.”

You happily took the flowers from his hands, noticing the poor stems had been slightly crushed beneath his iron grip. Kakucho adjusted his hold on the boy, making sure he was comfortable, and not weirdly positioned. “Seems rather…dangerous, don’t you think? For him to be ok in a stranger’s arms so…easily?”

“Not if that stranger is his father.”

His breath hitched. Kakucho felt that lump in his throat grow, making it hard for him to swallow. Watery eyes gazed down at the small child as he reached up to trace his scar, curious eyes taking him in, no fear, no disgust…just pure. Kakucho allowed a few tears to fall, blessed to be in this moment when he felt in his soul that he didn’t deserve it.

“What’s…what’s his name?”

After inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers, a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in a while. You knew this wouldn’t automatically make things ok again, it would take some time, some more healing to even scratch the surface. But with him right back where he belonged, safe and alive, and with you…you figured this was at least a start. You watched as father and son interacted for the first time, savoring the memory so that it’s deeply etched into you like a tattoo. And with a gentle hum, you replied.

“Izana.”

You wasted no time high tailing it out of the gym.

After the initial shock passed, RINDOU didn’t even have the chance to make awkward small talk with you before you’re giving him a half-assed “thanks”, turning heel and booking it for the nearest exit. The last thing he saw before you disappeared through the doors was the confused, but sad look on little Rintaro’s face as he waved goodbye.

He couldn’t even blame you for the abrupt exit. With how he ended things with you way back when…he wouldn’t want to speak to him either.

Rindou stood there, feeling a little…lost. Discombobulated? He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the word, but he knew he didn’t like it. Does he just go about his day? Continue his workout, then go home like none of this happened? Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Not when he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind, those little contextual clues given to him by the young boy, that he wouldn’t piece together until he was already laying in bed that night, wide awake.

Roughly four years…mom is his ex…no dad in the picture…

“Shit.” He cursed into the darkness.

—

With the street lights illuminating his path, guiding his muscle memory to surroundings he remembered all too well from many nights in the past, Rindou couldn’t sleep without knowing the truth, without having some sort of closure to the numerous thoughts that wouldn’t allow him a wink.

Wearing nothing but old sweats and hoodie, he practically raced through the night until he was standing outside of the diner you, hopefully, still worked at. It was one of those open late joints, a ‘ma and pop’ sorta spot where the atmosphere and food always made it seem like coming to a second home. Frantically, he looked through the store window, panting to the point where you could see his breath fogging the glass. He was begging, praying to catch a glimpse of your familiar frame, not knowing what else he would do to find answers if you weren’t there. Certainly you long blocked his number, no doubt moved out of the apartment you also shared many nights in together…

Knock, knock, knock.

Rindou jumps in his skin, not expecting the intruding sound to cut through his internal crisis. It wasn’t a harsh sound, if anything it barely held any weight behind it. He looked around, eyes wide with caution…had he cracked? Hearing things now?

Knock, knock, knock.

He blinked in mild annoyance, thinking someone was dicking with him until, in his peripheral, he saw little hands waving at him from below. Rindou looked down, and didn’t know whether to be relieved or unnerved. There, in all his excitement of seeing his new gym buddy again, Rintaro waved at Rindou with a big smile, cheers of his name muffled through the glass. His prayers were answered; you did still work there.

“Rintaro, are you being a good boy like mommy asked..?”

When you came back to the front to the sound of your child celebrating, imagine your absolute horror to see your ex not once, but twice in the same day, standing outside your work. It was a hex, someone was definitely out to get you, or maybe the universe was testing your resilience, throwing mistakes from your past directly in your face like salt in the wound. Years it’s been since he tore your heart into pieces, years since those double lines appeared on the pregnancy test, years goddammit—So why now?

All that work of actively avoiding him, wasted, just because you wanted to work off a little bit of the baby weight, and couldn’t find a sitter. For a split second, you had the crazy thought that if you stood perfectly still, maybe he would get creeped out and leave. But, haven’t you learned by now that the universe wasn’t on your side? Your son was just tall enough to reach up and unlock the front door to the shop before you had the chance to stop him, with just one push of his tiny, sticky little fingers and your past merges in with your present.

“Rin-Rin!” He chanted as Rindou hesitantly opened the door, the bells chiming like a bad omen as he crossed the threshold. Rintaro extended his arms up, wanting to be picked up.

The walking mullet looked as if he was being asked to perform surgery, wide eyes darting between you and your son, as if uncomfortable to deny and uncomfortable to comply. He doesn’t ponder for long, testing the waters by granting the little boy his wish, picking him up and holding him securely to his side. Rintaro squealed, excited giggles escaping him for being so high off the ground. You couldn’t help but find the scene endearing…but there was no overshadowing the fatass elephant in the room.

You crossed your arms, awaiting for him to break the awkward tension, if he dared to do so. And to your surprise, he does. Rindou cleared his throat, holding Rintaro with one arm while the other rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…hey.”

You raised a brow. Hey?? You remained silent, not dignifying that wack attempt at conversation with an answer just yet. If he squirmed, then so be it. It was the least you deserved. Rindou winced slightly at the silence, taking it as a bad sign.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here, of all places...”

“And where’d you think I would be?”

He shrugged, “Dunno…not here.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, well, bills gotta be paid and mouths gotta be fed. Didn’t exactly have many options. Besides, I don’t want to go anywhere else. The Nakamura’s have always treated me well. The pay’s good, and Rintaro gets to eat for free.”

Rintaro beamed, “I eat all my vegables!”

Rindou couldn’t help the small lift in the corner of his mouth. “That’s good. You’ll be big and strong in no time.”

The boy nodded eagerly, his enthusiasm infectious. Looking at him this closely, Rindou felt his chest tighten more and more as the truth he was looking for was staring him right in the face, babbling on about the heroes, or how many chicken nuggets he can eat in one sitting. It was like white noise in the moment, his eyes too busy taking in every eyelash, every freckle, every detail that so blatantly screamed Rindou Haitani.

“Rin.”

Both boys snapped from their stupor, turning their heads to look at you simultaneously. It was habitual to call him by his nickname, one that was also occasionally used for your son, and to have them both respond in that moment just felt like too much. You shakily inhaled, arms tightening around you like a hug, shielding from the unfortunate circumstances that you were gonna have to face head on. “Rinta. Will you be a sweetheart and help Mrs. Nakamura count the silverware? But only the spoons, ok?”

“But, mommyyy! Rin-Rin just got here! I wanna-!”

“Oi. Listen to your ma, little man.” He affirmed, setting him on the ground. Rintaro pouted up at him, but only received a playfully stern look. “We’ll talk again soon.”

Rintaro huffed, “Promise?”

Rindou hesitated, looking up at you. You served no aid as you avoided it, merely telling Rintaro once more to help in the back room. He sighed, “Yeah…maybe.”

The little boy deflated, but listened all the same as he ran to the kitchen through the swing-doors. You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. The two of you stood in silence, neither one eager to speak on what’s obviously troubling you both. Rindou sighed once more, walking over to a nearby table, flipping one of the chairs that was stacked on top to set it back on the floor. He does the same for the one across from him, a silent invitation that doesn’t go unnoticed…but it is ignored.

“What are you doing here, Rin?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Tsk. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” You hissed, making sure to be mindful of your volume. “The gym was mere coincidence, but you came looking for me here. Why?”

“...Thought that’d be obvious.”

“Jesus,” you dryly chuckled, looking at him incredulously. “All this time, and you’re still an avoidant asshole. Can you just, for once, speak directly.”

Rindou frowned, “You want direct? Fine. That’s my goddamn son in there, and I wanna know why you’ve kept him from me-”

“Shh!” You quickly shushed, looking over your shoulder. “Keep your voice down.”

“Now who’s being avoidant.” He leaned back in the chair, one arm hanging over the back. “Well?”

“You know what, you’ve got some nerve demanding anything from me, from us. You gave up any involvement in my life when you decided that you didn’t want me anymore. That you didn’t want more with me, remember that?”

He did. Remembered like it was yesterday.

It was textbook, what was suppose to be casual sex gets ruined when feelings get involved. But, you weren’t even the first to fall. He was. And at the time, that frightened him. So much to the point he was willing to lie to avoid his own feelings, willing to hurt you to save face…a coward. And he wore that label ever since.

“It doesn’t matter…you still…still could’ve told me. I was a piece of shit, but I…I wouldn’t have let you go through that alone. You never should’ve went through that alone…”

The way he looked at you, with such sorrow…you could feel a crack in your resolve. With a scoff, you eventually find yourself taking the seat across from him, but angled away from him. He visibly relaxed, taking this as some form of resignation; a truce.

You fiddled with your fingers, looking down. “You were all he could talk about.” You muttered. Rindou hummed in question, leaning forward. “Rintaro. He was non-stop with how much he learned from you today, how big and strong you were…how he couldn’t wait to see you again.”

Rindou sat in silence, listening intently. You continued. “I love that little boy. With all my heart. And I want nothing but the best for him…and for the longest time I believed that couldn’t be you. And I think that’s why…I never told you.”

He swallowed, nodding stiffly. It wasn’t easy to hear, but he understood. You could both hear the faint chatter and clanking of Rintaro and Mrs. Nakamura in the back, filling the silence with something other than the weight of your words. “I’m sorry…for everything. I wasn’t…you needed me and I wasn’t there for you. I still regret it to this day. And I’ll continue to regret it knowing what you’ve gone through-”

“But.”

He paused, then perked up like a hound. “..But?”

“But, I’ll reconsider this if you can show me you’re committed. Not just to me…but to Rintaro. He doesn’t need someone who will come and go from his life, if you don’t think you’ll be a constant-“

“I do. I-I want to be. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You nodded, slowly, considerably. “Promise?”

He nearly snorted, the childish request reminding him all to well of the little someone just mere feet away sorting through spoons. Rindou crossed his heart, and extended his pinky. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, yet your humored him anyway by linking yours together.

“Promise.”

“Good,” you grinned. Then turned towards the kitchen to call out to your son, “Rinta! Rin-Rin said he’s gonna help you sweep the floors for mommy!”

“Yayyy!”

Rindou choked, looking at you, puzzled. “What—You making me do free labor now? That wasn’t part of the deal…” he grumbled, though not too upset. Especially with how eager Rintaro was. You shrugged, standing up to go balance the register.

“Think of it as your first test. Whatever it takes, remember?” You handed him a broom right when Rintaro came rushing out, practically driving for Rindou’s leg to latch onto.

He looked down at the beaming ray of joy, his sourness melting away with every passing second as he reached down to ruffle his hair. “Yeah. I remember.”

It was like walking into an active crime scene.

There were multiple security guards. Knocked over furniture, exotic plants ripped from their oversized pots, muddy shoe and handprints, broken glass everywhere.

And at the root of all the chaos, wearing a proud grin whilst clutching a necklace worth more than a mortgage in one hand and a chunk of…white hair strands in the other, stood your little angel.

You felt your knees buckle, one officer quick to steady you as another scrutinized. “Ma’am, I presume this is your missing child?”

“Look, mommy! I got the shiny! I got it!”

With curled in lips, you inhaled deeply through your nose before giving a small, resigned nod. You’re then immediately bombarded by a disheveled-looking woman with a crooked name tag attached to her blazer, who you immediately concluded to be the manager based on her aura alone. She was more than happy to berate and condemn you for your poor parenting skills, going on and on about the damages done, the embarrassment she was subjected to—“In all my years, I have never experienced such a tyrant of a child, such disregard to her elders, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, allowing such behavior! Honestly, you call yourself a mother?! If she were my child, I would’ve-”

“My deepest apologies.” You cut her off with a deep bow, mainly to shut her up but also to shut her up. You were about two seconds away from causing another scene, and the last thing you needed was extra charges added to the tab.

Truthfully, you were holding back laughter more than tears. Sure, it was all quite devastating, you were already kissing her college fund goodbye in order to levitate this situation. But, to think that such a small thing could cause such a large upset, in such a short amount of time?

Inspirational.

Plus, it’s not like anyone got hurt.

“WHERE IS SHE? WHERE’S THE FUCKING BITCH?”

Everyone in the room stiffened to statues, aside from your daughter, whom glared at the figure approaching from somewhere in the store. She quickly scampered over to hide behind your legs, necklace and chunk of hair still in clutch. Soon, you no longer needed to guess who the hair belonged to.

KOKONOI came onto the scene like a raging bull, ready to tear a new one into the womb-holder that birthed such a vicious spawn who had the audacity to rip out some of his glorious hair follicles. He had excused himself briefly to assess how much damage had been done, only to return once he caught wind that the mother was found. Security was quick to stand on either side of you to make sure you nor your daughter tried to make a run for it. The manager tried to hide her schadenfreude, but it was poor attempt at worst.

However, it would be short lived the second Koko’s eyes landed on you, and in real time everyone witnessed all of that steam just…evaporate. Fury no longer adorned his face, but instead in its place held something more unreadable.

“Ah. [______]. W-What a.. lovely surprise. It’s been a while...”

You blanched, “H-Hajime..? This is…this is your store?”

You really would be kissing that college fund goodbye.

Kokonoi blinked, “Hm? Oh! Yes, yes I suppose it is.” He blinked again as if this fact was just realized, looking around and frowning at the state it was in. “Belinda, for Christ’s sake, what do I pay you for if you’re gonna allow the place to look like a goddamn back alley?”

Said manager spluttered, fixing Koko with a widened stare look. Did his brain just completely reset itself of the last 30 minutes?? She looked at the security, then back at him, approaching it cautiously in case he snapped on her again, “S-Sir…the child.”

Kokonoi’s eyes drifted over to said girl currently glaring at him from behind your leg, diamond necklace dangling from her small neck and strands of his hair still in her fist like some sort of forewarning. He grimaced, brow twitching, but waved it off, “Right. Well, kids will be kids. No harm done.”

“H A H H H H H ????”

Even you were caught off guard. When he first came barreling in, you half expected him to make you sign away your soul in order to cover the hair salon trip let alone the property damage. Now? You would think it were a minor inconvenience not worth the time, or energy. Belinda looked gobsmacked, security standing with question marks above their heads like corrupted NPCs. Your daughter peered up at you with curiosity, maybe even confusion herself, with her lower lip jutted out as she tugged on your jeans.

She whispered, “Mommy, that man’s weird…”

Kokonoi’s eyes practically lit up, “Oh, so this little one is yours?”

“Uh,” you flushed, hands beginning to sweat. “Yes…she’s mine.”

“Fascinating. What’s her name?”

“…Yumeko.”

He hummed, crouching down to her eye level, “Yumeko. Such a haunting name, for a haunting little girl. Your mother chose nicely. I’ve always adored the name...”

She stuck her tongue out at him before hiding her face in your leg. He grinned, amused, like he was when he first met her. Kokonoi wasn’t certain what caused his shift in approach…the nostalgia, perhaps. Seeing an old flame, the one that got away and took his heart with her…the one whose gift that was never opened, once a display item now in the possession of your child…sweet irony, he believed. Poetic, even.

“Sir, I really think we should revisit the more pressing issue here.” Belinda interjected, receiving agreements from security.

“Yes, tell us how you’d like to proceed, and we can have these two escorted off the property-”

The white-haired man fixed the guard with a ghastly scowl, hissing a low threat, “Touch either one of them, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do in your pathetic waste of a life.”

Aside from you, everyone took a small step back. Used to these sort of threats, you lightly chastised him, “There’s no need for that.”

“Nonsense.” He looked at the manager, his gaze alone making her flinch. “Get this cleaned up. As of right now, none of this ever happened, understand?”

“B-But, sir-”

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Belinda. I’d advice you don’t make me.”

Belinda looked as if she were on the verge of combustion. But, she swallowed that feeling deep, deep down and gave a strained, “R-Right away, sir…”

Kokonoi nodded, then turned to the security, “You’re dismissed. And not a single report on this, or I’ll have the heads of your loved ones.”

“Hajime.”

He turned to you, and grasped your hand. “We’ve so much to catch up on. Come, we’ll discuss details somewhere private, you can tell me all about little Yumeko. I have many, many questions.”

“Haji-”

There was no room for protest. As he crouched to scoop up Yumeko in one arm and held your hand tightly in the other, borderline kidnapping, your daughter squirmed while you merely floundered, struggling to keep up with how fast things have escalated as he guided you both away from the mess he’d already forgotten.

“Hammy!” Yumeko screamed, of which made you backtrack for a split second to grab the piggy bank still sitting safe on top of the shattered display case.

Belinda and the security guards watched in disbelief. You parted with a stiff smile and nod, before skittering back to catch up with the white-haired gangster who was getting farther and farther with your child in tow.

Looking like a dysfunctional family already.

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likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[sheeezu]

How to shift

(From my point of view, it is a well articulated one I hope it at least gives someone the confidence that you can change realities regardless of mindset or whatnot)

I am of firm belief that you can shift any way you want, you can get ancient scripture from divinity and rehearse them before sleeping to shift, or rawdog it. There is a lot of shifting material on my blog, the community has evolved mainly to promote the idea that shifting is attainable by living in the movement. First of all, yes. This post is a little different because although it follows the structure of how a method would, but, according, to, ⚠️my personal opinion ⚠️ this is how someone shifts.

Background.

This is all depended on letting go (temporarily forgetting) of the previous reality, and completely blending in with your intended reality. The switch, is made to seem natural, and not forced. Why I believe in this? Well. I shifted with doing something similar. (FOREVER GRATEFUL I BOW DOWN)

I still actively support you can shift by plain affirming, regular methods, and while still being aware of the previous reality. But you can use this if you've tired yourself out by other practices and need a definite guide. Rest assured, this is me milking out all my shifting experience and knowledge.

As someone asked, (I did see your ask, this strangely corresponded to this post I was about to make) yes yes yes, moving doesn't matter while shifting. You can be dancing or swimming in your physical environment, the only hiccup that you can possibly perceive is your mind getting distracted mid change of reality, when you're thinking like your dr self and your thoughts divert to your cr. That's why someone can say to minimise the distractions in your environment, but physical distractions are nothing in comparison to the effect of your own mental space on your reality. (....before someone attacks me, I am talking entirely in the pov of this post, I don't believe in blockages, ty, back to the text)

How to shift

Your environment is unfortunately still at play. But you can shift, sitting up, lying down. (You know this already I won't get into this) just makes sure you have space to think.

Observe. When you lay down, your mind starts to recall either events of today, or what's going on in your conscious/subconscious. Your first realization would be that "I should attempt to shift" you can take a few minutes to set things straight in your mind. When the intention registers, you can start affirming. And don't get pissed off at your mind, or demotivated when the affirmations don't or barely give you symptoms. Your goal is to determine which direction points to your dr. This will release the pressure or responsibility you have with shifting. The more time you spend in this state is better, because your wakefulness will start to dawn; you'll get sleepy. With sleep, you slip out of your mold and the lightness you feel is due to you merging with your true self.... and obviously, shifting is instant in this state. (What? :) it is)

Void. that- that body of yours is stuck like glue and the weird song you've heard from the commercial you've heard is still going on. You can force your thoughts to go blank. For a minute, you can still let the intrusive thoughts pass by, just don't give them importance. This way, this bridge in your river of thoughts is paused for you to jump your attention upon your dr.

dream. When I research shifting, I always look at how dreams work. Why we dream. The surreal nature of them. ...something from my drafts:

"That's why dreams are so comforting. There is no second guess. There's no regret. Everything is a blurry, silly mess of your consciousness. It's an artistic masterpiece. It's a realm centered around you. It is an exploration of the world inside of you. It's free from laws or morals. It doesn't take place in the 3d. While they hold deep meaning, they're always unserious as they play out. That's how your reality is supposed to be. That's how you're supposed to shift or manifest. Dreams are your first introduction to creation.

They pass on a note to you, that you can shape the next moment. You just need to become lucid. Whether in a dream, or right now, when you lay down to shift, you need to be awake to witness and use your own power."

There's this discussion, how you should visualize or imagine during shifting. the superior advice is to barely do so, or that you don't need realism at all. Others say, you should imagine it clean and sharp; I say it should be the quality and alike a dream. Logically and theoretically they are the rehearsal of your consciousness, a blurry and nonsensical mess through which your brain rewinds the reality you're in. It's a remembrance. It's a push. To wake up back in your usual reality. When the picture of your dr that goes by is projected as a normal day to day occurance. While not rejecting the need to imagine your dr, that's your first step to normalising being in your dr! Tldr. Imagine, romanticise, think about your dr.

??? Be there. There's this type of stubborness only someone aware of their own potential and power can possess. It doesn't include the constant asking or checking of "am I there?" It's telling yourself. (If you check your environment due to intrusive thoughts just give yourself the "yes" it's a lonely little world in your mind 😔 until you wake up to your s/o's snoozing face--> back to the text) this is where the "senses shift last" comes in. You should properly trust this beforehand. I believe you'll be in a haze. If you're not, you should stop being hyper aware of everything; symptoms, mainly. There's a way to utilise symptoms as well, you can assume theyre your vibrations raising higher and higher (...if youd like). The hazy mindset means, you'll be relaxed and it wouldn't appear to you that you're trying to shift. Take this thought completely out of your mind, that you're shifting.

Blend in to your dr. Like grass grows out the soil; let your soul blossom naturally. You spend so much time reading posts on tumblr, they all tell you you're in control, you consider and accept their words. But why do you panic while and before shifting? You choose to shift. Either directly or indirectly. Anyways, philosophy aside. You should think like your dr self; or you there. Plan your day. Hear the voices in your dr. Develop the impulses, the reflex actions that usually enable you to sit up on your bed, like in this reality, you have certain actions you replicate each morning. Replicate those for your dr. Train yourself to perform five senses in a trance state. Have long rants about a certain events in your dr self's voice, without calculating or weighing them. You script for so long. You plan your dr self for so long. You can be naturally like your dr self as well. Start your cross over and don't stop. Don't dissolve in the artifical sweetener. And don't force yourself.

Epilogue. You tell me yourself. What's left behind? What's there to return to now. When you've embraced all your dr is, when you yourself bestowed your soul back to your dr, you're there.

This is not at all what I expected it'll turn out to be, disclaimer, the actual method is linked somewhere in the post, you can go see how to practically implement all this... rant ? This might be rushed, because it is. There's another fish to add in my bucket of posts. I felt the need to make a post. Anyways, if any questions then ask away. (Put them in my inbox)

This is probably not the detailed guide I promised in the poll.

[paiges-1vur]

She Will ~ Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, r-receiving, language

Summary: Dallas wings photographer x pb

———————————-

You were finally starting to get the hang of your new job. Maybe you lied on your job application a tiny bit, but doesn’t everybody stretch the truth sometimes? To be fully honest you had absolutely zero experience in sports photography, but you were a determined-and maybe broke- graduate fresh out of college who needed a job. Badly. So obviously you applied for the first job you found that allowed you to keep doing exactly what you loved. Thats how you ended up here, looking up from the lens of your new camera letting your gaze drift across the frame of the Paige Bueckers. You quickly snapped back into reality lifting your camera to capture her. The number one draft pick in the WNBA, just ten feet away. The two of you hadn’t talked yet this season, as she had been busy keeping up with training and taking little time off the court. Despite this you couldn’t help but think that just for a second her gaze flickered to you as she walked toward the bench, her icey blue eyes quickly tracking your frame as she grabbed a Gatorade bottle Nai was handing her. The game had just ended, the Wings finally securing another win. The air seemed to feel lighter, as pride and excitement practically radiated off the team. As you packed up your camera bag, you swore you heard Lyss and Arike joking about getting Paige piss drunk, to celebrate another long awaited win and mess with their rookie.

You sighed and leaned down to pack your camera bag, your work day finally over. The only thing that consumed your thoughts was a good night’s rest in a fancy ass hotel payed for by the team, obviously. You were lucky enough to not have to share a room like the players did but instead to have your own room just a couple doors down from the players. You quietly picked up your camera bag before waving a quick goodbye to the coaching staff, and calling an Uber to the hotel. It took everything in you to not fall asleep from exhaustion as soon as you stepped foot in the Uber, but still you held out until your driver finally made it to the hotel. As you scanned your key card against the door you sighed. And as soon as you opened the door your shoes were kicked off, and your beloved camera bag was forgotten on a nearby table. You wasted no time slipping out of your work clothes and into an old faded tshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, equipped for the best sleep of your life. The bed sheets welcomed you as you slipped into the bed, letting sleep take over your senses almost immediately.

———

You stirred in your sleep, suddenly half awake to the sound of a key card opening the door. Your mind raced, you were the only one who had the key to this room right? The door creaked open and to your surprise a still drunken Paige stumbled into the room. She payed you no mind as she let the door close behind her and she immediately fought to take her shirt off, leaving her in a sports bra and her sweats. She finally turned around and found you-half asleep and horrified- staring at her expressionless.

“How did you even-” you tried to start with Paige but she just laughed lightly. You quickly closed your mouth, letting silence fall over you both for a moment.

“When the lady asked me for my room number,” she giggled to herself “maybe I gave her the wrong one, because I lost my key!” She tries to explain, still clearly not understanding that she needed to find somewhere else to sleep. She also seemed very comfortable and had no problem standing in front of you in just a sports bra and a pair of grey sweats that hung a little too loosely on her hips. You couldn’t speak, let alone try to think of a rational solution to this situation. You turned to look at the clock. You shut your eyes out of frustration. It was 2:00 am and there was no way anyone else would be awake to help sort this out. You quickly got out of bed, the cool air hitting your thighs as you walked towards the girl. “Are any of the other girls awake? Wheres Nalyssa, she’s probably with Dijonai right?”

You suddenly stop talking as you realize the taller blonde isn’t paying attention to what your saying in the slightest. But what she does pay attention to is your bare thighs, and how your nipples hardened under your thin tshirt. Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip quickly, her mind racing. You turn around to face her but are quickly taken aback by how close she is. She steps even closer to you closing the distance completely. “I think their sleeping,” she whispers. “It’s just us” she says, her breath suddenly ghosting your ear. Shivers run down your spine and suddenly your mouth is completely dry. You can’t speak-can barely breathe- as she smirks against your ear. “But that’s okay right?” she says her voice raw and husky, needy almost. She’s begging for it and your so close to giving in. She moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. She licks her bottom lip slow and teasing as she looks you in the eye, waiting for you to do anything. All you can manage is a weak nod, but you both know what it means. She hums with approval “Thought so.” she whispers looking down at your lips, swollen from sleep. “Don’t worry,” she adds, voice raw, practically primal. Her pupils are blown wide as she whispers in your ear “I wont tell anyone.”

Suddenly her hand moves to your waist, pulling you in as your lips meet in a deep and intense kiss. She’s kissing you like your the air she needs to breathe. You whine against her lips, allowing her tongue to slide into your mouth, claiming you. She kisses you like she’s sick and your the only cure. She quickly hooks her hands under your thighs, carrying you toward the bed with ease. She sets you down on the bed, not breaking the kiss the whole time. You give her a quick nod and thats all she needs before she slides your thin shorts past your ankles and throws them somewhere across the room. “Mmm” she groans from the back of her throat, biting her lip. You squirm under her gaze but her hand steadies your thighs. “So fucking pretty. All for me.” She says leaning in to place a kiss on your inner thigh. Your pulse quickens as you lean your head back and try to relax into it. “Lemme know if you need me to stop mama, swear I will” she says looking up at you from in between your legs as she places a kiss right to your clit. Your legs shiver and you can’t help but let out a whimper at the contact. You nod quickly, biting your lip as she ran her fingers through your folds. “So fucking wet for me right now,” she says, not able to look away from her fingers as they run through your folds gently. “Bet you were waiting for me all night,” she moves her fingers to your clit using your gathered wetness to slickly make circles against your sensitive skin. “All wet and needy huh? Waiting for me to take care of you? I got u mama, promise imma make you feel good” she says as she watches your face contort in pleasure, the pressure against your clit increasing as her fingers speed up. You let out a shakey breath followed by a pathetic moan. “Please-“ she only smirks “I know, I know, shh just lay back ma.” Suddenly her fingers are gone, the pressure disappearing. She teases you entrance with her middle finger, dipping it in and sinking into you slowly. She pumps in and out of you a few times to get you used to being full before teasing your entrance again with her ring finger. Your a mess at this point, her name being said like a prayer as you beg for relief. She lets her other finger slide into you and she slowly starts to pump both fingers in and out of you, going deeper and deeper with every thrust. “Shit- Paige please- don’t stop please” you throw your head back as she continues to ram into you her pace increasing, now torturous. “Fuck, you take me so well” she groans as she watches her knuckles stretch you out, her long fingers filling you up as the veins in her hands and forearms flex.

“Wanna make you feel it all.” She moves her free hand to your lower stomach, lifting your excuse of a tshirt. She presses down on your lower stomach lightly, continuing to fuck you at a relentless pace. You can feel every inch of her fingers as she moves in and out of you, fucking you senseless “Holy shit- Paige, Paige please I’m close” you moan out, begging to come undone. “Almost mama, just wait” she says earning a raw and high pitched whine from you. Somehow her pace increases, filthy and wet noises filling the room as her thumb moves to find your clit, circling it as she fucks you. Your vision starts to blur, overwhelmed with pleasure as your legs start to shake. You are chanting her name, voice raw from screaming and begging for more, for all of her. Neither of you had a care in the world who could hear. Right now it was just you and Paige. “Let go for me” she says as your release crashes through you. A wave of pleasure rips through your whole body and you come while screaming her name. As start to come down she works you through it, her fingers slowing before your whining from overstimulation. She slowly moves her fingers from you to her mouth, licking them clean while keeping eye contact. She hums “Fucking delicious” she says, pussy drunk as she pushes you hair out of your face, stuck with sweat.

She shifts from on top of you to lie down next to you pulling the covers over you gently. She climbs under the covers, kicking off her sweats leaving her in just her sports bra and a pair of boxers. “Rest now, we can sort things out in the morning.” She reassures you, placing a soft kiss to your temple before wrapping her arm around your waist and pulling you flush against her. You both drift to sleep with ease holding each other, enjoying your own little world together

[emmylksblog]

MY WARRIOR // PAU CUBARSÍ

summary: after pau gets injured during a match, you do everything you can to support him, even if he gave you the scare of your life

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none, just mentions of blood and the injury not too descriptive

a/n: been in my drafts since it happened, now it's proofread i guess. am i wrong if i say he's hot in that pic? like i know he's injured but who gave him the right to look this good with smeared blood all over his face omg

You already had a feeling today wasn’t going to go well. You’d woken up late, barely made it to your exam, and it went terribly despite all the nights you spent studying. To make things worse, your week was just starting and you still had another exam on Thursday. Frustrated, you left university early to rest a bit before continuing to study… only to find out the buses were on strike. Your phone was at 5%, and it felt like the universe was laughing in your face. Desperate, you called a friend, and thankfully, they picked up and offered to take you home. Once there, you showered, ate, and passed out on your bed for what you thought would be a short nap…

3 hours later…

You woke up groggy, the kind of nap that feels more like getting hit by a truck. Your phone, now charging, buzzed nonstop. You grabbed it, heart racing when you saw it was Fermín calling, as it was very unusual for him to call instead of texting. You answered immediately, still disoriented, and waited in silence for him to speak. A chill ran down your spine.

“Hey, just calling to let you know Pau had to get stitches on his face. He tried calling you before going in, but you didn’t answer, so I thought I should try.”

Your brain froze. What?

“What happened to him?!” you asked, voice rising in panic as you rushed to get dressed, putting him on speaker. Fermín explained that during the match against Estrella Roja, a player went straight for Pau’s face instead of the ball, cutting him along the jaw with his boots. By the time he finished talking, you were already in a taxi headed to the hospital he mentioned.

