#and i will never love another show in the same way again

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

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

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

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

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you ran away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I always want to see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was,” he says softly.

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

“But now I don’t want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

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

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

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

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

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

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

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

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

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

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

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

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

“You look funny.”

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

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

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

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

"I ran through the sprinklers."

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

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

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

He wasn’t alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

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

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

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

“Do you want anything to drink?”

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

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

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

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

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

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

“I remember."

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

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

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

"I really wanted kimchi."

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

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

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

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

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

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

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

He nods slowly. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could never hate you."

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

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

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

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

“You know it’s never going to work.”

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

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

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

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

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

"Oh I can name a few."

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

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

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

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

"You really think you can convince me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

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

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

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I kiss you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

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

"Maybe."

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

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

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you’ll have me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

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

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

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

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

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

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

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

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

“Even up to a thousand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait."

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

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

Shit. Neither did you.

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

“I was too focused with you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty sure?”

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

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

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

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

Tap. Tap. Tap.

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

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

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

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

Your walls squeeze around him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

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

And truthfully, neither can you.

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

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

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

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

You whine in approval.

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

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

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

He’s more than happy to oblige.

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

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

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You quickly turn over to the other side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now, maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t be mad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s what I want.”

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

“In a good way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

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

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

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

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

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

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what makes you so sure?”

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

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

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

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

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[keyotosprompts]

the look of love ೀ

how to describe a loving gaze

⇸ eyes darting all over your face, trying to figure out which part of you they want to set their eyes on the most (it's impossible)

⇸ gazing at you like you're miles away only when you're a few feet away, standing with another person. their stare is hard, intense, but also melting and blank.

⇸ a featherlight touch to your arm with their eyes softly peering up at you. they can't believe that you're allowing them to touch you like this—so innocent, so softly.

⇸ late nights where its just the two of you in a car. they turn over to look at you but immediately turn. for the safety of the both of you, they can't stare at you any longer

⇸ when you're teasing them, they have to bite down extra hard to not release that smile from their lips. their eyes are squinted more tightly than usual. still, they're glued onto you.

⇸ meeting their eyes from across the room, and the two of you have the exact same thought. you turn away first to hold back your laughter, but their eyes are pinned onto you.

⇸ a softened gaze in a random moment. there's no reason for them to be looking at you like that—with slightly hooded eyes and parted lips—except for the fact that they just love seeing you

⇸ you're twirling around in your new outfit, showing the 360 angle. their pupils look like they're completely taking over the iris of their eye. suddenly, breathing becomes a lot more faster than they remember.

⇸ tears run like thrashing rivers on your face, dripping onto your pants and soaking the sleeves of your shirt. but they don't care. even when wiping your tears, they still can't get over how you look absolutely angelic like this.

⇸ eyeing you in the middle of the night, feeling incredibly lucky that they are the only one who can look at you in this state. a smile dawns upon their face as they trace the shape of your jaw, press their fingers in your cheekbones, and kiss you on the cheek.

⇸ a make-out session that seems like it will never stop until they pull away, and the reason being, "i needed to look at you like this," with swollen lips and a red flush.

⇸ laughter dying down into silence. looking at each other and bursting into laughter again.

⇸ being completely bare in front of each other after a long night. shameless admiration where their eyes move up and down your face and body. there's a mix of lust and adoration in their eyes.

⇸ watching you storm off, and all they can do is stand their, focused on your fleeting figure. their face is contorted—not in an angry way—but a look of concern flashes across their features. did they just lose the one they loved the most?

⇸ getting food with the other person and realizing that this is all it takes for you to be content. this is what happiness feels like, you think.

⇸ a gripping hug that makes you feel so seen. that one second during the embrace where you two both look at each other, and time stands still. you want to frame the expression on the other person's face.

⇸ seeing you, and a beaming smile immediately breaks out of their face.

[f0point5]

I think I have sent this same request some time ago but I still would like you to write something about Emilia and Max hanging out with Victoria’s children and maybe thinking about their own future kids. But really anything with Max and Emilia would be great!

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one, but tumblr eats asks sometimes 🤷‍♀️ but it’s too cute so here you go! I am keeping these short but I hope you still enjoy it!

✨Set during summer break 2024✨

I’m having his baby (…) no, I’m not

You take a sip of your rosé as Victoria comes to stand beside you. You’re lurking in the doorway of the lounge, watching Max sitting on the couch with his baby niece in his arms. He’s bobbing her in a gentle motion, his hands looking huge around her tiny, swaddled body.

“God, I remember when we used to say our kids would get married,” Vic says beside you, and you laugh.

You did say that. As little kids you would wish to be sisters, and somehow the only way you could think to make that happen would be for your children to marry each other. Like in that Flintstones movie you used to love. You’d draw pictures of the two of you sitting on the porch of a large house, watching your children get married.

Now you wonder if your mums thought the same, during those summers in Italy, as they watched you all play. They swear now that they did, that the mother’s intuition told them you and Max were tied together by some invisible chord that chafed on both your wrists. “A mother always knows,” Sophie said to you when she saw you last, “you will know, too”.

“And now that would be illegal and dangerous for our grandkids,” you say, shaking your head. “Crazy,”

“I like it better this way,” Victoria says, putting her arm around your shoulder and squeezing you into a hug.

“Me, too,” you agree, your eyes fixed on Max and Hailey. He’s whispering to her in Dutch, her eyes fluttering closed every few seconds as she yawns in his face, which only makes him smile. He’s utterly mesmerised by her. And you’re mesmerised by him.

I swear I can actually feel my ovaries right now.

“He’s so good with kids,” Vic says. “Even with Jaye I remember he was so gentle,”

“Yeah,” you agree, only half hearing her as you take another sip.

“Gives you baby fever, huh?”

You choke on your wine. Was that Victoria or your subconscious talking?

Vic, are you in here? No, of course she’s not in here. She’s just being nosey. Act natural.

“Are you okay?” Max asks from the couch. You look over at him as you wipe your mouth, coughing once as you nod. Even as he looks at you in concern, he never stops the gentle bouncing motion of the baby in his arms.

You go to answer, but Vic beats you to it, blunt as ever. “I was just saying, you will be having one of your own soon, yeah?” She smiles, nodding at Hailey.

If Max is panicking as much as you, he doesn’t show it, just shrugging. “I mean, ye-“ You can feel your eyes widen, and he stops when he sees your face. He tries again. “May-“ he frowns at you, silently begging for help. “No?” You nod gently, and Max turns to Victoria. “No.”

She looks at you in mild disbelief. “No?”

“No,” you emphasise to both Verstappens.

You love them dearly but genetics are a crazy thing - they both share a chronic disregard for timing. They want it all, and they want it now, in any order, all order be damned.

“You’re not getting any younger,” Victoria says, nudging you.

“That is just rude,” you tell her, and she just smiles unapologetically.

“Oh, come on,” she implores, reaching up to wind her finger around a lock of your hair, “a little baby with Max’s eyes and your hair?”

“And both of our tempers,” you say with a chuckle. “Can you imagine that? Besides, we can barely make cereal, and you want us to raise a baby?”

You look at Max for support, but he’s no longer paying attention. He’s looking down at his niece like he’s holding water.

Maybe a baby can live on cereal, if her dad looks at her like that.

“I’m going to go put Hailey down for her nap,” Vic says, jerking you from your thoughts.

She goes over to take a sleepy Hailey from Max’s arms, and he looks loathe to let her go. She looks so much bigger when held by her mother, and her so much more fragile.

“When I get back, we can start on dinner. I’m going to make cereal,” Vic teases in a whisper, winking at you as she passes.

Max snorts with laughter, and you shoot Vic a glare as she starts to hum, shuffling her way out of the lounge towards the bedroom.

You join Max on the couch, falling onto it beside him with a heavy sigh.

“So glad I’m an only child,” you say, rolling your eyes. When Max doesn’t respond, you glance over at him to find him staring at his hands. You nudge him gently. “What?”

“You do,” he starts, leaning back as he turns to you. “Want kids, someday, don’t you?With me. I mean…you don’t think I’ll be, like…”

“No,” you answer quickly, when you understand what he’s getting at.

You silently curse yourself for that joke about tempers. For ever making him think that’s something you worry about. You know there’s a heaviness in Max, in both of you. You know that he is so much more than his father’s son. But you also know that the weight on his shoulders will keep him crooked until he can see that for himself. You hope knowing you see it will be enough for now.

“I want your baby, Max. Someday. There’s no one else I would ever do this with besides you and not just because I love you, but because I know you’ll be an amazing dad,” you tell him honestly, and even that small platitude seems to relax his shoulders. “But can we at least get to one year of baby making activities before we start painting a nursery?”

Max nods, letting out a husk of a laugh. “I’m shit at painting anyway,” he says, looking at you from under those eyelashes that you secretly envy.

Maybe she’ll inherit those, too.

“Free practice?” You offer with a smirk, holding your hand for his.

Max looks at your outstretched palm for a moment before taking your hand in his. “Free practice,” he agrees, using his grip on your hand to pull you forward so that your chest is pressed against his. “I’m looking forward to FP2 later,”

[charlesxavierthirster3000]

Denim — C. Xavier

Pairing: 60s (First Class)!Charles Xavier x GN!Reader

Summary: Charles takes you out, but you're quite the fussy shopper. (Pls spare me idk how to write summaries 😥)

CW/Tags: suggestive content, pre-beach divorce Charles, no use of Y/N (there never will be on my blog), don't like don't read.

A/N: Huzzah guys I'm finally writing !!!! This prolly won't get much traction bc it's not Logan but fuck it we ball 🔥🔥 This has been rotting in Docs for like a week and I just finished it like 15 mins ago so here we go.. 😁 Also I wrote this as Fem!Reader in mind but I realised it could be GN so I'll just put it as that :3

WC: 461 / Navigation

Divider credits (They're so cute istg bro) here and here

Charles Xavier was not your sugar daddy. He could believe he was all he wanted, but your very minimal amount of dignity drew the line at that title.

The man could buy you everything you ever even thought of — which was fairly easy, considering his mutation — yet you wouldn't admit it even if you had 8 fully loaded AK-47s pointed at your face.

“Just get it, for God's sake,” Charles drawled, nodding at the pair of mid-blue bootcut jeans you'd been fawning over for what felt like half his lifetime. 

When you give the gorgeous denim another doubtful up-down, he gets up from his concerningly squeaky stool bordering the men’s section and reaches for your wrist.

“It would take immense effort to make me go bankrupt, sweetheart.” He places his credit card in your palm, gently forcing your fingers over it with a short smile. It's not the first time he's done this, and it most definitely won't be the last.

“I have a pair just like thi—” you try to argue weakly, but the gloved hand over your mouth leaves you no choice but to shut your gob. God, this man was direct.

“Uh-uh, not hearing it. We both know exactly how much you want it. End of discussion. Go pay.” 

He carefully nudges you forward in the direction of the distant cashier, but you blatantly refuse to move an inch. He stares incredulously at the back of your head and you have to bite back a laugh beneath the confines of his palm. 

You should’ve expected it, but the British in your brain still catches you by surprise. Damn colonizers.

“Get the damn pants. Your ass would look lovely in them,” he pats your ass with his free hand as punctuation, attempting to urge you forward yet again.

“All you care about is my ass,” you retort mentally.

“Yes and no. It's definitely up there.”

“I'm gonna bite you.”

“Kinky. But keep it in your shorts ‘til we get back, yeah?”

He takes his hand off your face and gets out of your head. You whip your head around to silently complain at him, but he's staring right back at you with a smile that, to the normal person, would look as if he'd done no wrong. But to you, it was only making your situation worse.

The same smile which was pissing you off in ways you didn't even think possible morphs into a genuine laugh delivered softly, and for God's sake, you can't keep your stomach from doing a brief flip at the sound.

“Fine. Pretend you don't want them. But you're going to pay with my card, and I'll show you exactly how much you won't regret buying them when we get back to my office.”

[1d1195]

Honey VI

Read Honey here | ~5.3k words

From me: I know not everyone likes smut so you can read this part directly after part 4 if you'd like. All you need to know is that they had sex in part 5.

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, mentions of sex but not describing everything. I don't think you'll like the ending to this part hehehe

Summary: “Hey kitten,” he hummed, settling her on the mattress. She looked so perfect there. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” She tucked herself into his sheets. Her face smushed into his pillow. He smiled, rubbed his hand on her hip and slipped into bed beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Happy belated birthday.”

She snorted and tucked her face into his chest. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry tossed the blanket on the back of the couch across her body. She was stretched out the length of his, her ear right on his chest, her hands cupped on the top of each of his shoulders. Her hips wedged between his legs. He wondered if she felt that his dick was already hardening pressing against the fabric of her underwear.

Pulling the thin piece of her panties from her center was one of the hottest things he had ever done before lining himself up with her. He worried he would never want her to take her underwear off just so he could gaze at the way it looked. (Although he was certain he could be convinced otherwise). His hands went to her back, and he kissed the top of her head. “You okay, love?” He asked. She nodded silently. “Y’sure?” Another wordless shake of her head. Harry ran his hand up and down her spine lightly tracing her skin like there was a pattern for him to follow. “Y’can sleep, kitten,” he whispered.

