#and they can't give you anything for that.

[svtiddiess]

Thot Hour

Synopsis: You're supposed to be mad at Mingyu, but how can you when he's looking so delicious working out…wearing only his boxers?

Pairing: Mingyu x afab!reader

Genre: smut, one shot, established relationship

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pet names (baby, puppy), unprotected sex (don't do this!), penetrative sex, overstimulation, sub!Gyu, thigh riding, creampie, jealous reader, biting, Mingyu in Calvin Klein boxers (yes, that needs a warning), jealous reader, kinda mean dom!reader, big dick!Gyu, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was inspired by a dream I had. Guess which part I dreamt of.

Big love to @tomodachiii and @tusswrites for helping me with the plot and beta reading!

Click here to join my taglist!

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

"Baby, I said I was sorry."

You could hear the desperation in his voice as he apologised for the umpteenth time today. He stands before you, placing your hands against his chest, whipping out the puppy eyes. You'd fall for it in any other instance, but today, when you're this annoyed, nothing works.

"Baby, I told you what I did was just fan service. They don't mean anything. You're the only one I have feelings for," you hear him almost whine as he pouts at you.

Yes, that's what you're pissed about: him giving fan service. You may seem petty, but you have valid reasons for getting upset. You don't mind him giving fan service; it's part of the job. But lately, it seems as if he's giving a bit too much fan service.

Several moments of his fan service have gone viral, littering your feed with constant comments from fans stating how he's the perfect man. And he is, but just not at the moment. Not even when he looks down at you with his precious big eyes blinking at you, resembling a puppy. If you stared hard enough, you could swear his ears had drooped a bit, lips pursued in a pout that seemed to dissolve your anger.

Stay strong; you have to prove your point.

Huffing, you snatch your hands back from his, afraid you'll cave in if you stare for even a second longer. He lets out a defeated sigh, walking away, leaving you to brood alone.

Several minutes pass, with you wallowing in your self-pity before you are interrupted by the sound of grunting. Straining your ears, you catch on to the louder grunts and huffs from the other room. Shifting your eyes to the nearby clock, you stare at the time and widen in realisation.

It's 6 pm.

6 pm is Mingyu's usual workout time, infamously known as Thot Hour. Why, you ask? Well, it's the time of day when you sit back, relax, and shamelessly ogle at your beefy boyfriend working out. If you're lucky enough, he might end his workout with cardio, which involves you between his legs.

Losing the silent debate in your head, you make the right decision to go and watch him work out; just cause you're mad at him doesn't mean you're not allowed to appreciate eye candy. You will not let the fangirls take this away from you.

You enter the home gym that Mingyu has slowly built over the years, jaw-dropping at the sight. There he is, your boyfriend, Kim Mingyu, working out in nothing but his Calvin Klein boxers.

"What are you doing?" You ask, clearly not expecting the sight in front of you.

He sets down his weights with a grunt and then looks at you with a straight face.

"Working out," he deadpans as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"In just your boxers?" you ask, waving hands around his body to emphasise your point.

"It's a hot day today," he shrugs casually, but you can see him fighting off a smirk.

Cocky, arrogant son of a bitch.

You scoff and turn around to take your prime seat to watch him work out; you will not let him win. You pull out your phone, purposefully ignoring him (or trying to, at least). Upon noticing this, Mingyu grunts and moans even louder, trying to win your attention. And while you try your best to ignore his obnoxious sounds, you can't help but get a peek at him from your peripheral vision.

Ooh, you're drooling on sight. His muscles contract and relax every time he moves. His head's thrown back; his eyes scrunched up in concentration while his already big muscles visibly get even bigger due to the pump. Your eyes are drawn to the sweat dripping down his almost naked sculpted body and the prominent bulge straining against his boxers.

Fuck, he looks so juicy.

Your boyfriend was big everywhere, and he prides himself on it whenever he splits you open. His bulge looks so big, and he's not even fully hard yet. Gulping hard, when you notice a small wet patch on his boxers. Too bad he notices you staring and smirks.

"Like what you see, baby?" He asks with a cocky cadence to his voice.

You quickly snap out of it and scoff, remembering you're supposed to be angry at him. You go back to staring at your phone, making him chuckle. God, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face so bad.

Then it hits you: the perfect revenge plan. You smirk to yourself as you put away your phone and start stripping down to your underwear as well.

Two can play that game, Kim Mingyu.

He's halfway through his set when he notices you. He drops the weights and turns to look at you, visibly confused.

"What're you doing, baby?"