Your heart was pounding. You kept picturing Pau, your strong boyfriend who always smiled, covered in blood and scared. The thought of him being alone in that room made you feel sick. If only you hadn’t fallen asleep… maybe you could’ve been there to calm him down. According to Fermín, only the team’s staff had been able to go with him; his parents were still in Girona and wouldn´t make it on time till tomorrow.

Your footsteps echoed down the sterile hospital hallway until you reached the room. The moment you stepped in, your whole body tensed. Pau was lying in bed, half his face bandaged, the other still stained with blood. Your heart dropped. And yet, he smiled at you.

You couldn’t believe it. He was smiling.

In two quick steps, you were at his side, pulling him into a tight hug as tears streamed down your face.

“Stop smiling, idiot… it’s only gonna hurt more,” you sobbed, running your hand down his back. You could feel his jersey under your touch and were relieved that he came straight from the game.

“I’m fine, love… it’s just a scratch. Comes with the job, you know that,” he whispered into your ear, struggling to speak but still trying to comfort you.

“Pau, don’t try to calm me down when you’re the one looking like this,” you said, pulling back to meet his eyes, barely holding back your tears. Pau didn’t respond, maybe because he agreed, maybe because his jaw hurt too much.

The team staff member came in with the doctor’s update: Pau needed rest and shouldn’t chew anything hard for a while to avoid reopening the stitches. You paid close attention, determined to follow every instruction once you got him home.

You ended up going to Pau’s place, you already had clothes and essentials there from the nights you stayed over. While he took a shower, you got to work making soup so he wouldn’t have to chew.

You expected to feel his arms wrap around you from behind like he always did, but that hug never came. When you turned around, drying your hands, you saw him sitting on the couch, head down, hands fidgeting.

The energy in the room had sunk into the floor. You’d never seen Pau this sad. Always smiling, always keeping it together. But you knew the real him, the one who carried more than he ever let on. And you knew he struggled to show vulnerability, even with you.

You walked over quietly, knelt in front of him, and gently took his hands to stop their anxious movements.

“Pau… look at me,” you said softly.

He winced at your voice, shutting his eyes tightly, like he was bracing for impact. But you just watched him with your heart aching, seeing him fight back the tears like always. You’d told him before that it was okay to be vulnerable with you, that you’d carry each other’s burdens. But he never wanted to be a weight on anyone.

“You can cry, Pau,” you whispered, your brow furrowed as your own tears welled up.

He gripped your hands tightly, then slowly slid off the couch and into your arms, burying his face in your neck. You froze for a moment, not expecting him to let go so quickly. Then you wrapped him tightly in your arms, brushing his hair gently and whispering how brave he was, how proud you were of him.

“You’re a warrior, Pau. Barça wouldn’t be what it is without players like you. I know you live for the colors, and I admire that, but I hope this helps you see it’s okay to be careful too. Think of yourself, just a little.”

You pulled back gently, cupped his face carefully, and looked into his teary eyes to make sure he heard you loud and clear. My poor baby.

“Don’t say anything, okay? Your jaw must be swollen. I’ll get you some ice later,” you said when he tried to respond. “Tonight, your only job is to say yes or no to my excellent nursing services 'kay?”

He almost smiled, but winced at the pain. You chuckled.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop being funny for your sake,” you teased, giving him a kiss on the nose, then one on his uninjured cheek. You leaned in slowly and kissed the stitched side too, praying it didn’t hurt. Pau exhaled deeply, like he’d needed that more than anything.

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and looked at you with so much love, then pointed at himself, then you, and made a heart with his hands.

“I love you.” You understood instantly and melted right there.

“I love you too, idiot. Even if your way of playing scares the hell out of me.”

You kissed him gently on the lips, careful not to hurt him, but when he kissed back, you leaned in with more confidence, your hands on his chest and his on your waist. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his and stroked his neck, listening to his calm breathing. His grip on your waist tightened with affection, and you wiped the rest of his tears away.

Remembering the doctor’s instructions, you took his hands and guided him to let go.

“I know it’s hard to let go of me,” you joked, smiling when he resisted. “But I’ve gotta check the soup. I’ll be fast.”

Pau nodded, already missing your warmth. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you. You reminded him of who he was, something easy to forget in moments like this. He thought you were perfect for him.

He smiled softly at the thought, interrupted when you returned with a tray: a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and his meds.

“Alright, pretty boy, I hope you finish this as fast as you throw yourself into tackles on the field,” you joked, sitting down next to him on the carpet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, trying not to move his jaw too much.

“De nada, amor. Want me to help?”

He shook his head, took the spoon from your hand, and kissed it as if saying 'don't-worry-i-got-it'.

After a quiet, comforting dinner, you both headed upstairs to sleep. You changed into your usual “pajamas”, a pair of shorts and one of Pau’s black Nike shirts. You breathed in his scent like it was medicine.

In the bathroom, you found him wincing every time his toothbrush brushed the left side of his mouth. He turned and winked at you when he noticed you watching.

“I can’t imagine how much that hurts, and you’re still brushing your teeth? You know I’ll love you even if your breath stinks, right?” you teased, grabbing your pink toothbrush and gently nudging him with your hip.

Pau chuckled lowly at your antics, turning his head with a small, pained smile.

After doing your little silly dances in front of the mirror, you both rinsed and headed to bed, Pau wrapping his arms around you from behind on the way.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispered in your ear. He loved how his t-shirts looked on you, it drove him crazy. He would’ve shown you just how much he would love to see you without it, but with how exhausted he was, he settled for soft kisses that didn’t hurt too much.

Snuggled up in bed, with him still holding you from behind, you both warmed up instantly under the covers. Taking advantage of the position, Pau gently moved your hair aside and placed little kisses on the back of your neck. It tickled, but you tried not to move too much, though you couldn't hold in the giggle. He loved that sound when it came from you.

“I love you,” he said after pressing his lips to your neck a little longer. It sounded so genuine it made your chest tighten with emotion. You turned around to face him and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I love you too, mi guerrero,” you murmured, resting your head on his chest, enjoying the way his hands instinctively wrapped around you. He turned off the light and tucked you in better, caressing your back in the process. (my warrior)

Pau knew that with you by his side, he could throw himself a thousand more times on the field without fear, because no matter what, you’d be there, supporting him. And you were just as sure that you would do it again and again, even if it meant worrying about him.

[dreamcubed]

i hate it here | theodore nott x reader

song; i hate it here [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!muggle-born!ravenclaw!reader genre; s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 5k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, reference to deaths, referenced grief, discrimination (muggle-borns), implied anxiety, implied depression summary; a chance encounter caused your life to intertwine with theo nott’s, of whom provided a comfort and solace you had sorely needed

this is an old draft i made in 2020, put through some serious editing

also, happy holidays and happy new year!!!

masterlist

"i'll save all my romanticism for my inner life."

———————————————

Flames flickered dangerously on the wall candles as the determined Slytherin sixth year charged down the corridor, eyes glaring at anyone who dared get in his way. His destination was unknown, but no one really gave it any thought as they stumbled to get out of his path. Theodore Nott wasn't one to mess with, nor were his group of friends.

"Nott," a voice muttered quietly from behind, causing Theo to halt in his tracks. Spinning on his feet, he caught sight of you and your hesitant gaze.

"What?" he snapped.

"You- uh- you dropped this..." you sighed, opening your hand to reveal a golden locket sat on your palm.

To your surprise, he took it quite gently from you and offered a quiet, "Thanks," before turning on his heel and continuing to storm down the corridor.

You exhaled deeply at your awkwardness as you began making your journey to the Great Hall for lunch. You weren't much in the mood to talk, but still joined your small group of friends at the Ravenclaw table. Greeting them with no more than a smile, you began dishing food on to your plate.

Meanwhile, Theo had arrived to the lunch hall via a different route, and earlier at that too. His thought process had been that of wondering who you were and why you knew his name. There was a sense of gratitude towards you, as that locket had been a gift from his late mother; thus it was a priceless artefact to him. He wouldn't know how to cope if he lost it— her absence was difficult enough as it was.

He sat down on the Slytherin table, surprised to see his friends weren't there yet; they were normally just as eager to eat as him.

He didn't really notice your presence in the room, even though he was still thinking about you. Alas, the hall was rather large, and rather full of students. Regardless, his thoughts were interrupted when Lorenzo Berkshire showed up, one of his closest friends. "Hey, Enzo," he looked up from his plate of food.

"Hi," he sat down opposite, "Where are the rest? I thought I was late enough as it was. L/N and I were just exchanging notes for my ancient runes test. And... then I went to the toilet."

"L/N?" a look of confusion rested upon Theo's features.

"Yeah, Y/N L/N, she's in your potions and DADA, I believe. She's helping me on the test that's coming up soon. Don't you know her?" Lorenzo quirked an eyebrow.

Your name didn't ring a bell at all.

"She's over there," Lorenzo pointed to the Ravenclaw table, "She is a mud— muggle-born, but she's really smart and I'll get detention if I fail this test."

Theo flicked his gaze to where you were sat. He observed your lack of participation in the conversation your friends were having— two Ravenclaw girls who he did recognise.

"Wait, that's L/N?" he turned to Lorenzo in surprise, seeing that Mattheo had now arrived wordlessly, already stuffing his face with food.

"So you do know her?" Lorenzo replied.

"Yeah- uh- I met her earlier, actually," Theo continued to watch you eating your meal while visibly spaced out.

"Mate, if you keep staring at L/N like that she's gonna get uncomfortable," Blaise Zabini announced his arrival, sitting by Theo.

"You know her too?" Theo spun his head to face Blaise, eyes slightly widened.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow, "Yeah? She's, like, one of the smartest girls in our year..."

"Why am I only hearing of her today?" he said, somewhat aggravated, as if he had been left out of an inside joke everyone else was in on.

Blaise and Lorenzo chuckled, before the latter said, "It's because she's so quiet. Trust me, it took me ages to get her reasonably confident around me."

"Why?"

"What d'you mean, why? Some people are just like that, Theo," Blaise shrugged.

Something told Theo that you weren't quiet for no reason.

***

You headed to your potions class at around 11am the next day: it was double potions, and your first lesson, which you were not looking forward to. You had it with a lot of Slytherins, and some of them were a bit judgmental of you being a muggle-born. That didn't necessarily bother you, it was just tedious to deal with constantly.

Much to your shock, you found Theodore Nott sat on your table and the old Hufflepuff boy you used to sit next to over in Nott's old seat. Awkwardly sitting yourself down in your own seat, you pulled out some of your books and ingredients and began working through the starter on the blackboard. All without saying a word to Nott.

You didn't realise Nott had been watching your every move from beside you.

"L/N," he whispered as Professor Slughorn called the attention of the class. You lifted your eyes from the book to him, and he could see the flash of fear in your eyes. Most likely because his group of friends were notorious for picking on muggle-borns.

"Yes?" you said as confidently as you could, in a hushed tone.

"Why have I never seen you around before?"

A frown graced your face as you eyed him incredulously, "What do you mean? We've had classes together for years."

"But I've never noticed you."

With a scoff, you muttered, "Thanks."

"I mean, I don't understand how I haven't noticed you."

You shrugged.

Sensing he needed to change the subject, Theo said, "Thanks again for finding my locket. It's priceless to me, I don't know what I'd do without it."

"It's fine," you dismissed, "Why's it so important, anyway?"

"My mother gave it to me before she died."

Pursing your lips ever so slightly, you murmured, "My condolences."

He rolled his eyes, "Empty words I've heard a thousand times."

Before you could reply, Slughorn scolded the both of you for talking.

And you didn't get another chance to talk until the lesson came to an end; you packed up all of your belongings and muttered a polite, "Bye, Nott," before hurriedly walking towards the door.

"L/N! Wait!" he called after you, jogging to catch up, "Please drop the Nott. Just call me Theo."

He walked with you to the Great Hall, engaging in a polite conversation about the material covered in the lesson.

Eventually, you found the courage to say, "N- Theo, my words weren't empty earlier."

Theo quirked an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

With a slight shrug, you pointed to the Ravenclaw table, "My- uh- friends are over there, Theo. D'you mind if I go?"

Frowning, Theo asked, "Why would I mind?"

"Uh- I don't know... I just- uh..." you purposely avoided his eyes, not wanting to say that you were scared to offend him, when he probably already saw you as lesser, being a muggle-born.

"Look, Y/N, you don't need to be so nervous around me. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Really?" you tilted your head.

"I swear. I don't care that you're muggle-born." Although his father would.

Nodding, you mumbled, "Goodbye," and joined your group of friends, of whom had been watching the previous encounter. Theo then headed over to the Slytherin table where his friends were also waiting.

***

A few days later, the Slytherin boys were once again gathered in the Great Hall, this time for breakfast. Lorenzo downed the rest of his coffee, and rose to his feet. "Gotta go."

"Where're you going?" Mattheo asked.

Climbing over the bench, he replied, "Library. L/N's helping me study for the ancient runes test, remember?"

"Can I come?" Theo quickly questioned, interested upon hearing your name mentioned.

Lorenzo gave him an odd look but said yes nonetheless; Theo instantly stood from his seat and tailed his friend on the journey.

Upon reaching the library, the pair found you already sitting at a little oakwood table with a dusty maroon novel in hand and scrolls of parchment laid before you. "Since when are you so stressed about tests?" Theo whispered.

"I told you, I'll get detention if I fail," Lorenzo shrugged, "What about you? Why a sudden interest in L/N?"

"I don't have a sudden interest in her," he blatantly lied.

Lorenzo gave him a look, "Sure, mate."

Luckily for Theo, they had reached the table where you were, with a little green sofa positioned by it. Theo smiled at you, muttering a quick, "Hi."

"Hi..." your face warmed at the sight of him.

As Theo set himself down on the sofa, Lorenzo said his hello to you - curious as to why you were even shyer around Theo - and sat down by you so he could pull out his books. He silently speculated as to what was going on between the two of you.

You began going over ancient runes, explaining in as much detail as you could the most recent topic. Still, you found yourself constantly glancing over at Theo, who had started reading a book, which didn't go unnoticed by Lorenzo. He didn't say anything, however, because if he did studying would be futile due to your inevitable embarrassment.

"Why did Theo come?" you questioned awkwardly when the aforementioned had left briefly to use the toilet, "He never has before..."

Shrugging, Lorenzo replied, "I think he wanted to see you."

"Me?" your eyes widened, "Why would he want to see me?"

You didn't get an answer; Lorenzo didn't give you one.

***

If you weren't so oblivious the question would have probably answered itself over the next few days. Theo had begun to go with you everywhere, and had moved to sit next to you in both DADA and potions officially. He sometimes napped during theory lessons in potions, but you didn't mind enchanting a quill to copy what you were writing so he would still have notes. Not that he had asked you to, you just felt weirdly obliged.

Whenever you would read in the library, he would be right next to you on the sofa, also reading. Whenever you were sat alone in the Great Hall, he would join and eat with you. Whenever you were taking a nice stroll around the grassy slopes of the Hogwarts grounds, he would walk by you, maintaining a comfortable silence.

Annoying wasn't the word you would use for him; in fact, you had never felt so content with someone's constant presence. The rest of your friends you needed breaks from, as they drained your social energy despite how much you loved them. Theo, however, was more of a calm and quiet person: he seemed to be quite happy not speaking at all around you. You appreciated the fact you could dwell together without doing anything.

***

The following Saturday, Theo was pissed. Determinedly walking down the corridor with a ferocious glare in his eyes, everybody was quick to jump out of his way, knowing the extent his wrath could sometimes take. Someone, namely a dumb third year, had accidentally set off an exploding spell on him. While Theo had fixed himself up, the third year had ran off without apologising. Now, Theo was hunting him down to seek revenge.

Everybody in the school feared him and the other Slytherin boys, except for a few of the first years who were yet to see their rage. When they were angry, no one dared go near them— it was kind of like an unspoken rule. You, unfortunately, had not yet realised that Theo was angered and ran up to him from behind, since you had been looking for him. You had found it strange that he wasn't yet by your side.

"Hey, Theo," you levelled your pace with his, wondering why he was moving so fast. A couple students loitering in the corridor exchanged glances, knowing you were about to get screamed at.

Except, you didn't. Theo's features went soft as he turned his head to you and smiled gently. Shock was evident on the observing students' faces, having never seen such a switch in emotion on any of the Slytherin boys before.

"Hey, Y/N," Theo spoke, "D'you have any good hexes to use on a stupid third year who accidentally hit you with a spell but didn't apologise?"

"Well, um, you're kinda putting me on the spot here..." you tapped her chin thoughtfully, "If you wanna go with a classic you could use the bat bogey hex."

Scrunching up his nose, he replied, "I kinda want something more original."

"Uh... why don't you make them turn purple?" you shrugged, "That's not done often."

"Why purple?"

"I like purple."

Theo chuckled, "Okay, then. We've just got to find him, now."

"Well, think logically. He'll probably go where there's lots of people so he can either blend in or have some hope of protection," you said, "And where will there be lots of people on this fine Saturday morning?"

"The Great Hall," he realised, grabbing your hand without thinking so he could start sprinting there.

You gasped at first, not expecting to be tugged along so roughly. But you weren't unfit, and quickly pulled your legs to match his pace.

"Alright," he panted, coming to a halt after running through the large double doors, "He's over there, on the Gryffindor table."

"Why... did... we... have... to... run?" you forced out between breaths.

Squeezing your hand unintentionally, he watched with amused eyes at your breathless state, before replying, "Couldn't risk him getting away again."

"Enchant his- uh- drink," now hyperaware of your still joined hands, you felt shy.

"What, so I don't get caught?"

"Uh, yeah..."

He tugged on your hand, guiding you down the side of the red table with his wand hidden discreetly in his free palm. Uttering the charm, he pointed his wand at the golden goblet in front of the boy.

"Better hope it works," he muttered, looking around to see all his friends together on the Slytherin table, as usual. You found yourself being dragged over to them without a say in the matter.

Theo only remembered to let go of your hand when you reached his friends— your expression likely gave away your embarrassment, but you still sat down next to him. Lorenzo, who was the other side of Theo, whispered in his ear, "You made it official, then?"

Shaking his head and taking a bite of toast, Theo answered, "What d'you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Theo," he sighed, "You both have such blatant feelings for each other."

The conversation swiftly switched as Mattheo began discussing the upcoming quidditch game. You didn't share an interest in the sport, but Theo did, so you were able to remain silent, much to your relief.

***

Blue puffy coat drowning you in warmth, and black leather gloves wrapping your shivery pale hands— woolly white bobble hat on head, and tickles of snow balanced on cheekbones— matte black snow boots on feet, and thick jeans on legs: you were well kitted for the day's snowy weather out in Hogsmeade, all of your friends were there too. You were now off the carriages and strolling down the icy street, gazing at the familiar sweets, book and joke shops. Cho, a friend of yours, was awkwardly making conversation with Blaise. He returned the level of awkwardness.

Mattheo and Lorenzo - Theo's closest friends - suddenly pulled your arms with mischievous looks on their faces. "Come to Zonko's with us!" Mattheo smirked.

It was obviously not a question.

Giving Theo a pleading look, you pulled a strained expression when all he gave you was a smirk similar to Mattheo's. "We'll be in the Three Broomsticks," your friend, Jane, said, "See the rest of you there."

You sighed, accepting your defeat and going to Zonko's— you ended up spending most of your time hidden in the corner of the shop while keeping an eye on the devious Slytherins. The crowd in the shop wasn't relaxing. At all. Right now, the only place you wanted to be was in the Three Broomsticks holding a refreshing cup of golden butterbeer with Theo by your—

Theo? Since when had he been the first person you wanted to be with? The first person you thought of when you went to your happy place? Warmth spread to your cheekbones and lit them aflame, the only thoughts in your head being Theo's cheeky smirk and fluffy brown hair. It took you awhile to realise Lorenzo had now grabbed your arm and was pulling you over to the pub with Mattheo, but you soon snapped out of your imagination and allowed yourself to enter through the door independently.

The second you were in there you made eye contact with very same boy you had been thinking about, causing you to grow flustered. Keeping your head down, you walked over to the table and smiled awkwardly at everyone. There suddenly seemed to be an overwhelming feeling that everyone could read exactly what you were thinking and immediately knew what was up.

Blaise budged along the bench a bit, allowing you to squeeze in next to Theo. All that you could notice now was the warmth radiating from the body - Theo's - that was squashed against you in the confined of space on the benches and chairs.

"Y/N? You good?" he whispered, concerned over your sudden shyness in demeanour.

"Uh- yeah! Fine... just fine," making the mistake of glancing at him again, your thoughts stammered and stuttered.

A million thoughts swarmed through Theo's head, having no idea what was happening. He decided to ignore it for now, however, and pushed over a glass of golden butterbeer to you.

Relief washed over you as you took a sip of the frothy beverage and allowed the warmth to fill up your insides. Theo's presence was beginning to feel comforting again, now your spout of realising your feelings was over. Unintentionally, you shifted millimetres closer to him causing your thighs to be pressed together. Theo was now conversing with Lorenzo, but he noticed your minuscule movement next to him.

Continuing with the conversation, he shifted the hand he had resting on his lap to hook it around your thigh: an action that had your eyes widening like saucers. Still, you couldn't help but smile slightly, before taking another sip of beer to cover your face.

***

One bright Saturday morning, you were in the library with Lorenzo, as he needed help with his studies. Only, this time it was Jane who was helping him, as you did not take herbology, and so could provide no assistance to him in that area. Regardless, you had come along, despite the fact you were in a great deal of pain. You were laying on the sofa by Jane and Lorenzo's table, curled up into a ball as you cursed your uterus for daring to grieve you in such a manner.

Theo, however, was in the Great Hall eating breakfast. The lack of your presence confused him, since you were usually there, so naturally he asked your friends where you were.

"Oh... she's in the library with Jane and Berkshire," Cho replied nonchalantly, "I don't know why she went— she has really bad cramps, and it's Jane that's tutoring Berkshire right now anyway."

"Cramps?" he frowned.

Cho sighed, "She's on her period, Nott."

Coughing awkwardly, he hummed in acknowledgment and continued eating, praying that the subject would be changed.

"Well? Are you just gonna sit there?" Cho questioned threateningly.

"What?" he said with confusion lacing his tone.

Mattheo laughed from across the table, "You're practically her boyfriend, aren't you gonna go to her? Period care is a classic boyfriend duty."

"What do you know about boyfriend duties?" Theo scoffed at his friend, but he knew that he was right, even though he wasn't your boyfriend. Nonetheless, he rose from his seat after Cho gave him a glare.

Once he had poured a cup of hot chocolate from the breakfast spread, he began his journey to the library. Upon entering the massive room full of oakwood desks, homely sofas and bookcase after bookcase, he spotted you lying on a settee by Jane and Lorenzo with your eyes tightly shut. In your foetal position, you seemed oblivious to the heated discussion going on between the pair.

Crossing the room while scanning his surroundings, he noticed the various students sat chatting with friends or lazily doing homework: all of them in casual clothes. The thought of that made him take note of your attire: a loose-fitting Ravenclaw shirt much like the ones quidditch players wore, simple black pyjama bottoms and a pair of green and blue striped socks. Now that he had arrived, he could make out the battered black Converse sprawled at the foot of the maroon settee you were on.

Shooting a quick hello to Lorenzo and Jane, who were too preoccupied to notice, Theo leaned over you, and whispered, "Hey. I brought you some hot chocolate."

You peeled open your eyelids and rubbed them, wincing suddenly before clutching your abdomen. "Thanks..." you mumbled softly.

"Chang told me it was your time of the month," he said in a low tone so nobody else could hear, sitting down by you properly and handing over the mug.

"Did she?" tiredly pushing yourself up into a more upright position, you felt the beginning of your heart rate speed up now that you could clearly see Theo.

He smiled gently, taking in your cute mildly flustered appearance. Such an expression on your face made him want to hold you— desperately.

Taking a deep but quiet breath, he took the mug from your hands and placed it on the table, making you scowl. The scowl disappeared, however, when he scooped his arm underneath you, taking you much by surprise, and lifted you up slightly so he could budge himself to the end of the sofa and allow you to now be blatantly flustered on his lap. "How're you holdin' up?" he asked as he leaned the both of you forward to pick up the mug again.

"O-Okay, I gue-" you cut yourself off by clutching your abdomen and scrunching your face.

"Maybe not so okay," he chuckled, pushing your arms away from your stomach, and slipping his free hand under your royal blue shirt before applying some pressure.

Sighing in relief, you said, "You're so warm," before proceeding to curl up once more. You took the hot chocolate from his other hand, granting yourself a big gulp.

"'S'good chocolate."

"Fresh from the breakfast table," he chuckled, the action vibrating against your back.

You smiled, something that he couldn't see. "Thank you."

"It's nothing."

At that comment, you disagreed, as you knew that Theo Nott was not the type of man to do such nice things for people. Still, you continued to drink the hot chocolate, looking towards Jane and Lorenzo— who were still arguing about a herbology topic.

"What could they possibly be arguing about?" Theo sighed.

You shrugged slightly, "I think she proofread his essay and said it looked like a toddler had written it."

"I'm guessing you're a kinder tutor?"

You laughed, "I would say so. Unluckily for Lorenzo, I don't take herbology."

Then, Cho arrived, with Mattheo and Blaise as well— how she had persuaded the former to come to the library was nothing short of impressive.

"Sorry, did we interrupt a double date?" Mattheo smiled devilishly, sitting down in an armchair.

Oh, that would explain it.

You and Theo didn't react to his comment: you were so used to being teased at this point that it was just another day in the life.

As for Jane and Lorenzo— it was a completely different story. Their faces flushed as they became defensive, spouting off all sorts of insults about the other in relation to their prior argument.

"We're all heading down to the lake for a bit, d'you guys wanna come?" Blaise interjected.

Looking to you, Theo could easily tell you didn't want to by your expression, so declined on behalf of both of you. Meanwhile, Lorenzo and Jane agreed, likely realising the tutoring was going nowhere, and rose from their seats.

***

Quidditch matches were the pride and joy of the school, and also something even you took seriously, despite not caring much for the sport. You had never missed a Ravenclaw match in your time, and never intended to either. That day's match was Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw, so you were definitely going to be in the stands watching.

With it being a few weeks away from Christmas (and nearly the end of the first term), being comfortably wrapped up was a necessity: a winter coat, a scarf, a hat, and gloves. Theo was about to head into the changing rooms for the match, but ran over to you first. Even just looking at him made your previously unwavering loyalty to Ravenclaw's team falter.

"Two galleons we'll win," Theo smirked down at you.

"Bet accepted," you held out your gloved hand, to which he shook, "Because I know Ravenclaw'll win."

You then made your way up to the stands, as Theo went to change and warm up. It wasn't long before the theatrics commenced.

"Alright, it seems the teams are ready to start, so on Madam Hooch's whistle..." the commentator, Lee Jordan's successor, spoke, followed by a sharp whistle, "And the teams are in the air..."

The boy commentating continued to describe what the green and blue players darting around in the cold and crisp air were doing regarding the four balls of quidditch. Watching intently, you observed as the quaffle was passed between people and through hoops. The score reached 80-60 to Slytherin.

You could have sworn that Theo was smirking at you.

Only, when the crowd on your side suddenly started cheering, you snapped your gaze away from Theo to see that the Ravenclaw seeker had a shiny golden sphere in their hand.

Immediately, you began cheering as well, throwing middle fingers in Theo's direction. He scowled and rolled his eyes, flying over to you.

"Rigged game."

"Sore loser."

"Whatever."

"That'll be two galleons, please."

He rolled his eyes again, "Meet me after."

***

"Come with me," he said the second he emerged from the changing rooms, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You were really confused as he dragged you all the across the quidditch pitch and over the grassy plains of the Hogwarts grounds. Unanswered questions filled you even more as you reached the less thick area of the Forbidden Forest, that was not as forbidden. In the distance, you could make out the skinny black silhouettes of the thestrals.

"Why'd you take me to the thestrals?"

"So you can see them?" he observed the mighty creatures as they noticed your presence.

"You can too?" you asked.

Moving closer to stroke one of them, he replied, "I told you that my mother passed— well, I held her hand on her deathbed when I was eight."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." you gently petted the same one he was.

Theo's mouth settled into a grim line, "Don't be."

Taking a deep breath, you said softly, "I watched my parents get killed when we were in fifth year. It was the Christmas holidays and I came home after shopping to see..." your breath hitched, "To see death eaters torturing them through the window..."

Instead of saying anything, Theo wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his warm chest.

"I just wish I'd done something... but I... I couldn't..." you recalled the day, your heart aching.

"Hey, it's okay, bambi," he pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

"I know they... they only did it... because... because I'm a witch... I just..." you fought against the lump in your throat.

You drew back from his chest, and Theo stroked the softness of your cheeks, staring into your sparkling eyes. He couldn't understand why his heart hurt so much to see you saddened, let alone why it hurt even more when you forced a small smile.

It dawned on him that you were far from nervous and weak, instead quietly carrying the weight of a tragedy that many wouldn't be able to manage. He was amazed that you didn't break down every day: especially since it had been only a couple years, and you were so young.

The realisation that the Christmas season was probably no longer full of festivity and joy for you, but painful reminders and memories, was one that made him grasp your hand tightly.

"Y/N... you're the strongest, smartest and kindest person I know..." he spoke softly, caressing your palm.

Your voice cracked when you said, "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed. The next thing you felt was his soft and plush lips against yours, sitting there in a sweet and chaste kiss.

Your lips parted as he rested his forehead against yours and squeezed your hand as gently as if you were a porcelain doll.

"Where d'you go during the holidays?" he asked hesitantly.

"I live with my great aunt now."

The evidence of how hard you found the absence of your parents was shown through your expression.

"Is she nice?"

You nodded, "But she can't fill the hole."

He understood. His cold and cruel father could never— would never— step up and pick up where his angelic mother left off.

"Y/N," he said softly, "You know what my father is, don't you?"

"Everyone does," you murmured, "How is he not imprisoned?" You grimaced after asking that, and added, "No offense."

He chuckled dryly, "None taken. I despise him," he then paused for a moment, but continued, "I just want you to know I'm not like him— I'm not—"

You pushed a finger against his lips, silencing him. "I know, Teddy. I wouldn't be here right now if I thought you were, no?"

The corner of his lips curved up in a smile, "My mum used to call me that."

"Oh, I'm sorry—"

"No. It feels right coming from you."

You matched his smile. "Theo, I... I think I love you."

He cupped your face with his warm hands, "I know I love you."

—————————————

masterlist

written; 04/03/2020 —> 27/12/2024 published; 28/12/2024 edited; 25/03/2025

[bueckersstuff]

PART IV

The room is thick with tension, the air so heavy it feels like it might crush you. Paige hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked. She’s still staring down Azzi, jaw clenched, fists trembling at her sides. And then, finally, she exhales—slow, controlled, but you can feel the shift in her.

She’s done.

Paige straightens, rolling her shoulders back. Her voice is steady, but there’s a finality to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I pick her.”

Azzi’s smirk falters. She wasn’t expecting that. Her confidence cracks for a split second before she quickly masks it with a scoff. “You’re serious?”

Paige nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Azzi steps back, lips pressing together like she’s trying to hold something in—anger, disbelief, maybe even hurt. But you don’t feel sorry for her. Not after everything.

Paige turns to you, her expression softening in an instant. She reaches for your hand, threading her fingers through yours, holding on tight—like she’s making sure you don’t disappear. And in that moment, everything else fades.

Azzi clicks her tongue. “You’re making a mistake.”

Paige doesn’t even look at her when she responds. “Maybe. But at least it’s mine to make.”