She had sex before, but it was never like that. Her body was exhausted, her face felt flushed and yeah, she was really sleepy. “Mmm?” She sighed. “Okay,” she mumbled.

“Night, love,” he kissed along her hairline.

*

They both seemed to wake up at the same time and without a clock or their phones nearby, there was no way to tell how late it was. Cece hadn’t made a peep, so she was still in the early stages of her deepest sleep. So only a few hours had passed, since her bedtime. It was still pitch black, so the power hadn’t returned either.

Harry kissed her hairline again, unaware that she was awake. In response, she kissed his chest, nosing at his skin.

“You’re so pretty.”

“You can’t see me.”

“Don’t need to.”

She smiled.

“Tell me ‘bout you,” he murmured.

“Tell you what?”

“Well, I know your favorite food is French fries and that y’like dogs more than cats. I know y’love your family even if they’re lazy and don’t show how much they love you. I know where y’went t’school and your best friend’s name is Eliza even if y’hardly see her or talk t’her.”

“There’s not much else to know,” she shrugged one shoulder.

“Why did y’start nannying? With your degree?”

She bit her lip. “I babysat most of my life,” but her voice had an edge to it. There was more and she didn’t want to tell him. Harry could sense it.

“Y’have a psychology degree with a concentration in child development. And y’have a minor in business. Something tells me that y’didn’t intend t’be a nanny. Even if you’re good at it.”

There was a long pause. Harry thought she fell asleep again. Her voice was soft. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me?”

She nodded. “It’s that baggage I mentioned?”

“I told you I would carry it,” he reminded her.

She didn’t think he didn’t mean it, but she didn’t think he knew what he was saying right before he slid his finger inside her. Her brain was already mush at that point and Harry could have told her anything as long as he made her come the way he did. Taking a deep breath, she was grateful for the dark. “I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life,” she explained. That didn’t surprise him in the least. The way she held Cece and how kind, adoring, and doting it would be obvious to someone who was blind that she was going to be the most tremendous mother.

“I took care of dolls my entire childhood. Then there was my baby brother. I babysat from the time I was thirteen and all throughout college,” another deep breath. “I met my one and only ex-boyfriend on my first day of college classes. I was eighteen in an intro to business class. I figured if I wanted to open a daycare of my own, it would be good knowledge, right?” Harry’s finger danced along the side of her neck stroking a line up and down not saying anything, just listening. “He was young and didn’t want kids and I didn’t blame him. What eighteen-year-old does? I know I was a rarity—I had a baby brother and was around babies my whole life. I figured he would have grown out of it.”

“He didn’t grow out of it?” Harry asked.

“No... but he told me that he was definitely changing his mind. Every time I mentioned our future or our future children, he just...” she sighed. “He would say things like ‘of course, angel,’” her tone dropped an octave to imitate him. “But he talked about business and cruises. He talked about these extravagant parties and gatherings. Living overseas and expanding his business,” she shrugged. “It sounded nice, but I wanted kids.”

“You were still young,” Harry murmured. He wasn’t agreeing, but he was curious how her college-sweetheart just stopped being that. Surely that was something that would change with time.

“That’s why I stayed with him,” her voice was indifferent. “It wasn’t a bad thing at the time. I knew we both still had plenty of time,” her throat caught on the word time, and she cleared it. “He actually encouraged me to start nannying.”

Harry didn’t like her ex because she deserved everything she wanted. If she wanted to sell Harry’s company, he would do it for her. All he wanted was to see her smile. But if he was the reason that Harry found her... well... maybe he couldn’t hate him too much.

“I’ve always been pretty nurturing, protective, et cetera...” she shrugged. “My friends called me mom in college. I walked around with a mini pharmacy in my purse, and I never got drunk in college because I was busy taking care of my friends. So, my boyfriend figured I would do well, and he introduced me to a friend of a friend who wanted someone to watch their newborn.” She rolled her lips into her mouth before continuing. “I was twenty-two and I have loved babies my whole life. I stopped nannying him when he was three years old. That sweet little boy would be five now and I worry about him every day. Leaving him was the hardest thing I ever did.”

Harry frowned and kissed the top of her head, squeezing her gently. “Why?”

“His parents weren’t around. You said you felt like you weren’t there for Cece. Harry, you have no idea what some parents are like. I was going to doctor’s visits and buying Christmas presents for him on behalf of his parents. I took him to visit family that treated me like his big sister or an aunt—like I was their family and not his parents. It was awful. When I left, I felt like I gave my own child to a pair of strangers. It hurt so much. I cried for a week and seriously considered never babysitting ever again,” she sniffed and shook her head. “I stopped following them on social media. I would have kept asking because I was so scared. I had to stop, or I would... never let go and he wasn’t mine. He wasn’t,” she shook her head. “They made sure to tell me so. Every time I encouraged a change in eating habits or suggested they monitor his sleeping... they berated me for overstepping.”

“Probably because they were embarrassed, love,” he frowned and cupped the back of her head. Harry was seriously addicted to kissing her. It didn’t have to be her lips, though he loved that too. Kissing her hairline and touching her soft, delicate face was becoming his favorite thing.

“Yeah, but...” she shrugged. “It means a lot to me that you value my opinion. I don’t think you’re a bad dad at all, but you don’t mind asking questions. It’s... it’s like, I would never open a business without asking for your help,” she explained. “Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” he nodded. “I would be lost without you,” his heart hurt on her behalf. “Why did y’leave?” He asked.

She swallowed. “They were pregnant,” Harry waited. “I was there six days a week from six in the morning until eight in the evening. I was exhausted and it wasn’t because I didn’t love what I was doing, I did. I loved it so much,” she whispered. “But they had made me the most important part of their family and they didn’t even know their little boy,” her voice cracked. “He told me he wished I was his mom,” her voice was hardly audible.

“Oh, kitten,” he pulled her in closer. “He loved you so much.”

“It wasn’t fair to me,” she sniffled. “I just left him.”

“Y’had to, love.”

“He told me he hated me.”

“He was three, sweetheart. Of course he did,” he hummed and kissed the top of her head. “Y’were his favorite person, his best friend.” She sobbed and Harry held her tighter, wishing he could take her pain away. “Y’did the right thing,” he assured her. “Even if it didn’t feel like it.”

She swallowed. “Everyone told me I was an idiot.”

Harry frowned. “Who said that?”

“My family, my boyfriend, my friends,” she listed. “It was such a good job. I could pay my rent and all my bills. I hung out with the cutest kid,” she swallowed.

“Did y’tell them all that other stuff?”

She nodded. “Yeah. They didn’t get it. My boyfriend said I was getting to have a baby—two even, without having to ruin my body or any—”

“God, please tell me y’broke up with him.”

She huffed a breath of sniveling laughter. “Not yet.”

Harry sighed. “So y’found another family?”

She nodded. “I had babysat for Mitch and Sarah before. I was so heartbroken, but I’m a sucker for a cute kid and a mom and dad that are in desperate need of a date night,” she smiled. “Have you seen their kid?”

He chuckled. “He’s sweet, huh?”

“I watched him weekly. Just a date night. It was only a few hours, but they were in awe because I would get bored and clean or whatever they needed. I just did it. I didn’t think about it because I was just...used to it. So, they said they had a couple that needed a nanny,” she swallowed. “I was genuinely scared. I was afraid I would be taken advantage of and I was worried... worried I was going to fall in love with them again,” she whispered. “I did, but it was better this time. Hannah and Pete were parents who wanted to be parents. They loved me, I’m sure you saw, but I was just there to keep their babies safe.”

Harry remembered the glowing recommendations. “Tara and Xavier right?” He asked. She nodded.

“It was a blessing Tara was three years old when I met her and not Xavier. I might not have done it.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

She swallowed. “I was home more, and I noticed that...he wasn’t.”

“What was his name? Y’never said.”

“Cody,” she mumbled.

There was more quiet that ensued while she gathered her thoughts. “I was twenty-four and we had been together for almost seven years...” she took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be married necessarily nor have kids right that second... but...”

“But he didn’t really change?” He finished.

“No, he did,” her voice was hollow. “Just... not for me.”

Oh no. “Kitten,” he hummed. “What—”

“She was pregnant,” she said softly. “Three months along by the time I found out.”

Harry meant what he said about Cece and a sibling. She was still his baby, and he wanted to make sure she got the attention she deserved because he loved her more than anything in the world. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to give her a sibling. One with Miss Honey? Harry could only be so lucky. “I hate Cody,” he grumbled.

“I’m not really a fan myself,” she whispered. Harry kissed her forehead and wished he could take her heart out and massage it like it was a sore muscle and fix it for her. “Hannah insisted I move in,” she swallowed. “I felt so stupid.”

“That was not your fault, love. Y’shouldn’t feel stupid. He’s an idiot.”

“I love my family,” she whispered. “I love them more than anything on this earth,” she swallowed. “But sometimes, I don’t think anyone loves me the way I love them,” she mumbled. “I feel really selfish saying that and I just thought that if I had a family of my own, the one I imagined with Cody and all the babies I wanted to have, then maybe I would feel loved. Like I was someone’s first choice because...” she trailed off and Harry felt a tear fall on his chest right from her cheek. She didn’t speak and Harry waited and waited.

“Christ, kitten,” he muttered. “If y’want a family. Y’deserve one.”

She didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to cry more; honestly, Harry didn’t want her to cry either. He wasn’t sure he could console her without promising to marry her right then and there. How someone dated her for seven years and never proposed was beyond him. It hadn’t even been seven hours since he’d been inside her and he was considering it.

“I’d have to quit nannying,” she added her voice was quiet. “I’m also only freshly twenty-seven. There’s still ample time. But... I have a lot of trust issues, obviously.”

“Kitten,” he tutted. “Don’t you think—”

“I don’t want to scare you,” she started which instantly made his heart beat a little faster. His body felt a little hotter. His throat a little tighter around the words he was going to say. “But I’m... my biological clock is a slave to time and if Cece turns five and starts kindergarten, then I’m probably going to have to—”

“Love, stop,�� he interrupted. He wanted to say that he would give her everything. But he had her body wrapped around his less than three hours ago. Coming around his fingers, his tongue, his dick.

“Harry, I...” she swallowed. “I love Cece. An embarrassing amount,” she had a smile in her voice. “It’s impossible to find someone understanding of the nanny thing. Now I’ll always worry that the person I’m with is off making his own family with someone else,” she admitted.

“So you’re jus’ going t’accept that and... not have a family of your own?”

“No, I’ve done some research on sperm donation. It’s my best option. And that’s fine. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. I’m not sure I’d be a good wife.”

There was truly no way Harry could fathom that. There was no way she wasn’t the best at anything she did. Fuck, she was a better secretary than anyone he could possibly hire. “How are you holding up with all that baggage?”

“Light as a feather,” he mumbled grumpily. He kissed her temple. He was already planning, plotting. Hoping.

“It... it was nice talking about it,” she whispered. “What’s in your dick that made me blab all that?”

He chuckled. “Truth serum.”

“That’s disgusting,” she gagged. “Don’t tell other girls that, they won’t like it. You’re lucky I’m so cool.”

Harry wanted to ask her if she really thought there were other girls. There weren’t. But if there had been, they paled in comparison to her. There was no one else. There could be no one else anymore. He had been waiting for someone like her, unable to believe he could have someone like her any longer. He had a baby to care for and a company to run. Women didn’t love him for him anymore.

Harry didn’t love anyone besides his baby, his company, and his family.

But he hadn’t accounted for Miss Honey and her sweetness, her kindness.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry realized how tired he was again. Poor thing had to be emotionally exhausted as well. He gently moved her to the inside of the couch “Sit up for me, kitten,” he asked quietly. She rubbed her eye that extra cute way that she did like when he went to her bedroom door in the middle of the night for help with Cece.

He slipped his boxers back on and turned off the little battery-operated candles. There were scrabble pieces all over the floor, but he would deal with them in the morning. She was half asleep, eyes fluttering and trying to stay open. He grabbed their clothes from the floor and threw them into her lap with the blanket that was still wrapped around her.

Harry scooped her into his embrace, cradling her like he was carrying a bride. It made his heart skip a beat. Without discussing it, he carried her to his bedroom. He didn’t want to be apart from her. It felt like he was carrying half his heart in his arms. Her fall blanket had been long since swapped out with a Christmas one and it was draped haphazardly across her keeping her warm as the only thing she wore was the scrap of fabric she was passing off as underwear and that pretty pink bra. “Hey kitten,” he hummed, settling her on the mattress. She looked so perfect there. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” She tucked herself into his sheets almost instantly. Her face smushed into his pillow. He smiled, rubbed his hand on her hip and slipped into bed beside her. Her eyes were closed.

“Happy belated birthday.”

She snorted and tucked her face into his chest. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered falling asleep nearly the moment she finished speaking.

*

Sleeping with her boss might be the dumbest thing she had ever done.

About ten of her romance novels consisted of this very plot line and she was victim of it per her own doing. Harry’s heavy arm was draped around her waist leaving her trapped beneath it and his soft bedding.