"Like you said, it's a hot day," you shrug, mirroring his actions from earlier.

He looks with intensity as you move to unroll a yoga mat. You smirk to yourself when you hear him groan when you begin stretching and purposely manoeuvring your body into tempting yoga poses. From the corner of your eye, you can see Mingyu get more and more riled up as the poses get more and more provocative. You hear him whine by the time you’re doing t the 'Cat-Cow' pose, your ass facing him. You shift to face him with a cocky smirk on your face.

"Why're you whining, Gyu?"

"I can't focus if you act like this baby," he whines.

"Like what?"

"You know what," he huffs and pouts like a child.

You shrug, then go back to doing more poses. You see him approach you with a permanent pout plastered on his face. He crouches down to your level and tries to touch you, but you quickly swat his hand away.

"Thought you were working out?"

"Baby, please," he whines, and you can almost taste the desperation in his words. This is fuelling your ego a bit too much.

"I need your help; it's becoming too painful," he strains, and you look down at his now fully hard bulge. It was huge and had you salivating, but you can't give in, not yet, at least. Not when your pettiness from earlier sets in.

"Go ask your fangirls for help," you huff and scoot away from him, sitting down on the mat.

He shifts to kneel in front of you. "Please, baby. I'm sorry. I'm yours and only yours. I promise I won't act out of line ever again. Please, please, please just touch me. It hurts so bad, baby, please," he's full-on begging at this point, and you're sure you can see tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

Something about a 6-foot-something man kneeling in front of you and begging for you to touch him makes you feel powerful. You smirk, knowing you have Mingyu exactly where you want him, desperate and needy in front of you. If he's going to act out of line, then you'll just have to put him in his place.

"You want me to touch you, Gyu?" You tilt your head and pout in faux sympathy.

"Please," he whispers, voice straining as he tries his best not to cry.

"Sit down."

You stand up, giving Mingyu room to sit on the yoga mat. He sits down with his legs outstretched on the mat. Shifting above him, you move to sit on one of his thick thighs, almost moaning at the contact.

"You're gonna sit here and take whatever I give you like a good puppy; if I catch you touching me, I won't let you finish. Okay?"

He nods frantically, desperate for anything at this point. Slowly, you start grinding against his thigh, moaning his name and holding onto his shoulders for support. He moans at the feeling of his thigh slowly getting more and more coated in your arousal. He throws his head back and grips onto the yoga mat below to prevent himself from touching you.

You lean forward and start leaving bite marks on his neck and shoulders. You make sure to bite down extra hard in places that would be visible even if he was wearing a shirt. He whimpers and groans at the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

"Mine," you mumble against his skin.

"Yours, only yours," he whimpers, body straining to keep still.

You start grinding on his thigh faster, determined to reach your high; Mingyu notices this and flexes his thigh, giving you more stimulation. You pant and whine out his name, getting close to the edge.

"Fuck, please cum. Cum all over my thigh, please," Mingyu whines out desperately, tipping you over the edge.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, making him hiss as you cum all over his thigh, your arousal drenching the bare skin. Resting your head against his shoulder, you take a minute to catch your breath.

"Baby, please, need you so bad. It hurts too much," he whimpers.

You look down and notice the wet patch on his boxers got bigger. You snake your hands down and cup his bulge, making him hiss.

"Yeah? It hurts?" You whisper whilst grinding your hand against his bulge, making him moan out and nod frantically.

"Please, I can't take it anymore," he whines, tears escaping his eyes.

"I don't know, Gyu; I don't think you earned it," you hum in faux pity, jutting your lips in consideration.

"No, no! Please, I'm begging you. I can't take it anymore," he cries out, desperately bucking into your hand.

"Why don't you ask your fangirls, huh? Since you seem to be more desperate to please them than me," you mock, squeezing him hard, causing him to let out a desperate sob.

"No! No, please! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It's only you that I want. I'll be good. I promise!" He cries out, distraught clear in his eyes, with tears now streaming down his face. You can see him try so hard to restrain himself from touching you.

You smirk with satisfaction as you watch your big, beefy boyfriend break under you. You remove your hand from his bulge and move it to wipe his tears from his face.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo, "How badly does it hurt baby?"

"It hurts so bad," he sniffs, "I need you so badly, please."

"I don't know," you hum and move to get off his lap, "You've been a bad puppy lately, and you know bad puppies get punished, right?"

His eyes widen, and his hands fly to grab your hips to prevent you from moving away from him.