Azzi doesn’t say another word. She just turns and walks out, slamming the door behind her.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Paige just holds onto you, her thumb running absentmindedly over your knuckles. Then she sighs, pressing her forehead against yours. “I’m gonna fix this.”

You shake your head. “Paige, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” Her voice is firm. “I’m not letting them paint you as some homewrecker. I should’ve ended things with Azzi sooner. I should’ve been honest. This is on me, not you.”

You swallow hard, because you know what this means. “How?”

Paige takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna do a press conference.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“I won’t name you,” she promises. “But I’ll set the record straight. Let them know that me and Azzi are done. That this—whatever this is—was never some scandal. I’m not letting them tear you apart over something that isn’t even your fault.”

It’s reckless. Dangerous. And yet, the way she says it, the way she looks at you like you’re something worth protecting—it makes your chest ache.

But not everyone is on board.

Paige insisted you accompany her to the meeting with her agent, Lindsay Kagawa Colas. You felt out of place, a silent observer in a world where decisions were made in boardrooms rather than on basketball courts.

As you entered the sleek office, Lindsay greeted both of you with a professional smile that didn't reach her eyes. She gestured for you to sit, her demeanor calm yet authoritative.

"Paige," Lindsay began, folding her hands on the polished table, "I've reviewed your proposal for the press conference. While I understand your desire to address the rumors, I must advise against it."

Paige's jaw tightened, but she remained composed. "I can't let these lies spread without addressing them. It's affecting not just me but those I care about."

Lindsay sighed, her gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to Paige. "I understand your frustration, but going public could jeopardize your endorsements and future career prospects, especially with the WNBA draft approaching."

Paige's eyes flashed with determination. "So, I should just stay silent while my personal life is dissected and misrepresented?"

“You are not doing a press conference.”

Paige sits across from her in her office, hands gripping the arms of the chair, barely containing her frustration. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Lindsay pinches the bridge of her nose. “Paige, do you have any idea how bad this could get? You’re graduating this year. You’re going pro. The last thing you need is unnecessary drama. You cannot let this get bigger than it already is.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. “It’s already big. My name is everywhere. And people are dragging her through the mud for something she didn’t even do.”

Lindsay leans forward. “And what do you think happens when you confirm the breakup? When you stand up there and make a speech? You think that just stops the rumors? You think that clears her name? No, Paige. It makes it worse. It makes you the villain.”

Paige shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.” Her voice is sharp, cutting. “And so does UConn. And so do your future sponsors. You cannot afford to do this.”

She’s about to argue, about to fight, but then Lindsay’s next words land like a gut punch.

“You think you’re protecting her?” she asks, voice quieter now. “You’re not. You’re making it harder for her, too. The more noise you make, the bigger target she becomes.”

Paige goes still.

Lindsay leaned forward, her expression softening. "I'm asking you to consider the bigger picture. Sometimes, silence is the best response."

The tension in the room was palpable. Paige's fists clenched on her lap, her knuckles white. You wanted to reach out, to offer some comfort, but you remained still, knowing this was her battle to fight.

After a long pause, Paige nodded curtly. "I'll think about it."

Lindsay offered a tight-lipped smile. "That's all I ask."

As you left the office, Paige's silence was deafening. You could see the conflict raging within her—the desire to protect you clashing with the reality of her career's demands.

The following day, you received an unexpected summon to Coach Auriemma's office. Your heart pounded as you made your way there, anxiety gnawing at your insides.

You’ve never been in his office before, but it feels suffocating. He sits behind his desk, hands folded, gaze unreadable. When you enter, he gestures for you to sit, and you do, heart hammering in your chest.

“I’m not gonna dance around it,” he starts, his tone firm but not unkind. “I know what’s going on.”

Your stomach knots. “Sir, I—”

He holds up a hand. “I don’t care about the rumors. I care about Paige. And I care about what’s best for her.”

You bite your lip. “And you think I’m… not?”

Coach Auriemma exhales. “I think Paige is a damn good player with a future ahead of her. A future that’s already under a microscope. And if she does this press conference, if she makes a spectacle out of it, it could cost her.”

Your throat tightens. “I never asked her to—”

“I know,” he says, cutting you off. “And that’s the problem. Paige doesn’t care about the consequences. She’s ready to burn the whole thing down for you.”

You blink. “She… she said that?”

He leans forward. “She doesn’t have to. I see it. And as much as I admire that kind of loyalty, it’s dangerous. For her. And for you.”

You look away, because he’s right. Paige is reckless with her heart. With the things she loves. And right now, that’s you.

Coach Auriemma sighs. “You want to protect her, right?”

You nod. “More than anything.”

“Then step back,” he says simply. “At least for now. Let her finish this season. Let her go pro without this weight on her shoulders.”

Your breath catches. The idea of stepping back, of putting distance between you and Paige again—it hurts. More than you can explain.

And yet.

“Think about it,” Coach Auriemma says, his voice softer now. “Because if you love her, you won’t let her throw everything away for something that can wait.”

Can it, though?

That’s the question that eats away at you as you leave his office, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a storm cloud that won’t go away.

You don’t tell Paige about your conversation with Coach Auriemma.

Not because you don’t want to—but because you don’t know how. Because saying it out loud would make it real, and you’re not ready for that. Not yet.

The weight of his words lingers in your chest, heavier with every passing hour.

Step back. Let her finish the season. Let her go pro without this weight on her shoulders.

It makes sense. It makes so much sense that it hurts.

And maybe that’s why you decide to do something drastic.

Thanksgiving break is coming up. A perfect excuse. A perfect escape.

You’re packed before you even realize what you’re doing. The duffel bag sits at the foot of your bed, unzipped, stuffed with just enough clothes to last you the trip back home to Minnesota. You tell yourself it’s just for the break. Just some time to breathe. To think.

To be selfish for once.

You don’t tell Paige. You don’t tell anyone.

Because if you do, they’ll stop you.

You slip out of the dorm just as the sky begins to darken, hoodie pulled over your head, footsteps light against the pavement. The air is crisp, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely feel it. Your heart is pounding too hard.

You make it to the parking lot without incident, fingers shaking as you tighten your grip on your bag. Just a little further. Just a few more steps and—

“Where the hell are you going?”

You freeze.

Nika.

She’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, brows furrowed in suspicion. Her gaze flickers to your bag, and then back to your face. “You running away or something?”

You exhale sharply, shoulders slumping. There’s no use lying. Not to her.

“I’m going home for break,” you admit.

Her expression doesn’t change. “And you were just gonna disappear without telling anyone?”

You swallow hard. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” she challenges, stepping closer. “Because last time I checked, Paige has been glued to your side. She’s fighting the entire damn world for you. And you’re just leaving?”

Your chest tightens. “She doesn’t need to fight for me,” you murmur. “She needs to focus on basketball. On her future. And I…” Your voice wavers. “I just need a second to breathe.”

Nika studies you, and for the first time, her tough exterior cracks just a little. She sees it—the exhaustion, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

“What happened?” she asks, softer this time.

You hesitate. But then the words spill out before you can stop them. “Coach Auriemma called me into his office. He told me it would be better for Paige’s career if I… if I stepped back. At least for now.”

Nika doesn’t say anything right away. Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists at her sides. She looks ready to march into his office and cuss him out, but then she sighs, shaking her head. “And you just listened to him?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” you whisper. “She’s risking everything, Nika. Her future, her reputation… all for me. I can’t be the reason she loses it all.”

Nika’s quiet for a long time. And then she nods. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I won’t stop you,” she says. “If you need to go, go.”

A lump forms in your throat. “Thank you.”

“But,” she adds, fixing you with a sharp look. “You have to let Paige fix her own mess.”

Your stomach twists. “Nika—”

“She’s a big girl,” she interrupts. “And yeah, maybe she’s been reckless, maybe she’s been making dumbass decisions, but that’s on her. Not you. You don’t get to carry all of this by yourself.”

You don’t respond. You don’t know how to.

Nika exhales, running a hand through her hair. “I won’t tell Paige,” she promises. “But you owe it to her to talk when you come back.”

You nod slowly, chest aching. “I know.”

She studies you for another moment before sighing and stepping back. “Go, then. Before I change my mind.”

You don’t waste another second.

As you slip into the backseat of the Uber waiting to take you to the airport, you press your forehead against the window, watching as the campus fades from view.

You don’t know what awaits you back home. All you know is that, for the first time in a long time, you’re letting yourself take a break.

Even if it breaks you in the process.

The cold air bites at your skin as you sit outside your childhood home in Minnesota, staring at the phone screen that hasn’t stopped lighting up. Paige’s name dominates the notifications—calls, messages, voicemails. You haven’t responded to a single one.

You squeeze the phone in your hand, heart heavy with guilt. She’s done nothing wrong, and yet you’ve left her to suffer. Coach Auriemma’s words still echo in your mind.

If you love her, you won’t let her throw everything away for something that can wait.

But was disappearing really the right thing to do?

The vibration of your phone startles you, and this time, it’s Nika. You hesitate before finally picking up.

“Are you still at home?” she asks, sounding so tensed.

Your breath catches. “Nika—”

“She’s losing it,” Nika cuts you off, her voice sharp with urgency. “Like actually losing it. You need to hear this.”

Your stomach clenches, but you stay silent, gripping the phone tighter.

“She’s been a wreck ever since you left. Coach ripped into her and Azzi during practice. Called them out in front of everyone. Said their personal drama was a distraction to the team and that if they didn’t get their heads straight, they could both sit on the damn bench for all he cared.”

You close your eyes, already picturing the scene. Their coach doesn’t play around, especially when it comes to his team’s focus.

“But that’s not even the worst part,” Nika continues. “He mentioned you.”

Your eyes snap open. “What?”

“He was pissed and let it slip that you were part of the mess. Paige went stiff as a board. You should’ve seen her face. She asked what he meant, and he actually told her he spoke to you.”

Your breath falters. “What did she say?”

“She freaked out, obviously. Kept asking what he said to you, but Coach wouldn’t tell her. Just said he ‘advised’ you on what’s best.”

You rub a hand over your face. Shit.

“After that, I knew that she started calling you like crazy. She hasn’t stopped. She’s barely talking to anyone. Barely eating, dude. I tried to tell her you probably just needed space, but she’s convinced you left because of her.”

Guilt twists like a knife in your chest. You can hear Nika sigh on the other end. “Look, I get why you left. But this? This is killing her.”

You don’t say anything, because what can you say? That you knew this would happen? That you left to spare her, only to end up hurting her more?

Nika sighs again, softer this time. “She keeps updating you, doesn’t she?”

Your throat tightens. Yeah.

Paige has been sending messages non-stop. Long ones, short ones. Some begging, some demanding. Others just saying she misses you. That she doesn’t understand. That she needs to see you.

She’s unraveling.

Nika’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Just—just let me know if you’re coming back, okay? She needs to know you’re not gone forever.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you stare at the latest message from Paige, your vision blurring as you read her words.

Please just tell me if you’re okay. If you don’t want me to call anymore, I’ll stop. Just… I need to know if you’re okay.

Your hands shake as you lock your phone and press it against your forehead, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You thought leaving would be the best way to protect her.

But now, you’re not so sure.

You’re pulled from sleep by the constant buzzing of your phone. The screen glows in the darkness, illuminating the room in short, erratic bursts. Blinking against the haze of sleep, you reach for it, squinting at the overwhelming flood of notifications.

Your heart stops when you see Paige’s name.

She posted on Instagram.

A photo. No—several. A collage, old memories spilling into the present. Your childhood together. Your high school days. The candid shots of laughter, inside jokes captured in pixels. And then, the recent ones—the ones taken in the past few months, the ones you thought no one else had noticed. A soft look she gave you after practice, your hands nearly brushing at a coffee shop, a blurred shot of you both standing too close at some party. It’s all there. Laid out for the world to see.

You swallow hard, your chest tightening as you read the caption.

Some people are just part of your soul. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many things change, they’re always there. Even when you lose them. Even when you’re the reason they’re gone.

It’s the kind of post that sounds more like a confession than an appreciation. And people are noticing. The comments are blowing up, theories forming faster than you can process them.

— Why does this sound like a breakup post???

— Wait… is she talking about Azzi or…?

— Who is this mystery person??

— Oh my god, the way she looks at her in these pics.

Your stomach churns. Then you see it.

Someone from back home. Someone who knows you and Paige.

— Before Azzi, it was always them. They go way back, trust me.

And people are buying it.

Your notifications spike—friend requests, follows, people digging, trying to put pieces together. Your stomach twists as you scroll, anxiety flooding your veins. This is getting too big.

And then, the final nail in the coffin.

A comment, posted just three minutes ago.

— Good to know you're still friends with each other, Paige. I just bumped into her this morning, still so charming and sweet.

Your blood runs cold. That's your high school classmate who actually lives here in Minnesota!

And then, Paige’s reply. It's the only comment she actually replied to.

— Thank you.

Just one minute ago.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Thank you.

Thank you for what? The compliment? The nostalgia? Or—

Or the clue of where you are?

“Fuck.”

Your hands are shaking as you stare at the screen, heart pounding so hard it drowns out all rational thought. And then, your phone dings.

Paige: I know where you are, baby. I’m coming to get you.

Your eyes snap to the clock. 4:00 AM.

You don’t know when she’s going to show up.

But you know one thing for sure.

You’re so, so doomed.

A featherlight touch tickles your ear, a sensation so faint it almost feels like a dream. Then, another—a ghosting touch against your cheek. You stir, shifting under the warmth of the blankets, but then you feel it again.

Something—someone—is here.

Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused, and the first thing you see is Paige, perched on the edge of your bed, smiling down at you. But it’s not her usual smile. It’s a sad one, fragile and worn, like she’s been crying. Like she’s barely holding herself together.

"Why did you leave me?" she whispers, voice small, almost broken. "I got so scared."

Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in her eyes. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. There’s so much you want to say, but you don’t even know where to begin.

Paige exhales shakily, blinking rapidly. "I thought I lost you. For real. I called. I texted. I had no idea where you were, and it drove me insane. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep—I just kept thinking, what if you weren’t coming back? What if I really ruined everything?"

You sit up, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Paige, I—"

"I know why you did it," she cuts in, her voice stronger now, but still laced with pain. "Nika told me everything. That you thought it was for the best. That you were trying to protect me. But, baby, you leaving? That didn’t protect me. It destroyed me."

Your breath catches. Paige’s fingers find yours, squeezing tight, almost desperate. "I don’t need protecting from you," she continues. "I need you. I don’t care what Coach Geno says, or what Lindsay thinks, or what the world expects from me. I only care about you. So don’t ever—ever—do that to me again."

Tears well in your eyes as you cup her face, thumbs brushing over the damp trails on her cheeks. "I just… I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to hold you back, Paige. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost everything."

Paige shakes her head, shifting closer until her forehead presses against yours. "You are everything."

And that’s all it takes for the dam to break. The next thing you know, Paige is kissing you, and it’s different from before—it’s raw, emotional, relieving. Her hands are in your hair, yours are gripping the fabric of her hoodie like she might disappear again if you let go. The taste of salt lingers on your lips, but you don’t know if it’s from her tears or yours.

You don’t pull away until you're breathless, foreheads still pressed together. Paige lets out a shaky laugh. "God, I missed you."

You laugh too, watery and soft. "I missed you more."

She grins, bumping her nose against yours. "Impossible."

Breakfast with your parents is warm, filled with laughter and lingering touches under the table. Paige is her usual charming self, but there’s a tenderness in the way she looks at you, in the way she talks about you to your family—like she wants them to know just how much she cherishes you. And they do. They see it.

Your mom smirks when Paige clears both your plates before you even finish your first. "Still stealing food off her plate, huh?"

Paige grins sheepishly. "Can you blame me? She always get the best bites."

Your dad chuckles. "Some things never change."

And for the first time in a while, everything feels right.

Later in the afternoon, Paige takes you to her house. You hesitate when she pulls into the driveway, but she just laces her fingers with yours, squeezing reassuringly. "I wanted to see you first before coming home," she says softly. "That’s how important you are to me."

The words settle in your chest, warm and deep.

Inside, her family welcomes you with open arms. They tease Paige endlessly, making comments about how she’s been sidetracked before (Azzi, though no one outright says her name), but they knew—they always knew.

"She just got a little lost," her mom says with a wink. "But she found her way back."

Paige groans. "You guys are the worst."

Her younger siblings giggle, throwing in their own commentary about how she was always different when you were around—happier, lighter. It makes you wonder how long everyone had seen it before either of you did.

And then, in front of everyone, Paige clears her throat, looking straight at you. "I’m gonna court you properly this time. No games, no confusion. Just me, proving to you every day that you’re it for me."

Her dad whistles. "Bold move. I like it."

Your face burns, but you nod, heart thudding. "I’d like that."

She beams, and for a second, you forget everything else.

The evening is spent driving around old familiar places, reminiscing about childhood memories, seeing things in a different light now. Paige reaches for your hand at every stop, as if making sure you’re still real, still here. You are. And you’re not going anywhere.

But reality catches up fast.

Your phone buzzes—Nika. You answer, and before you can even say anything, she’s groaning. "Dude, where the hell is Paige? Coach Geno’s losing his damn mind."

Your stomach drops. "What?"

"He found out she flew to Minnesota. He’s pissed." Nika sighs. "You two need to get your asses back here ASAP. I booked a flight for Paige already. You coming back with her?"

You hesitate, but then you glance at Paige, who’s watching you with quiet expectation. Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll run again.

You take a breath. "Yeah. We’ll come back together."

Nika snorts. "Good. Because, uh, people already know who you are now, thanks to Paige’s stupid, drunken, emotional post. Might as well face the world together."

Paige cringes but grins at you, hopeful. "Together?"

You lace your fingers with hers. "Together."

And for the first time in a long time, that word doesn’t feel scary at all.

The flight back to UConn was quieter than expected. Paige held your hand the entire time, her thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly, as if she was making sure you were still there. You could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her, but there was something steadier in her grip now—like she had made up her mind about something.

When you landed, reality hit. Paige pulled her hoodie up, trying to shield herself from the attention, but it was useless. Eyes followed you both through the airport, whispers rippling through the crowd like wildfire. People knew now. Maybe not the full story, but enough. The post she made, the comments, the theories—it had spiraled into something neither of you could control.

The second you stepped onto campus, you knew it was only a matter of time before you had to face everything you ran from. And it started with Geno.

Nika had given you both a warning text—He’s pissed, but not at you. Be ready.

You didn’t even get a chance to process that before you were being summoned to his office.

Geno Auriemma was pacing when you walked in, hands on his hips, muttering something under his breath. Paige straightened beside you, ready for whatever lecture was coming.

He stopped, looked between you two, then exhaled sharply. “Do you have any idea what kind of circus you’ve created?”

Paige lifted her chin. “I do.”

“Do you?” His eyes narrowed. “Because last I checked, you had a season to focus on. A future to protect. And instead, I’ve got reporters hounding me about your love life.”

Paige didn’t back down. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Geno crossed his arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re ready to blow up everything for the sake of proving a point.”

Paige’s grip on your hand tightened. “It’s not about proving a point. It’s about doing what’s right.”

Geno studied her, then you. His gaze softened, just a little. “Kid,” he said, directing it at you this time. “You really planning on sticking around for this?”

You swallowed, but your voice was steady. “If Paige wants me here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Geno sighed, rubbing his temples. “Then I hope you’re both ready for the firestorm that’s coming.”

The confrontation with Azzi was next.

You didn’t seek it out, but it found you anyway. In the gym, of all places, where she stood by the lockers, arms crossed, waiting.

“I figured you’d come crawling back eventually,” she said, voice sharp. “Didn’t expect Paige to drag you back herself, though.”

You stiffened, but before you could speak, Paige stepped forward. “I didn’t drag anyone anywhere.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked to her. “Really? So this isn’t just you making another impulsive decision? Risking everything for someone who ran the second things got hard?”

You flinched, but Paige’s response was instant. “She didn’t run. I pushed her away.”

Azzi scoffed. “Yeah? And what happens when it gets too much again? When the pressure crushes you? You're gonna push her away again? Or maybe find someone new to hold your hand?”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why are you here?” Azzi’s voice wavered just slightly. “To rub it in my face? To prove a point?”

Paige shook her head. “No. To end this.”

Azzi’s expression faltered. “It’s already over.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. And I should’ve ended it sooner. But I need you to know—this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Azzi’s eyes burned into yours, then back to Paige. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something more. But then she just scoffed, turned, and walked away.

The media reaction was a whole different beast.

Some people loved the story. Childhood best friends reconnecting, fighting for love, defying expectations. Others? Not so much. Some still clung to Azzi, to the image of her and Paige together, painting you as the villain in a story you never asked to be part of.

But the tides were shifting. The more people dug, the more they learned about you and Paige’s history—how you’d been there long before the spotlight, long before the fame. Slowly, the narrative began to change.

One clip from an old high school interview resurfaced—a young Paige, smiling when asked about her best friend, talking about how you were the first person to believe in her dreams. It went viral overnight.

And then there was the final push.

Paige’s first official statement.

She didn’t hold a press conference like she originally wanted. Instead, she posted a video—a simple, unedited clip of her sitting in her dorm, looking straight into the camera.

“I never planned on my personal life being public,” she started. “But if people are going to talk, I’d rather they hear it from me.”

She took a breath. “Azzi and I are done. We ended things because it wasn’t working, and that’s the truth. And as for the rumors about me and—” She hesitated, then smiled slightly. “Her. I’m not gonna confirm or deny anything. But I will say this—I don’t regret a single thing.”

Paige paused, like she was choosing her next words carefully. “The people who’ve been here since the beginning, the ones who really know me, they know where my heart has always been.”

That was all she said. But it was enough.

The world could interpret it however they wanted. But you? You knew exactly what she meant.

And as you sat there, watching the video play out, you realized something.

This wasn’t just Paige fighting for you.

It was both of you, fighting for each other.

The return to UConn was chaotic, but somehow, you and Paige faced it together. The confrontation with Coach Auriemma had been tough—he wasn’t happy about the distractions, but after seeing how firm Paige was in her choice, he let it go. Azzi was another story. She had scoffed, feigned indifference, but you could see the bitterness in her eyes. However, over time, even she started to come around. One evening after practice, she pulled Paige aside and, though reluctant, admitted, “I just want you to be happy. And if that’s with her, then… I’ll deal with it.”

Nika? She just smirked, shaking her head. “Took you two long enough.”

The media had been relentless at first, but eventually, things started to shift. Paige’s history with you, your childhood friendship, the way you had always been in her life—it changed the narrative. The fans saw it too. Some still clung to the idea of her and Azzi, but most of them started to accept you. Even like you. And Paige? She made sure the world knew exactly where she stood—with you.

One evening, after a long day of classes and training, you and Paige found yourselves curled up on the couch in your shared apartment. The weight of everything was still there, lingering, but for the first time in weeks, it felt manageable.

Paige let out a sigh, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Come with me after I go pro.”

Your heart stilled. “Paige…”

“I mean it,” she said, pulling back to look at you. Her eyes were filled with something so raw, so desperate, it made your breath catch. “I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tracing patterns on her arm. “I have dreams too, Paige. My own path. My own future.”

She nodded immediately. “I know. And I’d never ask you to give them up. But I won’t give you up either.”

You hesitated, because as much as you loved her, as much as you wanted to be with her, you had spent so much of your life trying to find your own way. You couldn’t just abandon that.

Sensing your turmoil, Paige cupped your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallowed hard. “I want to finish my degree. I want to build something for myself. And I want you too, Paige. But I can’t follow you like a shadow. I need to stand on my own too.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then she nodded, determination settling in her expression. “Then we’ll build our life together. I’ll go wherever you go.”

Your breath hitched. “Paige, you—”

“I can play anywhere. I don’t have to be across the country. I don’t have to make this harder than it needs to be. We’ll figure it out, but I’m not leaving you behind.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Are you sure?”

Paige leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Months passed, and the world around you both continued to shift. Paige declared for the WNBA draft, and you stood by her side as she took that step into her future. She kept her promise—supporting you, making time for you, making sure you were part of her world.

And when the draft night came, when her name was called and she walked across that stage, she searched for you in the crowd, her eyes shining with tears and triumph. Later, when the cameras were off and the celebrations died down, she pulled you close, whispering against your lips, “We made it.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead to hers. “We did.”

The journey wasn’t perfect. There were challenges, moments of doubt, moments where the weight of it all felt unbearable. But through it all, one thing remained certain—Paige had chosen you. And you had chosen her, too.

In the months that followed, you both moved into a cozy apartment together, balancing her WNBA career with your own pursuits. Some nights, she came home exhausted from games, collapsing onto the couch with you, murmuring how grateful she was to have you by her side. Other nights, you stayed up late, working on your own dreams, with Paige curled up next to you, offering sleepy encouragement.

One day, as you both cooked dinner together, Paige wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I don’t care where life takes us,” she murmured. “As long as we’re together.”

You turned, looking into her eyes, and smiled. “Always.”

And with that, the future no longer seemed uncertain.

It was yours—together.

[badathumanemotions]

Friction (Part 2)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI MasterList Category: Fluff and Smut CW: Getting Together, Going On A Date, Smut, Dom/Sub Undertones, Fluff, Teasing, Oral Sex (m rec), Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Breeding Kink, Aftercare WC: 27,329 [Total WC: 52,733] Anonymous asked:

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Part One Spencer and Reader have to figure out how to deal with the relentless teasing from the team. In the meantime Spencer takes Reader out on a date. (Not Proof Read)

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

To You: Emily: Where the hell did you go?? JJ: Are you okay? We lost you last night. Morgan: You better not be waking up in a jail cell. Garcia: I AM TRYING NOT TO PANIC BUT YOU ARE MISSING??!! Emily: Please tell me you just went home. JJ: Just let us know you're alive, okay? Morgan: You better not be passed out in some alley somewhere. Pick up your phone. Garcia: If you don’t answer, I’m hacking a satellite, I swear. And then I’m sending a search party. WITH DRONES.

To Spencer: Emily: Reid? Where’d you disappear to? JJ: Spence, you good? We haven’t seen you since last night. Morgan: Genius, if you got kidnapped, blink twice. Garcia: OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU MISSING TOO?! Emily: This is not like you. Answer your phone. JJ: Please just check in. Morgan: Seriously, Reid, don’t make me come looking. Garcia: WAIT. I JUST TRACKED YOUR PHONE. YOU'RE WITH HER?! ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER?!

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. "Well… they noticed."

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "We should’ve expected this."

Your eyes flicked to each other’s phones, then back up. "Garcia tracked us. Of course she did."

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She probably already has a PowerPoint titled 'The Unbelievable Yet Completely Predictable Hookup of the Century.'"

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "God, what do we even say?"

You looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between you. You’d spent the whole night wrapped up in each other, lost in something you didn’t fully understand yet. But now, reality was creeping back in, and with it came the inevitable question—what now?

"Do we tell them?" Spencer asked, cautious.

You chewed on your lip. "I don’t know. I mean, we barely know what this is."

His expression softened. "Yeah. Maybe we keep it to ourselves, at least for now."

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve. "Let’s get some coffee first. We’ll figure it out."

Spencer exhaled, glancing at his phone again. "Garcia already knows. Which means we’re on borrowed time before the rest of them do."

You groaned. "She’s probably drafting the 'So You Two Finally Gave In' email as we speak."

"Or using her tech wizardry to figure out exactly when and where this would happen based on sheer determination and a questionable disregard for privacy," Spencer muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You shook your head with a tired laugh. "We’re doomed."

He nudged your shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let’s get coffee before the interrogation starts."

As you made your way to the kitchen, the weight of the team’s inevitable questions loomed over you, but for now, you focused on the simple things—the smell of coffee brewing, the warmth of his presence beside you, the quiet promise of whatever this was becoming.

Spencer leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling his coffee mug in both hands. You sat across from him at the small dining table, stirring absentmindedly at your own cup. The air between you was thick with the weight of Garcia's discovery and what it meant for the rest of the team.

"So," he started, his voice hesitant, "what do we do?"

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple. "Garcia knows, which means everyone else will know soon. If she hasn't already started telling them."

Spencer groaned softly, setting his mug down. "She’s not exactly known for keeping secrets."

You gave him a pointed look. "Understatement of the year."

He huffed a small laugh but quickly sobered. "Do we try to control the narrative? Or just… let it happen?"

You took a sip of your coffee, considering. "If we try to get ahead of it, that means having to tell them. All of them. And that means… questions. Lots of them."

Spencer winced, likely imagining the interrogation that awaited the two of you. "Morgan is never going to let me live this down."

"Oh, absolutely not." You smirked, shaking your head. "And Emily and JJ will be smug about it for months."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with that right now."

You leaned back in your chair. "So, what? We just act like nothing happened? Hope they don’t bring it up?"

Spencer gave you a flat look. "You really think that’s an option?"

You sighed. "Not a chance."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the reality of the situation sinking in. You wanted to be with him—there was no question about that. But navigating this new relationship under the scrutiny of your team was another matter entirely.

"Maybe we just… confirm it if they ask," you finally said. "We don’t have to make a big announcement. Just—if it comes up, we don’t deny it."

Spencer nodded slowly, mulling it over. "That might be the easiest way. Low effort. Less chaos."

You snorted. "There’s going to be chaos no matter what."

He sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "True."

You reached across the table, letting your fingers brush against his. "We’ll handle it together."

Spencer turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. "Together."

A comfortable silence settled between you, but it was short-lived as a notification lit up Spencer’s phone on the counter. He glanced at it and groaned. "Garcia just sent a group text. I refuse to read it."

Your phone buzzed a second later. You hesitated before picking it up, already dreading what you’d see.

Garcia: "GOOD MORNING, LOVE BIRDS. 😘 DON’T BOTHER DENYING IT. IT’S HAPPENING. YOU’RE HAPPENING. SO WHEN DO WE GET TO GUSH ABOUT THIS???"

You groaned, setting your phone face-down on the table. "She knows, she’s excited, and we are officially doomed."

Spencer ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "She’s going to be relentless."

"Oh, absolutely." You took another sip of coffee, trying to steel yourself. "And once Morgan finds out…"

Spencer’s head hit the counter with a dull thud. "This is going to be worse than I thought."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to pat his arm. "At least it’s out there now. Maybe it’ll be easier once the dust settles."

He lifted his head slightly, looking at you with skepticism. "Or it’ll be weeks of teasing and speculation."

You shrugged. "Either way, we’re in it now. We may as well own it."

He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Alright. We answer questions if they ask, but no unnecessary details. We don’t need to give them more ammunition than they already have."

"Agreed." You squeezed his hand briefly before letting go, picking up your mug. "We’ll face the chaos together."

Spencer sat back, watching you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You realize Garcia probably already has a whole board of conspiracy theories about how long this has been going on."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course she does. But at least this way, she doesn’t have to guess anymore."

The two of you sat there, the weight of the inevitable hanging over you, but at least now, you weren’t facing it alone. You had each other. And somehow, that made it all a little easier.

The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the quiet space. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something unmistakably Spencer—clean, warm, familiar. It should have felt strange, waking up here, sharing this moment with him after everything that had transpired the night before. But it didn’t. It felt… natural. Easy, even. And that was the problem.

Spencer sat across from you, fingers wrapped around his coffee mug, his gaze flicking between you and the phone resting between you on the table. Garcia’s texts were still unanswered, her curiosity undoubtedly growing by the second, but neither of you seemed eager to address them. Not yet.

“I should probably get started on my day,” you finally said, though you made no move to stand.

Spencer exhaled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Me too.” He glanced at you, then down at his mug before adding, "At least we have a three-day weekend."

You blinked, the reminder settling in. Three full days before you had to step back into the BAU, back into the teasing and knowing glances you were sure to face. Three days where, if you wanted to, you could see where this thing with Spencer might go.