Fortunately, before she had time to spiral, Cece made her presence known. It gave her a reprieve from thinking about how stupid she was. It was something tangible to focus on that wasn’t the ache between her legs from having Harry—

She shook her head. Without another sound in the house, not even the quiet hum of the heating system, it heightened the sound of Cece’s small cry.

She pulled herself out from under Harry, frowning at how cold it was outside his blanket-like body. The first article of clothing she plucked from the floor—which happened to be one of Harry’s T-shirts—and slipped it over her body. Quietly, she went to Cece’s room. “Hello sweet girl,” her voice was soft, and Cece stopped crying instantly. “What are you doing?” She cooed. Cece continued to fuss without crying, so she scooped her up and kissed the side of her head. “Is it the rain and thunder?” She asked. “It’s okay. It’s just a little weather,” she assured her. “Are you cold?” she whispered. “I know,” she sighed. “Let’s go see if Daddy can keep us warm,” she murmured, kissing her temple.

Before she took one step to turn around, a hand circled the front of her stomach, pressing low, making her eyes flutter because Harry had touched and pressed so many parts of her body and he seemed to pull noises and warmth from her without even trying.

Harry’s lips found the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck, and peppered kisses along the made-up path he created from her shoulder to her ear. “You’re so good with her,” he murmured. “It’s so hot,” he whispered. She shivered even though she was about ten thousand degrees warmer than she was a moment before. “She’s cold?” he mumbled into her neck.

She nodded, unable to speak with his mouth on her pulse. He steered her out of the room by her hips, his fingers pressing against spots that he had pressed only hours before. Back toward the living room where he had made her come more times in one sitting than she had in weeks. Her cheeks felt warm as she followed his silent direction—like she was returning to the scene of a crime.

A really hot, sexy crime.

Harry left for his room again, but it was only moments before he was back at her side. He pulled her toward the couch making her stomach flip with the knowledge of what they did. He stretched his legs across the chaise part of the sofa and pulled her down, so her bum wedged between his leg and the sofa arm. Her legs stretched perpendicularly to his, across the couch.

Harry pulled the comforter he had dragged from his room across the three of them and snagged Cece’s crescent pillow from the floor, half under the couch from where it had landed while he was holding her legs open earlier. Harry kept that thought to a minimum as it was late, and she was sleepily holding his daughter. Gently, he tucked the pillow under her arms so most of Cece’s weight would be supported. “S’this dangerous?” He asked curiously.

“A few months ago, yeah... But I’m a pretty light sleeper. She’ll move before it’s an issue.”

Harry kissed the top of her head which had shifted down to the front of his shoulder. “You’re warm?”

“Very,” she promised.

“She’s warm?” He asked.

She wrapped her arms tighter around her and kissed her forehead, making Harry’s heart ache. “Mmm... are you warm?”

“Very,” he smiled. Even if he wasn’t, it was sweet she cared to ask. She was the one holding the baby. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you,” he murmured.

She tilted her head up and her beautiful wide eyes gazed at him and her lips curved upward so cutely he felt downright hot. No need for a blanket when he could see her smile like that. Harry cupped the side of her head. His thumb brushed along her cheek.

The quiet beating of his heart was under her ear and made her fall asleep.

*

Cece woke them up along with every light on in the house signaling the power was back. Harry’s shoulder felt deadened from her head against it for so many hours. He blinked against the light and glanced at the Scrabble tiles strung haphazardly on the floor. “Good morning, Miss Cecelia,” she cooed and kissed her forehead. “We’re nice and toasty, hmm?”

Harry smiled. His heart so completely full. As full as his arms felt.

“Let’s go change your bum, yeah?” She twisted slightly. “Hold her so I don’t injure you?” She smiled awkwardly. Harry really did a number on her hair while he made out with her last night, but she was still so beautiful it hurt. Her face still had a post-orgasmic glow about it and honestly it was kind of her to worry about Harry’s dick so close to her butt and not wanting to injure him, but she could probably feel it—a reminder that he was so turned on by her.

Harry kissed Cece’s cheek repeatedly. “Good morning, my sweet girl,” he cooed and nosed at her soft skin. She giggled happily and left an open-mouthed kiss on his face making him fall harder for the little baby.

Miss Honey hadn’t moved an inch while she watched the interaction, only inches from her face and she smiled sadly as she finally moved off his lap. Harry was so cold without her body around his it took every ounce of his effort to refrain from pulling her right back down.

She was still in his T-shirt and because her underwear was thin and hiding between her plump butt cheeks, it looked like she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Harry also had to refrain from groaning at the sight. He was glad the comforter was thrown over his lap because it hid the massive amount of indecency he was sporting at the sight of her. She plucked Cece from him and headed down the hall.

Harry picked up the Scrabble tiles trying to forget how good she tasted on the back of his couch so the blood in his body would drain to anywhere else but it’s current space. Eventually, she returned to the kitchen. Unfortunately, she was wearing pants and Harry thought it was unfair she didn’t even ask if he could get another look beforehand.

Cece was wrapped, as always, around her as she started her morning routine. Food, bottle, tea, coffee. Business as always. “Kitten, y’don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” she wasn’t facing him. But he could practically feel the heat of her cheeks, flushed with embarrassment. Her voice was shaky. Higher than normal.

“Y’okay?” He asked, his eyebrows pinching together as he watched her work without turning around. “Y’feel okay? Not sore or—”

“Harry,” she swallowed pausing her movements and Cece was suckling on her pacifier watching the pretty woman curiously.

“What, love?” He frowned. “Y’sure you’re alright? Y’sound—”

She put a hand on her face. “Harry, I feel...” she whispered and turned around.

Harry thought she was stunning when she perched over him and slid up and down his cock. But there was nothing like the sight of her, baby on her hip, freshly fucked and flushed, and sleepy looking as she made breakfast in his kitchen. “Y’feel what?” He asked, clearing his throat before he told her he loved her. How quickly he turned into a teenage boy ready to profess his love all because she felt so good around his cock.

“Good,” she smiled sadly. “Really, really good,” she promised. Harry smiled happily. Glad she was feeling okay. “But—”

Fuck. NO.

“I think we shouldn’t have—”

“Kitten, no,” he said quickly crossing the kitchen and putting one hand on her free hip. Cece was gazing at him while her little pacifier bounced up and down in her mouth. “Love, don’t say it—”

“Harry, you employ me.”

His natural instinct was to fire her right on the spot. Then promptly propose to her.

He shoved that instinct into the bottom of his stomach, but his chest ached knowing she was going to be twenty times stronger than him because she had to be. In her head, she was all alone. Even if that wasn’t true at all. He closed his eyes. “Sweetheart,” he said softly. His voice felt broken, and his heartbeat was thudding too hard.

“Harry, I... I really don’t regret that at all. But it was,” she took a deep breath. “It wasn’t the right move,” she looked at his chest. Her face warm with a fresh blush as she probably remembered how he made her come three times in a row. “It was perfect and I like being close with you. But there has to be a line,” she said. “I shouldn’t have crossed it, and I’m sorry. I don’t regret it. Given half the chance, I’d probably do it again,” she admitted.

“We could do it again if—”

“Harry,” she laughed softly, awkwardness coating the sound.

“Angel,” he started but she winced and turned her head away like he had slapped her.

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered. “That’s the only thing Cody ever called me and—”

“Jesus, kitten, m’sorry. I was jus’—”

“It’s okay,” she looked up briefly, but her face turned another shade darker when their eyes connected. She looked so kissable. He wanted to. Wanted to kiss her and hold her and promise she could have whatever she wanted. Harry didn’t know if she was right. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to do things.

She was employed by him. A lot closer than any other of his employees. Granted he didn’t want to sleep with Niall or give him babies the way he wanted to do for her. “I love Cece,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to jeopardize this because of...” she swallowed. “Because of what we did. We can just forget about it. It was really, really wonderful. Please don’t question that,” her voice was soft. “You’re going to take your leave and I’m going to see my family for a week or two,” she explained. “It’ll be good to have that space and maybe... maybe reset what we’re feeling.”

“Reset,” he repeated.

She nodded. "Isn't there a part of you that wonders if what we did is only because I'm around so much?"

Harry wanted to scream. How could she say that? How could she possibly believe he only made her come three times because she was there? A small voice shouted from the back of his mind: Tell her why! Harry felt his stomach flip and his heart nearly stopped beating.

She didn’t know he loved her. She couldn’t know that his adoration for her had nothing to do with her proximity.

Her innate ability to know what he needed. Organizing papers without asking, folding his laundry, caring for his precious baby.

Just... being there. But not because of space, because it wasn't just because she was present, it was her presence.

No he shook his head. She was scared. She was pushing him away. Scared of all the things she told him the night before. It was her “baggage." The baggage she claimed Harry couldn’t carry because it was so heavy.

But what had he said that made her believe he couldn’t handle it?

Cece doesn’t need a sibling right now.

But she would never want to pressure him to do that—right? Not with what he had been through himself. But then she went and told him all about the way her ex-boyfriend treated her and how it was the only thing she wanted.

I’m just going to get a sperm donor. She said it so casually. There was an expiration date. If Cece turned five before something changed, then she was going to leave.

Harry wanted to give her a million babies. However many she wanted to have, he would give her. He would do it with her. He would quit his job and let her do whatever she wanted. Everything she wanted. A family that adored her and put her first because she deserved it. A family that would travel across the world for her just because they missed her, and she was their favorite thing in the world. A house filled with babies and her pretty maternal self, taking care of them all. Feeding them medicine and making them giggle when they discovered their toes.

He wanted their future children to love her more than him because she deserved that more than anything.

Hell, Cece probably already loved her more than him already.

“Are you going to fire me?” She whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. His hand was holding his shirt wrapped around her body at her hip. The fabric bunched a little tighter than it was before. He released it.

“No, of course not,” he rolled his eyes.

But he was going to make her fall in love with him.

The sooner the better.

--

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[just-a-ghost00]

You got mail 💌

Let’s find out what the person on your mind has to say to you. Pick one of the following emojis and discover your reading.

🌍 🩵 🌄 🤠

Group 1 🌍

I may not show it to you but I am really happy we met. Everyday with you feels like a new adventure. Though we are worlds apart and so different from each other, I really feel like we match perfectly. You make me feel like I belong. Every moment spent with you is so much fun. It makes me want to jump forward and explore. You are so sweet and generous, so playful that I can’t help but to play along. I feel so lucky being with you. There is so much I want to do with you. I want to hang out with you and get to know you more. Maybe we could have a couple drinks, play in a park, have a little date by the river… if you wish. I feel so boring compared to you. With me, everything is always black and white. But you, my love, are so colorful and bright. I wish we were a family. I wish I could wake up in the morning to find you sitting at the table, eating breakfast with a smile on your face. I wish I could share with you my favorite spots and take you to every place I get to see. I wish I could find a way to express all that you mean to me. I tend to see the glass half empty. But when I’m with you I want to believe everything is possible. You have filled my cup with your love and I am so thankful for that. I can’t find the words to tell you how much I owe to you. You’ve made me a better person and I feel like I could never return the favor.

Group 2 🩵

I may look like all is well and fine but to tell you the truth I feel hollow. And I could use some fun. I always seem so busy, always the life of the party, making everybody laugh and ensuring they have a good time. But deep inside, it’s getting tough. As the days go by, I feel my energy depleting and my motivation as well. I don’t even know why I do this anymore. I force myself for the sake of keeping appearances but honestly I’m not sure I like it at all. I’m afraid that if you dig deep enough, you wouldn’t like what you find there. I am much more fragile than I seem. Also much more mellow and soft when I get the chance. But lately I’m more of a zombie than anything. I don’t think I could bring you much joy nor comfort. I’m afraid I’ve turned bitter. It’s all about work and making sure the money gets in and less about enjoying what I’m doing. I need to pay the bills. There’s competition around. I can’t afford to lose. Everyone’s counting on me. People look up to me. I sacrificed a lot to get there. I can’t back down now. Who would I be if I did? I can’t disappoint. It’s all a masquerade but it’s for a cause. It might not look great to you but it means a lot to me. So, sorry if I’m acting cold but… it’s all for you baby. Don’t go thinking I found someone better. Believe me I don’t have the time for that.

Group 3 🌄

Hold on a minute ! I know what you’re gonna think. What the heck is he/she saying? But hey, let me explain you’ll get it ! I may not be the strongest, the wisest or the most impressive of them all but one thing that’s sure about me is that I only have good intentions for you. I am ready to fight for you if that must be done. Thought I’m not good at that. Listen, my point is I really like you. I want to be with you, have fun with you, chat with you. I want us to take our time and get to know each other and hopefully to grow old together but that’s another story. With you I feel like a kid again. Sometimes, I gotta say, the feeling can be irritating. But at the same time it is freeing. I don’t have to chose a side. I don’t have to act a certain way to be accepted by you or understood. And that’s crazy! I’ve never experienced that before. Usually I would try to conform and play nice, show my best side and stick to the plan. But ever since I met you I want to free myself of those restraints. I want to find my home. I want to express my full potential without fearing being rejected or not belonging. I know you’ll never kick me out. Because you are the same aren’t you? The things I’ve seen, what I’ve been through, you’ve been there as well, right? I want to make a promise to you. Whatever comes our way, I swear I won’t run away. Even though it is scary and seems impossible, I will always work hard and do my best to make it. I may not be exactly your type or what you imagined a partner should be, but I am willing to learn. I am willing to tune to your melody and shelter whatever we may build together, not matter how unstable it may seem. I want you to feel comfortable with me. I want you to feel as safe with me as I feel with you. So if you’ll let me, let me fulfill that promise. You won’t regret it.