"No, no, no!" He begs, "Please, don't leave! Please!" Tugging you back onto his thigh, he pleads, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll be good! I'll be a good puppy! I swear!"

"What did I say about touching me?" You tch, and his mouth falls open in realisation, and he quickly retracts his hands as if he's burned you.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, please. Forgive me, please," he whimpers.

You shake your head and sigh. "I did warn you, Gyu," you sigh and stand up.

In an act of desperation, he manhandles you back onto the mat, making you lie on it. You let out a squeak as your back hits the mat.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he murmurs before smashing his lips onto yours into a messy and desperate kiss. You kiss back with equal fervour, tangling your fingers in his permed hair. He starts grinding against you like a bitch in heat, letting out small whimpers and pants between the kisses.

He separates from you and quickly discards whatever remaining clothing the both of you have, throwing it to god knows where. You look down at his cock; it's thick and angry, with beads of precum dripping down it. Spreading your thighs, he aligns his tip against your entrance and starts slowly pushing in. You gasp and grab onto his shoulders; no matter how many times he fucks you, you can never get used to his huge size.

"I don't think I can go slow," he rasps. He's not even halfway in, and you already feel so full. Without warning, he slams the rest of him into you, causing you to scream out his name so loud you're sure the neighbours heard you. Your eyes roll to the back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

His thrusts are sloppy and erratic. Neither of you are thinking straight anymore. Your thoughts are only filled with how big he is and how good it feels being split open on his cock whilst his own thoughts are only filled with how warm you feel and how you're perfectly wrapped around him.

"S-Shit, I'm cumming," he pants out. He cums whilst moaning out your name, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. He chokes back a whine, but he doesn't stop thrusting. He snakes his hand down to your clit and starts rubbing it in circles, desperate to make you cum as well.

"Please, cum. Please cum all over me," he whines out, body shaking from overstimulation. After a few more thrusts, you cum, hard, convulsing around him. He pants and whines as you squeeze around him. After a few more clumsy thrusts, he collapses onto you.

"Gyu! You're heavy!" You whine.

"But you're so cuddly and warm," he says breathlessly as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, making you grumble.

"Are you still mad at me?" He looks at you with a pout.

You grin an easy smile, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing him, causing him to groan reflexively.

"I don't know. Maybe you should fuck me again just to be sure."

[paper-mario-wiki]

Can you explain a bit more about the "no art is good" thing? It sounds like an interesting idea.

the point of art is to make something that nature can't make. for whatever purpose it might serve, whether it's to send a message or just because you want to see something that didnt exist before you made it-- creating "art" is creating a pattern or a shape or an idea or a sound that the universe didn't form naturally on its own. one that can't exist on its own purely because it makes sense for it to, because it doesn't. you could listen to field recordings of the churning of a dead universe for 50 trillion years, and i bet you still wouldn't hear anything that sounds like "crank that" by soulja boy.

art by definition is the misconfiguration of the natural world to suit the vanity of man, and is no different from something like a tumor.

luckily! i don't give a shit, so i still love art.

[k6tzie]

COD P☆RN LINKS | PT. 3

ghost: always so quiet and reserved, seeing you like this is refreshing. so humane having ur guts rearranged after doubting your lieutenants skills! dove, you're so needy. but luckily for you, you have a patient, big bf came back from prices' baby shower now u and si want a baby of ur own, but u can't wait:( doughy ass bouncing on his long cock that no one's sucked in over a year, thankfully now ur here! sharing the captains daughter with soap<3 trusting is hard for him, so once he has you, he doesn't wanna let go warm winter fuck with ur gentle boy price: once you taught olderbf!price how to make hotter videos, he thinks he's so much cooler but that old man lives within him💔i mean look how he's holding the phone! you feel a big, throbbing thing in your tummy, hopefully he doesn't press down on it D: when u took him to meet ur parents, you just looked too good not to fuck afterwards :( as much as he loves his quiet girls, he can't say no to a bubbly one night stand now can he he didn't wanna have to do this but this IS what bad girls get... dadsfriend!price taking you upstairs during the bbq. there's so many people so no one will hopefully notice ur gone... soap: totally something soap would do, fucking you levitating 😭 first time having a crush this intense, taking sneaky photos of you, drawing you in his sketchbook, leaving you little gifts anonymously - now that you gave him a chance, he's too shocked to even do anything! honestly his dream is hot gf x loser guy he's a messy boy who likes his sex quick! so so much cum dripping out, it's like your boys' in heaven filthy gym partner can't keep his hands to himself only one person can eat you this well when you're sick, soap! gaz: your drunk sex was so good, you won't forget it even when you're sober <3 appreciating that pussy with the love and tongue it deserves so wet and tight like ur ex boyfriend did nothing at all smh, must've been tiny deeeeep in ur gfs womb! pretty boy barely ever gets angry, but when price has been on his back the whole week, and now you're giving him attitude - he can't take it anymore! hot belly bulge - who would've thought from the serene, goofy guy? graves: ah, so THAT'S how you passed recruitment i see, interesting... what a baby, never been with a real woman. actually a very soft, sensual man. don't mistake him as rough cuz of how he acts at work lucky shadow of the week gets to record the barracks bunny and graves kept trying to draw milk out of you but he didn't realise not everyone just...lactates :(he can't stop rewatching this video y'all took, how your greedy pussy just swallows his dick whole :o purposely just teasing you so he can see u angry konig: an efficient way to wake up his beautiful baby✨ his cold tongue and your warm socks make an interesting contrast🤔 he caught you masturbating all by yourself and you didn't seem to reach ur full potential :( loser!konig coded, once he finally gets his rough hands on you, it's hard letting a beauty like you go ruined ur cute little panties smh, greedy big boy mean colonel punishing his secret fuck buddy after he found out you've started talking to another person💢 bonus!!: surprise ;)