A beat of silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. This was the part where things were supposed to go back to normal, where you both stepped away and acted like nothing had changed. Except something had changed. Neither of you could pretend otherwise.

Still, you pushed yourself up from the chair, grabbing your bag. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

Spencer followed your lead, standing as well. “Right. I, uh… I’ve got some things to do too.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but instead, he simply nodded, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You hesitated before stepping toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was considering reaching for you, but then he cleared his throat. “Wait.”

You paused, looking back at him. His expression was uncertain for only a moment before he straightened, his voice firmer when he spoke again. “I want to take you on a date. Tomorrow.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you managed to keep your voice steady. “A date?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A real one.” His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “No pretending. Just us.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you searched his face. “Okay… where are you taking me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, caught off guard by the question. “I—uh, I was thinking somewhere nice. A restaurant, maybe? Do you have a preference?”

You tilted your head, intrigued by his hesitation. “You didn’t plan this far ahead, did you?”

He exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was more focused on making sure you’d actually say yes first.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Well, yes, I’m saying yes. But I want details.”

Spencer straightened slightly, his confidence returning. “Alright. There’s this place I read about—small, quiet, great reviews. I think you’ll like it. And after…” His smile turned slightly mischievous. “That part’s a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “A surprise?”

He nodded. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

You considered it for a moment, warmth spreading through your chest at the idea of him putting thought into this. “Alright. I’ll trust you.”

His relief was evident, his smile growing. “Good. It’s a date, then.”

Before you could respond, he took a small step forward, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The touch was fleeting, but it sent warmth up your spine. Then, without overthinking it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—quick, but deliberate, like he needed to do it before he lost his nerve. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours for a moment before he gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, with one last glance, he turned and left your place, leaving behind the lingering warmth of his touch and the quiet anticipation of what tomorrow would bring.

You stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting your skin like a much-needed reminder of reality. You had things to do, errands to run—picking out something to wear, making sure you looked your best for tomorrow night. And yet, as you walked away, your thoughts remained tangled in the warmth of his presence, the way he’d looked at you like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

As you moved through your day, checking off errands in preparation for tomorrow, you kept glancing at your phone. No messages from him yet. But every time the screen lit up, your heart stuttered just a little, anticipation curling in your stomach at the thought of your date.

You weren’t sure what came next. But for the first time in a long time, the uncertainty didn’t scare you. It only made you excited for what was to come.

The day passed in a blur of errands and distractions, but no amount of busywork could fully pull your mind from the lingering warmth of Spencer’s touch, the way he’d looked at you before he left. As night settled in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, the quiet hum of the city outside doing little to settle the energy thrumming beneath your skin.

You turned onto your side, your phone resting on the nightstand—silent, but not forgotten. He hadn’t texted, and neither had you. And yet, the anticipation curled in your chest like an unspoken promise. Tomorrow.

A date.

Your lips curved slightly at the thought, warmth blooming within you. It wasn’t just the idea of the date itself—it was him. Spencer, who had kissed you goodbye like he already knew he’d be kissing you again.

With that thought lingering, you finally let your eyes slip closed, drifting off with the quiet certainty that when you woke, the day ahead would be something worth looking forward to.

The soft buzz of your phone pulled you from the edges of sleep, the early morning light casting a faint glow through your curtains. You groggily reached for your phone, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the screen came into focus. A single message awaited you, and the moment you saw the sender, your heart gave a traitorous little stutter.

Good morning, beautiful.

Warmth spread through your chest, a smile tugging at your lips before you could even think to stop it. Spencer. The simple message sent a ripple of excitement through you, the reality of the day settling in. Today was your date. A real one.

You stretched beneath the covers, savouring the lingering drowsiness as you let yourself replay the events of yesterday—the heat of his touch, the way his hands had traced over your skin, the way his lips had lingered against yours like he never wanted to stop. The way he’d looked at you, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. The way he’d said it wasn’t just pretending. That this was real.

Rolling onto your side, you typed out a reply.

Morning.

You hesitated a moment before adding, Excited for tonight.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. There was a pleasant sort of nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself indulge in for a long time. You had the entire day ahead of you, and already, your thoughts were consumed with what was to come.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you moved through your morning routine with an unusual sense of purpose. As you sipped on your coffee, you glanced at your phone again, checking for a response. Nothing yet—but that was fine. You weren’t going to obsess over it.

Instead, you focused on the errands you had planned. If tonight was going to be special, you wanted to be prepared. You had an outfit to pick out, details to perfect. And if your mind wandered to Spencer more times than you cared to admit, well… that was just part of the anticipation.

As you started getting ready for the evening, your mind kept drifting back to Spencer’s words. He had told you dinner, but beyond that, he’d kept the rest of the night a mystery. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, brushing a final layer of mascara over your lashes, and wondered for the hundredth time what the surprise could be.

Spencer wasn’t the type to do something cliché or over-the-top, but he also had a way of making the simplest things feel special. A bookstore, maybe? A hidden café with live music? A museum exhibit he knew you’d love? The possibilities were endless, and the anticipation only made your excitement grow.

The knock at your door sent a jolt of anticipation through you. You took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your outfit before making your way to the door. With a steadying breath, you pulled it open.

Spencer stood there, dressed in a fitted blazer and dark slacks, his hair neatly styled yet still carrying that slightly tousled look that suited him so well. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of flowers, the delicate arrangement carefully chosen.

His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he just stared. His gaze travelled over you slowly, as if he was committing every detail to memory, admiration flickering in his wide, awestruck eyes. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a little rough around the edges.

"You look… incredible." There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, his eyes still lingering as if he couldn't quite believe you had dressed up like this—for him.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you found yourself smiling despite the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. Your eyes flicked to the flowers, and something tender unfurled in your heart. "Spencer, these are lovely. Thank you."

His mouth quirked in amusement, though his gaze still held that lingering admiration. "I thought you'd like them."

You accepted the bouquet, inhaling their light fragrance before setting them aside carefully. "You clean up well yourself, Dr. Reid."

His amusement deepened, but there was still that undercurrent of lingering awe in his expression. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, stepping outside as he offered his arm in a way that felt both old-fashioned and entirely Spencer. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide you towards the night ahead.

Spencer led you to his car, and before you could reach for the handle, he swiftly stepped ahead, opening the door for you. The gentlemanly gesture sent a small thrill through you, and as you slid into the seat, you couldn't help but smile.

As he settled in beside you, you glanced over with a teasing smile. "So, did you research the perfect first-date flowers? Let me guess—there’s some historical significance to these?"

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. "I considered a few different options, but I ultimately chose these because they symbolize admiration and new beginnings. Seemed fitting."

You raised an eyebrow. "So you did research it."

He shot you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Would you rather I just grabbed the first bouquet I saw?"

You hummed in thought. "No, I suppose not. But tell me, Dr. Reid, are you nervous?"

Spencer's fingers flexed subtly on the steering wheel. "Not at all. Are you?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Not in the least."

His smirk deepened. "Good. Then let's see if I can keep surprising you."

As the car pulled onto the road, you cast him a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at your lips. "You behind the wheel is a rare sight. I was half-expecting to have to drive."

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. "Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to drive. I just prefer other modes of transportation."

"Mmm, like bothering JJ or Morgan for rides?"

"Or utilizing public transit, which is far more efficient in most cases," he countered smoothly.

You bit back a grin. "Right. But tonight, you’re playing chauffeur. A very handsome, well-dressed chauffeur."

His fingers tapped idly against the wheel as he stole a glance at you. "If that’s the case, then I expect a generous tip."

You pretended to consider. "I suppose that depends on the quality of service."

His smirk deepened. "I’ll just have to make sure you're thoroughly impressed, then."

You shook your head, laughing softly as the city lights blurred past. The night was still young, and something told you Spencer was going to keep you on your toes every step of the way.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Spencer once again moved ahead to open your door for you, extending a hand to help you out. The warm touch of his fingers around yours sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and as you stepped onto the pavement, you glanced up at the softly lit entrance of the restaurant.

The atmosphere inside was intimate, the soft hum of conversation mingling with gentle music. As the host led you to your table, Spencer pulled out your chair for you, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your heart flutter.

You settled in, glancing around before turning to him with a curious smile. "You put a lot of thought into this place, didn't you?"

Spencer shrugged, though the satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable. "You once mentioned you appreciate places with a good atmosphere, and I thought their menu had a few things that might catch your interest."

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your gaze. "You really do remember everything, don’t you?"

He leaned forward slightly, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Especially when it comes to you."

Heat crept up your neck, and you picked up your menu in an attempt to disguise the effect his words had on you. "Well, let's see if your choice lives up to the hype."

Spencer chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as the evening unfolded, every detail adding another layer to the undeniable pull between you both.

After ordering, conversation flowed with an effortless ease, laced with teasing remarks and lingering glances. Spencer’s natural charm, when unguarded, was disarming, and you found yourself drawn into him more with every passing moment.

When the waiter placed your drinks on the table, Spencer raised his glass slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "To new beginnings."

You tapped your glass against his, the soft chime lingering in the air between you. "And to being thoroughly impressed."

He smirked, tilting his head as he studied you. "I get the feeling that’s not an easy feat."

You took a slow sip of your drink, meeting his gaze over the rim. "Keep trying, genius."

His eyes darkened slightly at the challenge, and he leaned in just enough that your knees brushed beneath the table. "Oh, I intend to."

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could formulate a response, the food arrived, breaking the moment—but not the tension.

The night was far from over, and if Spencer’s lingering gaze was anything to go by, he had no intention of letting you slip through his fingers so easily.

As your food arrived, Spencer continued to impress you—not just with the thoughtfulness of the restaurant choice but with the way he paid attention. He remembered small details, your preferences, and even the way you liked certain flavours combined. It was impossible not to be charmed by the way he made you feel completely seen.

Between bites, you challenged him with playful quips, and he met you head-on with his own clever retorts, the two of you locked in a battle of wit and flirtation. It was different now—lighter, without the sharp edges of past arguments. Now, it was all charged energy and lingering glances, and the way his knee brushed against yours under the table didn't feel like an accident.

And when he reached across the table, fingers lightly grazing yours as he stole a bite from your plate with a smirk, you knew—this wasn’t just a date. This was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.

After dessert—because of course Spencer had insisted you try something he’d read glowing reviews about—the two of you lingered at the table, neither in a hurry to leave. The hum of conversation around you faded into the background as Spencer traced a finger along the rim of his glass, his gaze steady on you.

"I think this proves I know what I’m doing," he mused, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Because you picked a great restaurant? You get credit, but I’m not convinced just yet."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Not convinced?"

"Mhm. I’ll need further evidence before I declare this a success."

Spencer hummed, setting his glass down. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, won’t I?"

The weight of his words hung between you, something unspoken but understood. Your heartbeat quickened slightly as you held his gaze, the air thick with the kind of tension that neither of you wanted to break.

Eventually, Spencer signalled for the bill, and before you could protest, he was already placing his card down, offering you a look that dared you to argue. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Fine. But only because I fully intend to make you earn it."

He chuckled, pocketing his receipt. "Noted. And what exactly am I earning?"

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to consider. "Oh, I don’t know… maybe a goodnight kiss. But only if you really impress me."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, now I have even more incentive to make sure the night goes perfectly."

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the quiet hum of the city settling around you. Spencer hesitated for a moment before slipping his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the car. The touch was light, but it sent warmth curling through you.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked as he once again opened the car door for you.

You met his gaze, a slow smile tugging at your lips. "I did."

Spencer’s expression softened slightly before he cleared his throat, a flicker of something—relief?—crossing his face. "Good. Because the night’s not over yet."

You settled into your seat, curiosity sparking in your chest. "Oh?"

He rounded the car and slid in beside you, starting the engine with an easy confidence. "I have one more surprise for you."

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t question it. Instead, you let anticipation settle over you as the city lights blurred past once more.

Wherever he was taking you next, you had a feeling he was about to exceed expectations.

As the car rolled through the quiet streets, the city lights flickered against the windows, casting a soft glow over the interior. Spencer’s hand rested casually on the wheel, his eyes flicking to you every so often, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The air between you was charged, each second stretching out just a little longer, filled with a quiet anticipation neither of you quite acknowledged.

The car slowed as it turned onto a smaller street, and then, just ahead, the silhouette of the planetarium rose against the darkened sky. You couldn’t help the surprised gasp that slipped from your lips, your eyes widening as you took it in. It wasn’t like you’d ever been here before, but something about the way it stood against the night, so unassuming but regal, made your pulse quicken.

"You’re kidding," you murmured, half in disbelief.

Spencer didn’t answer immediately, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he guided the car into a parking spot. "Thought you might like it."

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You really know how to surprise a girl."

He was already out of his seat before you had a chance to reach for the door handle.

A soft click, and the door swung open. Spencer stood there, offering his hand, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over his features. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his lips quirked into something small, something knowing.

"I try," he said, his voice low.

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you followed him to the building. There was a quiet elegance to the way he moved, like he was completely at ease. It made you feel a little out of place, and yet, strangely at home all at once.

The planetarium loomed ahead, silent and waiting. But the moment you stepped inside, it became clear—this wasn’t an ordinary visit.

The space was empty. The hush of the planetarium settled over you like a veil, amplifying the quiet click of the theatre doors closing behind you. Spencer’s hand hovered just at the small of your back—not quite touching, but guiding, a barely-there reminder of how close he was. The air felt heavier, charged, as realization settled in.

He’d arranged this. A private showing.

Your gaze flicked to him, but Spencer only watched you, his expression unreadable at first—then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that same knowing glint in his eyes.

Without a word, Spencer stepped ahead slightly and gestured toward one of the plush reclining seats in the centre of the theatre. His touch, light but deliberate, skimmed over the curve of your waist as he guided you toward it. You felt the warmth of his hand even through the fabric of your clothes, the barely-there pressure sending a quiet thrill up your spine.

With a quiet certainty, Spencer extended a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against yours before he guided you toward one of the plush reclining seats. "Here," he murmured, his voice low, rich. "Let me help you." His touch was gentle yet assured, the quiet insistence of a gentleman as he waited for you to settle. "Get comfortable."

You settled into the seat, and only once you were in place did Spencer take the one beside you. The moment stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Then, with a subtle movement, the lights dimmed further, and the vast dome overhead came to life with an endless sea of stars.

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something softer, something meant just for you. "Cassiopeia was placed in the heavens as punishment for her vanity. The gods ensured she would spend eternity upside down for daring to claim she was more beautiful than the Nereids." His fingers twitched slightly as he gestured upward, his other hand resting casually on the armrest between you—close, but not quite touching.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the way his features softened in the faint glow. He was in his element here, effortlessly charming in a way that sent warmth curling low in your stomach.

You should’ve been looking at the constellations. Instead, you found yourself watching him.

And he—he was looking at you.

Not just glancing—watching, as if he were committing every detail to memory. The glow of the stars reflected in his eyes, but it wasn’t the projection above that had him spellbound. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach out, but he caught himself, curling his hand into a loose fist against his thigh.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and reverent.

"That’s Cygnus," he murmured, gesturing toward the delicate stretch of stars above. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it wrapped around you, steady and certain. "The swan. Some say it’s Orpheus, transformed after death, placed in the sky so he could sing forever."

His gaze flickered toward the constellation, but only briefly—almost like he had to remind himself to look away from you.

He led you through the stories slowly, each word carrying the weight of something ancient, something untouchable. But there was something else beneath his voice—a quiet disbelief, a reverence not for the myths themselves, but for the moment. For the fact that he was here, with you, in this quiet, suspended space where time didn’t seem to exist.

His hand brushed yours, the barest whisper of warmth. Not an accident. Not this time.

His voice softened, something unreadable crossing his features.

"Andromeda and Perseus."

You swallowed, pulse thrumming at your throat.

He didn’t look away this time.

"She was chained to the rocks, waiting to die," he murmured. "Punished for something she had no part in. But Perseus… he didn’t just save her. He freed her. He fought for her."

A slow breath, like he was steadying himself. His fingers traced lightly over the back of your hand, reverent.

"And they weren’t just a fleeting love story. They lived—together, side by side. A full life. A whole life."

The stars spun slowly overhead, but Spencer wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. Like if he reached for you, he might wake up and find himself alone.

His thumb swept over your knuckles, a barely-there touch, and you felt the weight of it everywhere.

"They’re still up there," he whispered. "Not because they died… but because they lived."

You exhaled shakily, and his gaze flicked to your lips before he caught himself, looking away too quickly. But his fingers didn’t leave yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The stars above carried on, spinning silently, but everything else felt still.

You turned your gaze back to the constellations, feeling the weight of his attention linger. When you glanced at him again, you caught it—the wonderment in his eyes, the softness that wasn’t there before. He looked at you like you were part of the sky itself, like the stars had descended just to rest in your gaze. He smiled faintly, almost to himself.

"I never thought I'd be here like this with you," he said, his voice quiet but sure. "But I'm glad I am." His gaze swept over your face, lingering. "It’s funny… the stars are beautiful, but I think the way your eyes glow when you look at them is even more breathtaking."

Your breath caught, a slow, simmering warmth stirring beneath his words, and you found you couldn’t quite look away. There was a tenderness to the way he watched you, something fragile and breathtaking.

He continued to speak, his voice a soft, lulling cadence as he named constellations and traced their stories. You listened, letting the sound of his words settle over you like a hush, each name and myth feeling like a secret shared only with you. You didn’t catch every detail—some part of you too lost in the moment, in him—but it didn’t matter. His voice, the low murmur of it, was enough.

It felt like the kind of moment you’d tuck away and carry with you, a quiet kind of magic. Something romantic, though neither of you said it aloud. You wondered if he felt it too—the pull between you, as vast and inevitable as the stars overhead.

As you both stepped out of the planetarium, the night air hit you with a coolness that contrasted with the warmth you felt lingering from the show. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but none of them seemed to shine quite as brightly as the moment you just shared. It was like the world had softened, everything taking on a golden hue, a quiet, glowing magic you couldn’t quite explain.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but in that moment, you wanted him. You didn’t need words. Without thinking, you turned to face Spencer, the space between you feeling too wide for comfort.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, the weight of everything unsaid between you settling in the air. You took a step closer, your hand finding the curve of his jaw, gently pulling him down to meet you.

The kiss was immediate, natural, as if you’d been doing this for years instead of the few stolen moments you’d shared together. It was warm, urgent, full of the tension that had been simmering under the surface ever since the first touch. His lips were soft against yours, but it didn’t take long before they turned hungry, deepening as he pulled you in closer. The kiss felt almost desperate, like the world around you had faded, leaving only the two of you in a shared, fiery space.

Spencer’s hand slid from your waist, moving to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair and holding you steady. You gasped into the kiss as his other hand drifted lower, sliding slowly down the outside of your thigh. The heat of his palm against your bare skin was a shock to your senses, sending a shiver through you. Without thinking, your hand moved to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your touch.

You deepened the kiss, pressing yourself against him, and his hand shifted lower still, settling on the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The contact sent a rush of heat through you, a delicious pressure that made you want more, need more.

He broke the kiss with a soft gasp, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. His chest heaved, just as yours did, both of you still struggling to catch your breath.

“God, you’re killing me,” Spencer muttered, his voice rough and low, and you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or desire lacing his words.

You felt the same, your body still thrumming from the kiss, from the touch. You wanted to keep going, to let the moment drag on forever, but you couldn’t ignore the pull of the car and the inevitable drive back.

“Let’s get in the car,” he said, voice almost a command, but his fingers lingered on your skin as if reluctant to let go.

You nodded, but before you could turn to walk to the car, Spencer’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you back to him in one smooth motion. His lips crashed against yours again, even more demanding this time, the kiss melting all your restraint away. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as you felt the intensity of the moment rise again. There was no slowing down, no pulling back now.

When he finally broke the kiss, you both stood there, breathless, for a beat longer than necessary. Spencer’s hand lingered at the small of your back, the heat from his touch igniting a fire deep inside you.

Without another word, he helped you into the car, the cool leather seat seeming impossibly colder after the heat between you two. He slid in beside you, the space between you still charged with that same electric tension.

As he drove, his fingers brushed over your knee absentmindedly, the touch light but deliberate. Your body hummed with the aftermath of the kiss, every inch of you still alive with the sensations he caused. The drive felt like it took forever, the quiet of the night outside only making the distance between you seem larger than it really was. Every so often, you could feel his gaze flicker to you, dark and intent.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of your heart. The air in the car was thick with the promise of something more, something neither of you had ever admitted out loud. And so, without a word, you let your legs fall open just a fraction more, the leather seat cool against your skin. Your skirt, a dark whisper of fabric, slid up your thighs, revealing the softness beneath.

Spencer’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze catching on the newly exposed flesh. His hand paused on your knee for a second before it began to trace upward, the slow, deliberate movement of a man who knew exactly what he was doing—what he wanted. The heat of his fingertips was like a brand against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt your breath catch as his hand slid up your thigh, the fabric of your skirt whispering against your skin as it slid higher.

The sensation was exquisite, sending shivers through your body. You bit your bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud, your eyes slipping closed for a moment. The sound of the car’s engine was a low thrum in the background, the only noise in the otherwise silent vehicle.

Spencer’s hand continued its ascent, his fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of your panties. The anticipation was a coil in your stomach, tightening with every inch his hand travelled. You felt yourself lean into the touch, your body craving more.

With a gentle pressure, he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the damp heat of your folds. You held your breath as he touched you, the first contact of his skin against yours making you shiver. His ring finger traced the length of your slit, the pad of it finding your clit and making you gasp. He took the sound as a cue to press down, his touch feather-light but firm enough to elicit a reaction.

Your hand found its way to his thigh, gripping tightly as he began to rub in slow, steady circles. The sensation was almost unbearable, a sweet agony that made you arch into his touch. You could feel his eyes on you, watching the play of emotions across your face as you struggled not to let the moan building in your chest escape.

With a sudden urgency, Spencer’s fingers slid inside you, filling you up in a way that made your eyes roll back. He groaned at the wetness that greeted him, his movements matching the rhythm of his thumb now on your clit. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep your voice down as the pleasure built, your body tightening with every stroke.

Your hips rocked against his hand, a silent plea for more. His touch was firm and sure, the pads of his fingers finding every spot that made you shiver and moan. It was like he’d studied you, knew every inch of your body, every secret that made you fall apart. You couldn’t believe this was happening—that you were here, with him, and that he was touching you like this.

The sound of your breathing filled the car, each gasp and whimper echoing off the windows, a stark contrast to the quiet night outside. Spencer’s eyes remained on the road, his focus unwavering despite the distraction of his hand between your legs. It was a testament to his control, a promise of what was to come.

His fingers danced inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that was both maddening and exhilarating. Every movement was calculated, designed to build the tension that coiled low in your belly. You felt yourself growing wetter, the slickness of your arousal making your skin stick to the cool leather of the seat. It was a delicious kind of discomfort, a reminder of the need building between your thighs.

You squirmed, the sensation of his touch growing more intense with each passing second. It didn’t matter that you were in a car, that the world was rushing by outside—all that existed was the heat of his hand, the pressure of his fingers. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. But it was useless. You were too lost, too far gone.

Before you knew it, the car had come to a stop, and Spencer’s hand was withdrawing, the loss of contact leaving you feeling cold and exposed. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, his gaze dark and hungry. He didn’t say a word as he helped you adjust your clothing, his movements gentle but firm.

You groaned at the loss of stimulation, but the ache between your legs was a sweet reminder of what was to come. Your entire body was strung tight with anticipation, your breaths coming in short, shallow pants. You knew you were close to getting what you really wanted—what you both wanted.

Spencer simply said "patience," his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He gave you one last lingering look, a silent promise of more before getting out of the car. You watched him move with that same fluid grace you'd seen in the planetarium, the moonlight casting his features shadows. He was like a statue come to life, all muscles and angles, and your body responded to the sight of him, the ache between your legs growing.

When he opened your door and offered his hand to help you out, you couldn’t help but feel like you were in some kind of dream—a steamy, erotic fantasy where the intellectual banter turned into something far more primal and consuming. You took his hand, letting him guide you out of the car. His grip was firm, grounding, a contrast to the tremble in your own legs. The cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire he’d stoked within you.

Spencer didn’t say anything as he led you to your front door, his hand still holding on to yours. The moment the door was open, you didn’t bother with the lights. The moon was enough to guide you through the darkness, casting everything in a soft, seductive glow.

Without hesitation you boldly shimmied out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet. The chilly air kissed your skin as you stepped out of the fabric, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You didn’t bother looking back—you knew Spencer was watching, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. You felt his gaze like a physical touch, sending goosebumps skittering down your spine.

You sauntered away, your hips swaying with an unspoken challenge. The moon’s soft light traced your figure, casting a silver glow on your skin, making you look like a goddess of the night. Your bra and panties were the only barriers between you and his hungry eyes, and you knew it was driving him wild.

As you entered the bedroom, you felt his gaze on you like a physical caress. The room was bathed in the soft luminescence of the moon. You turned to face him, your heart racing as he followed you in, his eyes dark with desire. The anticipation was a thrum in the air, a palpable force that made your skin tingle.

And then, he strode over, closing the distance between you in a single purposeful step. His hand cupped the back of your neck, and before you could even catch your breath, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as it was gentle. His tongue slid against yours, a dance of passion and need that seemed to go on forever, the heat of his body enveloping you as if he could absorb you into himself.

The room was a blur of shadows and moonlight, but it was Spencer that was the brightest star in your universe. His touch was everywhere—his hands roaming over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, his mouth a brand against yours that you felt in every fibre of your being. You melted into his embrace, letting the sensations wash over you like a warm wave, pulling you deeper into the moment.

He tugged at your bra, and it fell away, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He paused, his eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you shiver, before he bent to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing until you moaned. His hands were everywhere—his fingers tracing the lines of your ribs, the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips. He seemed to be memorizing you, learning every inch of your body like it was a sacred text.

And you, you couldn’t get enough. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, down his back, feeling the taut muscles that shifted and flexed under your touch. You wanted to devour him, to feel him against you in every way possible. His own clothes came off with the same urgency.

With a growl, Spencer pushed you onto the bed, his body covering yours. The mattress dipped under the weight of you both, the fabric cool and soft against your skin. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, nipping and kissing a trail that made you arch your back and gasp.

He slid your panties off, revealing your wetness to the air. His eyes flashed with hunger before his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing the edges of your folds, teasing your clit with feather-light flicks that had you writhing beneath him. You gripped the sheets, trying to hold on to something as the world spun away. His mouth felt like heaven, his touch like the answer to every unspoken prayer.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick with lust. You could feel the vibration of his words against your sensitive flesh, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that was insatiable. You bucked against his face, your hips moving in a silent plea for more.

The bed rocked as he settled between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and lapping, driving you closer to the edge with each pass. You could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every touch, every kiss. You were so close, so close to the precipice that you could almost taste it.

"I'm so close. If you stop this time," you breathed out, your voice low and filled with humour, "I'm going to kill you."

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with mirth as he took in your flushed cheeks and the desperation in your voice. He knew you weren’t being serious—not really—but the playful threat in your words only served to make him more determined. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your wet skin, and whispered, “Oh, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

With that, he went back to his task with renewed vigour, his tongue swirling and dipping, his lips sucking gently. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your body bowing under the onslaught of pleasure. You gripped the sheets harder, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to push him away, to drag him closer, to do anything to make the feeling last forever.

And then, when the moment was right, Spencer slid his fingers into you, aiming straight for your G-spot. You gasped at the suddenness of it, your body jolting as he hit the spot with unerring precision. The sensation was like a spark that ignited a fuse, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you.

You could no longer hold back the whines and moans that had been building in your throat. They spilled out into the night, a symphony of need that seemed to resonate through the very air around you. His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing you higher and higher until you felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces.

The climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you trembling. Your body tightened around his fingers, your muscles clenching as the orgasm washed over you. You could feel your juices coating his skin, and the thought only served to make the sensation more intense.

As the last spasms of pleasure receded, Spencer pulled back, his eyes shining with victory and something else—admiration, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. But the look on his face was one of pure reverence, as if you were some kind of goddess that had just allowed him a taste of heaven.

You watched him, panting and flushed, as he moved over you. His skin was slick with sweat, the moonlight playing across the planes of his chest, casting him in an ethereal glow. For a moment, he just hovered above you, his breaths heavy, his eyes locked on yours. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a soft rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth.

"You’re not just beautiful… you’re celestial. Like you were born from the night sky itself."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Spencer’s eyes searched yours. His pupils were wide, dark pools that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe—and for a moment, you felt like you were drowning in them. The room spun around you, the only constant the steady beat of your heart and the heat of his gaze.

And then, he was moving again, his body sliding against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You felt the tip of his erection nudge against your entrance, and it was all you could do not to beg for more. But you didn’t have to—Spencer knew exactly what you needed. With one swift thrust, he filled you completely, the sensation of him inside you making your eyes roll back in your head.

He paused for a moment, giving you a chance to adjust, to breathe. You felt him, thick and hard, stretching you in a way that was both exquisite and overwhelming. You could feel the veins of his cock pulsing against the walls of your pussy, and the sensation was almost too much to handle. But you didn’t want it to stop—you never wanted it to stop.

You reached up and placed a hand on the back of his neck, guiding his mouth to yours in a silent plea for more. Spencer didn’t need any encouragement. His lips claimed yours with a fiery passion that left you gasping, his tongue delving deep as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that had you rising to meet him.

The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before—like your entire world had been reduced to the point where you were joined. The bed groaned in protest under the force of your movements, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady, insistent beat that matched the pounding of your heart. You could feel yourself building again, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass—guiding you, urging you closer to that sweet oblivion that beckoned. His thrusts grew more demanding, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered sweet nothings that seemed to carry the weight of the universe.

You felt yourself begin to climb again, the sensation of him inside you more intense than ever. His strokes grew longer, his rhythm unrelenting, each movement bringing you closer to that precipice you’d been teetering on. You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity that crackled between your bodies. It was like you were made for this—for each other—like every moment of your life had led to this perfect storm of passion.

You watched as his cock slid in and out of you, the slickness of your desire making his skin glisten in the moonlight. The sight was almost too much, your eyes going wide as you took in every inch of him, his length, his girth, the way he filled you so completely. Your inner muscles clenched around him, a silent invitation for him to go deeper, to never stop.

Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, making your toes curl and your back arch. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were here, with Spencer, feeling this connection that seemed to transcend the physical. His eyes never left yours, his gaze intense and focused, as if he was trying to see into the very depths of your soul.

The rhythm grew faster, the sounds of your skin slapping against his and the wet noises of your union filling the room. Spencer’s breathing grew ragged, his face a picture of pure concentration as he watched you climb towards your peak. His thumb found your clit again, playing with it in a way that had your eyes rolling back in your head, stars exploding behind your closed lids.

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” he demanded, his voice a gruff whisper. It was a command, but also a question, a need for you to put into words the symphony of sensations that played through your body with each stroke of his cock.

You obeyed, your voice a breathless pant as you whispered, “Good isn’t enough, Spencer. You make me feel alive. Like every nerve in my body is on fire, like I’m floating on air and drowning in pleasure all at once.” Each word was a confession, a revelation of how deeply he affected you.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before snapping open again, his gaze locked on yours as if he was afraid to miss a single second of this shared moment. His hips sped up, his strokes growing more insistent, more demanding. His thumb circled your clit, pressing harder, faster, and you felt your orgasm building once more, like a crescendo that you couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me,” he said again, his voice low and commanding, his eyes searching yours. “I want to hear it. I need to know how good it feels when I’m inside you, making you come apart around me.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body trembling with the effort of holding back the words. But you knew he needed to hear them, needed to know that he was the one who did this to you. So you spoke, your voice raw with passion.