Group 4 🤠

To be honest, at first I didn’t get the best of vibes from you. I was a little intimidated and didn’t want to get to know you. Especially considering what people were saying about you. But I tried to see past your exterior and once I got to know you I found out that you were very chill. Maybe it was because I didn’t know you. Maybe I feared the unknown territory you represented. Maybe I was just afraid of going deep. But curiosity got the best of me. And luckily for both of us I stayed around long enough to make my own opinion. And I have to say that you are quite surprising. I won’t lie, being with you asks a lot of efforts on my part. But every second spent with you is worth it. In your presence, I feel comfortable. Being with you reminds me of my childhood. I think of my mother and my family, of the days we spent together before I moved away and followed the wind where it took me. Every page of our story takes me deeper within. I see sides of myself I never noticed or didn’t want to remember. I remember the innocent days where doing something new weren’t as terrifying and meeting new people sounded like a thrill. Being with you I feel blessed and content. There’s a light heartedness and a warmth in my heart I wouldn’t trade for anything. When I’m alone at home you’re all I think about. When I’m at work also. There isn’t a single moment when you’re not on my mind. When I’m with you I feel hopeful. I think that maybe life isn’t as tough as I thought it would be. That maybe there is more waiting for me. Please, show me more of your different sides. Tell me more about what makes you happy. Let me in and let me see for myself what you are made of. I’m begging you don’t shut me out. I want more of you.

[loveesiren]

Doing It All For Us (Pt. 5)

Masterlist

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Midsummerrrssss and sex :P

Warnings: Smut, language, alcohol,

Word Count: 4.5k+

Midsummers had finally arrived and you were ecstatic. Courtney had been telling you all about it for years and it always sounded so amazing. The fact that you'd be walking in with the Cameron's made it even more exciting.

In the short amount of time you'd been on the island, you'd become the official Kook Queen. People feared you and that fueled your fire. Even though your dad was never around, everyone knew who he was and respected him.

You'd made a reputation for yourself. You weren't one to fuck with. You were loyal to your friends. And you and Rafe were a packaged deal. When it came to him, you were a lioness, ready to protect him at all costs. He did the same for you.

"You look amazing!" Courtney gushed as she looked over your dress. It was light blue, to match Rafe's suit. Floor length and silk, it hugged your body just right. Slits coming up both sides, dangerously close to exposing you. Your breasts pressed against the fabric perfectly, showing just the right amount of cleavage.

"Thanks, Court! So do you!"

You and Courtney sported matching hair. Straight and long. Simple, but the two of you made it look breath taking. You decided against your regular gold body jewelry and opted for the silver necklace Rafe had gotten you. A diamond studded R hung from the simple chain and it was absolutely gorgeous. You were proud to wear it. Proud to make it known that you belonged to him.

"So, are you nervous to meet his family?" Courtney asked.

"Yeah, kind of," You admit. "I just hope they like me."

"What's not to like?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that I'm a violent junkie who's richer than everyone on the island, including them." You say, anxiety coating your voice.

Courtney sighs. "Listen," She starts as she picks up your brush and runs it through your hair. "You're strong and smart as hell. You hold your own and you'd do anything for Rafe. Just be yourself. They are going to love you."

You smile at her in the mirror and nod. "Okay," You agree.

"Y/N?" You hear Rafe call from downstairs.

Your stomach drops. "Fuck, I'm not ready for this."

"Here," Courtney says, pouring you a shot and handing it to you. You throw it back quickly and ask for another. She pours you one and you drink again. "Now go be the bad bitch you are!" She says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You and Courtney make your way downstairs. You stop in your tracks when you see Rafe. Holy shit. His hair was slicked back, blue suit and bow tie, flowers in his hand. You swear you'd never seen a more perfect person in your life.

Courtney ran and jumped into Kelce's arms. You snapped out of your trance and walked over to Rafe. You could see a nervousness on his face.

"Oh my God," He said. "Y-You look like an angel."

You bit your lip, looking down to hide the red glossing over your cheeks.

"You don't look half bad yourself, Cameron." You said with a nervous giggle.

"What are you two like in the fourth grade?" Kelce asked. Him and Courtney laughing at your nervous exchange.

Rafe shot him a look.

"We're gonna head out," Courtney says, pushing Kelce towards the door. "We'll see you guys there!"

"Uhm, these are for you," Rafe said as he handed you the bouquet of pink and black roses. Your favorite.

"They're beautiful," You say with a smile. You walk over to the kitchen and grab a vase. Setting the flowers up in the middle of the island.

"Baby," Rafe says as he walks over to you. "You look so fucking perfect."

Before you could say anything, his lips were pressed to yours, kissing you hungrily. You knew you were going to have to fix your lipstick but you didn't care. You brought your hand up, running your fingers through the back of his hair and you pulled him deeper into the kiss.

"Hands where I can see them," You heard your dad enter the room.

Rafe backed off quickly, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Dad," You hissed. "What are you doing here?" You hadn't even heard him come in.

Your dad just laughs. "Don't worry, son," He says, placing a hand on Rafe's shoulder. "I don't own a shot gun."

Rafe relaxes with a nervous chuckle. "Good to see you again, Mr. Y/L/N."

"Please, call me Elliot." He says with a smile. "I assume you are taking my daughter to Midsummers?"

"Uh, yes sir. We were just about to head over to meet my family."

"Dad," You interrupt. "What are you doing home? I thought you were gone this week."

"I head out again in the morning," He said. "But I have a few business strategies to run by some folks at Midsummers tonight. Including Mr. Cameron." He says as he looks to Rafe again.

"I-I'm sure my dad would appreciate that, Sir." Rafe says with a smile.

"Okay, well, we have to get going," You say as you pull Rafe towards the door. "See you tonight, dad!"

"Drive safe!" He calls after you.

Once you reach Rafe's truck, he pulls the door open for you and helps you in. Once he's in the drivers side, he lets out a sigh of relief.

"Sorry. I had no clue my dad was going to be home."

"It's okay, baby girl," He said, placing his hand on your thigh. "Just, caught me off guard is all."

You smile at him. "You look so handsome."

He looked away as his cheeks turned bright red, making you giggle.

"Let's go," He said, starting the car. "Rose will kill us if we're late."

____________

"Wow," You said as you pulled into Tanneyhill. "This is beautiful."

"Yeah, uh, Rose works really hard on the garden."

Rafe goes to get out of the truck but you stop him. "Rafe?" You ask, a tinge of fear in your voice.

"Yeah, baby? What's up?"

"Uhm...What do your parents know about me? Do they know about the...uh...the overdose." You ask disappointed in yourself.

"Y/N, baby," He starts, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb across your skin. "Look, I have no idea what they've heard but I know they will love you. And we are both clean now. That's what matters."

You smile at him. You always got lost in his ocean eyes. The way his eyes could change from a calm sea to a hurricane in an instant was one of the many things that turned you on about Rafe Cameron.

"You ready?" He asks.

You shake your nerves away. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Rafe comes around and helps you out of the truck, being careful of your dress.

You cling to his arm as he walks you up to the front door and into the house.

"Dad!" He yells as you enter the home.

You swallow your nerves and put on your confident front.

"You're late," A young girl scolds at she enters the foyer.

"No, we're not, Wheeze."

"Who's this?" She asks, looking you over.

"Wheezie, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is my youngest sister, Wheezie."

"Nice to meet you," You beam.

She offers you a small smile. "You too,"

"Wheezie, go tell your sister it's time to go." A tall blond walks into the room, fiddling with her earring. "Ah! You must be Y/N!" She squeals as she comes over and hugs you. You were taken aback but returned the hug. You watched as Rafe rolled his eyes. "I'm Rose!"

"It's really good to meet you!" You say with a big smile. Happy that his family was taking to you well.

"Ward! Y/N and Rafe are here!" Rose yells. This makes your stomach turn slightly. Rafe has told you all about his father and you know how badly he wants his dad to accept him.

"Coming, honey," Ward says as he steps out of his office. You could feel Rafe tense up at the sight of his father. You brush your thumb over his, reminding him you're there. "Son, good to see you," He says as he approaches you and Rafe. Then he turns to look at you.

"Dad, this is Y/N." Rafe says without hesitation. "She's my girlfriend."

Ward gives you a kind smile. "Y/N Y/L/N," He says. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm looking forward to meeting your father tonight."

"He's looking forward to it as well, Mr. Cameron." You say, confidence filling your voice. You knew your dad had influence over the island. Whether Ward really liked you or not, he was going to respect you. And seeing the way you clung to his sons arm seemed to make him almost proud. The fact that his son was now dating you gave him an instant in to doing business with your dad.

"Y/N! Rafe!" You heard Toppers voice cut through the moment.

You turn to see him and Sarah descending the stairs. "Hey, Y/N," Sarah says. Offering nothing but a glare to her brother.

Topper approaches you and gives you a hug and dapping Rafe up.

"Are we all ready to go then?" Rose asks, impatiently ushering everyone out the door.

"I'll drive Y/N, Topper, and Sarah." Rafe offers.

"Okay perfect. We will meet you all there." Ward says.

Rafe helps you into his truck and Topper and Sarah climb in the back. Sarah seems less than happy to be here but you couldn't care less.

"Y/N," Topper says, leaning forward and offering you his flask.

"Oh thank God," You say as you take the flask and begin to chug.

"Hey, Top?" Rafe says as he backs out of the driveway. "Don't get my girlfriend wasted." He scolds.

"Just gonna get a little buzzed," You promised your boyfriend before handing the flask back.

Rafe smiles at you as he drives. His arm rested on the center console and you ran your fingers over his open palm.

"They like you," He said, grinning from ear to ear.

"They like her dad's money," Sarah scoffs.

"Sarah," Topper hisses.

"What was that?" You turn and look at her.

"Oh you really think you're anything special? Rafe's just dating you so my dad will let him back into the house." Sarah spits.

You feel Rafe's hand on your chest, pressing you back against the seat as he slams on the breaks.

"What the fuck, Rafe!" You hear Sarah yell.

Rafe turns around and points his index finger in her face. "Don't you EVER say some fucking dumb shit like that again, Sarah!" He says, chest heaving. "You don't know shit about me or my relationship and if you wanna keep running your mouth I'll kick you out right here and you can walk your sorry ass to the club."

You smile, loving the way Rafe stands up for you.

He turns back around and places a kiss on your cheek before settling back into his seat and driving off.

You can hear Sarah and Topper bickering in the back seat as Rafe clutches your hand tightly. You run your fingers over his skin in attempts to calm him down.

As much as you didn't want to believe it, Sarah's words lingered in your head.

When you pulled up to the club, it was already packed with people. Sarah and Topper got out to meet up with Rose and Ward. You began walking with them but Rafe grabbed your wrist and pulled you back.

"Y/N, listen," He said, his eyes following Sarah as she walked off. "I don't know why Sarah is being such a bitch but I need you to know what she said isn't true."

"I know, Rafey," You said as you reached up and fixed his hair.

"Baby, whether my dad says I can come home or not I really don't care. As long as I have you I'm happy. There is nothing I want more than you."

You smile up at him. You believe every word he says. Sarah hasn't liked you from the beginning and you know her and Rafe had never been close. She was just trying to get under your skin.

Rafe cups your cheek and pulls you into a kiss. You smile against his lips as you savor the moment.

"Rafe!" Wards voice cuts through the air.

You pull away from each other quickly. Your cheeks turning red as you'd been caught for the second time today.

"Coming, dad!" Rafe shouts back. He holds out his arm to you and you link yours through it and smile up at him. "Shall we?" He asks.

People began clapping as the Cameron's entered the party. Rose and Ward walking in first. Rose's golden head piece making an instant talking point.

Topper, Sarah, and Wheezie just behind them.

You and Rafe walked in last and all eyes instantly fell to you. Rafe stood tall and proud knowing he had the islands prettiest girl hanging on his arm. You took confident strides, smiling and waving at people as you walked by.

"What an entrance," Courtney said as you approached her and Kelce. You flipped her off. She chuckled and handed you a glass of wine. "So, how was meeting the family?" She asked as she pulled you slightly away from the boys.

"It went really well for the most part," You said. "But Sarah..." You said as your eyes trailed to where her and Topper were arguing.

"Yeah, she's always been a bitch."

"She said Rafe was only dating me for his fathers approval." You confessed.

Courtney snorted. "That's a load of fucking shit. Rafe's been drooling over you since the second he saw you."

You smiled at her words. You knew deep down Rafe really loved you.

"I think...I think I'm going to do it. Tonight."

Courtney's eyes widened. "Really?! Oh my God I'm so proud of you!" She said as she brought you into a hug. "Are you positive you're ready?"

You nod your head excitedly. "I love Rafe so much. I want it to be him."