@xtrrdnrypotato @livingdead-g1rl

[ms-demeanor]

On insurance: I still live with my parents and don't know a lot yet about the sorts of things adults usually have to spend money on. I've always been skeptical of things like insurance and credit cards because it seems to me they wouldn't be selling that if they didn't expect to make money from it. I talked to my cousin a while ago about credit cards and basically came to the conclusion that they do that because they're betting on the customer getting sloppy and letting their debts stack up, and the way you beat that and get money from credit card companies is just by being careful.

I'm a little more confused about insurance though because it seems much more straightforwardly like a gamble they will simply not take if it won't pay off for them. Like, you don't go to a casino because every game they play at a casino is one they've done the math on and have determined that statistically most people will lose money on most of the time. Is insurance not kinda the same? Where they estimate the risk and then charge you an amount calculated to make sure it probably won't be worth it for you?

I know if you have a car you legally need car insurance so everyone knows you can pay for another car if you crash into someone, and I gather that here in the US at least health insurance companies have some kinda deal with hospitals so that the prices go down or something, and there's a reason I don't fully understand why not having health insurance is Really Bad. But we get to pet insurance, or like when I buy a concert ticket and it offers ticket insurance in case I can't make it to the show, and surely if they thought they were gonna lose money on that they just wouldn't sell it, right? Or they'd raise the price of it until it became worth the risk that something bad actually will happen? Wouldn't it only be worth it to buy insurance if you know something the insurance company doesn't?

So the deal is that most people don't use their insurance much, and often insurance companies will incentivize doing things that will make you use your insurance less.

So, for example, you can get a discount on car insurance if you have multiple cars because people who insure multiple cars are more likely to be responsible drivers (the ability to pay for multiple cars stands in as a representation of responsibility here). The longer you go without an accident, the lower your premiums get because that means that you are not costing your insurance company anything but you are paying into the system. The car insurance company's goal is to have the most responsible, safest drivers who never get into car accidents because they can predict (roughly) how much they're going to have to pay out to their customers and they want the number they pay out to be lower than what's paid in. So they try to discourage irresponsible drivers by raising their rates and encourage responsible drivers by giving them discounts.

Health insurance companies often do the same thing: I recently got a gift card from my health insurance company because I had a visit from a nurse who interviewed me about my overall health and made sure I had stable blood pressure and access to medications. It is literally cheaper for my insurance company to give me a $100 giftcard and hire a nurse to visit me than it is for me to go to my doctor's office a couple of times, so they try to make sure that their customers are getting preventative care and are seeing inexpensive medical professionals regularly so that they don't have to suddenly see very expensive professionals after a long time without care.

Insurance in the US has many, many, many problems and should be replaced with socialized healthcare for a huge number of reasons but right now, because it is an insurance-based system, you need to have insurance.

We're going to use Large Bastard as an example.

Large Bastard had insurance when he had his heart attack and when he needed multiple organs transplanted. He didn't *want* to be paying for insurance, because he thought he was healthy enough to get by, but I insisted. His premium is four hundred dollars a month, and his out of pocket maximum is eight thousand dollars a year. That means that every year, he pays about $5000 whether he uses his insurance or not, and if he DOES need to use the insurance, he pays the first $8k worth of care, so every year his insurance has the possibility of costing him thirteen thousand dollars.