"You feel so deep, so perfect, like you’re claiming every part of me. Like you own me." Your voice broke on a gasp as you clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders. "I don’t ever want you to stop. I don’t think I could survive it."

His response was a feral groan, his hips bucking harder, driving into you with an urgency that spoke of a hunger that could never truly be sated. Your breaths grew shorter, your body tightening around him like a vise. The pressure grew, the tension coiling like a spring about to snap.

And then, with a few desperate thrusts, you were there falling over the edge, screaming out his name as your orgasm crashed over you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before—a white-hot explosion that sent waves of pleasure through your body, leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

But Spencer wasn’t finished. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed almost feral as he looked down at you, his hips still moving with a purpose that was unmistakable. You could feel his cock pulse inside you, feel his own release building with each stroke. And in that moment, all you wanted was for him to let go, for him to fill you up with everything he had to give.

In a pleasure-drunk haze, you whispered the words that had been dancing on the tip of your tongue. “Cum in me, Spencer. I need it. I need all of you, please… fill me up." Your voice was a needy whine, raw with desperation.

Hearing your plea, Spencer’s control snapped. He growled, the sound primal and possessive, and his hips began to piston into you, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his cock swell even more inside you, the pressure building until it was almost too much to bear.

And then, with a final roar of pleasure, he did as you asked—his seed spilling into you in hot, thick spurts that filled you completely. The feeling was overwhelming, a rush of heat and fullness that seemed to go on forever. Your muscles clenched around him, milking every drop as if trying to hold onto him for as long as possible.

As your bodies stilled, Spencer collapsed onto you, his breaths coming in heaving gasps, his heart racing against your chest. You could feel his weight, the reassuring warmth of his body, the sticky sweat that melded your skin together. For a moment, you just lay there, panting and trembling, basking in the aftermath of what had just transpired.

Then, with a gentle smile, Spencer rolled off of you, taking care not to break the connection entirely. He pulled you into his arms, your legs tangling together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to find your bearings. The room was silent, save for the distant sound of a car passing by outside, the occasional creak of the bed, and the steady beat of your hearts.

You looked up at him, his face a canvas of pleasure and contentment. The moon had shifted slightly, casting a new pattern of shadows across his skin. You traced one with your finger, watching as it danced over the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch, a purr of satisfaction rumbling in his throat.

“That was…” he started, his voice gravelly with the aftermath of passion.

You smiled softly, finishing for him, "Incredible."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, his eyes glimmering as they met yours. "Yeah. That’s one word for it."

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but intimate, filled with quiet understanding. You lay there, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His hand drifted along your back, fingertips tracing your spine with a delicate touch.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You nodded, a small hum of affirmation. "Better than okay."

His hand paused, cradling the back of your head as if he could hold you together with just his touch. "Good. I just… I want this to be good for you. For us."

"It is," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "It is."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his lips warm against your skin. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "You should use the bathroom," he said gently, his concern evident. "Just to be safe."

You smiled at the thoughtfulness, brushing your fingers over his arm. "You're right. I'll be right back."

As you slipped out of bed, Spencer watched you go with a fondness that warmed the air between you. He rose as well, pulling on his boxers and heading into the kitchen. By the time you returned, he had two glasses of water waiting on the nightstand.

"Figured you'd be thirsty," he said, offering you one with a soft smile.

You accepted it gratefully, taking a long sip before setting it down. "You're too good to me."

He chuckled, climbing back into bed and pulling you close once more. "Just looking out for you."

You settled into his embrace, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Tonight was… amazing. Not just this, but the whole night. The date, the way you made me feel. It was easy with you. Natural."

Spencer’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles on your back. "I wanted it to be that way. I wanted you to feel… comfortable. Wanted. Because you are."

Your fingers found his, intertwining them. "You make me feel… like I don't have to try so hard. Like I'm enough."

He squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur against your hair. "You are. You always are."

There was a pause, a quiet stretch of time where neither of you moved. Then, without words, he pulled the blanket over the two of you, tucking it around your bodies. His arms stayed tight around you, and you nestled closer, finding solace in the solid line of his body.

The exhaustion crept in slowly, your limbs heavy, your thoughts hazy but content. Spencer’s fingers stroked through your hair, slow and soothing, lulling you toward sleep.

"Sleep," he whispered. "I've got you."

And you did, sinking into the warmth of him, letting the world fade away until there was nothing but the steady beat of his heart and the soft rhythm of his breath.

Morning light crept gently into the room, casting soft shadows across the bed. Spencer stirred first, eyes blinking open to the sight of you still sleeping beside him. Your features were relaxed, lips slightly parted, hair splayed across the pillow in soft waves. A quiet contentment settled over him. He wanted to keep this moment, to hold onto it, but even more than that, he wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Sweet.

Breakfast in bed.

Carefully, he slid out from under the blanket, moving with slow precision to avoid waking you. He paused by the doorway, taking one last look at you before stepping into the kitchen, determination settling in his chest. How hard could it be?

Turns out, harder than expected.

He started with coffee, thinking it safe. Only, the machine sputtered oddly, refusing to brew as smoothly as it should. He frowned, poking at it like that might encourage better performance. When the coffee finally dripped through, it was weaker than expected but passable. He’d just… add more sugar. That would fix it, right?

The eggs were next. Spencer cracked the first one with too much force, half of it splattering onto the counter. He muttered under his breath, cleaning it up quickly before trying again. The second egg cracked better, though some shell slipped into the bowl. He tried fishing it out with his fingers but only made it worse, the slippery bit of shell evading him like a taunt.

"Okay," he murmured, squinting in concentration. He reached for a spoon, finally prying the shell free with a triumphant huff. The small victory felt satisfying—until he realized he’d already let the pan heat too long. The butter burned in an angry sizzle, smoke curling up as if mocking him. He rushed to toss it, opening the window to wave the smoke out.

"Great start," he muttered.

The toast was another misadventure. He set it to medium, turned his back for half a second, and it came out more charred than crisp. He hesitated, then decided maybe if he just scraped off the blackened bits, it would be fine. Rustic. That sounded right. Rustic.

By the time he was done, the kitchen looked like a minor war zone. Eggshells littered the counter, the faint smell of smoke lingered, and the toast… well, it wasn’t black anymore, but it wasn’t exactly golden either. The coffee looked questionable, the eggs a little overcooked. Still, he plated it carefully, determined to follow through.

He placed everything on a tray, hesitating only a moment before grabbing a single flower from the vase on your table. A nice touch, he thought. Maybe it would distract from everything else.

When he returned to the bedroom, you were already stirring, eyes fluttering open as you turned towards him. Your gaze softened, sleep still lingering in your expression.

Spencer smiled, though it was tinged with nerves. "Good morning," he greeted, placing the tray gently on the nightstand. "I… thought I’d surprise you with breakfast."

You blinked at the tray, then back at him. Your lips twitched, though you held it back admirably.

"This is… such a sweet surprise," you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling at your waist. "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he said quickly. "I thought… well, after last night, you deserved something nice. Even if I’m not exactly a chef." He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "And the coffee might be a little weak. The toast is, um, rustic. And the eggs are… edible?"

You let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and affectionate. "It’s perfect," you said, though your smile gave you away.

"You’re a terrible liar," Spencer chuckled, but his eyes were fond. "But I appreciate it."

You reached for the coffee first, taking a cautious sip. Your expression twitched, but you swallowed it without complaint. Then you picked up the toast, eyeing it as though it might crumble into dust with one wrong move.

"It’s definitely… crunchy," you said, and the laugh that followed was free and bright.

Spencer groaned but grinned, rubbing a hand down his face. "I swear, my brain is good for a lot of things. Cooking just isn’t one of them."

"You get points for effort," you teased, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "And honestly? The thought means more than perfect eggs."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "I’ll take you out for real breakfast later. Something with less… burnt bread."

"Deal." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "But this is still my favourite breakfast so far."

He tilted his head, catching your lips with his. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that lingered, tasting of morning and promise. When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s eyes searched yours, like he was memorizing the moment.

"Next time, I'll just bring you coffee," he murmured, though his smile was playful.

"As long as you’re the one bringing it," you said, settling back into the pillows. "It’ll be perfect."

Spencer settled back against the pillows, his arm curling around you like it belonged there. His skin was warm, his body solid as you pressed close, letting the sheets drape loosely over you. His fingertips traced slow, lazy patterns along your spine, the kind of touch that wasn’t in a hurry to be anything but soft and steady.

You pressed your face into the curve of his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “You didn’t have to try so hard,” you said, voice low, lazy.

“I wanted to,” he murmured, his breath brushing over your hair. His fingers traced up, slow and thoughtful, until they skimmed along the back of your neck. “For you.”

The way he said it made warmth bloom low in your chest. You tilted your head, lifting your gaze to his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes lingered on you—your mouth, your cheek, the soft curve of your shoulder. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, light but certain.

You leaned in, and his lips met yours like it was inevitable.

It started soft, slow, but it didn’t stay that way. His mouth opened against yours, his hand sliding into your hair, fingers tangling and tugging, angling your head the way he wanted. You sighed into him, your hand sliding along his side, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He kissed you deeper, slower, like he had nowhere else to be. Like there was nothing better than this. His hand traced down, fingertips brushing over your back, down to the curve of your waist. He pulled you closer until there wasn’t space for anything but the steady heat of him, his body solid, his breath quickening.

You shifted, your leg sliding over his, tangling close. His hands found your hips, fingers splaying, holding you there, keeping you pressed to him. His mouth never left yours, deep and wanting but never rushed. His tongue traced over yours, slow and certain, tasting, lingering like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

Your hands roamed, exploring the lines of him, fingertips skating over his ribs, his shoulders, the soft dip of his spine. Every brush of skin made him press closer, his breath catching, his hands smoothing up your back, tracing along your sides. His touch was slow but certain, like he wanted to feel every inch of you.

The sheets tangled around you, warm and soft, but it was his hands, his mouth, his body that held you there. Time stretched out, long and slow, the kind of time that didn’t feel real. You kissed until your lips were sore, until you were breathless, caught between sighs and quiet laughter, until the line between one kiss and the next blurred into something endless.

Every shift, every brush of fingertips, every quiet hum felt easy. Unhurried. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head just right so his mouth could find yours again. And when his lips dragged lower, brushing along your jaw, down the curve of your throat, you sighed, arching into him.

He hummed, low and pleased, his mouth lingering against your skin, soft and warm. You curled closer, fingers tracing the slope of his back, slow and content.

It wasn’t about urgency. It wasn’t about needing anything more than this. It was about closeness, about the feel of his skin beneath your hands, his mouth on yours, the warmth of his breath, the steady comfort of his touch.

And you stayed like that, tangled up in each other, kissing and touching, letting the world outside fall away.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. You didn’t care.

Eventually, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm and uneven, his eyes half-lidded, lazy. His thumb brushed along your cheek, slow and sweet.

“I could stay here forever,” he said, voice rough but soft.

You smiled, fingers tracing lightly along his shoulder. “Me too.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. But then your stomach growled—quiet but impossible to ignore and it made you both laugh, warm and breathless.

Spencer shifted back slightly, his hand smoothing down your side. “I still owe you breakfast,” he said, his tone wry. “Or… brunch, I guess, by now. I feel bad about earlier.”

You hummed, trailing your fingers down his arm. “You don’t have to make up for anything. I’m happy right here.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his fingers along your side, slow and thoughtful. “But I want to. I want to bring you something good.”

You gave him a lazy, teasing smile. “And if I said I’d rather keep you here?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Then I’d say I’ll be back fast. But you deserve a real meal, and I want to be the one to bring it to you.” His gaze softened. “Then we can crawl back under the covers and have a lazy day in bed.”

You exhaled, the idea settling in warm. “Alright,” you said. “But you better hurry.”

“I will.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. “Promise.”

You watched him as he slid from the bed, the sheets falling away, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He stretched, slow and lazy, the muscles of his back flexing beneath skin as he reached for his clothes.

He dressed without hurry, his gaze flicking to you as he tugged his shirt over his head. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

You smiled, sinking deeper beneath the blanket. “I won’t.”

And when he crossed the room, leaning in to press one last kiss to your forehead, it lingered soft and certain, like a promise.

“I won’t be long,” he said, his fingers brushing one last time along your arm.

You watched him go, the door clicking softly behind him, and the room felt quieter but still warm. Still full of him.

You stretched beneath the sheets, your body humming with the comfort of him, and let yourself sink into the warmth he’d left behind, knowing he’d return soon with food, with more of this. With more of him.

The café was quiet when Spencer stepped inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread. The warmth was a sharp contrast to the chill outside, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the haze that had settled over him since leaving your place.

He kept thinking about how you’d looked when he slipped out tangled in the sheets, hair mussed, skin still warm from his touch. He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the weight of your body pressed to his. It lingered, soft and heady.

It didn’t feel real.

He kept thinking about last night, about the way you’d smiled over dinner, the quiet way you’d leaned into him at the planetarium like you belonged there, like you belonged with him. He’d memorized the way the soft glow of the stars lit your skin, how your eyes had caught the light when you looked at him. How you’d kissed him like you meant it. Like you wanted more.

He ordered quickly—pastries, something warm and sweet, and coffee that smelled rich and strong. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a gesture. Like something he could give you, small but thoughtful. He wanted to bring you something good. Something easy.

Walking back, he wondered if you were still curled up in bed, if you’d fallen asleep again. He liked the thought of that. Liked the idea of coming back to you warm and drowsy, your body soft beneath the sheets, your voice low with sleep.

He just liked coming back to you.

By the time he let himself back in, the apartment was quiet. He closed the door softly, toeing off his shoes, and carried the food inside. The bedroom door was ajar, and he caught a glimpse of you inside curled beneath the blankets, now wearing a tank top and panties, your hair falling loose over your shoulder. You were stretched out in the soft glow of morning, looking comfortable and warm, and for a second, Spencer just stood there. Watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

You looked up when he stepped in, your eyes soft with sleep, and gave him a smile that made something in his chest pull tight.

“Told you I’d be quick,” he said, keeping his voice low.

You stretched beneath the covers, slow and lazy. “You were.”

He set the bag down, unpacking the food as you pushed yourself up. The sheets slipped down your body, exposing more bare skin, and he tried not to stare. Tried.

“I got pastries,” he said, passing one to you. “And coffee. I thought—well, I hoped it would be good enough.”

You took it with a soft smile, fingers brushing his. “It’s perfect.”

Spencer sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He watched you take a bite, the way your eyes fluttered shut at the taste, and smiled to himself.

It felt easy after that. You sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing food and quiet conversation, trading bites and soft laughs. Crumbs scattered across the sheets, but neither of you cared. His fingers brushed yours more than they needed to. He let them linger, tracing over your knuckles, your wrist, the curve of your thigh beneath the blanket.

And when you were both full, when the food was forgotten and the coffee cooled on the nightstand, you stayed close. Spencer stayed close.

The afternoon passed in quiet, easy conversation. You stayed in bed, letting the hours stretch long and unhurried. There was no rush, no need to be anywhere but here. Spencer stayed close, his leg pressed against yours beneath the blanket, his fingers brushing over your hand now and then-light, lingering, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Eventually, he shifted, leaning back against the headboard and stretching out his legs. His arm slid around your waist, fingers curling just enough to tug you gently toward him. You didn’t resist, letting him pull you in until you were settled between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

It felt natural, easy, the kind of closeness that didn’t need words. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb tracing slow, idle circles over the soft fabric of your tank top. You let your head tip back against his shoulder, and for a while, that was enough.

The conversation slowed, words giving way to the quiet comfort of being close. Spencer’s fingers drifted, tracing along your side, over your ribs, and back again. His touch wasn’t urgent, but there was a weight to it, a quiet intent that lingered beneath the surface.

Eventually, as the sky outside dimmed and the soft glow of evening settled in, Spencer's hand paused where it rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, holding on like he didn't want to let go.

"I should…" His voice trailed off, low and reluctant. "I should probably head out soon."

You tilted your head, looking up at him. "You don't have to."

He hesitated, then sighed. "I do. We have work tomorrow. And as much as I want to stay, I don't think either of us will get much sleep if I do."

It wasn’t teasing, and it wasn’t light. It was truth, weighed down with the pull of wanting to stay anyway.

You nodded, though it wasn’t what you wanted either. "Yeah. You're right."

He was quiet for a moment, his hand smoothing over your side like he was memorizing the shape of you. "Tomorrow's going to be… interesting," he said, a dry note in his voice.

You gave a small laugh. "You mean the team is going to make our lives hell?"

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Exactly that."

You shifted, turning slightly to look at him better. "We'll get through it."

"We will," he agreed, but the words were softer. Like he needed to believe them as much as you did. "But we need to be careful. We can’t… We can’t let this affect work."

You nodded, serious now. "I know. No flirting. No… this," you said, gesturing between you both. "Not while we’re on the clock."

His jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. "Right. No slipping. No mistakes."

"And no giving them anything to gossip about," you added.

He chuckled under his breath, though it lacked humor. "We already gave them enough. Tomorrow, we keep it professional. No exceptions."

You nodded again, though a part of you ached at the thought. "We’ll figure it out."

His hand lingered at your side, fingers pressing in gently like he didn’t want to let go. "We will," he said, and there was something certain in the words. Not just about work but about everything. About you and him.

When he finally stood, you followed him, padding barefoot to the door. The apartment felt smaller as he gathered his things, quieter with the evening stretching between you. You lingered close as he shrugged on his jacket, and when his hand hovered at the door, you reached for him.

He turned, his expression soft and a little sad, and you lifted onto your toes, brushing your lips to his. Slow, lingering, a kiss that said all the things you couldn’t tomorrow. The kind that made him hum low in his chest, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, fingers sliding into your hair.

You pulled back first, but only by a breath. "Goodnight," you said, your voice quieter now.

His thumb traced along your jaw. "Goodnight."

He hesitated, but then he stepped back, opening the door and slipping out with one last look. One that lingered like his touch, warm and slow, even after the door clicked shut.

You stood there for a moment, fingers pressed to your lips, holding onto the feel of him. Knowing tomorrow would be different. Knowing you'd have to act like this didn’t happen.

But it did. And you'd both figure it out. Together.

The night stretched quiet after Spencer left, but his absence lingered. You moved through the motions of evening—tidying up, brushing your teeth, slipping into bed—but it all felt a little too still. A little too empty.

Your phone buzzed just as you settled under the covers.

Spencer: Sweet dreams. I’ll be thinking about you.

A smile tugged at your lips as you typed back.

You: You better not be thinking about me tomorrow. We have to be professional, remember?

The reply came quickly.

Spencer: Right. Completely professional. No thinking about you at all.

You could almost hear the sarcasm in it. Almost see the way he’d be smiling, soft and teasing.

You: Good luck with that.

A beat passed, and then,

Spencer: Goodnight.

You: Goodnight, Spencer.

You set the phone down, but it took a while for sleep to come. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, fingers brushing over the empty space beside you. It felt like something unfinished. Like something waiting.

But eventually, sleep pulled you under.

Sleep didn’t last long enough.

You moved through the morning on autopilot—shower, coffee, dressing for the day. Routine helped, steady and familiar, but there was a thread of tension underneath it all. A sense of anticipation you couldn’t shake.

You paused by the mirror, studying yourself. Trying to find that steady, composed version that wouldn’t give anything away. That could walk into work and pretend nothing had changed.

Professional. Unshakable.

You adjusted your clothes and took one last look.

This was fine. You could do this.

The drive in passed in a blur, but when the building came into view, your stomach tightened. It was easy to imagine the teasing looks, the knowing glances, the way the team would pounce at the first slip.

In the elevator, you caught your reflection in the metal doors. You smoothed your hands down your sides, pressed your shoulders back. Tried to look like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t holding onto the ghost of Spencer’s touch.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open, and you took a breath.

Steady. Calm. Professional.

You stepped out, heels clicking against the floor, and walked toward the office.

The bullpen was already humming with quiet activity when you stepped off the elevator. Garcia was perched on Derek's desk, legs crossed, a look of pure mischief lighting up her face. She wasn’t even pretending to look busy, eyes fixed on the elevator like she had been waiting just for you.

Her grin was immediate and sharp. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

You kept your expression neutral, though it was difficult with the way her gaze swept over you like she was analyzing every inch.

"Morning, Garcia."

She slid off the desk with slow grace. "Morning? Oh, I bet it is." Her voice dripped with implication. "Good weekend?"

Before you could answer, the  second elevator chimed, and Spencer stepped out. He caught sight of the group and hesitated just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Garcia's grin turned predatory.

"Speak of the devil," she said sweetly.

You watched as Spencer’s eyes flicked over the bullpen, taking in the scene, taking in you. There was a tightness to his jaw, the faintest blush colouring his cheeks, but he kept his stride steady as he crossed to his desk.

Garcia’s grin widened as she gave Spencer a slow once-over. She tilted her head, voice sweet but laced with mischief.

“You’re walking a little funny this morning, Doctor Reid.”

The words hung in the air. There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the implication to land.

Spencer froze, the colour rising sharply to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond.

Without a word, he hurried to his desk.

Garcia just smiled, looking far too pleased with herself.

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, that explains a lot."

Emily smirked, her gaze flicking between you and Spencer. "Guess all that arguing was just foreplay, huh?"

JJ, walking in with a coffee in hand, raised her brows as she caught the tail end of the exchange. "Did I miss something, or is this just Monday morning chaos?"

Morgan chuckled. "You missed the revelation of the century."

You set your bag down, refusing to let your smile slip. You didn’t plan to deny anything, but that didn’t mean you were about to serve up details either.

Garcia tilted her head, her grin unrelenting. "Come on, you’re not really gonna act like I didn’t catch you two, are you? Phones don’t just spend the night together by accident."

Morgan crossed his arms, looking smug. "Makes sense now. All that tension? All those arguments? Classic case of unresolved chemistry."

JJ grinned, her tone teasing. "Yeah, we just didn’t realize how unresolved it really was."

Emily laughed. "You know, I always thought it was going to end with one of them throwing a punch. Turns out it ended… differently."

That earned a round of laughter, and Spencer, though he kept his head down, wasn’t fooling anyone. His ears were burning red.

Garcia beamed. "Well, whatever it was, I'm glad you worked it out. This place was almost getting boring without the two of you bickering like an old married couple."

"Turns out they just needed to get it out of their system," Morgan added, grinning.

Emily shook her head with a laugh. "Or maybe they just found a better way to argue."

The laughter that followed was easy, though under it, you could feel the curiosity lingering. Questions were brewing, but before anyone could push further, Hotch's office door opened. The sound was enough to pull everyone's attention back to their desks, a momentary reprieve.

But you knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The morning passed in steady rhythm, but every so often, you felt it—Spencer’s gaze. Quick, flickering glances from across the bullpen. At first, you thought nothing of it. Habit, maybe. Or the lingering awkwardness after the weekend.

But then you caught it again. His eyes weren’t on your face.

You crossed to the filing cabinet, crouching to sift through the lower drawer. Papers shuffled under your fingers as you searched, but the weight of his gaze pressed against you, lingering. Curious. You straightened, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see Spencer quickly look away, his focus snapping back to his desk with suspicious intensity.

Strange.

You brushed it off and returned to your desk. But when you bent again—this time to reach for a file on the lower shelf—you caught it once more. A fleeting glance, sharp and quick, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted away.

You frowned slightly, puzzled. What was he looking at?

It wasn’t until you sat back and caught the way his gaze dropped—just for a second—that it clicked.

Ah.

You bit back a smile.

Leaning forward, you reached for your coffee, letting your blouse shift just enough, casual and effortless. You didn’t look at him, not yet, but you felt the shift in the air, that slight tension when someone’s trying not to stare.

And when you glanced up, there it was. His eyes, caught mid-glance, guilt flashing before he dragged them back to his desk.

Still, his blush gave him away.

You said nothing. Just smiled to yourself and turned back to your work, already thinking of how you’d make him squirm later.

Suddenly Garcia strolled into the bullpen, her heels clicking softly as she made her way to your desk. She perched on the edge, her voice low and laced with mischief. “So,” she started, eyes bright, “have a fun weekend?”

You looked up, keeping your tone light. “Relaxing. You?”

Garcia hummed, leaning in slightly. “Oh, quiet. Except for when I noticed two certain phones spending the night together. That definitely kept things interesting.”

You lifted an eyebrow, teasing. “Must’ve been a wild night for the phones.”

Emily, not even pretending to be focused on work, grinned. "Maybe the phones are dating now. Saved us all a lot of time waiting for them to catch up."

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your smile in check.

Garcia’s grin only widened as she turned back to you, her voice low and conspiratorial. “So… is it serious, or just a one-time thing for the phones?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “Guess you'll have to keep tracking to find out.”

Garcia chuckled, a sparkle in her eyes. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”

Garcia didn’t waste time. As soon as she slipped off your desk, she strolled toward Spencer’s, her steps light and casual. She leaned in just slightly, keeping her voice low but sweet.

"So," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, "was it just a fun little weekend, or should I be picking out engagement gifts?"

Spencer glanced up, his expression calm but guarded. "That’s a little fast, don’t you think?"

Garcia smiled, undeterred. "Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes things just… click. Fast and hard."

He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "I’d say it’s more complicated than that."

Garcia tilted her head, her grin widening. "Complicated is just code for interesting. And I love interesting."

Spencer gave a faint, knowing smile but said nothing more.

She lingered for a second longer, clearly waiting for something—anything—but when Spencer simply returned to his file, she straightened with a soft, playful sigh. "Fine, be mysterious. But don’t think I’m done yet."

And with that, she walked off, not quite satiated.

The teasing air didn’t go away. It hummed beneath every glance, every smirk that lingered a second too long. Every time you crossed the bullpen, there was an expectant pause, like the team was waiting for something to slip.

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, caught your eye as you passed with a file. His grin was slow, sharp. “Careful, sweetness. Don’t throw your back out carrying that—though I guess you’ve already had a good workout this weekend.”

You didn’t miss a step, just shot him a look over your shoulder. “I can handle it.”

But when you glanced at Spencer, his gaze wasn’t on the file. His eyes dipped lower, lingering for a beat too long. His jaw flexed, and he shifted in his seat, flipping a page in the file like it could cover the moment.

Emily caught it too, biting back a grin. She met your gaze and gave an exaggerated wink.

You kept walking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck.

But Spencer wasn’t doing as well. His gaze flicked up quickly, catching yours before darting away, his fingers drumming a little too fast against the desk.

Later, in the file room, you were too focused on the folder in your hands to hear the door open. Too focused to notice the soft click of it shutting.

You didn’t hear him until you felt him—until his body pressed against your back, warm and solid. His hands landed on the shelves on either side of you, caging you in.

You froze, breath hitching as the heat of him curled around you.

Then his mouth was at your ear, his breath warm, his voice low enough to be dangerous. “Why today?" The words dragged slow and rough. "Why wear something so damn tempting?”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. "Didn’t realize it was a problem."

Spencer’s laugh was quiet, low, curling at the edges. His nose skimmed the line of your jaw, a touch so light it left your skin burning. "It is," he said, the words nothing but a whisper. "Because I can’t think about anything else."

You felt his hand drift up, fingers brushing against your side, tracing the curve of your waist, so soft it could’ve been accidental—but it wasn’t. His fingertips skimmed the edge of your blouse, lingering just beneath the fabric’s hem.

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a challenge. "Maybe I wanted you distracted."

That earned a sharp inhale, but his laugh came dark and quiet. "Careful," he murmured. "You’re going to get exactly what you’re asking for."

Then, in one smooth motion, he turned you. His hands slid to your waist, firm and sure, and your back met the shelves with a quiet thud.

You barely had time to react before his body pressed close, his hand bracing beside your head. His other hand drifted along your hip, teasing, slow, fingers tracing the shape of you.

And then he was leaning in, his lips brushing close to yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. Close enough to taste the possibility.

Your breath caught, chest rising to meet his. He stayed there, hovering, letting the anticipation crackle between you.

When you tried to close the gap, just a little, his hand slid up to your jaw, holding you still. His thumb traced your cheek, soft and maddening.

"Not yet," he whispered, his lips barely ghosting yours. His eyes were dark, heavy with want. "You don’t get to have it that easy."

The words sent heat spiralling low, sharp and hot.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. "You’re cruel," you breathed.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Only when you deserve it."

And then his hand was gone, trailing down your side like a promise as he stepped back. The air felt colder without him, and your legs barely held steady beneath you.

But Spencer wasn’t unaffected. His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than before. He hesitated for half a second—like he might take it back, close the distance—but the sound of footsteps outside snapped the tension.

He turned, slipping from the room without a word.

And it wasn’t hard to notice the way his pants fit tighter than when he’d come in.

You stayed against the shelves, trying to catch your breath. Your skin still burned where he’d touched you. Your lips still tingled from the ghost of what almost was.

The afternoon stretched, slow and deliberate, each hour marked by lingering glances and barely-there touches. The teasing still hadn’t let up. Emily’s knowing looks, Morgan’s smirks, and JJ’s subtle glances over her coffee mug all pressed against the edges of your focus, reminding you of the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

Spencer tried to keep his attention on paperwork, but every time you shifted in your seat or reached for a file, his eyes flicked toward you. Quick, but not quick enough. And when you caught him, he'd glance away, his jaw tight and the tips of his ears faintly flushed.

You weren’t doing much better. Every brush of his hand when passing a folder, every moment his gaze dipped lower than it should, sparked a quiet heat beneath your skin. The tension built in the space between you—heavy and electric.

Morgan chuckled low, catching Spencer’s lingering stare. “If that’s how you look at her here, I can’t imagine how you look at her when it’s just the two of you.”

Emily didn’t miss a beat. “Bet they don’t argue nearly as much when it’s just them and locked doors.”

Morgan grinned. “Nah, I bet they argue more. Just… with less clothing.”

JJ glanced up, her smile sly. “Well, as long as they showed up to work in one piece, I guess they figured it out.”

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your face neutral, though heat prickled at the back of your neck. You didn’t dare glance at Spencer.

But you didn’t have to. His hand twitched around his pen, his shoulders stiff. He flipped a page, eyes down, like the paper could shield him. The flush along his cheeks was unmistakable, and he shifted slightly in his seat, jaw tight.

Emily leaned back, still grinning. “Come on, Reid, you’re the genius. What’s the probability of you making it through today without getting caught staring again?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t look up. “Low,” he admitted quietly.

The bullpen broke into another round of laughter, and you pressed your lips together to hide your smile. You weren’t sure if it was crueller to leave him hanging or to come to his rescue—but either way, it was definitely fun.

By the time the day edged toward its close, it felt like every second was strung tight, pulled taut with what neither of you said out loud. The office felt too small, the distance between desks too wide.

You stepped out of the break room and nearly collided with him in the hall. His shoulder brushed yours, his hand steadying you with a touch low on your back—too brief, but enough to send a jolt through you.

“Your place?” he murmured, his voice low, words skimming warm against your ear.

You didn’t turn, just glanced at him sideways, lips curving. “After work.”

He smiled, slow and sure. “I’ll bring dinner.”

And then he was gone, leaving you there with a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow and a promise hanging in the air. The rest of the day stretched endlessly, every tick of the clock a reminder of how close, and yet how far, the evening was.

When the day finally wound down, you gathered your things, pulse thrumming. Spencer wasn’t far behind, though neither of you said a word. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Morgan’s voice broke the quiet hum. “Don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. Gotta be sharp for work tomorrow.”

Spencer paused, his hand hovering over his satchel, gaze flicking up to meet yours before dropping again.

You didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be sure to send him home before curfew.”

That earned a ripple of laughter, light but sharp enough to make Spencer’s ears tint pink. He ducked his head, focusing a little too hard on his bag.