Courtney gives you a genuine smile. "I'm really, really happy for you, Sunflower. Rafe's a good guy. I like him."

You beam up at her. "Me too."

You feel Rafe's arm snake around your waist as he pulls you close and kisses the top of your head. "What are you ladies talking about?"

"Oh, just girl talk!" Courtney shrugs.

"Greeeeat," Kelce intervenes. "They're probably talking shit."

"Exactly." You confirm with a shit eating grin before sipping your wine.

"Man, fuck this shit!" Topper said as he approached your little group. He stole Kelce's drink and downed it quickly.

"Alright, alright, guess we're getting shitfaced." Rafe laughs.

"Your sister's a bitch man," Topper snarls.

"Tell me about it," Rafe says, taking a sip of his beer.

"She's cheating on me. I know it."

"Fuck Top, I'm sorry." You said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You deserve better."

Topper laughs. "I, uhhh, I'm pretty sure it's John B."

"What?" Courtney asks. "She's sneaking off with a fucking Pogue?"

"Why can't they just stay on their goddamn side of the island?" You add as you glare over to where Kiara and Pope were standing.

"Come on," Courtney says dragging you to the dance floor. "Let's have fun!"

_____

You were smiling up at Rafe as you swayed to the music. Feeling lost in the moment when people started clapping again.

You look over to see your dad entering the party. You sigh and lean your head into Rafe's chest.

He smiles and runs his fingers through your hair. "We should probably go say hi." He says.

You nod in agreement. "Fine,"

You make your way over to where your dad and Ward were talking.

"Ah, there they are!" Ward says as you approach. "He places his hand on Rafe's shoulder. Beaming with pride. "Elliot, this is my son, Rafe."

"We've met!" Elliot smiles. "Spends more time at my house than I do," He laughs.

Rafe smiles uncomfortably.

"You two seem to have gotten really close," Ward smiles at you.

"Yes sir," You respond. "Rafe's been really great to me since I moved here. Your son is really special, Mr. Cameron." You smile up at Rafe, lacing your fingers with his.

He glows at your words. "I love you," He mouths.

"I love you, too."

"You help your father out with the business, Rafe?" Your dad asks.

"I, uhm, I-"

"He does!" Ward interjects. "He's been on a bit of a break, you know, to be there for Y/N. But now that she's doing better I think he's ready to get back to work."

Your father looked at you, slight disappointment in his face at the fact that the island knows about your overdose. You bite your lip as your eyes fall to the floor.

"Well thank you for being there for her," Elliot says. "It's nice to know she's in good hands when I'm away."

"Of course, sir." Rafe says. "I'll always be there for her."

"You kids go have fun," Elliot says. "Ward and I have a lot to discuss." He smiles.

"See you later dad, Mr. Cameron." You nod in their direction before pulling Rafe away quickly.

"My dad wants me back at work," Rafe said with a smile.

"That's great, babe! He seems proud of you."

Rafe gushes, smile wide on his face and it makes your heart swell to see him so happy.

Courtney and Kelce come stomping over to you. "JJ's here," Courtney announces. You glare in JJ's direction as you see him pass something to Sarah.

"You know? I could go for a drink. What about you Kelce?" Rafe asks.

"Yeah, I'm feeling a bit thirsty myself." Kelce responds.

You and Courtney watch as the boys head off in JJ's direction.

"When will they learn?" Courtney sighs.

"RIP to JJ," You laugh as you watch the boys take off after JJ and chase him through the club.

"So," Courtney says as she turns to look at you. "Did you tell Rafe you wanna do the dirty tonight?" She teases.

"No. I want it to like happen naturally."

"Are you nervous?"

"Kind of. I mean yes and no. I just want to make him feel good."

"Remember what I taught you," Courtney winks.

Topper approaches you, drink in hand, wearing a look of irritation.

"What happened, Top?" Courtney asks.

"Saw Sarah talking to someone. When I asked her about it she denied it but it's so fucking obvious."

"You can do better, Top. If she wants to be a Pogue then she can go live on the Cut." You say.

"I'm sorry for what she said in the truck," Topper says.

"It's not your fault she likes to run her mouth, Top."

"Yeah, but she's wrong for that. I was there the night Rafe saw you for the first time. If that wasn't love at first sight then I don't know what is. He hasn't shut up about you since."

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.

The three of you turn to look at the commotion that suddenly started. JJ was being dragged from the club by security.

"Hey baby," You heard Rafe say from behind you as he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

"What'd you guys do?" Courtney laughed.

"Just told him where he belongs," Kelce said as he stood beside her.

"Safe travels back to the Cut!" Courtney yelled as the four Pogues walked away from the club.

You turned around in Rafe's arms and wrapped your arms up around his neck. "What do you say we go back to your place?" You suggest, giving him lustful eyes as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

Rafe smiles down at you knowingly. "We're gonna head out guys," He announces, not taking his eyes off yours. "We'll see you tomorrow," He begins to usher you out of the party before you could even say bye to your friends.

"Subtle," Kelce chuckles.

Courtney smiles as she watches you walk away, skipping happily alongside Rafe as the two of you hurry out to his truck.

____________________

The ride back to Tanneyhill was full of sexual tension. You were both quiet for the short drive back but you could feel yourself getting more aroused with each passing second.

Rafe helped you out of the truck and led you inside. The rest of the Cameron's were still at the party so you had the house to yourselves.

The second the door closed behind you his lips were on yours. Kissing and nipping at your lips down to your neck. You jumped up and wrapped your legs around him. He gripped your ass tightly as you went at each other hungrily.

"Take me to your room," You breathe. Rafe did as you asked, careful not to trip up the stairs as he carried you.

Once you were inside his room he put you down. Still keeping his lips locked on yours as he ripped his jacket off and threw it to the floor. He brought his hands up to cup your face. "I love you," He whispered between kisses.

"I love you too, Rafey." You smiled. You reached behind you and unzipped your dress. Rafe watched you as it fell to the floor. Staring at you intently, taking in all of your beauty.

You stood before him in your bra and panties and bit your lip. He loosened his bow tie and unbuttoned his shirt, adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor before picking you up and carrying you to the bed. He let out a moan as you sucked at the sweet spot on his neck, leaving as many marks on him as you could.

He unhooked your bra and pulled it off of you slowly. He kissed his way down your neck and chest before sucking on your left nipple, palming the other one as he did.

"Fuck, babe." You moaned. You could feel his erection growing against your core.

"Is this okay?" He whispered against your skin.

"Yes, baby, please keep going." You beg.

Rafe kisses you down your stomach, running his fingers over your clothed pussy. You squirm beneath him, silently begging for him to do more.

He places kisses up and down your thighs. Feeling his breath on your skin sent shockwaves through your body. You felt him tuck his fingers under the hem of your panties and pull them slowly from your body. You were completely exposed to him now.

"So fucking beautiful," He says against your skin. "I want to make you feel so good."

Before you could say anything his tongue was exploring your folds. "Holy fuck!" You cry out at the sensation. Your fingers found his hair and you grasped onto him for dear life as he tongued circles around your clit.

Your legs were over his shoulders and you were afraid you were going to suffocate him as you climbed to your high.

"Oh...my god," You moan. "I'm gonna...I'm-"

You couldn't even get your words out as you reached your orgasm, your body vibrated as you squirted on Rafe's face.

You gasped and clamped your hands over your mouth, completely embarrassed at what you'd just done.

Rafe looked up at you wide eyed and smiling. "Holy fuck, that was hot." He panted.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know I could do that!"

Rafe crawled back up your body and pressed his lips to yours. "Do NOT apologize. You're fucking amazing." He says as he licks his lips. "You taste so fucking good."

You smile and pull him in to kiss him again. His hands run freely up and down your body and you can't deny that you want him. Need him.

"Rafe," You whisper. "I need you."

Rafe pauses for a moment, lips hovering over yours as he looks you in the eyes. "Are you sure, baby?"

You nod eagerly. "Yes. Yes, please." You find yourself begging again.

He smiles and quickly stands up, ridding himself of his pants and boxers.

You bite your lip with both nerves and excitement as you take in his size.

He climbs back into the bed, pulling you under the covers with him. He places kisses all over your face as his hand strokes your hair.

"You really want this?" He asks, unsure of himself.

"Yes, Rafe. I'm in love with you. I want it to be you." You respond.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'm in love with you too." He says. He positions himself between your legs, running his tip through your folds. "It's going to hurt for a second, babe." He told you.

"I know."

"I'll go slow,"

"Okay," You nod, clinging to his biceps.

He lines himself up at your soaking entrance and slowly pushes into you.

"Ow, ow, ow!" You cry as your fingers dig in to his skin.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, keep going." You demand.

Once he bottoms out he stays still, smiling down at you. "Are you okay baby?" He asks as he lets you adjust to his size.

"You're fucking huge," You laugh.

Rafe smiles and kisses you again. You run your fingers through his hair as you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

"Do you want me to move?"

You nodded needily. "Yes, please."

He pulled out slowly and pushed back into you again. The first few thrusts hurt but as he kept going it began to feel good. Really fucking good.

"Go faster," You breathed.

You kept your hands tangled in his hair as he rested his head against your shoulder, thrusting into you faster. He brought his thumb down to circle your clit and and your breath hitched at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby, I'm close." He whispered in your ear.

"Me too, oh my God."

You wrapped your legs around his body as you climaxed together.

His thrusts got sloppier as he released himself inside you. Your body vibrating under his.

Rafe was still inside you as you both fought to catch your breath.

"That was fucking amazing," You sigh.

Rafe pulled out of you and laid on his back beside you. "I'd do fucking anything for you," He admits, eyes closed and a smile wide on his face. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

"A little bit." You admit. You run your hands over your legs, feeling the wetness that lingers there. "Fuck, I'm bleeding." You say as you bring your hand up to examine it.

"That's okay. That's normal, baby. Let's go take a shower." Rafe says as he gets out of the bed.

You scoot towards the edge of the bed but Rafe picks you up and carries you to the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," You whisper as Rafe sets you down and starts the shower.

"Sorry for what, baby?"

"I'm bleeding everywhere." Your eyes begin to water.

He turns to you and cups your face, forcing you to look up at him. "Sweetheart," He begins. "You were a...a...you were a virgin. Bleeding is normal."

"I just don't want to make a mess."

"D-do you regret it?" Rafe asks, his voice almost pitiful.

"No!" You say without hesitation. "No, I don't regret it, baby. I'm just...overwhelmed." You give a small laugh.

"Let me take care of you, pretty girl." He says as he pulls you into the shower with him. He sits down and pulls you back against him.

You lean back and rest your head on his shoulder as he slowly spreads soap over your body.

"Do you realize how perfect you are?" He whispers in your ear. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

"I can't remember what life was like without you," You confess. "Please don't leave me."

"Leave you?" He scoffs. "I can't live without you, Y/N." He reaches down and takes your hands in his. Rubbing his thumbs over your fingers. "One day I'm going to put a ring on your finger."

You smile at his words. "Endgame baby."

"Endgame." He promises.

[rupturedtaleblog]

Hi everyone, Tile here, under more ideal circumstances, you would have gotten everything I wanted to do for the anniversary all at once, but due to my personal life becoming far more busy than I'd like, the content for this year is going to be spread out over the rest of the month.

The following is mostly going to be a few thoughts of mine, over the history of this project, and about a few personal anecdotes. If you don't care about that, feel free to just look at the art up there, it was made by VeggieUTDR.

I would like to start things off by thanking those of you who have decided to still follow this project. What started out as a stupid joke made to spite someone had transformed into a project that is incredibly personal to me. One that I, come hell or high water, will see through it to its completion, one way or another.

8 years feels like an incredible amount of time. A lot of things happened to me, and some things stayed relatively the same. It's part of why I've decided to never really cancel this. By the time Rupturedtale started, it was during the boom of Undertale AU Sprite Comics, it was a project among many of those, and one that would surely fade just like a good chunk of them.

That never really happened, though, as I'm currently talking to you. As corny as this may sound, there is a part of me inside of this thing. And it's a part of me I cannot bring myself to hurt. This whole story is about hurt, really, it'd be cruel to put it out of its misery when it can become something truly beautiful.

If you're wondering why it's taken so long, besides my life in general being busy, it's because I've spent a lot of time developing some personal projects with some good friends of mine. Ones that for the time being aren't really meant for the public eye. Creating those memories is important to me, and they will also shape how some of the things in this project are going to be.

You might get to catch a glimpse at one of them.

There isn't anything of major substance that I can show right now, the Date itself has things that will be better off being shown in their proper context. And its overall script needs to undergo revision before it can be put into game form. In the event of complete and utter catastrophic failure, you can expect it to come out in comic form instead.

In general, for the projects that are made by my hand (and the very lovely people who help said hand), I will be publishing a roadmap of what to expect in the future. There are a lot of things that I want to do, and I'm very eager to show them to you. I just need to get to them first.

Again, I'm incredibly grateful for your patience, there's not a lot of you out there, I'm aware, but for the ones that still are, I promise you're gonna get what you've been looking for.

If there is anything I've learned the past few years, is that my love for this game will never truly die, I will be thinking about it for the rest of my life.