The bill for his bypass surgery was a quarter million dollars.

The bill for his transplant was over one and a half million dollars.

His medication each month is around six hundred dollars. He needs to have multiple biopsies - which are surgeries - each year, and each one costs about twenty thousand dollars.

Without health insurance, he would very likely be dead, or we would be *even more* incapable of paying for his healthcare than we are right now. He almost ditched his insurance because he was a healthy-seeming 40-year-old and he didn't think he'd get sick. And then he proceeded to be the sickest human being I've ever known personally who did not actually die.

Health insurance costs a lot of money. It costs less money for people who are young and who are expected to be healthy. But the thing is, everybody pays into health insurance, and very, very few people end up using as much money for their medical expenses as Large Bastard did. There are a few thousand transplants in the US ever year, but there are hundreds of millions of people paying for insurance.

This ends up balancing out (sort of) so that people who pay for insurance get a much lower cost on care if they need it, hospitals get paid for the care they provide, and the insurance company makes enough money to continue to exist. Part of the reason that people don't like this scheme is because "insurance company" could feasibly be replaced by "government" and it would cost less and provide a better standard of care, but again, with things as they are now, you need to have insurance. Insurance companies are large entities that are able to negotiate down costs with the providers they work with, you are not. If you get hit by a car you may be able to get your medical bills significantly reduced through a number of means, but you're very unlikely to get your bills lower than the cost of insurance and a copay.

Because of the Affordable Care Act, which is flawed but which did a LOT of good, medical insurance companies cannot refuse to treat you because of preexisting conditions and also cannot jack up your premiums to intolerable rates - since Large Bastard got sick, he has had the standard price increases you'd expect from aging, but nothing like the gouging you might expect from an insurance company deciding you're not worth it.

Pet insurance works on the same model. Millions of people pay for the insurance, thousands of people end up needing it, a few hundred end up needing a LOT of it, and the insurance companies are able to make more money than they hand out, so they continue to exist. This is part of why it's less expensive to get pet insurance for younger animals - people who sign up puppies and kittens are likely to be paying for a very long time and are likely to provide a lot of preventative care for their animals, so they're a good bet for the insurer. Animals signed up when they are older are more likely to have health problems (and pet insurance CAN turn animals away for preexisting conditions) and are going to cost the insurance companies more, so they cost more to enroll (and animals over a certain age or with certain conditions may be denied entirely).

This weighing risk/reward is called actuarial science, and the insurance industry is built on it.

But yeah it's kind of betting. The insurance company says "I'll insure ten thousand dogs and I'm going to bet that only a hundred of them will need surgery at some point in the next year" and if they're correct, they make money and the dogs who need surgery get their surgery paid for out of the premiums from the nine thousand nine hundred dogs who didn't need surgery.

Your assessment of credit is correct: credit card companies expect that you will end up carrying a balance, and that balance will accrue interest, and the interest is how they make the money.

And it is EASY to fuck up financially as an adult. REALLY EASY. But you are still likely to need a good credit score so you will need a credit history. That means that the correct way to use a credit card is to have a card, but not carry a balance.

To do this, never buy anything on the card that you can't afford. In order to avoid needing the card for emergencies, start an emergency fund that is at least 3 months of your total pay *before* you get a credit card. That seems like a *lot* of savings to have, but from the perspective of someone who has had plenty of mess-ups, it's a lot easier to build up a $10k emergency fund than it is to pay off a $10k credit card debt.

If you don't understand how interest works on credit cards, or why a 10k savings is different than a 10k debt, here are some examples working with $10k of debt, 23% interest (an average-ish rate for people with average credit), and various payments.

With that debt and that interest, here's how much it costs and how long it would take to pay off with $200 as the monthly payment:

Fourteen years, and it would cost you about twenty four thousand dollars in interest, for a total amount paid of about thirty four thousand dollars.

To save $10k at $200 a month would take four years and two months.

Here's the same debt at $300 a month:

4.5 Years and it costs about six grand (again, just in interest - sixteen thousand dollars total). Saving ten thousand dollars at three hundred dollars a month would take just under three years.

Here's the same debt at $400 a month:

3 years, about $4000 dollars (fourteen thousand dollars total). Saving ten thousand dollars at $400 a month takes just over two years.

The thing is, with all of these models you're going to end up paying one way or another. Insurance vs out of pocket is you weighing the risk of losing a fair amount of money by signing up but not using the system, or potentially losing a catastrophic amount of money by not signing up.