You exchanged no more words, but as you moved toward the elevator, you felt his stare, steady and warm. A glance back caught it—his eyes lingered, heavy with something unspoken.

The doors slid open, and you stepped inside. Just before they closed, Spencer caught your gaze again. A subtle tilt of his head. A silent promise.

When you finally got home, the weight of the day lingered in your bones. You kicked off your shoes, rolling your shoulders as you took in the quiet of your apartment. The teasing at work had been relentless, the stolen glances with Spencer torturous, and the slow crawl of time utterly unforgiving. Now, the waiting was finally over.

You had just settled onto the couch when a knock at the door sent a thrill through you. When you pulled it open, Spencer was standing there, slightly out of breath, brown paper bags in his hands, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder. His tie was loose, and a few strands of hair had fallen over his forehead.

“Delivery,” he said, holding up the bags.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. “You’ve never been a delivery guy in your life.”

Spencer stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “I brought food. That counts.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped aside to let him in. He made a beeline for the coffee table, setting down the food before shrugging off his bag. You followed, grabbing plates while he started unpacking the containers.

“You better not have picked something weird,” you teased, eyeing the bags suspiciously.

Spencer scoffed. “I have excellent taste.”

“You have questionable taste.”

“Only in women,” he quipped, earning a playful glare.

You settled on the couch with Spencer, the plates of Chinese food steaming between you. You talked about your workday, the teasing still fresh in your mind. Each shared story was met with laughter and the occasional eye roll, but there was a comfort in the banter that went deeper than the surface. It was easy, this back-and-forth, the way you could poke at each other’s buttons without fear of retribution.

“Speaking of, I think we may have permanently lost our credibility as professionals today.”

You snorted. “We had credibility to begin with?”

Spencer gave you a pointed look. “I did.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, if you’re so reputable, you should’ve been able to keep a straight face when Emily caught you staring at my cleavage.”

Spencer groaned, covering his face with one hand. “That was humiliating.”

“You turned red,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours.

“I panicked! There was no good way to recover from that!”

“You could’ve denied it.”

Spencer shot you a dry look. “And no one would’ve believed me. Besides, after that, there was Derek.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh god, yeah. He looked so smug when he caught you adjusting your tie like it would somehow erase the fact that you got caught drooling.”

“I wasn’t drooling,” Spencer muttered.

“Mmm,” you hummed, dragging out the sound. “That’s not what I heard.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Do you enjoy my suffering?”

You grinned. “A little.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “At least I wasn’t the only one suffering. You had Garcia and JJ tag-teaming you all day.”

You groaned, flopping back against the couch. “It was relentless. Garcia kept looking at me like she was proud—like I finally made a respectable life decision by dating you.”

Spencer smirked. “Well, I am an excellent choice.”

You shot him a look. “You’re a choice.”

His smirk widened. “A choice you chose.”

You huffed, nudging his knee with your foot. “Don’t get cocky. And JJ wasn’t any better—every time I looked at her, she was just smiling at me. Like this soft, knowing little smile. And when I asked what she was grinning about, she just shrugged and said, ‘Oh, nothing.’”

Spencer chuckled. “That’s worse than outright teasing.”

“I know!” You threw your hands up. “And then she had the audacity to say, ‘You two make sense.’”

Spencer tilted his head. “That’s kind of sweet.”

You pointed a fork at him. “It was smug and you know it.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t argue with you.”

“You never argue with me,” you shot back sarcastically, eyes twinkling.

The sarcasm goes right over his head. “Now that’s not true.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fair point. You argue with me about everything.”

His lips twitched. “Not everything.”

You arched a brow. “Okay, name one thing we haven’t argued about.”

Spencer opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. “Give me a minute.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

You nudged Spencer’s knee with your foot, smirking as you picked at your food. “You remember the sticky note war?”

Spencer groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m reminding you.”

It had started with a single correction—Spencer, unable to resist his need for precision, had scribbled an annotation onto one of your reports. You retaliated by leaving a sticky note on his desk that read, Clarification: You’re insufferable.

The next morning, you arrived to find a meticulously written response stuck to your monitor: Insubstantial claim. Please provide evidence.

And so it escalated.

Every day brought new additions. You scrawled sarcastic commentary on his files; he responded with passive-aggressive footnotes. You left him a sticky note with a simple No one likes a know-it-all. He countered with a full printout of a psychological study on passive-aggressive behaviour, highlighted and annotated just for you.

You declared war.

One evening, after everyone had left, you gathered every sticky note in the office and wallpapered Spencer’s desk. His chair, his drawers, his keyboard—everything was covered in a sea of bright squares, you wrote on as many as you could. Some were snarky 'You brought this upon yourself', some were outright taunts 'Can’t clarify your way out of this one, genius', and some were just ridiculous 'Fun fact: You're annoying'.

When Spencer walked in the next morning, he stopped in the doorway, staring in stunned silence.

You had never seen him so speechless.

As you sat together on your couch, Spencer was still shaking his head at the memory. “Do you know how long it took me to get rid of all of them?”

You grinned. “You should’ve surrendered.”

Spencer huffed. “I don’t surrender.”

“And yet, you never retaliated.”

Spencer took a slow bite of his food, eyes narrowing. “Because I knew I couldn’t win. You’re ruthless.”

You held up a finger. “Strategic.”

“Unhinged.”

You shrugged, smug. “Admit it. I won.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You may have won that battle.”

You smirked. “And the war.”

He gave you a look but didn’t argue. That was admission enough.

Spencer scooped up a bite of rice, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you nearly buried me alive in paperwork.”

You snorted. “You act like I did it on purpose.”

Spencer levelled you with a look. “You stacked those files like a reckless maniac. I barely touched one, and the whole thing came down like an avalanche.”

You smirked around a bite of food. “Maybe you should’ve had faster reflexes.”

He scoffed. “I was ambushed.”

You could still picture it perfectly. Spencer had wandered over to your desk, reaching for a file you’d worked on. But the moment he slid it free from the pile, the precariously stacked tower of paperwork had given way, cascading down on top of him in a flurry of folders and sticky notes.

You had turned just in time to see him flail, letting out a startled yelp as he was buried under the mess.

It had taken you a full thirty seconds to stop laughing before you actually helped him.

“I thought I was going to die under there,” Spencer grumbled, stabbing at his food.

You grinned. “And what a tragic way to go. Drowned in documentation.”

Spencer huffed. “And then, after all that, you had the audacity to lecture me on why my filing system is inferior.”

You shrugged. “It is.”

Spencer set his plate down, turning fully toward you. “No. It is efficient, logical, and, most importantly, does not result in near-death experiences.”

You pointed at him with your chopsticks. “My system works for me.”

“If by ‘works,’ you mean you have to dig through mountains of papers every time you need something, then sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s organized chaos.”

“It’s a safety hazard.”

You grinned. “And yet, you still went digging through my stuff.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Never again.”

Spencer tapped his fingers against his plate, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know, I still haven’t forgiven you for the pen-clicking war.”

You smirked. “Because you lost?”

His scoff was immediate. “I did not lose.”

“Oh, you definitely lost.”

It had started with the smallest complaint. Spencer had been sitting across from you in the bullpen, diligently working on something, when he suddenly exhaled sharply.

“Can you stop that?”

You looked up, feigning innocence. “Stop what?”

“The pen.” He gestured vaguely at your hand, where you had been clicking your pen absentmindedly against your notepad.

You paused—then clicked it one more time, just to test him.

Spencer’s jaw tightened. “That.”

A slow smirk stretched across your lips. “Oh, this?” Click.

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s annoying,” he said flatly.

That had been the moment you decided to make it your mission to annoy him as much as possible.

You clicked the pen relentlessly, varying the rhythm to keep him guessing. Sometimes, you’d click it twice, pause, then click it again just when he thought it was over. Other times, you’d hold it near his ear and click it absentmindedly while reading.

Spencer had lasted exactly twenty-three minutes before he retaliated.

He started talking—rambling, really—about anything and everything. The mating habits of deep-sea squid, the complete history of the Dewey Decimal System, the statistical probability of tripping while carrying a full cup of coffee.

The worst part? He was staring directly at you the entire time, waiting for your patience to crack.

It became a game.

You clicked the pen during every pause in his speech. He started filling those pauses with increasingly useless facts.

By lunchtime, Emily had thrown a crumpled napkin at both of you and declared she was going to start charging for babysitting.

Spencer sighed, shaking his head at the memory. “You never fight fair.”

You grinned. “Oh, I fight smart.”

Spencer gave you a look. “You fight dirty.”

“And yet,” you said, biting into your food, “you still lost.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath, but you caught the way his lips twitched. Even in defeat, he couldn’t help but be entertained.

Spencer pointed his fork at you, expression serious. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the peanut butter and jelly incident.”

You smirked. “Oh, you mean the time you were wrong?”

He scoffed. “I was not wrong.”

“You were so wrong.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You threw a sandwich at me.”

“You deserved it.”

It had started in the break room, a simple, innocent lunch break. You were at the counter, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carefully spreading peanut butter on one slice and jelly on the other. Spencer had wandered in, probably to refill his coffee, when he happened to glance at what you were doing.

And then he spoke the words that sealed his fate.

“You know, you’re making that incorrectly.”

You froze mid-spread, turning your head ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

Spencer stepped closer, peering at your sandwich with an air of intellectual superiority. “You’re supposed to spread the peanut butter on one slice, then put the jelly on top of it, on the same slice, before putting the other piece of bread on top.”

You gaped at him. “That’s—Spencer, that’s insane.”

“It’s practical,” he argued. “If you put the jelly on a separate slice, it soaks into the bread too quickly and makes it soggy. The peanut butter acts as a protective barrier.”

You narrowed your eyes. “First of all, if you eat it immediately, the bread doesn’t have time to get soggy. Second of all, spreading jelly on top of peanut butter is just wrong—it doesn’t spread properly, and it gets all mixed up. You’re ruining the integrity of the sandwich.”

Spencer made a face. “You’re overcomplicating a simple process.”

You huffed. “And you’re making a mess. If you put the jelly on top of peanut butter, it slides around when you try to spread it! You end up with uneven distribution, which completely defeats the point of making a sandwich in the first place.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “I think you’re just bad at spreading.”

You inhaled sharply. “Take that back.”

“No.”

So you did what any reasonable person would do. You grabbed the top slice of your sandwich, fully loaded with jelly, and threw it at his chest.

The break room went silent.

Spencer stared at you, then slowly looked down at the smear of jelly now adorning his vest.

You sipped your drink to hide your grin. “Oops.”

Spencer shook his head. “You know, most people would’ve just verbally disagreed.”

You grinned, nudging his knee. “And most people wouldn’t have deserved to get assaulted with a PB&J.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Spencer glanced down at his feet, then back at you, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “I assume you’ve finally accepted that matching socks are inherently unlucky.”

You scoffed, setting down your chopsticks. “No, I’ve just given up arguing with someone who’s clearly delusional.”

Spencer hummed, clearly amused. “That’s not what you said the day you tried to force me to wear a matching pair.”

You groaned. “Because you were about to testify in court, Spencer! You were literally representing the entire BAU, and I thought maybe—just maybe—you could act like a normal person for one day.”

Spencer shrugged. “And I still gave flawless testimony. The jury didn’t convict based on my socks.”

“You don’t know that!”

The argument had started that morning at the office. You had stepped into the conference room where Spencer was reviewing his notes for court. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, and his slacks had ridden up just enough to reveal an egregious sight—one sock was navy with tiny books on it, and the other was bright green with planets.

You had stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Good morning to you, too.”

You pointed accusingly. “You are about to testify in a murder trial looking like a child whose parents didn’t do their laundry.”

Spencer blinked at you. “That’s dramatic.”

“No, this is dramatic—” You dug into your bag and pulled out the emergency pair of black dress socks you kept for specifically this reason. “Put these on.”

Spencer finally looked up, lips twitching. “You carry emergency socks?”

“I carry emergency Spencer socks because I knew you’d pull something like this.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I appreciate the effort, but I can’t wear matching socks.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You can, you just won’t.”

Spencer lifted a single finger, as if about to explain quantum mechanics. “The last time I wore matching socks, I had the worst day of my life.”

You folded your arms. “Oh, really?”

Spencer leaned back against the couch, his lips twitching in amusement. “It was years ago. Back when I was still new at the BAU, and I thought I’d try being… conventional.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

He sighed. “Matching socks. Crisp, freshly pressed shirt. Everything put together like a normal, functioning adult.”

You snorted. “Bold choice.”

Spencer pointed at you. “A disastrous one.”

You gestured for him to continue, already intrigued.

“That morning, I got to the office early. I figured, you know, new day, fresh start, maybe I’d have a productive morning. I sat down at my desk, opened a file, and immediately knocked over my full cup of coffee. All over my case notes. Ruined. Just black ink bleeding into a giant, useless mess.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Spencer gave you a dry look. “Then, while I was trying to salvage what I could, Hotch called me in for an urgent briefing. I grabbed the wrong file—completely irrelevant information—walked in, sat down, and didn’t realize my mistake until I opened it in front of the whole team.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Spencer shook his head. “Hotch just gave me that look—you know, the one that makes you feel like you’re six years old and getting scolded by a school principal.”

You grinned. “I know the one.”

Spencer exhaled. “So, after making a fool of myself in front of the team, I went back to my desk, only to find that my chair had mysteriously vanished.”

You frowned. “Someone took your chair?”

“No, it was still there—I just didn’t notice because I wasn’t paying attention. So I went to sit down and… missed. Completely. Ended up on the floor.”

That was it. You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Derek nearly passed out from how hard he was laughing. I was humiliated.”

You wiped at your eyes. “Okay, but that was just one day.”

Spencer lifted a finger. “That was before I left the office for the day.”

Your laughter slowed. “There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s more. I got caught in a sudden downpour without an umbrella, missed my bus, and when I finally got home, I realized I’d left my apartment keys in my desk drawer at work.”

You winced. “Oof.”

“Had to take a cab all the way back to the office just to get them. By the time I made it home, I was drenched, exhausted, and swore that I would never wear matching socks again.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spencer smirked. “And yet, I haven’t had a day that bad since.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not proof of anything.”

“It’s proof enough for me.”

Spencer stretched an arm along the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing against your shoulder. His other hand rested on his knee, occasionally toying with the fabric of his sleeve. The room was quiet now, the remains of dinner pushed to the side, your plates stacked neatly on the coffee table.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head toward you. “Come here.”

You raised a brow. “I am here.”

“Closer.”

There was something in the way he said it—soft, certain—that sent a pleasant hum through you. You hesitated only for a second before giving in, leaning into his space. His arm slipped down around you, pulling you snug against his chest. He exhaled in satisfaction, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm as you settled against him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content in the warmth of each other’s presence. Then Spencer sighed, his voice laced with amusement. “You know, for all the teasing today, no one brought up the pen incident.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “The pen incident?”

Spencer smirked. “The day you nearly had a full-blown meltdown in the bullpen.”

Your eyes narrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Oh. You mean the day you stole from me?”

Spencer scoffed, feigning innocence. “Stole is a strong word.”

“No, it’s the exact word.” You poked his side for emphasis. “That was my favourite pen, Spencer.”

“Which I borrowed,” he corrected.

“You didn’t borrow it! Borrowing implies permission. You swiped it off my desk when I wasn’t looking.”

Spencer shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “I needed a pen.”

You huffed. “I needed that pen for three days.”

It had started as a minor annoyance—an everyday item that had mysteriously vanished. At first, you assumed you had misplaced it. You sifted through the papers on your desk, checked beneath your keyboard, even dug through your bag just in case. But the pen—the one pen you actually liked writing with—was nowhere to be found.

By the end of the first day, frustration had set in.

By the second, it was personal.

By the third, you were on the verge of losing your mind.

It was your pen. The only pen you liked writing with. It fit perfectly in your grip, the ink flowed just right, and unlike every other pen in the bullpen, it never smudged or skipped. Losing it wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a betrayal.

Desperation turned into suspicion.

You turned to Emily first. “Hey, did you take my pen?”

Emily barely looked up from her file. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

She gave you a dry look. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would I steal your pen?”

That was a fair question, but it didn’t stop you from asking Gideon and JJ the same thing.

When you got to Derek, he smirked. “You’ve been talking about this pen for three days. If I had it, trust me, you’d already know.”

And he was right—because when you finally found it, the betrayal was so immediate, so visceral, that you could feel the blood leave your face.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his desk, absently tapping the end of a very familiar-looking pen against his notebook.

Your eye twitched.

You stormed over, stopping just short of his desk. “Where did you get that?”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Hmm?”

“That pen, Spencer.” You pointed at it accusingly. “That’s my pen.”

Spencer frowned slightly and turned it over in his hand, as if just now noticing. “Oh. Huh.”

“Huh?” you repeated, incredulous. “Huh?! That’s all you have to say?”

He blinked up at you. “Well, in my defense, I needed a pen.”

“You—” You inhaled sharply, trying very hard not to strangle him in the middle of the office. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

Spencer shrugged. “You were busy.”

“Oh my god.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “And when, exactly, were you planning on returning it?”

He tilted his head, thinking. “Soon?”

You gaped at him. “Soon?! Spencer, it’s been three days!”

Spencer winced. “Oh. That’s… longer than I thought.”

You snatched the pen from his hand with a dramatic flourish. “Unbelievable.”

Spencer smirked. “You could just let it go.”

You pointed the pen at him like a weapon. “I will never let this go.”

And you hadn’t.

Even now, curled up against him on the couch, you could still feel the sheer betrayal of that moment. Spencer, of course, was entirely unbothered.

He smirked, fingers still trailing idly along your arm. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You huffed. “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges.”

Spencer chuckled. “Oh, please. If I took another one, we’d be right back where we started.”

You gasped, scandalized. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Spencer just sipped his drink, looking far too smug.

So you made a move to sit up, feigning exasperation. “That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Before you could so much as shift away, Spencer’s arms tightened around you, pulling you firmly against him.

“Nice try,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You huffed a laugh, letting yourself relax back into him. “Unbelievable.”

“Completely believable,” he corrected.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer only hummed, his hold on you unwavering. You could feel the faint vibration of his laughter against your back, warm and steady. He knew exactly what he was doing. As much as you wanted to keep up your righteous indignation… you let him win this one.

With a mischievous spark in your eye, you turned in his arms. He blinked in surprise, his smirk fading into something softer, something hopeful. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, and suddenly the air around you was charged with a different kind of tension.

You straddled his hips, deepening the kiss, feeling the heat between you grow as his hands found your waist. His fingers flexed, holding you closer, like he was afraid you’d pull away again. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.

Your hands fisted into his hair gently tugging, pulling him closer, as if you could somehow merge into one being. Spencer’s mouth moved with yours, exploring, claiming, until you both had to break away for air.

One hand skimmed down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was like a metronome, keeping time with the rhythm of your own. Your thumb traced the line of his collarbone, feeling the heat of his skin, and then lower, the soft fabric of his shirt giving way to the firmness of his chest. His breath hitched when you reached the first button, and his eyes darkened, watching you intently.

Your hand found the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his waistband. You felt the warmth of his skin as you slid your hand under the fabric, feeling the ridge of muscle, the smoothness of his stomach. His belt buckle was cold against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. You traced the leather, then the button of his slacks, teasing him gently, watching his reaction.

Spencer’s eyes fell closed, his breath shallow as your hand played over his body. You could feel his restraint, the effort it took for him to not take over, to let you set the pace. But when your fingers hovered over the zipper of his pants, he groaned, a low, needy sound that sent a thrill through you.

With deliberate slowness, you unbuckled his belt, watching his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation. The leather slid through the loops with a whisper. Then, with the same teasing grace, you pulled down the zipper. His pants parted, revealing his boxers, and the thick outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric.

Spencer’s breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils dilated with desire. You reached into his pants, feeling the heat of him, and he trembled at your touch. You took your time, enjoying the way his body reacted to your every move.

With a gentle tug, you pulled his slacks down enough to expose the waistband of his boxers. His half-hard cock strained against the fabric, begging for release. The sight of him, so vulnerable and eager, had you biting back a groan. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you kissed him.

His hips arched slightly as you traced the outline of his cock with your fingertips. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips. The fabric was thin, almost translucent, and you could feel the heat of him, the firmness growing as your touch grew bolder.

You tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock. It bobbed between you, half-hard and flushed with need. Spencer’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of the couch, knuckles white as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over the tip. He was exquisite, the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability.

With a wicked smile, you hovered just out of reach, watching his eyes follow your every move. Then, with a deliberate slowness that had him groaning, you let a bead of saliva pool on your tongue, dropping it onto his cock like a warm, wet kiss. The saliva trickled down, painting a glistening path that made his length pulse with anticipation.

As Spencer’s eyes grew darker, you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the velvety skin and the pulse of his desire. He hissed in a breath, his body jerking slightly as you began to stroke him. Your movements were gentle, exploratory, learning the rhythm that made him shiver with pleasure.

You watched his face, the way his mouth fell open and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. His chest was rising and falling rapidly now, the muscles tensing and releasing with each shallow breath. You could feel his cock thicken in your grip, growing harder as you stroked, your thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just beneath the head. His hips rolled into your touch, seeking more.

With a gentle squeeze, you quickened the pace, your hand moving in a firm, steady rhythm that had Spencer’s eyes sliding shut. His head fell back, a soft groan escaping him. His hand found your thigh, his fingertips digging in as you continued to pleasure him. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the slick noise of skin on skin, the rustle of fabric as his hips tried to meet your hand.

You leaned in, kissing along his jawline, feeling the stubble scrape against your lips. Spencer’s hand tightened on your thigh, his body tense as he tried to hold back. But you knew him—knew the way his breathing grew erratic, knew the tension in his muscles that signalled his impending release.

With your other hand, you reached down, cupping his balls gently. They were warm, heavy with need, and Spencer’s entire body jerked at the contact. His eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with yours as you began to massage them in time with your strokes. His hips bucked, pushing his cock further into your hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.

You could feel the tension coiling in him, tightening with every pass of your thumb, every squeeze of your fingers. You knew you had him right there, just on the edge, ready to fall. Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought for control.

And then, just as you felt the first tremor of his release, you pulled your hand away.

Spencer’s eyes shot open, his body tensing in protest. He stared at you, his pupils wide, his cock still hard and glistening with your saliva. For a moment, he was frozen, his breath stuttering in his chest.

You watched him, your expression one of sweet innocence, a stark contrast to the wickedness of your action. You hadn’t moved away entirely, but your hand was now hovering over his cock, teasing him with the promise of touch but delivering nothing.

Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours, confusion and desperation warring in their depths. “What—what are you doing?” he managed to rasp out.

You smirked. “That’s for stealing my pen, Dr. Reid.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening into fists against the cushions. His voice was low, dangerously controlled. “You really want to play this game?”

You smiled. “I already won.”

The sound he made—half growl, half strained laugh—told you exactly how much trouble you were in.

But you didn’t care. You took hold of him again, your thumb pressing against the slit of his cock, smearing the precum that had gathered there. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, his body bowing off the couch.

You leaned in, your mouth hovering just above his. “Say it, Spencer. Say I win.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn’t speak, but his grip on the couch tightened, his hips rolling up into your touch, begging for release.

With a smug smile, you leaned in closer, whispering, “Say it, Spencer.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of desire and frustration. He was so close, and you revelled in the power of holding him there, teetering on the brink.

“You win,” Spencer finally gritted out, his voice a low rumble.

Your grin widened, and you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his mouth. “Say it like you mean it.”

“You win, okay?” Spencer’s voice was a desperate whine. “Just—please, don’t stop.”

With a wicked chuckle, you leaned down, blowing softly on his heated flesh. Your breath sent a shiver down his spine, making his cock pulse in your hand. Spencer’s eyes rolled back, his body trembling with need.

“Please, your mouth…” he whined out, the desperation in his voice music to your ears.

With a smug smile, you leaned in, finally granting his wish. You swiped your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling him twitch in your grip. Spencer’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto yours as you took him in your mouth.

The sound that escaped him was raw, primal—a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. You felt your own arousal spike, the warm wetness between your thighs growing as you tasted him.

You took him in deep, letting your tongue swirl around the head of his cock before pulling back, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue. Spencer’s hand found the back of your head, his grip tight but not demanding, urging you to take him deeper. You complied, his cock filling your mouth as you took him to the back of your throat, the muscles there tightening around him.

He groaned, his hips thrusting up slightly, and you had to fight the urge to gag. You pulled back, taking a deep breath, and then took him again, swirling your tongue around the base of his shaft before flicking it against his balls. Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hand in your hair tightening as he tried to control himself.

You could feel the pressure building in him, the way his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. You quickened your pace, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, stroking him faster, harder. Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth clenched, his body straining for release.

And then, with a sudden, fierce determination, you increased the suction, hollowing out your cheeks as you took him in deep, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he whispered, the words barely coherent.

You took Spencer’s praise as the ultimate victory in this playful battle of wills. His hand in your hair grew more insistent, his hips jerking as you worked him closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke of your tongue was met with a strangled sound of pleasure that sent a thrill through your body.

Suddenly, Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his hips stuttering upward, and you knew he was there. You sucked harder, feeling his cock pulse against your tongue. And then, with a strangled groan, he came, hot and thick in your mouth. You swallowed, savouring the taste of him, feeling his body shudder beneath you.

Spencer’s hand in your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. You continued to suck, drawing out his orgasms, milking him until he was boneless and panting. His body jerked with each swipe of your tongue, his cock still pulsing with the aftershocks of his release.

He was panting, his chest heaving, once he had enough you sat back, licking your lips. The smug satisfaction in your gaze was unmistakeable. Spencer’s eyes remained shut, his expression one of pure bliss, as he tried to catch his breath.

But before he could recover, you decided to up the ante. With a sultry smile, you stood up, peeling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. His eyes snapped open, watching in surprise as you revealed your bra, the swell of your breasts above the fabric.

"When you're done here," you purred, "meet me in the bedroom."

You sauntered away, leaving Spencer stunned and still half-dressed on the couch. His eyes followed your swaying hips until you disappeared around the corner. He took a moment to compose himself, his heart racing, and then with a deep breath, he stood and followed.

The moment he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes widened. There you were, naked and kneeling in the centre of the bed, the soft glow of the lamplight casting shadows across your bare skin. The sight of you was like a punch to the gut—beautiful, tempting, and utterly irresistible.

Spencer’s cock twitched with renewed interest. You beckoned to him with a crooked finger, your eyes dark with desire. “I want you inside me, Spencer. Now.”

Without a word, he shed his clothes. You watched as his shirt and pants fell to the floor, revealing his naked form, his chest heaving with excitement. You bit your bottom lip as he climbed onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his usual clumsiness.

Spencer’s hands found yours, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours as he positioned himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he reached between your thighs, feeling the slick heat that awaited him. His thumb found your clit, and you moaned into his mouth, your hips arching to meet his touch.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours as he dipped his fingers into your wetness. You watched as he pulled them away, glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his lips. The sight of him tasting you was intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savouring the flavour, and when they opened again, you could see the hunger in them—for you.

Spencer pushed you back, his hands firm but gentle as he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed. Your legs parted wider, inviting him in, and he didn’t disappoint. He hovered over you, his cock standing proudly, the head nudging at your entrance as he kissed his way down your neck. His touch was feather-light, teasing, as if he was afraid to break the delicate spell that had been cast over you both.

He stopped at your breasts, his eyes darkening with desire as he cupped them in his palms. His thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples, drawing gasps from you. He squeezed, gently at first, feeling the weight of them in his hands, the way your body responded to his touch.

Your back arched, pushing your chest up to meet his, silently begging for more. Spencer didn’t disappoint. He rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, the pressure increasing until you were panting, your eyes fluttering shut. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you crave his mouth on your skin.

He lowered his head, his hot breath washing over your sensitive peaks, making them pebble even more. He licked at one, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. The cold air followed, making you gasp as your nipples tightened even further. Spencer chuckled against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

With a smirk, he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The combination of heat and cold was exquisite, making you squirm beneath him. He took his time, savouring each taste, each reaction. His tongue swirled, his teeth grazed, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with every flick of his tongue.

Once he had his fill, Spencer took hold of his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy lips in a delicious tease. The sensation was maddening, and you reached for his hips, trying to pull him closer, needing him inside you.

He could tease you, try to turn the tables and get revenge for earlier, but the truth was, you had wrecked him. And Spencer Reid was man enough to admit defeat. It didn’t help that he was also desperate to sink into you.

With a groan, he positioned the tip of his cock at your slick entrance. Your eyes went wide, anticipation building as you felt the blunt pressure of him pushing in. And then, without warning, he grabbed your legs, lifting them up and over his shoulders. The move was swift and decisive, leaving you open to him, exposed and ready.

He thrust into you, the head of his cock parting your folds and filling you in one smooth stroke. Your body took a moment to adjust to the sudden fullness, the shock of his entry sending a bolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your nails digging into the comforter as he pushed deeper, filling you completely.

Spencer held still, his eyes locked on yours as you both felt the connection. He was so thick, so hard, and the way he stretched you felt like he was claiming you. He began to move, setting a slow, torturous pace that had you biting your lip to keep from screaming out. Each time he pushed into you, it was like a wave crashing over your senses, filling you up with pleasure until you thought you’d drown.

With every thrust, he put all his weight behind it, pushing deep and retreating almost to the tip before plunging back in again. His eyes never left yours, watching as you felt each inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate his length and girth.

You could see the fascination in his gaze as he watched himself disappear into your warmth, his cock disappearing into your body as if it were made for him. And maybe it was—the way your walls clamped down around him, the way your hips rolled to meet each of his thrusts, it certainly felt like it.

Spencer groaned, unable to tear his gaze from the place where your bodies met. The sight was almost too much—the way your pussy swallowed him whole, the way your juices coated his shaft. His hand moved to your hip, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding.

Your breasts jiggled erratically with each pounding thrust, the nipples hard and sensitive from his earlier attention. The erotic sight was more than Spencer could handle—his eyes were glued to the bounce, watching as your body reacted to his every move.

With a roar that was part passion and part animalistic need, Spencer bent you in half. Your legs were still over his shoulders, your body arched, giving him the most intimate access to your depths. The new angle allowed him to drive harder and deeper, his cock plunging into you without mercy.

Your whines grew louder, your voice hoarse from the pleasure that was bordering on pain. The friction was intense, and the way he filled you up was almost too much. You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, tightening your muscles around him.

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock, and it was driving you wild.

Spencer’s pace was relentless, his hips moving like a piston, driving in and out of you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. But you were lost in the sensation, unable to think, unable to do anything but take what he was giving you. You were at his mercy, your body his to do with as he desires.

The orgasm that was building inside of you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was as if every nerve ending in your body was alight with pleasure, each thrust of Spencer’s cock sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, and you could feel it coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap.

You gasped out the words, “I’m close, Spencer. So close,” your voice breathless and desperate. His eyes snapped to yours, his own gaze filled with a fierce determination to push you over the edge. He picked up the pace, his strokes growing faster, harder.

And then, as if reading your thoughts, his hand snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The pressure was just right, the rhythm in sync with his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure skyrocketing as he stroked you, increasing the intensity by tenfold. Your body tightened around him, your muscles clenching and releasing in an erratic dance that had him groaning in response.

You were so close, so very close. The orgasm was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to consume you. You could feel it, the impending release, the wave about to crash down on you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your breath coming in shallow pants, and when Spencer’s thumb slid against your clit with just the right amount of force, you almost yelled out.

The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, striking you at your very core. Your body arched off the bed, back bowing as much as it could as the orgasm hit. It was as if every nerve in your body was on fire, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava. Your pussy clenched around his cock, squeezing him in a vice-like grip as you felt a rush of liquid spill out of you.