Though, that doesn't mean I will only create under its own shadow.

You can't just play with the same toy over and over again, you know.

You'd want something new.

Eventually.

[gothushi]

ultimatum

pairing: simon x f!reader

warning: angst, physical alteration, mention of blood, creampie

note: went in a bit of a different direction for this request but i’m quite happy with the angst of it. this is kinda tame though, i wanna do this idea again but more… nasty… dirty…

word count: 4.2k

———————♡

He’d just helped Brendan Brady clean up a dead body, and now he has to deal with you showing up to his motel room? How did you even find him? The dim lamp on the side table illuminates his frustrated face.

“What the fuck am I gonna do if Brendan sees you?”

“I’m tired of you letting this consume you, Simon, I want you to come home.”

“Come home? Abandon my entire case?” His brows furrow, obviously hating the idea. He’s done all this so far, why stop now?

“This is going too far, Simon. Is this what you want? Is all this seriously going to make you happy in the end?” You retort, stood by the bed. The ugly red walls hurt your eyes, a musty smell coming from the room.

Simon huffs out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up in a ‘what do you want me to do’ motion.

“This is what I want, Y/N. It’s what I have to do. I’m so close to bringing him down once and for all, you have to see that! If I stop now, all my work so far will be for nothing.”

He takes a few steps closer to you, his brows turning up slightly as his voice drops. “Don’t you want me to finish it?”

“Don’t do that.” You snap, pointing accusingly at him. “You know I was all for you doing this. Don’t you dare try to make me feel bad here. I wanted you to finish this, but that was before I knew how absolutely ruined of a person it would make you.”

A scowl forms its way onto his face. He scoffs, turning his head from your gaze. “Ruined.” he repeats, shaking his head. “You think I’m ruined?”

His blues shoot back to you, taking another step closer. His anger and defense is starting to build, something he isn’t used to projecting onto you. “I’m still the same bloke. I just-.. I just have to go further than I originally thought I would. That’s all.”

“Look at yourself, Simon.. really.” You mutter, “You said you’d be home months ago. This is turning you into-.. something you’re not. Someone I don’t recognize.”

Simon has to hold back a groan when you bring up his previous promise, his expression hardening. He shakes his head, he really doesn’t want to hear any of this.

“You don’t get it, love. You don’t know what I have to do. And you never will.”

“And I’m scared I never will because you won’t end up coming home.” You bite back, your throat tightening with welling up emotion, staring up at him.

His face falters, seeing just how upset you’re coming off. He can’t show vulnerability though, not now. Not when he’s built this up for so long.

“I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.” He comes over, standing directly in front of you. “Why can’t you just trust me?”

It’s your turn for your brows to furrow now, “Trust you? Don’t pull that- not when I do trust you with my entire life. But I miss the man I’m in love with. I don’t see him here anymore.”

Simon’s quiet for a moment, looking down at you with a mixture of frustration and pain. He runs a hand over his face, jaw clenching.

“I can’t afford to be that man right now. Can’t you just let me finish this?”

“No,” you whisper, staring up at him with a shake of your head, “I-.. I can’t. I can’t just watch you turn into this-.. this. Just to lock him up? He’s ruining you, Simon.”

Those cold blues narrow at your refusal. He grits his teeth, all that built up anger he’s been collecting for months bubbling up.

“If that’s what it takes to get him in handcuffs, then so be it, I don’t care!” His hands rake through his hair, irritated. “You’re not making this any easier, y’know. Coming here and trying to stop me.”

“I didn’t come here just to try and stop you.” Your tone dips lower, almost remorseful. “I came here to give you a choice.”

“Me, or Brendan.”

Simon is silent for a heartbeat before his expression morphs into incredulous anger. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?” He scoffs a laugh.

“Yes! I am. Me. Or him. Because by the time you’re done with him-... I won’t still be here with open arms.” You swallow, avoiding looking directly at his face for now.

His thoughts are racing, processing what you just said. If you weren’t still home when he finally came back.. thoughts of an empty house plague his mind. The thought of returning to find your things gone, no trace of you-

That anger in his veins ignites ten fold, stepping right into your personal space. “You’re telling me I have to choose?”

“Maybe I should have found you months ago.” You sniff, looking up at him. “Maybe then you wouldn’t be so angry-.. the man I know wouldn’t even hesitate to side with me.”

“I can’t just choose you.”

His voice is nearly strained. It’s not what he wants to say, but he needs to finish this, he needs to bring Brendan down. Right?

You feel tears brim your eyes, afraid that was the answer you’d receive. Looking down at your hands, you take a deep breath before returning your gaze to his face. “Okay. Guess I’ve got my answer then.”

It nearly pains him, to watch you tear up like that, as if he wants nothing more than to pull you closer against him and comfort you.

But the anger is still there.

“Stop it with the tears. Don’t. Why are you putting me in this position, making me choose?”

“Why are you acting like it’s a difficult choice?” You bark back, voice wavering. You may be devastated, beyond torn up, but you’re also angry.

A scoff escapes Simon.

“You have no idea what it’s like!” He snaps, exasperated. “What I’ve had to do, what I have to deal with just to get closer to him-”

“I may not know what it’s like but I can see the way it’s tearing you apart! I can’t just sit back and watch you be torn apart by him!” You don’t back up physically, nor mentally. You won’t back down.

That stubborn and resilient side is what he fell in love with, and now all it does is piss him off. “You just don’t understand! You think I’m so weak, that I can’t handle this, that I’m broken or something- I’m fine!”

That yelling only fuels your emotions, your upset. Before you know it, your palm is stinging with the contact against his cheek in a hard slap.

The sound ricochets off the glaring walls, his head snapped to the side. Slowly, he turns to look at you, a ruddy red blooming over his skin. He looks absolutely pissed, brows hardened, eyes cold, and he doesn’t hesitate for a single moment to shove you against the wall, pinning you there with a hand on your shoulder and his forearm across your chest.

The action pulls a gasp from you, arms pressing on his to try and shove him off. You’re not weak by any means, but overall strength, Simon has you beat. His eyes lock with yours, staring down at you.

“I don’t care how upset you are. You don’t hit me, ever again. Understood?”

You groan, “Well if this isn’t the most emotion you’ve shown me in months.” You grumble, trying to shove at him.

An annoyed scoff is pulled from him, breath hinted with cigarette smoke. “You wanted me to react, is that it?”

“Yes! Dammit!” You cry back, eyes bleary with tears. “I want anything other than you having some sick obsession with Brendan!”

“It’s not an obsession, Y/N. He’s nearly destroyed my life, and I need to be the one to end him.”

“What’s left of your life is sat in the hospital!” You snap, throat straining with the yell. “Not here!”

The mention of his poor, coma-ridden little brother immediately causes his anger to boil over. His strength urges you against the wall more. “Don’t bring Cam into this!”

Your head knocks into the wall, groaning out a pained noise. It all happens quickly, before you even realize what you’re doing. Your hand reaches for the dinky lamp on the table beside you both, slamming it against the side of his head. The shitty porcelain shatters with a high noise, and then your hands are pushing on his chest, and an altercation breaks out within the blink of an eye.

With a growling noise, Simon grabs your arms, his fingers wrapping around them like a vice. In an instant, he has you bent over the shitty bed, wrists pinned behind your back. A grunt sounds from you. Unfortunately for him, he had spent months teaching you self defense moves. He insisted on it actually, for your own safety.

You kick a leg up between his thighs, using the way he almost doubles over to then kick on his stomach, sending him away from you. A pained noise comes from his throat, not giving himself the chance to recover before he lunges for you again. Using his own momentum to your advantage, you side step and shove him in the direction of the wall. Your hands are grabbing onto each other, hitting, as his weight crushes the small table he lands against. The wood splinters and you both tumble to the floor, trying to pin his arms.

Even with the wind being knocked out of him, he’s still got the advantage. Despite a fist to the face, his own retaliates, hitting somewhere on you, before flipping you over, holding you down with his weight.

Thudding to the floor with a whine, you feel wood pressing into your leg, your hands pinned. You don’t fight anymore, already tired with your heart pounding in your ears. Blood leaks from your lip, and there’s a stinging on your right palm, probably from the lamp.

You look up at Simon with lidded, wet eyes.

He’s staring down at you, breathing heavy with anger, frustration, and helplessness. His blues dart to your lip, then back to your eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Why’d you come here?”

You swallow, panting out a breath as you shift under him, wincing.

“Because I love you.”

He falters. He truly falters finally at those words. It’s not the first time you’ve said them, but this feels different. Like a last effort.

His grasp on your arms lessens, just slightly.

Sniffling, hot tears roll down your temples and into your hairline.

“Simon, I love you, dammit.”

The words break through his anger, his frustration, his hurt. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares. Seeing those tears, the blood on your lip. Seeing the damage he caused.

And he can’t find the words to say.

His expression crumbles, and suddenly Simon looks so weary, so tired. Like there’s so much weighing down on him, weighing down his heart. Because there is.

The air is thick, nearly making it difficult to breathe as you stare up at him. Your eyes dart to his lips, then back up to those blues.

Without a second thought, he releases your arms, letting them go to instead cradle your face. In a matter of a single breath, his lips are crashing against yours, in a hard and desperate kiss.

Your free hands tangle into his dusty brown hair, probably smearing blood on the strands. Melting into the kiss, you match the pure need his actions invoke as your tongues meet.

He lets out a groan, the taste of your blood hitting his tongue, and God he’s not supposed to be enjoying it. He tilts your head with his hand, gripping on your jaw to aid in exploring your mouth, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

A whimper escapes you, panting against his lips for a desperate fill of air. Your hands, albeit trembling slightly, find the zipper of his coat and tug it down. He aids your efforts, sitting up just enough to pull his coat off, tossing it aside somewhere. Diving back down, he continues to kiss you like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

After a moment, Simon pulls back enough to rip your shirt over your head, letting it join his coat, leaving you in just your bra and jeans.

Shuddering at the cold hardwood beneath your sore back, your hands roam his now bare arms, squeezing his muscles and reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt. He now mirrors you, naked on the top half as he leans back down. Instead of kissing you again, his lips find your jaw, then your neck. He presses open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there, trailing to your collarbone, before nipping and sucking on that spot.

Your head tosses back, gasping, nearly wheezing for air as you scramble for the buckle on his belt. Your hands are shaking too much to get it right away, instead feeling too weak to even grab at it properly.

Simon notices, turns his kisses more gentle. You were always his strong one, always the one who supported him. Seeing you like this does something to him, it makes something primal snap inside him. He reaches down for you, grabbing your wrist and pinning it above your head with one hand, using his other one to undo his belt and button.

You interlock your fingers with his, feeling the sting of the cut on your palm. Glancing down with a slight whine, you watch him undo his belt, cheeks flaring with heat in response. Once his jeans are fully undone, your free hand reaches to pull him in for another kiss.

He groans, tongue lapping over yours with a desperate need. His other hand twists and undoes the button on your jeans, yanking the zipper down.

His actions cause a whimper to sound in your throat, hips shifting, canting up towards his hand as you gasp against his lips. “Bed- please-”

He’s not one to deny you that request, not now. He lets go of your hand, blood smeared on his own palm now. That same hand dips under your back, and the other hooks beneath your legs as he stands with you. His lips barely leave yours, not even as he gently lays you down, covering your body with his own. A moan is pulled from you, looping your arms around him in a hug as he cages you against the sheets. Those dusty strands fall around your face, so you reach to smooth them back.

The sight of you under him, the feeling of your body against his, it’s like an addiction that he can’t get enough of, he’s been missing this, and he craves more.

His hands move down your body, brushing along the cup of your bra, shifting his knees wider apart to grind against you.

You choke on a groan as his hips meet yours, the swell of his cock pressing against your cunt, rutting up against him. Leaving his hair, your hands dip behind your now arched back to undo the clasp of your bra, hastily pulling the garment off and tossing it aside.

Those blues dart down to your tits, a big hand coming to grope over them as his lips travel along your neck, back down to the marks he left near your collarbones. The actions make you toss your head back, eyes falling shut, hands grasping at his broad shoulders. They wander wherever you can reach until you decide to squirm and grab the waistband of your jeans, trying to push them down.

Simon pauses his efforts on sucking another hickey on the swell of your breast, instead sitting upright. Hands grab onto your ankles one at a time, tugging your sneakers off, letting them thud to the hardwood before he pulls your jeans and panties off in one go. He takes a moment to just admire you, the blood on your chin, your hand, the softness of your skin, the heaving of your chest. The sight of you, splayed out on the white sheets, cheeks hot, messy hair, it’s like a sight taken from his dirtiest and most yearning dreams.

He takes too long for your liking, even though his strong gaze is enough to make more slick leak from your now exposed cunt. You sit up some, flipping the two of you over so his back meets the bed and you crawl ontop of him. Leaning down, you reciprocate his earlier actions, latching your reddened lips to his neck.

Simon is grasped by a fierce need to touch, to taste, to have. His head tilts back, giving you better access to his neck, letting out a groan at the way your teeth scrape on his skin. You nip and lick, traveling down until you’re kissing over his chest, his abs. Finding his jeans, you mimic his actions from before and tug them down with his boxers, only struggling for a moment to get his boots off which earns a huffed chuckle from him.

No words are shared as you clamber back up his body, settling over his cock to rut down with a whine against his pulse point.

A strangled groan works its way from his chest, hands finding your sides as his knees part. You’re so slick, warm and soft ontop of him, grinding down onto his cock with a desperate need.

“Simon-” You breathe out, something pleading, as your hips roll and your tongue explores more of his neck, up his jaw over a faded bruise he must have got from Brendan.

Simon whines at the sound of his name. He can hardly do anything but tighten his fingers on your sides, pressing into your skin as he cants his hips up into you, the head of his cock pushing between your folds. He runs his hands up along your back. Feeling the skin to skin contact has him groaning in a mixture of need and relief, he hasn’t had this in so long, and he hasn’t realized how badly he’s been craving it.

Nosing at his cheek, you moan loudly against the flushed skin as you spear yourself on his cock. The stretch burns, but that’s what you want, to feel him, the effect he has on you. Your trembling hands find his chest, fingertips pressing into him for support, breath catching in your throat.

“Simon.”

His hands grab onto your hips, trying to ground himself through the pleasure, through the need that’s starting to consume him with the way your pussy grips onto him like a vice. He lets out a whiny, wanton moan. “Fuck- sweetheart..”

You immediately get to work rolling your hips, riding him and burrowing into his neck with hitched breathing. Your hands find the sheets beneath him, thin fabric bunched between your fingers.

Simon tosses his head back, arching up slightly as his strength aids you in grinding back and forth on his dick. He drives his hips up into you, matching your rhythm with panted gasps.

“That’s it- fuck-”

The huskiness of his voice makes your veins flood with more arousal, gasping wildly as you find a steady pace. Your heartbeat can be heard in your ears, muffling out everything other than the slick sounds of your cunt and your whiny moans.

Simon can’t hold back anymore, that broken little whine you let out has him flipping the two of you over again without pulling out. He hides in your neck, whimpering out a moan as he starts to fuck into you.

You yelp, a gasped noise as your arms hug him again. Heated flesh on heated flesh, you feel your sore back get pushed into the bed with every thrust. “Simon!”

With his hands, he pins your own up above your head again, but there’s no anger, no frustration in it, not this time. He feels your fingers interlace as you hold onto his hands for dear life. You have trouble even catching your breath, all of it fucked out of you with his rapid pace. You hook your thighs on his hips, writhing beneath him.

“Simon-!” It comes out as a squealed moan, whiny.

His lips return to yours, muffling your moans. He chest presses flush to your tits, urgently, trying to get as physically close as possible. Simon’s whimpering, like he’s drowning and you’re the one thing keeping him afloat, like he’s been starving for years and you’re the only thing he needs to survive.

A lewd, slick smack sounds for your cunt, arousal leaking down your skin and staining the sheets below your ass. It almost hurts, but you’d rather feel this than the pain you’ve felt for months without him.

All the tension, the cravings, it’s built up over months and you-.. you just need him. You feel emotion tighten your throat. His navel grinds into your clit with every thrust in, whining against your shoulder like he’s on the verge of tears, like he’s finally letting out the pain and loneliness that’s built up over the past months.

Tears are spilling from your eyes before you even know it, arching with a sob. “I love you- Simon-”

That coil is twisting tighter and tighter-

His own eyes grow wet as his hips speed up, rabbiting his cock into you with ferocious want, and the words are spilling out of his mouth suddenly.

“I love you- ah! I love you, sweetheart. I’m so sorry- God, I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

The coil snaps, right into a million pieces as your orgasm crashes over you. You weep, face hiding against his neck as you writhe under his weight. Your heart is in your throat, lungs crying for air as your cunt tightens on his cock. His hips press flush to yours, balls smacking against your ass as he grinds in deep with a stuttered sob. A whiny groan of a plea, a curse, and then he’s spilling into you.

Simon’s weight drops down onto you, both of you wheezing for air, sniffling, his hips jerking with aftershocks. He turns his head, pressing wet, tender kisses on your cheek.

He feels weak, worn out, but in a way that’s entirely different from what he’s used to these days. He pulls out, flopping down beside you as you swallow the drool in your mouth, interlaced fingers resting on your stomach. Your now free hand finds the top of his head, carding through his hair. He’s practically boneless against the bed, a deep, blissful numbness taking over his entire body. Groaning softly, he lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around you, pulling you against his chest as he lays back.

Tossing a leg over his lap, you blindly pull the duvet up over your bodies, snuggling into his side with a sniffle. Chaste kisses are laid at the base of his neck. He gives you a comforting squeeze, turning to press a kiss at your hairline.

The two of you lay like that in the darkness, the only light coming from the too white bathroom. Your finger draws lines along his collarbone, sniffling every now and then before you speak.

“I’m sorry I came here.. I just-.. want you home.”

When no words come from him after a breath, you continue. “I just thought-.. maybe if I gave you a choice, it’d work.”

A sigh escapes him, not an annoyed one, but.. a tired one. His hand drags up and down your back, squeezing you firmly to his chest, like he’s desperate for as much contact as possible. He lays another kiss to your head, before burying his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.

Simon’s voice is slightly hoarse when he speaks. “Okay.”

Your brows furrow, lifting your head to look at him. “What?”

He can’t help but give a watery chuckle, sniffing. “I said okay,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll come home.”

“You-..” You sit up on one elbow, the other hand flat on his chest. “You mean it?”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. His other hand reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear, his brows relaxed and gentle, a resolve in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah,” he nods once more. “I’ll come home with you.”

You stare for a moment, as if you don’t believe him. Then, you lean up and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

It pulls a groan from him, his cock twitching weakly, arms hugging you tightly to his chest. He kisses hungrily, like he wants to convey in his actions how much he’s missed you. He’ll need a lot more time for that though.

The injuries of your fight are a dull pain compared to the warm joy in your chest as you pull back with lidded eyes. “Can we leave.. right now?”

He stares back for a few moments, before whispering. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “right now.”

Getting dressed is a silent task, stepping over the bits of broken table and ceramic. Your clammy skin is chilled by the night air, a harsh breeze blowing past as Simon tugs on his biking globes, helmet tucked under his arm.

The purring of his bikes engine is the sweetest sound you’ve heard in months.

———————♡

[akookminsupporter]

ARE YOU SURE?!: MY THOUGHTS ON THE EIGHTH EPISODE AND THE SHOW IN GENERAL

I know I might be sounding a bit repetitive, but I seriously can’t believe AYS is over. When it was announced and we saw it would last for weeks, it felt like such a crazy long time, but now it seems way too short. It’s just not fair! I want more!

The last episode was the perfect depiction of that final day of your holiday—one you don’t want to end for a million reasons. For Jimin and Jungkook, that last day was their last ‘Freedom Day’ (dramatic, I know!), so it makes sense that it felt a bit melancholic.

I have no doubt that Jimin and Jungkook are just like they were in AYS in their private lives. Even with cameras around, they felt more natural, more themselves. AYS didn’t feel like a show made for us; it felt like they were entertaining themselves and just decided to share it with us.

I loved the last episode because, as I’ve said non-stop these past weeks, I adore how relaxed it was. The slow pace of everything they did, the lovely domesticity—it’s honestly the main reason I love AYS so much. In this last episode, they seemed more laid-back, and Jimin appeared a bit more melancholic, which is totally understandable. I loved that they got to watch the first episode of the show and laughed as much as we did watching them have fun together.

They really tried all sorts of food on the show, and honestly, I hope they paid for it all with the agency's card, haha!

Jimin and Jungkook are incredibly similar in so many ways, yet also different—they’re uniquely the same if that makes sense. They get each other’s jokes, meme references, video clips, and songs. They understand each other's looks and unspoken words; it’s amazing to see. AYS showed us why they never get bored of each other and why they often say they spend hours talking. While others take a break or rest, they’re off playing, chatting, and laughing together. That’s why AYS didn’t feel forced or like just another job for them. It explains why they obviously enjoyed making the show and why they decided to keep filming after they wrapped in the US, even though that wasn’t the original plan. It also explains their comments about wanting to do something similar in the future—12 more seasons, according to Jungkook!

AYS didn’t confirm that they’re a couple or that they’ve been married for 40 years with 30 kids, but it definitely reaffirmed just how close Jimin and Jungkook are. It showcased how different their dynamic is compared to their relationships with other members, especially when Tae was around. If there’s one thing that should be clear after this, it’s that. The fact that they chose to enlist together should be the biggest confirmation of all, but I know for many, that’s still not enough.

AYS was perfect in every sense, from start to finish. I would’ve loved for them to talk a bit more about their decision to enlist together and even about making the show, but then again, it’s Jimin and Jungkook, and there are things they’ll never discuss. It’s frustrating, understandable, and a bit funny all at once.

I’m really going to miss waiting every Thursday for a new episode. I’m going to miss seeing all the different reactions to the same clips on my timeline. I’ll miss the comments on everything new they did and the joy of discovering another layer of Jimin and Jungkook’s relationship. But most of all, I’m going to miss Jimin and Jungkook. I reckon unless they’ve got more things planned, we won’t see them until June 2025. Sure, there are the behind-the-scenes bits and the concert DVD from Seoul, but…

The last clip we saw in the episode, the day they enlisted in the army, was a bit of a shock, and I felt it was a bit cruel of the editors to do that, haha! But at the same time, it was a realistic way to end the show because that was the conclusion of it all, right? The final destination for Jimin and Jungkook. The lovely thing is, they made that journey together, and even after that ending, they’re still together.

I can’t wait to see Jimin and Jungkook in 2025. I’m so curious to see how their dynamic changes after military service. I feel like if they were unbearable together before, they’ll be even more so after!

All I can say is thank you. Thank you, Jimin and Jungkook, for such a beautiful gift. AYS confirmed that seeing you happy makes me happy, and while that just highlights the parasocial relationship I have with you, I also know I’m in this for life.

I can’t wait for 2025!

Note: Here's my list of favourite episodes with links to the posts with each reaction and conclusion:

Second Episode

Sixth Episode

First Episode

Eighth Episode

Fourth Episode

Seventh Episode

Fifth Episode

Third Episode

[romanticatheartt]

You know what I want- no what I need in Gwynriel book?

For Azriel to realize to have a love and relationship like his brothers you don't have to be with your mate. I want him to realise, his brothers being mated to the love of their lives, it's a bonus. I want him to get to this point of his friendship/relationship with Gwyn where he's like "I don't care if Gwyn isn't my mate, she's my person and the only one for me". The very thing he didn't do with Mor and Elain.

In the books we keep reading how he is waiting for a bond to snap with Mor. He's not even trying to get to know her on deeper level, form a friendship or create a safe space for her to be vulnerable with him. Because somehow he delude himself into believing she's his mate and is waiting for it to happen. He's not even trying to be close to her and prove himself a worthy partner, if it gets to that point. He thinks having a mating bond is deal done for his mate to accept him for who he truly is.

With Elain is also the same situation. He's thinking she should've been his mate, why the Mother gave his brothers 2 of the sisters but "the third" to another? He thinks he can claim her because yet again he delude himself into believing she is his mate, even he and literally everyone else knows the shared bond between Lucien and Elain is as real as it gets. In his head being mated to Elain makes sense just like being mated to Mor did, even tho it literally doesn't. It shows he's desperate, he really wants that bond because he genuinely believes no one will want him, unless there's a bond (not specifically love, I don't think he believe in someone actually falling in love with him. And he doesn't know what love is lol).

So with Gwyn I want something absolutely different. He already doesn't see her as a potential anything lol. He genuinely just sees her as Gwyn and not his possible mate or lover. We even have him say he doesn't even consider her a friend, which people think it's bad thing but I think it's a perfect opportunity for Azriel, to have no expectation from that person. To don't wait for a mating bond to happen. To get to know Gwyn and she gets to know him and Azriel being himself. Because he always hid parts of himself from Mor and Elain. Specially Elain.

I want to see him unguarded with Gwyn, open in a way he never was with any of those two. And we saw how he can be, in bonus chapter. The way we learn a very personal thing about him that we have never known throughout the whole series, and Gwyn being the one to receive that information says a lot. So I can't wait to see a completely new Azriel that he never shows to anyone in his book.

[darth-memes]

I really mean it. Don't trust any review that you see online about anything Star Wars. Specially the Acolyte and the latest series. You would be surprised how many are made in bad faith, and with the Acolyte they have multiplied. Talk to your friends that have actually watched it and talk about it in a reasonable way. It's ok if you don't like the series or decide is not your thing, as someone who has really liked it, I know that it's far from perfect. Don't engage with reviews online unless you really really trust the person, because many are made with bad faith and/or nostalgia-tinted glasses that honestly make people forget how the original trilogy really is. It's the reason I stopped reading or watching ANYTHING resembling a review related to Star Wars because it is surprising how easy it turns into a toxic rant that many times can be boilt down into racism and misoginy.