You had never felt anything like this before—the intensity of your climax was so powerful that it was almost painful. Your muscles clenched and released in rapid succession, each spasm sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, watching as you gushed around him, your juices coating his thighs.

He was still moving, still driving into you with a ferocity that was both terrifying and thrilling. But now there was something else in his gaze—something primal, something that told you he needed more. He needed to hear you beg for it, needed to hear the acknowledgement that he was the one making you come apart like this.

"Say it," he growled. "Tell me how much you need me to cum inside you."

You didn’t need to think, didn’t need to hesitate. The truth was there, pulsing through your body with every beat of your heart. "I need it, Spencer," you gasped out. "Please, cum inside me."

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with lust. His thumb worked your clit harder, his cock plunging into you with a new urgency that had your toes curling. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice low and gruff.

"I need you to cum deep inside me," you moaned, the words slipping out with ease. "Make me yours, Spencer."

With a feral snarl, he gave into the demand, slamming into you one last time, so deep it was as if he was trying to reach your soul. His cock pulsed, thick and hard, as he filled you with his hot cum, the sensation sending you spiralling over the edge once more. Your pussy clenched around him, milking him for every drop as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your shared orgasm.

Spencer stayed inside you for a moment longer, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of release. His breath was hot and uneven against your neck, his fingers gripping your waist as though letting go might break whatever fragile, beautiful thing had settled between you in the aftermath.

Your body was spent, trembling beneath him, every muscle wrung out and aching in a way that promised to linger. Your legs were still slack over his shoulders, your hips sore from being bent in half for so long. But none of it compared to the deep, satiated warmth flooding your body.

Spencer pressed his lips to your temple, a whisper of something sweet and unintelligible before he finally—reluctantly—pulled out of you. You winced at the loss, a small sound of discomfort slipping past your lips.

He caught it immediately. “Are you okay?” His voice was still thick and heavy with exhaustion, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

You nodded, but when you moved to shift your legs, a sharp twinge shot through your hips, making you suck in a breath. “Just sore,” you admitted, your voice raspy.

Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, his touch impossibly gentle as he smoothed his palms over your thighs, easing them back down. His fingers traced light circles over your skin, coaxing the tension from your aching muscles.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching slightly, though his voice remained tender. “I guess that’s what happens when you let me fold you in half.”

You huffed out a tired laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. He caught your hand before you could pull away, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to your palm before setting it back down.

Despite the teasing, his eyes stayed warm, scanning your face with quiet attentiveness. He could read you better than anyone, and right now, his expression told you he wasn’t going to let you brush off the soreness.

Without another word, he slid an arm beneath your shoulders and another under your knees. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he lifted you effortlessly, shifting you further up the bed so you weren’t half-hanging off anymore. He took his time settling you against the pillows, smoothing a hand down your side before pressing another soft kiss to your temple.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before slipping into the bathroom.

A moment later, the low rush of water filled the quiet.

You barely had time to miss him before he returned, his hands warm as they found your waist, coaxing you onto your stomach with gentle ease.

“A warm bath will help,” he told you, his voice soft, already kneading slow, careful circles into your hips. “The heat increases circulation. It’ll help relax your muscles and reduce soreness.”

You hummed in agreement, your body already melting beneath his touch as his thumbs pressed into the tender spots, working out the tension.

Spencer had always been meticulous in everything he did, and this was no exception. His fingers traced the path of each ache, pressing into the tight muscles with an almost surgical precision. He started at your hips, kneading slow and firm before moving down to your upper thighs, his palms smoothing over the lingering soreness from how tightly you had been held open for him.

Then, as if sensing the exact moment the bath had reached the perfect level, Spencer shifted, pressing one last kiss to your spine before slipping off the bed. A second later, the sound of running water ceased.

He returned just as quickly, his hands finding yours as he helped you sit up. The movement sent another twinge through your sore hips, but he was there, steadying you, keeping you upright with infinite patience.

"Think you can walk?" His voice was soft, but there was an undertone of quiet amusement, like he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course I—"

The moment you shifted your weight, your legs wobbled, refusing to cooperate after everything they had been through. Spencer caught you instantly, his grip firm but gentle.

You sighed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. "Okay. Maybe not gracefully."

Spencer chuckled, tightening his hold around your waist. "I’ve got you," he murmured.

And he did.

With slow, careful steps, he guided you toward the bathroom, letting you lean into him as much as you needed. The warmth of the steam wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, the faint scent of soap lingering in the air.

The bath was full, the surface shimmering with a light layer of bubbles. The water looked inviting, and your sore muscles practically ached at the sight of it.

Spencer helped you ease down, his hands steadying you until you were fully settled in the warmth. The heat licked up your skin, the contrast making you shudder as the tension in your body slowly began to unwind.

Spencer lingered for a moment, watching you with something quiet and unreadable in his expression. Then, with a final brush of his fingers along your skin, he murmured, “I’ll be right back,” and stood.

You barely registered him leaving, too lost in the warmth of the water, the way it cradled your sore body. You let yourself sink deeper, the tension melting away with each passing second.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, eyes closed, mind drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. The water lapped gently at your skin, its warmth working into every sore muscle, and for a moment, you let yourself exist in it, weightless and pliant.

Then the sound of quiet footsteps pulled you back.

You blinked your eyes open just in time to see Spencer step back into the bathroom. Your gaze flickered over him, tracing the lines of his lean body, the familiar angles of his hips, the gentle curve of his stomach. He was already a little flushed from the heat of the steam, and when he caught your eyes on him, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Miss me?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something warm.

You hummed, tilting your head back against the edge of the tub. “Depends. What did you bring me?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into the bath behind you, lowering himself into the water with a quiet sigh. His legs bracketed yours, his chest pressing to your back as he pulled you effortlessly against him. The warmth of his body only added to the heat of the water, sinking into your skin, wrapping around you like something safe and steady.

“Does this count?” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

You exhaled, your body already melting into his. “It’s a good start.”

Spencer hummed in amusement, his arms looping around your waist, his fingers skimming lightly over your stomach. His touch was absentminded at first, just the slow, lazy drag of his fingertips over damp skin. But then his hands wandered lower, tracing over the sore muscles in your thighs, his touch becoming more deliberate.

“Hurts?” he asked, his voice low against your ear.

You nodded, sighing as he pressed his thumbs into the knots along the inside of your thighs. His touch was gentle but firm, working out the lingering ache with slow, methodical pressure.

“I was a little rough with you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, reaching down to place your hand over his. “I liked it.”

Spencer let out a soft breath—half a laugh, half something else entirely. His lips brushed the back of your ear, his nose nudging against damp skin as he murmured, “I noticed.”

Heat curled in your stomach, but it was different this time—softer, lazier. You were both too spent to turn this into anything more, too content to do anything but sit there, tangled together in the warmth.

For a while, you just existed like that, the quiet hum of the water surrounding you, Spencer’s hands smoothing over your skin, his breath a steady presence against your shoulder. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond the physical, something unspoken settling between you, something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Then Spencer shifted slightly, reaching for a washcloth.

He soaked it in the water before lathering it with soap, then smoothed it over your shoulder, working slowly, unhurriedly. He worked down your arms, to your wrists, then across your collarbone, taking his time as if there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. When he reached your thighs, he was just as careful, his hands skimming over the lingering soreness with a tenderness that sent warmth curling deep in your chest. And when his fingers slipped between your legs, it wasn’t sexual—it was soft, a quiet act of care that made your breath catch in an entirely different way.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay?"

You nodded, sinking deeper into him. “Yeah.”

Spencer pressed a kiss to your temple before setting the cloth aside. Then, finally, he reached for his own, making quick work of cleaning himself before shifting behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist again.

“We should get out before you fall asleep in here,” he murmured.

You made a small, sleepy sound of protest, earning another quiet chuckle from him.

Still, you let him help you sit forward.

Spencer stood first, stepping out and grabbing a towel before turning back to you. His hands were steady at your waist as he guided you up, wrapping the towel securely around you before grabbing another for himself.

He took his time drying you off, his movements careful and slow. There was something so grounding about it—the way he ran the soft fabric over your skin, the way he made sure you were completely warm before leading you back into the bedroom.

The warmth of the bedroom welcomed you as Spencer led you inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows over the freshly made bed. Your steps slowed slightly as you took in the small changes—clean sheets, fresh bottles of water waiting on the nightstand, the quiet thoughtfulness in every detail.

You hadn’t even noticed him doing all of this, yet somehow, he had.

A quiet sort of surprise settled in your chest, spreading through you in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the bath. Spencer didn’t say anything about it, didn’t draw attention to the care he had taken. He just guided you forward, steady as ever, as if making sure you were comfortable was second nature to him.

Wordlessly, he reached for one of the water bottles, twisting off the cap before pressing it into your hands. “Drink it slowly,” he murmured.

You nodded, lifting it to your lips and taking a few small sips before setting it aside. When you turned back to him, he was already moving toward the dresser, pulling out a soft tank top and a pair of underwear.

His gaze flicked to yours as he held them out. “Unless you’d rather sleep naked.”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Would that be a problem?”

Spencer’s lips twitched, but he only hummed in response, waiting patiently as you stepped into the clothes. His fingers brushed against your skin here and there, never lingering too long, just small, fleeting touches as he helped ease the fabric into place.

Spencer grabbed his discarded boxers from the floor, shaking them out before stepping back into them. Once they were settled low on his hips, he turned his attention back to you, his fingers brushing over your wrist in a silent check. His gaze traced over your face, searching for any lingering discomfort. Satisfied, he gave your hand a small squeeze before stepping over to the bed.

He pulled back the covers, motioning for you to slip in first before following after you. As soon as he was beneath the blankets, he reached for you instinctively, guiding you closer until your body was pressed to his. One arm curled around your waist, his fingers grazing over the hem of your tank top in absent patterns.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet, lingering warmth between you, something deeper than exhaustion and far softer than lust.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns against your side, his touch featherlight, barely there. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet hum of his breathing—it was everything, a rhythm you had never imagined would feel so natural.

You sighed, shifting just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft in the dim light, golden and half-lidded with exhaustion, but still watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he was trying to memorize you, afraid to blink in case this moment somehow disappeared.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips. "I can’t believe we’re here."

Spencer’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering over his face. "In bed? Or…?"

You huffed, swatting lightly at his chest, but this time, he didn’t catch your hand. He let you get away with it, probably because neither of you had the energy for anything more than this lazy teasing. Probably because it was different now, softer somehow, the sharp edges of whatever had existed between you dulled by something warmer, something neither of you had been ready to name before now.

"You know what I mean." Your voice was quiet, not accusing—just full of wonder, of something tender and deep-seated.

Spencer exhaled, his hand stilling on your waist. "Yeah," he murmured, voice low. "I know."

A silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full—full of everything that had led to this moment, full of every argument, every stubborn, exasperated glare, every sarcastic remark. Full of every moment you had spent challenging each other, pushing, pulling, refusing to give an inch—until one day, the fire had shifted from something destructive to something entirely different, something that burned just as intensely but no longer threatened to consume you whole.

Spencer’s fingers moved again, tracing slow, thoughtful circles into your side. "I used to think we’d end up tearing each other apart one day. Like two forces that couldn’t exist in the same space without colliding, without breaking something in the process."

You laughed, the sound muffled against his skin. "So did the team."

"Probably still do," he mused, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But I think we surprised them."

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "We surprised ourselves."

Spencer didn’t argue. He just looked at you, something unspoken shifting in his expression, something too vast to put into words. He swallowed, as if trying to find something to say, but for once, he had nothing. No facts, no statistics, no carefully crafted words—just you, just this.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek, feeling the faint roughness of stubble beneath your palm. "I’m glad," you whispered. "That we’re here. That it’s you."

Spencer’s fingers curled slightly, gripping you just a little tighter, as if to ground himself in the moment. His voice was quieter when he spoke. "Me too. More than you know."

You exhaled, letting your eyes flutter shut, the weight of sleep pulling at your limbs. But before you could drift off completely, you felt Spencer shift, pressing his lips to your forehead, soft and lingering. His breath was warm, his presence steady, unwavering.

"Get some sleep," he murmured against your skin. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because you were safe. Because you were where you belonged.

Because you were his, and he was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time, everything felt exactly as it should be. No more resisting, no more second-guessing. For so long, friction had kept you apart, pushing and pulling, igniting sparks that threatened to burn everything down. But now, it was different. Now, it was warmth, steady and sure, something to lean into instead of fight against.

Everything else faded—the past, the doubts, the stubborn refusal to see what had always been there. All that remained was the warmth of him beside you, the steady cadence of his breath, and the quiet truth that you had finally stopped resisting what was meant to be.

The End. Part One

[emziess]

Aisha Hinds as Henrietta "Hen" Wilson 9-1-1, S08E03

[darkeralmond]

Can you do a william Smith smut when they get home from his draft. Pls I haven't seen any writing pieces for him and he's so cute.

Ps. I love your writing pieces

THANK U SM FOR THE REQUEST ILYSM ❤️❤️❤️

All Night

Will Smith x fem! Reader

synopsis: it’s draft night and you attend the draft with will and his family, but while there will’s drooling over your body. when he gets drafted, you tell him you have a reward for him in your guys’ hotel room

warnings: 18+, smut, swearing, oral (m! recieving)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: HEY GUYS!! i wanna get back to writing smuts and imagines so i saw one of my old requests and thought i would write it. also i am so excited to see macklin and will play tg!! enjoy i love u guys sm ❤️❤️

It was the night Will had been waiting for his entire hockey career. It was NHL draft night, and he was determined to go in the first round. As his long time girlfriend, he really wanted to take you to Nashville with him and his family to cherish the moment with you.

While entering Bridgestone Arena, there were media teams all over the place capturing all the young prospects. Players such as Connor Bedard, Adam Fantilli, and Oliver Moore who were just as glorified by the press as your boyfriend.

Photographers were snapping pictures of Will, ESPN commentators were interviewing him, and all you could do was step back and watch like an outsider.

After escaping the media frenzy by entering Bridgestone, he pulled you close to him and whispered, “You doing good?”

“Yeah, it’s just really crowded,” you answered. Fancy events made you anxious, so being at a nationally televised event with your super popular boyfriend was super overwhelming.

“Well, you look beautiful,” he teased before kissing your temple. His grip around you grew tighter as he stared at your chest which was slightly exposed with your v-neck dress, causing him to lick his lips. He then turned to his parents and said, “Hey, I’m gonna take Y/N the bathrooms so she doesn’t get lost. We’ll meet you guys in there.”

“Sounds good, just be at the table by 5:30,” his mom advised before heading down to their reserved spots. Will moved his hand from your waist to your hand before guiding you away from the crowd of people.

“Will, what are you doing?” you asked as he pushed through the crowd to a more secluded area. He spun to face you before kissing you deeply. You returned the action by moving your hands up to the sides of his neck. He ran his hands down your back and groped your ass.

You gasped before pulling away. “Will! Not here!” You meant for it to come out as stern, but you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Fuck. Why did you wear such a revealing dress?” he whined as he stared at your chest. “You know I can barely control myself around you. This is torture!”

You pecked a kiss on his cheek before saying, “You’ll have all this to yourself when we get back to the hotel. Remember, your parents got us our own room.”

He groaned again. “That’s hours from now!”

“Looks like you’ll just have to wait,” you teased as you winked at him. “Now come on, your mom will kill you if you’re late.”

The draft started shortly after that, and you held onto his hand as you and everyone else anxiously waited for his name to be called. Will ended up getting drafted to the San Jose sharks as the 4th overall pick, and he was over the moon. When they announced his name, the cameras panned onto him as everyone erupted into applause and cheers. Will let go of your hand as he and everyone at the table stood up, clapping and embracing him.

Will finally got to you as he grinned from ear to war and pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck. Your eyes rimmed with tears as the two of you held onto each other. You placed a kiss on his cheek and whispered into his ear, “Looks like I need to award you with a blow job in the hotel room.”

Now he was smiling even harder with his face red as he walked up to the stage to accept his hat and jersey. When he came back to his seat, he leaned into your ear and whispered, “Thank God they couldn’t see how hard I am just now.”

…

The first round of the draft took hours to complete due to the amount of prospects, so when it concluded his parents complained about how exhausted they were. Not you and Will though. You guys would’ve gone straight to sleep when you got to your room, but you both were really horny and ready to celebrate.

When you made it back to the hotel, his dad gave Will a keycard to the room. “Here’s a keycard for you guys to share. Your mom and I are gonna keep this one to check in on you so don’t be getting into trouble. I’ll see you two in the morning,” his dad said before heading down the hall to the hotel room for him and his mom.

“Good night!” Will yelled out to his parents before looking down at me, holding up his key card. “Looks I have you for the night.”

You ushered him by saying, “Hurry up! I’ve been waiting for this all night!” He scanned the card and the door unlocked.

Before you even made it in the room, his hands were all over you. His lips were all over yours, and he was kissing you like your life depended on it. You could barely even breathe as his tongue brushed across your lower lip before he opened his mouth and licked your top lip with fervor.

You broke the kiss so you could breathe. “I need this off you now,” you said as you unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and he shrugged them both off, letting it fall to the floor. “You ready for your celebration?”

He ecstatically nodded his head causing you to grin as you tugged off his pants. His boxers were black, very tight and covered in little white hearts. In your opinion his boxers had every right to be tight, he knew what was coming.

With his boxers gone and his obvious erection, you got down on your knees in front of him and stroked his tip with your tongue.

Will moaned softly causing chills to run down your spine. Your hands traveled up his dick, firmly grasping at the base. You kissed the tip and then slowly lowered your mouth to take half of him in your mouth. Multitasking, your other hand massaged stroked slowly.

He groaned in bliss as his hands held onto your hair. “That feels good, yeah?” you asked after pulling away, continuing to stroke his dick with your hand. He moaned again, louder than before, as confirmation. Your stomach flipped in excitement and you smiled wickedly.

“You look so fucking beautiful, baby,” he praised. You didn’t respond with words, you only let out a soft hum in amusement as you took his dick in your mouth again.

He thrashed his hips forward in order to go deeper down your throat. This caused you to slightly choke as a mix of saliva and his pre-cum escaped your mouth. “God, I wanna be inside you…” he whispered quietly.

You pulled away again and made eye contact with him, still jacking him off. “Oh, sweetheart,” you purred. “This is only the beginning.”

As he grew closer to finishing, your head bobbed up and down fast as your sucking became harder. He kept moaning your name louder and louder like an addiction that no drug could replace.

It only took him a minute to finish before he shot a load in your mouth. When you swallowed it, he groaned. “Wow… wow, that was amazing,” he rasped breathlessly.

“You still have my body to get through, you know?” you replied as you wiped the residue off your face with the back of your hand. “You said you wanted to be inside me, right?”

[love-quinn]

— COMPLETELY UNREAL

summary — despite your best efforts, remus lupin is determined to get to know you.

warnings — reader with general anxiety

pairing — remus lupin x fem!reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 2.1k

note — clearing out my drafts, this has been here 5ever. enjoy

The common room was one of your least favourite places to be, but your dorm room was worse, so there you were. It was getting late, and you had a potions assignment due the next day, so you were sitting in a quiet corner trying to work on it. Well, trying to want to work on it. You were only just passing by the skin of your teeth, and if you failed this essay then it would bring your grade down from an Acceptable to a Poor, and that meant that you wouldn’t be able to get the NEWTS you needed. You weren’t sure what those NEWTS were, as the idea of having to do anything after finishing school filled you with fear, but you figured it probably would have something to do with potions. You sort of just picked the electives you enjoyed and then did your best.

Unfortunately, your best didn’t seem to be good enough with this essay, as you had been working on it nonstop for the past four days and you still had another 10 inches of parchment left.

“Disfigurement,” a voice came from above you. You looked up from your homework at a boy, looking bashfully at your parchment.

“Excuse me?”

He had the good graces to look embarrassed by the way you were looking up at him. “Disfigurement is one of the major side effects of using lacewing flies in the potion, a big part of the reason that it’s level three restricted by the ministry,”

Now, normally, a man standing above you and explaining something that you already knew would absolutely ruin your day, Merlin only knew it happened often enough. But normally, the men doing it didn’t look like they were talking about it out of pure interest.

His eyes got slightly dimmer as he realised your annoyance, a darkened honey colour that people wrote songs about. “Sorry, I should’ve- Just because you paused writing doesn’t mean you didn’t know what you were talking about. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You decided on after a minute. You knew who he was, of course, you didn’t spend seven years in the same grade as someone without learning their name, but you were nearly one hundred percent certain he didn’t know yours.

“I just came over for…” he gestured uselessly at the small collection of cups on the table beside you, with a metal pitcher of ice cold water that stayed full no matter how much you poured it. A group of boys in your year had tried to use it to flood the common room one time. You had a sneaking suspicion the boy in front of you had been involved, despite the fact that he never received detention for it like the others did.

“Go for it.”

He poured two glasses of water and paused, looking at you. “I really am sorry. I’ve offended you.”

“I’m not offended,” you replied honestly. “I normally would be, but I’ll allow it just this once.”

The boy cracked a smile, slightly crooked, and it evened out his whole face, as though he had been created just to smile like that. “Thank you, then.” He corrected softly. “For not being offended by my interruption.” He put the cups down gently and looked for a moment as though he might shake your hand, before thinking better of it and leaving them hanging uselessly by his side. “I’m Remus.”

“So I’ve heard,” you didn’t mean to sound pretentious. “I just mean- we share a lot of classes, so I’ve seen you around a lot.” Now it was your turn to be embarrassed.

Remus continued smiling. “No, I know. I see you all the time. You always snag the good table in the library.” He gestured to you, testing your name out experimentally on his tongue, as though afraid to get it wrong. You nodded.

You liked studying in the library because it made you feel like an actual student. Doing homework on your bed, while the more common alternative, made you feel as though you were doing it wrong somehow. As if, because you hadn’t put in the effort to go all the way to the library and bring your study materials with you that you didn’t deserve to do well on whatever it is you were working on. “Do I?” your voice sounded far away, even to yourself.

“I’ll forgive you, though,” Remus said good naturedly, noticing your change in tone. This interaction had gone on far too long for your liking. You were beginning to feel exhausted. How embarrassing.

Talking to strangers for longer than ten seconds makes my stomach do a backflip, you thought bitterly to yourself. That was why your dorm room didn’t feel as welcoming as it was perhaps meant to. The girls in there talked, like they were friends. And they were friends, it was easy to see that.

You’d been so removed when you first started at Hogwarts, when you were only eleven. So overwhelmed by the hundreds of rooms and the hundreds of students, that when your roommates stayed up all night chattering and getting to know one another, you had felt nothing inside you aside from a desire to go to sleep. It took weeks before your nerves calmed enough to even attempt to contribute to their conversations, and by the time you had realised that maybe you did want to be friends with them, they had accepted your silence.

You gave Remus an awkward smile, the polar opposite of the one he’d given you. As if your grinning was a defect, not something you were designed to do. Sometimes it felt like maybe you weren’t.

He was still standing there. How could you make him go away without explicitly telling him to? You felt nauseous, squirmy under his gaze. Why hadn’t he left yet? “That essay Slughorn gave us is a real doozy, isn’t it?”

You cracked a real, genuine smile at his word choice. You didn’t know anyone who used the word ‘doozy’ and the best part was, it seemed to be entirely unironic. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I was planning on spending the afternoon up in the library, working on it.” His hand fiddled with the hem of his button-up. “Any chance I could sit at the good table?”

You nodded almost instantly. “Yeah, no, sure. It’s all yours. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hog.”

“You’re not,” he let out a breathy laugh. “You’re jumpy, aren’t you?” You felt it, and your cheeks burned at the notion that he could tell. “If you wanted to still study at your same table, and I was also to study there, both of us in complete silence, then I don’t think that would be so bad?”

Remus could see that you wanted to say no, and he didn’t want to push it if you were clearly uninterested, but he also knew that it had been seven years of you being the only Gryffindor girl he’d never spoken to, and also being the only Gryffindor girl he’d ever felt a strong desire to speak to. The others were great, sure, Lily and Marlene had become friends to him more concretely now that Lily and James were seeing each other, and Alice had always been sweet. You, on the other hand, had been described by your roommates as sad. Not ‘pathetic’ sad, but a more deep sadness.

“She’s awfully kind,” Marlene had told him once, hushed in the back of a History Against Magic Lesson. He hadn’t remembered how your name had been brought up. “Think she just likes it quiet.”

“The table’s yours,” you offered. “It’s okay. I can just study down here, it’s warmer.”

“It’s louder, though,” Remus reasoned. “Up there there’s no… well, no guys coming over here to explain something you probably already understand.”

“I thought you said you were going to be there?” You were genuinely confused at what he was asking of you by this point, but he laughed it off. You staved off a frown.

“I always find that homework is nicest when you’ve got someone there,” he offered finally. “Even if you’re not talking, just purely sitting there.”

You didn’t see how that would help at all. You’d probably be too distracted by anyone to even get any work done. But, you realised with a start, the notion of someone wanting to spend time in your vicinity, as innocent as Remus’s intentions were, made your heart ache.

He probably just wanted to be able to sit at the good table without putting you out, you understood that. But at the same time, if he really wanted to sit there, and he really wanted to not disrupt your routine, then you didn’t see why not, even though maintaining eye contact with him for any longer than a second felt as though you were going to combust in a caramel-irised explosion.

“You can come,” you conceded, gently, hoping as not to come off rude or too territorial about your space. Perhaps it would be better if you studied outside, or in an empty classroom. That way you weren’t getting in his way.

“Excellent,” he was talking too loud, and he could tell that by the way you shrank back in your seat.  “Maybe I can finally get my transfiguration grade up, Merlin knows you’re doing well in that class.”

Why would he say that? That made him come across as a stalker who knew all your grades. He hoped you didn’t think that implied you did need help in potions. Your reactions weren’t giving him much, and it was making him nervous. He definitely shouldn’t have come over here, but he had been scrambling for something to say, and now he had to take water over despite the fact that no one had asked for water.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You closed your textbook so gently it didn’t even make a paper noise as the cover closed. “But if you really do need help, then I might be able to.” You offered him one final smile, cheeks tinged with a visible blush.

You hoped he couldn’t see how dizzy you were getting. You wanted to go to sleep and pretend this was all a dream so you could go back to ignoring Remus’s existence like he could go back to ignoring yours.

Unfortunately for you, though, he’d found your little hidey-hole study space that you occupied yesterday, coming in to tease you light heartedly about abandoning him for transfiguration. You didn’t not want to talk to Remus, it was nothing about him. He’d been nothing but sweet and funny in the very limited interactions you’d shared, you were the issue.

“Should’ve known you’d ditch me,” he’d said with a sigh as he sat down, opening his textbook up. You found you didn’t mind his being there as long as you weren’t expected to contribute much to the conversation.

“Thought it would be obvious.” You’d attempted to match his airiness in your tone. It came out strangled.

He sighed gently. “I wanted to pretend it wasn’t so, sweetheart. I thought you and me had something special. I told you about disfigurement in potions and you tell me about disfigurement in transfiguration.”

He’d been attempting to do the spell for about an hour, trying to turn a ball of yarn into a scarf. It was a simple spell that’d normally be of no issue to him, but he just couldn’t get it this time.

After nearly forty minutes of mumbling all but silently to himself so as not to disturb you, you had enough. You reached over and, so delicately he’d thought at first it was simply a breeze, uttered the spell while controlling his hand movements. A long, thickly knitted navy scarf burst from the ball of wool, landing pooled by his crossed legs. You looked up at him, expecting to be reprimanded for the touching, knowing you would have done exactly the same.

“You’re not real,” he said after a moment. Sometimes you felt that way too. “We’re officially studying together every time now.” He grinned to himself, picking up the scarf and wrapping it securely around your neck multiple times, tucking the ends into your jumper. It was soft. “Every single time, you little wonder.” You maybe didn’t mind as much this time as you had when he’d last suggested it. Your smile was almost hidden behind the mass of fabric you’d just helped him conjure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see it.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hiii I think it would be soooo adorable if you could write a waitress reader x Logan where he's only soft with her and protective and the story is like tooth rotting fluff ❤️❤️❤️

I absolutely loved this request and it helped get me out of my writing block! I have been sick so it isn't proof read but I hope you still like it <3 request are open and so is my messages if anyone just needs to talk

He's your regular. Not the restaurants. Truth be told, he couldn't stand the food that was on the menu, but he bared it and ordered the same thing every time just so he could get a glimpse of you.

The two of you started to talk after the third or fourth time he came in, and he learned a lot about you. Usually, you wouldn't talk to regulars, especially about personal problems, but something about him made it easy to talk and not feel judged. With him coming in so often, it was easy for him to see if something was bothering you, and if something did, he made sure to take care of it.

As soon as you saw him walk in, you made sure to put in his order and grab his black coffee before going to sit him in your section. You were hoping he would come in today if you were being truthful. Earlier, there was a customer that was very flirty, and when he realized it wasn't going where he wanted, he left without paying. He did leave just a wonderful tip though...his number.

You sat Logan's coffee down in front of him and gave him a weak smile. "Your food will be up soon." You said as you started to turn to check on your other tables. His hand quickly grabbed your arm softly to stop you. "Can you add an order of fries to that?" He asked innocently. When you gave him a confused look, he just smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "They sound good...?" You giggled and wrote it on a ticket. "I'll go put that in right now for you."

Soon after, you returned with his order and sat everything down for him. "You need anything else?" You asked, not sounding as upset as you did when he first sat down. He nodded and pushed the plate of fries towards you, "sit down and eat, tell me what happened earlier, bub." You looked around before sighing and sitting down across from him once you noticed there was no one else in your section. "It's really nothing serious, just this customer..." You explained the whole situation, and Logan took note of how you described the man. Took note of his height, his hair color, his built, how he seemed like a cocky businessman. Logan made a promise to himself that he would handle anything that bothered his little waitress, and this was no exception.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

~~Note~~ happy new year!!! I hope 2025 is a great year for everyone! 2024 was tough for me but you guys really helped me in many ways and helped me find my love for writing again! Thank you to everyone who ever requested anything, I do still have some in my drafts that I'm working on but request are still open! I am starting student teaching soon so it might be slower uploads but I am determined to write as a form of self care this year 🩷

[jenosbigtoe]

park jisung x bimbo!reader (M)

minors dni

summary: maybe the quiet boy isn’t as naive or innocent as you initially thought.

warnings: reader is kinda slutty but ji secretly loves it, dom!jisung, big dick jisung, fingering, size kink, creampie, fellatio, unprotected sex, college au!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i’m a jeno girlie but ji has been hitting sooo different. ESP THE BAT JISUNG OOOH

SORRY TO WHOEVER WANTED THE JAEMIN FIC FIRST IM GETTING IMPATIENT HAVING THIS SIT IN THE DRAFTS. JAEMIN FIC THIS WEEKEND POSSIBLY!!

god you wanted him so bad. park jisung, the quiet compsci major that sat in the front of every lecture you’ve had together since freshman year. the park jisung that walked around with his clunky black headphones around his head at all times. the one who had his head down and eyes averted wherever he went. the one who rarely raised his hand in class but when he did, god he sounded so sexy explaining topics you could never begin to understand. the park jisung you’ve never spoken more than 10 words to in the 3 years you’ve known him at uni.

you just wanted to corrupt him so bad. with those baggy clothes he always wore and those harry potter circular lenses you thought looked so so cute on his face, you’ve never seen him interact with the opposite sex. like ever. and with your senior year in uni, you knew you had to make a move on him.

operation seduce park jisung is a go.

you had your first lecture of the day together. it was a 9 am, one you barely showed up to but you knew he had perfect attendance to. and today you were going to make his knees weak when he saw you.

popping your sparkly pink lip gloss, you gave yourself another look over in the reflection of the window before stepping into the lecture hall. today, you wore a light pink mini skirt, a white crop top and lacy hot pink push up bra that peaked through, and a cardigan with strappy gold sandals. you walked in 5 minutes late, smacking your bubblegum, and scanned the room for your target.

there he sat in the front row, in his oversized black hoodie and khaki cargo pants, his laptop open and signature black headphones around his neck. he was chewing on the end of a pen cap as he typed, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. you smirked to yourself and sauntered over to the seat next to him, making sure to scoot behind him in order to accidentally rub your ass against his head.

“sorry, excuse me,” you whispered.

jisung scooted up to let you pass and gave you a tight lipped smile as you sat next to him.

you didn’t even bother taking anything out to write notes. as you pretended to focus on the lecture, your eyes drifted over to jisung periodically. the way his hands were so big and veiny. when his hoodie sleeve would lift up and tease you with the image of his slim muscular arms. the faint smell of his masculine scent—smoky cedarwood? you could feel your pussy throbbing.

after the lecture was over and jisung got up to leave, you stopped him. “hey, what’s your name again? my name is y/n i don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves before.”

“it’s park jisung,” he said curtly.

it was hard for you to decipher how he felt talking to you but you didn’t want to burn this bridge before it even took off. “okay, nice to meet you, jisung. see you around!” you gave him a bright grin and turned on your heels to saunter out of class, leaving him to stare at your turned back.

and the next few weeks it was rinse and repeat. you would show up wearing your cutest little outfits, showing the most amount of skin appropriate in an “academic setting”, and trying to strike up a conversation with the quiet sexy compsci boy you had a crush on. to be fair, it didn’t seem like your plan was working all that well though. you barely knew anymore about jisung than you did a month ago and you thought by now you would’ve had him melting in your palm. with all the curt responses he gave to your questions, you should’ve been discouraged by now. but no, you were more determined than ever to get this boy underneath you.

so today you decided to alter your plan a little bit. you found jisung in the same seat as always. you were wearing the cutest white sandals and a short mini sundress with a pink ribbon in your hair. you took extra care in your makeup today too, wearing just a little more blush, sparkly silver glitter eyeshadow, and frosty pink lipstick.

“hi ji,” you walked up to him and smiled, actually 10 minutes early this time.

he gave you a small smile and looked back down at his laptop. you puffed your cheeks and pouted a bit. you sat in your designated seat next to him in a huff and pulled at his hoodie sleeve.

“ji, you like me right?” you started to draw circles on his arm and leaned in closer so he could smell your cherry perfume.

jisung looked up at you and tensed up with hesistant look about his face. “what do you mean, y/n?”

you pouted your lip. “you know.”

jisung fidgeted in his seat a bit and looked every where but your tits that were spilling out your bra. “i don’t know what you mean.”

“well we’re friends, right?” you leaned ever so slightly over. god he looked so cute and delicious you could just eat him up.

“um,” jisung started.

you interrupted him. “well i like you ji. and you’re my friend. friends help each other, right?”

jisung stared blankly at you. “y/n we've barely talked except the past couple weeks.”

you ignored his last statement.“this is really embarrassing but,” you leaned over and whispered softly in his ear, “i’m failing this stupid econ class. it’s required for my major but i just don’t understand any of it.”

you leaned back and stared jisung directly in his eyes, close enough to count the eyelashes on his eyes. “help me, ji? please? i know you’re just so smart and i only need some tutoring.” you gave his arm a tight squeeze for reassurance.

poor jisung was so flustered and shifted around at the proximity. “w-well uh o-okay-“

you stood up gave him a tight hug, conveniently shoving his face into your juicy tits, and squealed excitedly. mission success. “thank you so much, ji! let me treat you out to lunch a few days a week to make up for your help!”

jisung’s face was so red and the hug left his glasses slightly askew on his face. adjusting his glasses, he fumbled out a “yeah no problem.”

after the lecture, you slid jisung a piece of paper with your number with a “text me :) <3” and practically skipped out of class.

later that evening you got a text from an unknown number.

unknown: This is y/n right?

unknown: It’s Park Jisung.

you squealed and kicked your feet around on your bed.

you: yup :)) this is y/n

jisungie <3: Okay. I’m free Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays after 2pm. Every other day I have work. Let me know when you want to meet up.

you: yayyyy!! perfect <3

you: let’s meet up at the library tomorrow at 2:30pm. my place is right by it

jisungie <3: Okay.

you: your so awesome ji 😎

jisungie <3: You’re*

jisungie <3: You’re welcome, y/n. And just so you know, I do like you. You are my friend.

you had to run laps around your room after that one.

the next day was a sunday. you told jisung to meet you at the library but you knew better. the library wasn’t open on sundays. so that meant your study date had to move somewhere. and with your place being so close, that somewhere would hopefully be your apartment.

so you arrived at the library 30 minutes early, knowing jisung’s little quirk of needing to be 15 minutes early to everywhere he goes. today you decided to wear black yoga pants that accentuated your ass and a cute crop with a teddy bear print on it. and you made sure your makeup was waterproof because you hoped jisung would make you cry it all off later.

when jisung arrived, you faked a pout and pretended to be upset. you ran up to him and grabbed his arm, big fake tears welling up in your eyes. “ji, the library is closed. i was so excited to hang out with you outside of class but we can’t even have our study date because the stupid library doesn’t open on sundays.”

jisung looked panicked at the sight of your tears. “uh, um, uh don’t cry.”

you let a few tears roll and rubbed them on the back of your hands. “sorry ji. i’m just so disappointed. sure i want my grade in econ to be better but i also just wanted to hang out with you.”

jisung grabbed a napkin out of his bag and handed it to you. he rubbed your hand in a reassuring way that secretly had your pussy throbbing from his big hand grabbing your small one. “uh it’s okay, y/n. i can probably make time tomorrow. i have work but uh-“

you suddenly interrupted him. “wait, i don’t want you to have to miss work for me. i have an idea. my place is just a 3 minute walk from here. how about we head over there instead?”

your tears suddenly dried up as you pouted up at him, puffed up cheeks and big doe eyes with a hopeful look on your face.

jisung seemed to look relieved that you stopped crying. “okay. if that’s what you want then i’m down.”

you squealed and jumped up and down, hugging his body close to yours. “yayy! thank you thank you thank you ji!!!” you grabbed his big hand in yours and practically dragged him all the way to your apartment.

your apartment looked exactly how jisung imagined it. so pink and girly, flowers and ribbons and stuffies everywhere. and it smelled so strongly of you, he was about to lose his mind. your fluffy white cat purred and rubbed herself affectionately on jisung’s leg as soon as he entered.

“sweet girl, he smells so good right?” you lifted her up and snuggled her into your arms, giving her kisses all over her fur. “ji, you can set your stuff down by the couch. let me change into some lounge clothes.”

jisung felt so awkward being in your apartment but when you came out, he knew he was really in trouble. you were wearing a lacy silk pink victoria’s secret pj set that looked so flimsy.

“ji, do you want anything to eat? drink?” you walked past him, underwear peaking from beneath your shorts as you walked to the small kitchen.

jisung stuttered. “n-no. i’m good”

you walked over with a glass of water and a pack of cookies. “okay just let me know if you need anything.”

after an hour of jisung trying to lecture topics of micro and macro economics into your head, you just about had enough. slamming the book shut, you felt your brain about to fry.

“ji, i know i’m a business admin major but this is so stupid,” you whined. “why can’t i be as smart as you? i just wanna marry rich and be a stay at home wife.”

“well y/n-“ jisung started but you cut him off.

“no. i’m sick of this.” suddenly you pushed him back on the couch and straddled his waisted, using your legs to lock him underneath you. suddenly you leaned close to his ear and whispered softly.

“baby, i think you are just so sexy when you explain this stuff to me. you are so smart and i want you so bad.” you nibbled on his ear.

and jisung snapped. he was tired of your teasing for the past few weeks. what, did you really think he was so naive and stupid to notice your seduction tactics? you’re quite literally the girl of his dreams and you’ve been the object of his fantasies since he first saw you freshman year. you were always so bubbly and sweet and outgoing, the exact opposite of him, how could he ever stand a chance with you? but now that you’ve finally made a move on him, that was it.

using his strength, he flipped you over and pinned you on your back, gripping your hands above your head. “fuck. you have no idea what you do to me. you think you can just tease me like this, dangling yourself in front of me like a piece of meat, and expect me to not snap? you have too much faith in me.”

your heart was racing and every word he said went straight to your pussy, growing wetter by the second. jisung started leaving wet kisses down your jaw, once hand still pinning your hands above your head and the other gripping your waist.

“jisung you are so sexy. you have no idea how much i have wanted this,” you looked him into his eyes and smashed your lips against his.

3 years of unresolved feelings went into that kiss. he was a much better kisser than you expected, which had you moaning into his mouth and grinding up into his thigh.

he ripped off your pj set, leaving you in just your lacy white bra and panties. “fucking slut. you planned this huh? wanted to bring me to your apartment so you could fuck me huh?”

you whined and started taking his clothes off too. and holy shit was he hiding a beautiful body underneath those baggy clothes. you could always kinda tell he was toned underneath those clothes but nothing compared to this. his body was so well built and chiseled, arms so veiny and thick, you were foaming at the mouth.

he went to take his glasses off but you stopped him. “the glasses stay on while we fuck,” you told him seriously.

he bit back a giggle and ripped your underwear off. your pussy was glistening with arousal. he wrapped his lips around one of your juicy tits and traveled his hands down your body until his fingers rested on your cunt. “does my baby want to be touched here? does her slutty pussy want to be touched?”

you whined and bucked your hips into his hand. “yes! yes please ji i need you to touch me.”

he smirked and started teasing your pussy with his fingers, rubbing them up and down your slit and ghosting over your clit.

“stop teasing me. need more ji,” you sniffled.

he shoved two fingers into your sopping cunt and started pumping them. you moaned loudly, wriggling your body around and clenching on his fingers. with his other hand, he continued to grope at your chest, leaving you needier than ever. god his hands were so hot and they felt so good. so long and big and veiny and the perfect size for touching your cunt.

suddenly, you shoved him off of you and pushed him back on his back. “your turn.”

jisung looked shocked at first but let you take control. you pulled down his boxers and let out a small gasp. “no fucking way.”

jisung smirked at you and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes with a knowing look on his face. his glasses were crooked and falling off his nose but he never looked sexier to you.

“ji, why did you never tell me you were hiding a horse in there?” you asked, completely serious.

jisung stifled a giggle. “never asked.”

“if i had known you were this fucking hung down here i would’ve jumped your bones so much sooner.” you were seriously concerned for your little pussy the next day but at this point you didn’t care.

you gave his massive cock a few pumps with your manicured nails, wondering just how you would be able to fit all of it inside. even his balls were massive and heavy.

you alternating between licking the base of his cock and lightly sucking on his balls. god it was so hot and heavy and smelled so good, so musky and masculine. jisung let out the sexiest groans as you did this, snaking his hands into your hair and gripping your head. “fuck baby that feels so good.”

you gave a small kiss to the tip of his cock and then started sucking, putting more and more of it down your throat as you went. tears pricked your eyes as it went further and further. jisung’s moans got even louder and he started to buck his hips slightly against your face.

you gave licks to the underside as his dick was deep in your throat. with one final push, you bottomed out on his cock and deepthroated him fully, leaving jisung’s mind hazy and body shaking. fat tears welled up in your eyes and fell down your face. good call on the waterproof mascara.

“fuck m gonna cum. you’re doing so good baby, so so so good,” he groaned as you kept going up and down on his cock, sucking and licking his shaft with every bob of your head.

without warning, he suddenly ripped his cock from your face and stood up, leaving you whining and tears staining your face.

“what a cock hungry slut. can’t even go a second without cock ruining her. well don’t worry baby, i’m about to fuck you so good. wanna cum inside your pussy for the first time.”

he reached into his bag for a condom but you stopped him. “no condom. want you in my pussy raw.”

jisung smirked. “naughty girl.” he pushed you on all fours on the couch and positioned himself behind you. “you’re already so wet baby, won’t even need to prep.”

he rubbed his massive cock on the outside of your pussy, teasing your hole and sticking the tip in before taking it out and rubbing it some more.

“ugh fuck me ji! stop teasing just fuck me right now!” you whined out, arching your back and shoving your cute ass in his face.

and without warning, he bottomed out inside you. you screamed at the sudden feeling, his balls pressing up against your clit. your arms gave out from beneath you, leaving his hands to gripping your hips for support.

“m gonna move now, m’kay sweetheart?” jisung groaned. your little pussy was just sucking him so tightly and it was driving him crazy.

his hips drove into your cunt, his big cock absolutely bullying your little pussy. you were a screaming and moaning and crying mess. “yes yes ji! oh my god feels so good yes!”

you felt your orgasm building up, leaving your pussy to clench and drip more around his cock.

“fuck baby. this pussy was made for me. you’re so perfect and gorgeous and i can’t believe i get to fuck this pussy,” jisung was going absolutely feral above you, thrusting hard and fast and deep into your pussy. he was bottoming out with each thrust, balls slapping against your clit.

“m close. where do you want me to cum baby?” ji groaned out.

“inside. cum inside my pussy. please ji, i need it, need it so much,” you cried.

your words sent jisung over the edge. he released his hot load into your cunt, giving a few last hard thrusts.

the feeling of hot cum inside you triggered your orgasm. you cried out in pleasure, feeling absolute bliss.

after you both got down from your highs, still panting heavily, jisung collapsed onto the couch with you on his lap. his head rested in the crook of your neck as you laid your head on his.

“this is a little late but be my boyfriend ji?”

[the-winter-spider]

Waiting Room | 1/3

Word count: 3.8k

Paring: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Angsttttt, Depression, illusions/mention of su!cide

A/N: Been in my drafts for awhile.

———-

The mission had seemed straightforward: extract a compromised agent from a heavily guarded facility on the outskirts of Istanbul. But as you and Bucky made your way through the corridors, taking down guards with silent precision, you realised the intel had been disastrously wrong. Reinforcements flooded the building, and it turned into a fight for survival.

The moment you’d heard Bucky’s sharp intake of breath from behind, your heart dropped. You whipped around to see him on one knee, clutching his side where blood was steadily seeping between his fingers. He pressed his back against the wall, teeth grit as he tried to catch his breath.

“Bucky!” you shouted, rushing to his side as gunfire echoed through the narrow hallway.

“I’m fine doll,” he grunted, glancing up at you with that familiar, stubborn resolve. “Just… a scratch.”

You knew him well enough to recognize that was a lie. Without hesitation, you placed your hand over his, applying pressure to the wound. The sight of blood—his blood—sent a pang of terror through you. You were supposed to be unstoppable together, a seamless unit. Seeing him hurt made the world tilt.

“I’ll cover you,” you whispered, already scanning for a way out, any sign of an escape route. “We’re getting out of here.”

He shook his head, wincing as he moved. “No, you go. I’ll… hold them off.”

“No way in hell am I leaving you,” you shot back, determination burning in your gaze. The sound of boots grew louder as the enemy drew closer.

In a split-second decision, you took out a smoke grenade, pulling the pin and rolling it down the corridor. It burst with a thick, blinding cloud, filling the air as you hoisted Bucky’s arm over your shoulder. Despite his protests, you started guiding him back the way you came, slipping through doorways and side corridors.

“You don’t get to do this,” he muttered through gritted teeth as he leaned against you, his breath labored. “Not for me.”

“Then stop bleeding all over me and maybe I won’t have to,” you replied, though your voice cracked slightly.

When the smoke finally began to clear, you spotted an exit up ahead. But the relief was short-lived. A team of heavily armed guards stood between you and freedom. You hesitated, assessing your options, and that’s when you felt Bucky shift.

His grip tightened around your shoulder. “Let me go,” he said, his tone pleading. “Please, sweetheart. Just get yourself out of here.”

You shook your head, eyes wide with a mix of terror and defiance. “Not without you! Not without you..”

For a moment, Bucky saw something in your gaze that terrified him even more than the prospect of dying. You weren’t just ready to protect him—you were prepared to give up your own life if it meant getting him out. And the thought alone made his chest tighten.

The guards began advancing, weapons drawn, and you moved on instinct, stepping in front of Bucky, ready to fight to the end if you had to. But suddenly, a backup team—Sam and Natasha—burst through the far door, taking down the guards in seconds. You and Bucky watched as they cleared the way, and with your support, Bucky managed to stumble toward the exit, his eyes never leaving you.

The ride back to the compound was silent. You sat beside him, trying to keep pressure on his wound, your hands shaking. The mission was over, but the memory of that moment—of you standing between him and danger, ready to sacrifice yourself—lingered, sharp and raw.

Over the next few days, Bucky’s injury healed. But that image of you haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the determination on your face, that reckless willingness to throw yourself in harm’s way for his sake. And he realized with a growing sense of dread that it wasn’t the first time. You’d done it before, in smaller ways, in countless missions where you’d chosen to watch his back rather than your own.

He’d trained himself to be a soldier, to take risks, to put his life on the line. But the thought of losing you—it was like a weight pressing down on his chest, suffocating him.

He found himself pacing his room, mind spinning with questions he didn’t want to answer. The closer the two of you became, the more vulnerable you both seemed to be. The love he felt for you had grown into something he didn’t recognize—something that bordered on dependency, an attachment so deep that he could feel it chipping away at his own instincts, making him hesitate, making him weak. And he hated himself for it.

The choice became clearer with each passing night as he lay awake, wrestling with his fears. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you—he did, more than he’d ever thought he was capable of. But the love that once felt like strength now felt like a weakness, a danger that neither of you could afford.

The morning he finally approached you, his face was grim, his eyes shadowed with an unreadable heaviness. He took your hands, holding them between his own as he steeled himself for what he was about to do.

“Doll,” he said, his voice low, controlled, though his fingers trembled slightly. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Confusion flashed across your face. “What… what are you talking about?”

“I can’t watch you throw yourself in front of me again.” His voice broke, and he looked down, unable to meet your gaze. “It’s not fair to either of us. You… deserve a life without worrying if I’m going to make it back. And I…” He swallowed, his jaw clenched as he forced himself to continue. “I can’t be the reason you risk yours.”

You felt the world fall out from under you, his words slicing through you like a knife. “Bucky, no. I… I knew what I was doing. I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe. You’re worth it to me.”

He shook his head, finally meeting your gaze, a haunted look in his eyes. “But that’s the problem. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself for me. And I can’t be the reason you lose yourself.” He took a step back, his hands slipping from yours. “I’m sorry, but… this is for the better…Its for the better”

With that, he turned and left, each step pulling him further from the life he’d imagined with you, and from the love that had once felt like a lifeline but now felt like an anchor, dragging you both into a darkness he couldn’t bear to face.

Bucky told himself it was for the best. He told himself that he was setting you free, that it was better for both of you. But every time he saw your empty room or caught a glimpse of you in the hall, his heart twisted painfully, his resolve crumbling bit by bit.

And as he lay awake night after night, haunted by the memory of you standing in that corridor, ready to give everything for him, he knew that he might have saved your life—but he’d lost a part of himself in the process.’

——

You were suffocating without him. Every inch of the compound was stained with memories of Bucky. His laughter echoing down the halls, the way he’d catch your eye in meetings, or how his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary when he thought no one was watching. You’d spent over two years by his side, building something real, something you’d thought was unbreakable.

But now, you were the broken one.

It had all fallen apart in a blur. After that last mission, where you’d nearly thrown yourself into danger to save him, he’d turned distant. Cold. The warmth in his voice, the love in his eyes, it had all faded. You could still hear his last words, ringing hollowly in your ears: “It’s for the better.”

Yet every day since then, you’d felt anything but better. You’d started slipping up in missions, reckless and numb, throwing yourself into harm’s way just to feel something. Anything. The culmination of it all was when Steve finally called you into his office and told you he was benching you.

The door to Steve’s office felt heavier than usual as you pushed it open. Your footsteps sounded louder than you’d meant them to as you approached his desk, each one like a reminder of everything you were losing.

Steve looked up, setting his papers aside, his face shifting to that familiar, concerned expression he’d been giving you a lot lately. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.

“Take a seat,” he said gently, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You sat down, heart thudding in your chest, hands nervously wringing in your lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence grew, filling every corner of the room with unspoken words until Steve finally cleared his throat.

You heard him say your name, voice cautious before continuing, “you know why I called you in here?”

You nodded. You’d been reckless, cold, and numb on recent missions—everyone had seen it. After Bucky had ended things, claiming it was for the best, you’d felt yourself spiralling. Each mission had turned into a chance to feel something, anything, even if it meant stepping into danger. And deep down you hoped every mission would be your last.

Steve sighed, leaning forward. “I’m benching you, for now. Just until…well, until you’re back to yourself.”

You felt the words hit you, but they were strangely muted, like hearing someone yell from underwater. Your gaze dropped, feeling the weight of his decision settle in.

The silence stretched as you swallowed hard, and then, barely above a whisper, you admitted, “I’m not sure if I want to be here anymore, Steve.”

The statement lingered in the air, sharp and final, and for a second, Steve went utterly still. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, every nerve on edge as he asked, “What do you mean by ‘here,’ exactly?”

A pause. You forced yourself to smile, the expression brittle. “The tower, Steve. Just the tower.”

He exhaled, and for the first time in weeks, you saw him relax, a hint of relief in his eyes. “If you want to move out for a bit, that’s fine. Your room will always be here for you if you need it.”

You nodded, standing up to leave, feeling the need to get out of the room before the words you hadn’t said clawed their way out. Your hand hovered on the door handle, lingering a moment before you turned back to him, hesitant.

“How’s…how’s Bucky?”

Steve hesitated, an uncertain smile crossing his face as he replied, “He’s good. He’s doing good.”

You nodded again, your heart splintering. “Good. That’s…good.” And with that, you slipped out, leaving Steve alone, his gaze lingering on the empty doorway. Feeling a sharp twist in your chest. It wasn’t fair that he got to be okay while you were falling apart.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t even notice Bucky as you walked past him in the hallway, his eyes flickering to you with a gaze so heavy, it could have shattered glass. He opened his mouth, almost reaching for you, but then thought better of it, watching you walk away without so much as a second glance.

When you turned the corner, he sighed, shoulders slumping, and pushed open Steve’s office door.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, glancing up from his paperwork.

“What was she doing in here?” Bucky’s voice was low, cautious, as if he already knew the answer and dreaded hearing it.

Steve straightened, a shadow crossing his face. “That’s…classified, Buck.”

Bucky raised a brow, holding his gaze, and after a tense beat, Steve exhaled and handed him a file. “She’s been benched,” he said simply. “Her last missions have been…reckless. Almost dangerous.”

Bucky’s expression hardened as he read through the reports, his jaw tightening with each line. Finally, he looked up, his voice low. “So…she’s not okay.”

“No, she’s not,” Steve replied quietly, a hint of reproach in his tone. “And I know it has something to do with what’s going on between you two.”

Bucky clenched his fists, feeling a fresh surge of guilt.

Just then, Friday’s voice filled the room. “Dinner is ready in the dining room.”

Bucky nodded, slipping out of the office and making his way downstairs with Steve. But when they reached the dining room, you were nowhere to be found. The others waited for a while, plates going untouched as they exchanged worried glances.

Dinner that night was supposed to be casual. Tony insisted on mandatory team meals at least once a week, believing it helped keep morale up, even though he’d usually roll his eyes at the idea of forced bonding. Everyone settled around the table, talking and laughing, but Bucky sat silently, his fork moving aimlessly through his food. Despite the banter, there was a noticeable absence. You weren’t there.

Tony glanced around, frowning. “Where’s my favourite agent?” He raised an eyebrow at Steve, expecting him to answer.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “She… she might not make it tonight.”

Sam snorted. “She better. Isn’t this a ‘mandatory’ dinner?”

Tony finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Friday, tell her dinner is mandatory.”

There was a pause before Friday responded. “She is no longer on the premises. She left approximately one hour ago.”

Tony straightened, his expression darkening. “Left? Where did she go?”

“I am not aware of her destination, sir,” Friday answered. “However, she appeared to be…distraught.”

Bucky went pale, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. Natasha glanced over at him, her brow furrowed in concern. They all looked to Bucky, who sat motionless, a storm of guilt swirling behind his eyes. Natasha pulled out her phone “Ill try calling her” everyone paused the anticipation killing Bucky, she quickly pulled the phone away from her ear “It went straight to a disconnected line.”

Everyone fell silent. Bucky tensed, barely concealing the flash of worry in his eyes. Natasha gave him a sympathetic glance, as if she knew exactly what was going through his mind.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Distraught? When was someone going to clue me in here?” He looked pointedly at Steve, frustration simmering. “I’ve noticed things have been off lately. And now she’s suddenly ‘distraught’ and bailing on dinners?”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair, a heaviness settling over him. “I had to bench her.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to him.

“Good,” Sam muttered darkly, breaking the silence. “You should’ve done it sooner.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, though his eyes bore into Sam.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why? She’s one of the best agents we’ve got.”

Steve glanced at Sam, who gave him a nod to continue. “She’s been… reckless. The last few missions with her, she’s taken unnecessary risks.”

Sam jumped in, expression serious. “I was with her two days ago on an OP, and she was like a robot, just charging through everything. She didn’t have her usual sense of self-preservation. She was throwing herself into the line of fire without a second thought.”

Natasha looked thoughtful, watching Bucky out of the corner of her eye. “She’s not herself,” she added softly, her tone laced with concern. “Ever since… things changed, she’s been acting differently. I’ve noticed it, too.”

Tony crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “So, Bucky, is there anything you want to add here? I’ve noticed you two haven’t exactly been on the best of terms lately.”

Bucky’s face was stoic, but his hands were clenched under the table. He didn’t respond, but Steve’s gaze softened slightly, reading the guilt and turmoil on his friend’s face.

Bucky’s hand shot up to his face, running his fingers through his hair, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His mind replayed the last look you’d given him, the way your eyes had pleaded for something he couldn’t give, or maybe couldn’t admit. He felt Natasha’s gaze on him and didn’t dare meet it.

Sam, softening, looked at Steve. “She’s hurting. We all know that. But right now, she’s a liability out there. I don’t want to see her get hurt just because…”

He trailed off, his words lingering in the air.

Tony exhaled, a mixture of frustration and concern etched on his face. “This is why I wanted everyone to sign a no-dating clause for the team. We can’t afford for personal feelings to get in the way of the mission.”

The tension in the room felt like a held breath. No one was truly eating anymore, and the silence weighed heavy.

Tony suddenly broke the silence. “Alright, no one is leaving this table until we’re all sure she’s okay. FRIDAY, double-check her location. I don’t like this.”

FRIDAY’s response was immediate, but it was laced with a cautious tone. “Her last location was just outside the perimeter.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, and he stood abruptly. “If she’s distressed and now completely off the grid…” He didn’t need to finish his thought. The entire team exchanged looks, the situation shifting from uncomfortable to urgent.

Bucky was the first one out of his seat, the chair scraping against the floor as he shot up, already moving toward the hallway. Natasha, Sam, and Steve quickly followed. Tony and Bruce exchanged worried glances before they, too, rose to join the others.

They all made a beeline toward your room, urgency propelling them faster down the hall. Bucky reached your door first, pausing only a split second before turning the handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked, as though you’d left it open for one last goodbye.

The room was eerily tidy, with your personal items still on the shelves, your clothes folded neatly, and your bed made. But it was the note on the pillow that caught Bucky’s eye. He moved toward it slowly, his heart pounding, as he reached for the single slip of paper.

He turned it over, his eyes skimming over the four words written in your unmistakable handwriting: It’s for the better.

His gaze lingered on the faint smudges on the page—tiny, dried droplets where you’d obviously shed a tear or two while writing it. The finality of the note hit him like a punch to the chest.

Natasha, standing just behind him, took a breath as she read over his shoulder. “What… what does this even mean?” she asked quietly.

Steve entered the room, glancing at the note with concern before meeting Bucky’s haunted expression. “She told me… when I benched her, she said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be ‘here’ anymore.” His voice wavered, a rare crack in his composed facade. “I asked if she meant the tower, and she said yes. I thought that’s all she meant, but now…”

“And you just let her leave!?” Bucky’s voice was raw, anger and fear mixing as he stared at Steve. Ready to lunge at his best friend.

Sam, trying to keep the peace, grabbed Bucky by the shoulders. “Calm down, Buck. She wouldn’t just… she wouldn’t do anything drastic. Right?” He looked around, seeking confirmation, but all he found were worried faces.

Natasha’s voice was low, a hint of worry lacing her words as she exchanged a glance with Steve. “She’s been struggling. We all know that. And this breakup hasn’t exactly been easy on her.”

Bucky’s face was a mask of torment. He wanted to believe you wouldn’t go that far—that you would have told him if you’d reached your breaking point. But seeing the note, the tear-stained words… it sent a sharp pang of guilt through him. He had been the one to push you away, believing it was for the best, yet now everything seemed to be crumbling because of it.

Tony, standing at the doorway, looked graver than usual. “FRIDAY, pull up every piece of CCTV footage we have of her movements from today.”

The AI responded, “I’ve compiled the footage, sir. Displaying it now.”

They hurried down to the lab where the footage played on the large screen. Clips flashed by—there you were, walking briskly through the compound halls, a distant, empty look on your face. You paused at the exit, hesitated, then stepped out into the night.

There were no other signs of where you went.

Natasha’s voice broke the silence. “She left. No phone, no tracker. Just… gone.”

Panic surged through Bucky. “She can’t be gone. She wouldn’t just vanish like that.” His mind raced, replaying all the moments that led up to this—the mission where you’d almost sacrificed yourself for him, the bitter breakup, and the distance he’d tried to put between you both. Each moment seemed to press heavier on him, leaving a crushing weight in his chest.

Tony glanced at him, face hardened with unspoken accusation. “What the hell did you do, Barnes? We’ve all noticed things between you two, but this?”

Bucky shook his head, trying to push down the overwhelming guilt. “I thought I was protecting her. I thought pushing her away would be better for both of us.”

Natasha’s voice softened, though her eyes held a pointed sadness. “Did you really think breaking her heart would keep her safe?”

Sam chimed in, recalling the last mission he’d been on with you. “When I say she was reckless, Buck, I mean it. She was out there like she didn’t care what happened to her. This isn’t the girl we know. Whatever you thought you were doing to ‘protect’ her—it’s only making her worse.”

Bucky clenched his fists, feeling the weight of everyone’s words. Just then, FRIDAY’s voice cut through the tension, delivering a final, chilling update: “There has been no further trace of her movements in the past hour.”

As the silence settled in, everyone exchanged anxious looks. Bucky felt the dread settling deep in his bones. You had vanished, left with nothing but a note and the heartbreak he’d pushed onto you.

And now, he feared, it might be too late to undo the damage he’d done.

Bucky stared at the screens, watching you vanish into the night. A haunting silence settled over the team as they realized you’d slipped through their, his grasp, into the shadows. But did you didn’t really slip away… he pushed you away.

Days passed. Then weeks. They searched, called every contact they could think of, and scoured every corner of the city. But you were gone, leaving nothing behind except questions and the hollow ache of your absence.

Bucky found himself drifting back to that last mission, haunted by the image of you diving into danger for him. He’d thought leaving you was for the best, sparing you from a life bound to the risk of losing him.

But he was wrong.

He’d lost you anyway, and now, he was left to wonder if you’d ever come back. The words from your note echoed in his mind every night, the same ones he said to you only weeks before: It’s for the better.

But god how could it ever be.