Honestly, even avoiding all of that, with the Acolyte I almost burnt out of the fandom of how terrible it was. I luckily didn't received any hate myself but I have a friend who posts information and fun facts between other things (doesn't do reviews, or opinions, it's mostly all factual(if you have an instagram follow him in @skynobi_starwars, he is always on top of the latest news and posts frequently but without spaming)) on instagram and he was showing me the amount of comments just spewing hate whenever he posted anything about the series and it was disgusting. He said that there had always been some, but they had basically multiplied.

But that's his situation, mine was in real life. I have a coworker who also loves Star Wars and his mask fell off when on episode 3 the wItches showed up and suddenly all of his critiques were about the amount of black people and lesbians that were there. By the next episode everything was just shit and how they should fire the entire team. Basically screaming and being impossible to talk to. Which honestly made me really sad because he had always been a person with who I could talk to about anything Star Wars related. Worst of all, a younger coworker who was wondering if to watch the series entered into watching "reviews" that were outright lying about what happened in the episodes or of people that straight up didn't watch it. He showed me a few and they were all the same. I had to spend a good while proving to him how the series was review bombed even before starting and just proving almost every lie those people were telling and how most of it. It was exhausting and terrifying, I was also really worried because this coworker is very young and what he showed me bordered some alt-right beliefs that should be near NOBODY. And, holy shit, was this a slide to the far right pipeline.

The only reason I didn't burn out is because I have a trusted group of friends with whom I could comment the episodes and have fun making jokes about it. Curiously, my dad also watched it and enjoyed it. But that's basically that's all I had to reduce my feedback of Star Wars for WEEKS to not burn out with how everything was going both online and real life.

And I know that there's a lot of toxic parts of the Star Wars fandom. My recommendation is not engage with any of the big names in the fandom (you know who I am referring to, specially in Youtube). Again, it's not that you cannot be critical, there is a lot to be critical in Star Wars, there is also much that one may dislike, but there is a line. And a lot of people that called themselves reviewers crossed and are so far away in their delusion of how anything that Disney does becomes an attack against them that they will never be able to enjoy the saga again. But raging like that will just result in another Rise of Skywalker, not another Empire Strikes Back.

Instead, look for friends with who you enjoy talking about Star Wars and have fun watching, playing, reading, etc with the saga. Because at the end of the day that's what we want, to have fun with it and enjoy the journey. Sometimes it may disappoint, but if you are always looking for that like a big part of the fandom that posts online, you are never going to enjoy it again.

And isn't Star Wars better when you focus on what makes you happy about it than on what you didn't like?

(Also, again, watch out for the people who are being racist, mysoginistic, homophobic... I can't emphasize how even I, that I try to curate as much as I can my experience in the fandom, I found them fast this time)

[sepublic]

I'm glad I'm not the only one that noticed that trend with toh/dungeon meshi, because it had been bothering. And while everything you said runs true, I feel another aspect of it is the want to compare lumity to farcille. Amity-Marcille is not a bad comparison, even if it's not perfect, but Luz and Falin don't really have much in common beyond some traits you can really strech.

And I feel this highlights another aspect of the white favoritism, and is that most people only like Luz as part of Lumity. She fits as Laios far better than Hunter does, not as Falin, but the farcille vibes for lumity are far more important, because Luz character on her own is not what people is interested in, and is really bothersome. Because again, Amity is white, and she doesn't have this problem.

In general fandom will always default to reducing Luz to just the silly queer girl to talk about her white counterparts’ depth. They’ll talk about Hunter’s cult trauma or Amity overcoming her abuse, meanwhile Luz has an entire arc about surviving a suicidal depression and not letting a racist gaslight her into thinking she’s a selfish monster.

And then they’ll just reduce her to OTTER LUZ because it’s funny to juxtapose what a silly idiot Luz is compared to their serious and deep white faves, it’s just Oblivious Luz again. On its own these things (minus Oblivious Luz) were fine, except Luz isn’t held up as a multifaceted character with range the way her white counterparts are, she’s mostly appreciated as their supportive accessory and not someone whose struggle has so much more narrative focus because it IS the narrative.

There will sometimes be this performative culture around praising Luz as a Girlboss, a girl of color, but in the end it’s just that; Performative. People don’t treat Luz with the same consistent depth, they don’t treat her trauma the same as others’ despite her being the actual main character; She’s canonically suicidal! Fandom will give Luz her time in the spotlight when this week’s episode does, but after a while default back to Hunter when canon isn’t constantly reminding them who’s the real star of the show.

It’s simple really; Fandom loves to praise how their media has a diverse cast but then not engage with said diverse cast the way they do their white (boy) faves; They just treat characters of color as a shiny medal to prove they’re Progressive, but canon is not fandom. And fandom never listens to PoC despite saying they will this time, no you’re just an anti who hates fun or I can learn to consume it ‘critically’ except you don’t. Fandom has this gaslighting effect, regardless of intent, that the white guys are the only truly interesting characters and everyone else just isn’t as good no matter how much they do.

[all-pacas]

I love how House is a much better parental figure for Chase than his actual parents,even tho he's a disaster. The bar is so low...

The bar is subterranean. And I think the funny thing is, I don’t think either of them would label their relationship as such: Chase kind of does this with every authority figure he runs into (sucks up to them and tries to get them to like him); House resists every relationship that isn’t on precisely his own terms.

I was thinking just the other day about Human Error vs the Nobody’s Fault/Chase duo. A bit running theme of House is that he hates change. He lives in the same apartment, drives the same car, plays the same guitar. What relationships he has are grandfathered in: he’s known Cuddy on and off since med school, Wilson for a decade at the series start. He had One Relationship with Stacy. He does not generally seek new friends or romantic partners.

And House when called on this gets pretty contrary, of course. He buys a motorcycle. He buys a new guitar. He… fires Chase. And that’s an interesting decision to me, because it really is out of nowhere. House is told he’s struggling to let Foreman go, to let things change, so he proves he’s fine with change by… firing Chase. It’s not because he actually hates Chase; I’m not arguing they’re bffs or have a reciprocal father-son thing at this point. But he’s had Chase the longest.

And the point comes up again in Nobody’s Fault. Cofield practically starts his conversation with Chase with: you’ve worked with him longer than anyone. He brings the point up again with House: 

COFIELD: He's your friend, and he's not well. HOUSE: He's a coworker. COFIELD: Coworker whom you've known for almost ten years who nearly died and who's still scared he may not walk.

(earlier: 

COFIELD: So your testimony is that Dr. House's complete lack of concern is evidence of his deep concern?

)

And yes, sure, knowing someone ten years is enough in itself. But again and again for House, that’s a big deal. That’s… Wilson in S1. Chase has been part of House’s life for a decade. House fired him and he came back. I’ve talked before about how, to Chase, House is the one constant in his life, the one person who approves of what he does and takes him back and wants him around. But it really does go both ways. No, Chase isn’t the only person House has, or the most important person in House’s life. But Chase got fired, and he came back. House punched Chase and immediately regretted it, and Chase didn’t press charges or hold a grudge.

The thing is, House really doesn’t treat Chase like a peer or an equal, and Chase doesn’t try (unlike Foreman and Cameron) to be treated as an equal. I think that’s why their relationship has such father-son vibes; they’re both seemingly pretty happy with the weird employer/mentor/approval seeker relationship they ended up with. But on other levels, they’re very close. Chase gets House, and while in some ways he does seem to idealize him (Chase consistently — and very interestingly given his own history — ignores and enables House’s addictions), he neither idealizes House into a polish or into a monster: he is very good at reading House. They’re both very observant, they both hate opening up, they have deeply parallel histories that the show eventually leans into. Chase was not the first fellow House ever had, but he is the first one that stuck. The first one that stayed.

House can’t admit that means something, but Chase doesn’t need him to, because Chase knows how House thinks. Chase is lonely, S8 drives home he’s lonely and stuck and wants change (and will never get it): House, in his way, always makes it known he notices and cares. They’ve been in one another’s lives for ten years.

[cherie-doll]

Omg I realise I’m probably flooding your ask box Cherie, so sorry about that.

But gosh today nearly drove me nuts(in a bad way) and I went home and accidentally went back to binge eating by accident.

And so I thought “Hey, what if the COD men have a S/O who binges on food when they are stressed or angry and they don’t realise it until they feel quite unwell, on the edge of puking sort. And then they calm down and feel a bit guilty about ‘wasting’ unneeded food and calories. They’re also worried about putting on weight cuz in the past they did had to go through that process of being teased and went through a process to slim down and control their eating habits.”

Heavily projecting myself here ngl 😂😂😂 Of course, this might be uncomfy for you to write so all’s chill!

Thank again for writing and posting Cherie 💖 your social media presence is always so delightful

Never apologize for sending an ask, I love having my inbox flooded with asks!

𖧧̣̥ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach

Price

He has learned to pay attention to your behavior

You never ask him to buy it for you, you rummage through what's already in the house

It's addicting, and so easy to pop in another cookie, a couple more chips, a handful of m&m's... until the container is empty

Would pick you up in his strong arms when your body starts to feel the effects, whispering softly "oh, lovey" over and over again in your ear until the guilt is washed out and nothing else is stagnant in your mind but his touch and voice

Ghost

He's always been the observer, so he notices before you catch yourself doing it again

Did research when he was alone because it hurt him to see you crying in the bathroom afterwards, hearing your sniffles through the door

Once he found out that it wasn't the food but the behavior that was harmful he started working on tackling that next, with lots of patience and the guidance of a professional

Soap

He knows you likely won't stop until it's gone

And when you come to him, embarrassed of his reaction when he finds out how much food you've eaten only for him to comfort you

Broke it down for you and explained that even if you consumed a lot of calories it won't show overnight, he kept you focused on being easy on yourself

"You're resilient, I know you are. You can do this"

Gaz

When he noticed you being unusually quiet after a social event where foods of many different kinds had been served, he knew what had happened

It's easy to get overwhelmed, he understands you

Knows what foods and drinks will help

Made tea to make you feel better whilst you were lying in bed

"Tomorrow is a new day, and we'll take control of it"

Roach

It's a vicious cycle: going to sleep scared after another day of wallowing in shame, curling up in bed afraid of the next day being the same as the last; painful

The overwhelming emotions and inability to stare at your bare body in the mirror do not go away easily, yet he's always by your side

He makes it your focus on how you feel rather and how you look, and so every day he cooks for you to make sure you're eating and drinking plenty of water

He even accompanies you on your walks and says assures you everything will be fine

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

How would you envision Elrond and Elwing's reunion in Valinor 🥺? I can already imagine they would hug for a lonnngggg time to make up for the years of being forcefully separated from each other. Also, Elrond would be ecstatic to know that Celebrian and Elwing (in my head, lol) have bonded and become close to each other.

yesssss i too believe they would hug and cry for a very long time, like they'd just fall into each other's arms <3<3<3 and elrond can finally break down embraced by his mother the way he never had the chance to for literal thousands of years. a tangent, but i don't think elrond ever felt comfortable showing such extreme, uncontrollable vulnerability in front of others -- having been kidnapped as a child by the people who murdered most of his community and as good as forced his mother to suicide, he pretty much came to hide anything that could be perceived as "weakness" for fear of how maedhros and maglor would react to it. and even though he does grow more emotionally healthy once he finds people with whom he can truly have a good relationship, he still finds it difficult to so entirely let down his guard around people. but with elwing -- it's like he's a child again. as soon as he sees his mother's face, the exact same face that he remembers from his memories and his dreams, the exact same face he associates with strength and love and bravery ever since he was young -- everything all comes rushing out. it's like all the tears of pain and fear at her being taken from him are finally flowing after being reined in for millennia.

i can't imagine how utterly cathartic their reunion, at long last, would be to both of them. they wouldn't let go of each other for a while, that's for sure, and they would probably spend hours and hours and hours learning everything they can about each other. i doubt they'd be willing to be apart for at least several days after that. they are going EVERYWHERE together for the next month. joined at the hip. elwing at some point introduces him to all her friends and kin that she's met and connected with since she came to valinor, and elrond finds a litany of relatives who are delighted and proud and awed. lots of teleri especially are so heartened, particularly the ones who knew thingol from before they came west. that's the great-great-grandson of their king's beloved brother. and speaking of thingol -- elwing has already grown close to him since she came to valinor, she and elrond go to visit him together, and thingol cries once again and adopts yet another descendant. tbh he adopts every single descendant of his that sails west. spoils them rotten like they're children even though they're all grown adults who've seen some shit. what do you mean he can't shower them in every single gift that catches his eye or comes to mind. they're his descendants, he can do what he wants!! he will coddle them, and elrond is by no means an exception.

it's also my hc that elwing and celebrian meet when celebrian arrives in valinor! celebrian tells her mother-in-law all about elrond and all about elladan, elrohir, and arwen. elwing adores her daughter-in-law and celebrian is one of the few people who she'll regularly hang out with. they visit each other and everything, elwing is there with her when celebrian meets her telerin relatives (who already all know and love elwing). suffice to say you're right, elrond is absolutely delighted to learn how close his mother and wife have become. they all spend heaps of time with each other -- with earendil, too, when he comes home. it won't take away the injustice of elwing losing so much of her son's life, and elrond losing his mother at such a young age -- but it's good. at last they're the family they couldn't be long ago, and they're all very very happy together