For credit cards they really only work if you know you're never going to need them for an emergency, because an emergency is what you're not going to be able to pay off right away. I didn't have an emergency fund when Large Bastard had his heart attack and needed surgery, or when we moved between states suddenly, or when we moved between states suddenly AGAIN and needed to pay storage costs, or when Large Bastard needed a transplant, or when Tiny Bastard got in a fight with my MiL's dog, and the fact that I didn't have an emergency fund is still costing me a lot of money.

So, young folks out there: what's the takeaway?

Get insurance. Get the best deal possible, which usually ends up being the one you sign up for early. You may think you can let it ride without insurance, but man in the six months between when I graduate college (and lost my school insurance) and when care kicked in after 90 days at my job I got electrocuted and needed to go to the ER. If that hadn't been a worker's comp payout I would have had thousands of dollars in bills. Something could happen. You could break your leg, you could get hit by a car, you could suddenly find out that you actually have heart disease at twenty, you could develop cancer. Have insurance, you need insurance. You legally need car insurance in the US, and you financially need health insurance. If you have a pet, I think it's a good idea for them to have pet insurance.

Credit cards are not for emergencies, they are not for fun, they are not for buying things that are just ever so slightly out of your budget, they are for taking advantage of the credit card company and managing to get by in a system that demands you have a credit score. ONLY put purchases on your credit card that you already have cash for. Before you get a credit card, build up an emergency savings so that you aren't tempted to put emergency charges on your card.

If you DO end up with an interest-bearing debt, pay it off as fast as possible because letting it linger costs you a LOT of money in the long run.

Stay the fuck away from tobacco and nicotine products they are fucking terrible for you, they are fucking expensive, and they are not worth it put the vapes down put the zyns down put the cigarettes down I will begin manifesting in your house physically i swear to fuck. Knock that shit off and put the cash that you'd be spending on nicotine into a savings account.

Take care, sorry everything sucks, I promise that in some ways it actually sucks less than it did before and we're working on trying to make it suck even less but it's taking a while.

[br0kenangel]

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𝑌𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐵𝑈𝐿𝐿𝑌 who's obsessed with your pussy ⁺¹⁸

Yandere bully who is so mean to you in public, constantly teasing and making you cry, taunting you in front of everyone, pushing your buttons just to see you break. "What's wrong, baby? Gonna cry again?" He grins, acting like the bitch he's known to be. But in private, he's on his knees, your obedient pet, begging to please you however you want.

Yandere bully who's addicted to you, desperate for your approval. He'll do anything to have you, anything to make you cum, anything to feel like he's worthy of your attention -even if it means pushing you to the brink of pleasure every chance he gets.

Yandere bully who gets you alone any chance he gets and makes you cum over and over again, his cruel exterior gone as he worships you with his mouth and hands. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me. 'Il do anything for you, baby." His fingers don't stop, even when you're shaking, his lips constantly moving over your sensitive skin, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who loves catching you off guard when you're trying to study, slipping under the table and spreading your legs without a word. His fingers slip inside you while his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. You try to concentrate, but it's impossible, and he knows it. "Come on, baby, keep studying while I make you feel good." He smirks against you, watching you fall apart as he fingers you under the desk.

Yandere bully who loves to suck on his lollipop in front of you, popping it in and out of his mouth with a teasing grin, only to push it inside your pussy without warning. "How's that feel, baby? Bet you never thought this sweet thing could fuck you, huh?" He moves it in and out, his eyes locked on your expression as he watches you struggle. And when he's done, he pulls it out, licks it clean, and goes right back to sucking on it like nothing happened, savoring your taste mixed with the candy.

Yandere bully who acts like he's in control, always smug and cruel with the things he says, but the moment you're soaking wet and he's got his mouth on you, it's like he's a different person. "Fuck, I can't get enough of this. You taste so good, baby... I need more, please."

Yandere bully who moans like he's the one getting head whenever he's between your legs, his voice breaking as he eat you out. He can't help the sounds slipping out of his mouth, so lost in the taste of you that he's grinding himself against the mattress. "Fuck, baby... you taste so fucking good. I'm gonna lose it.." The pleasure in his voice is unreal, like he's the one being pleasured.

Yandere bully who gets absolutely lost between your legs, so pussy-drunk he forgets everything else around him. His mouth is buried between your thighs, licking and kissing like he's been deprived of it for days. He's groaning into you, the wet sounds echoing as he slurps up everything you give him, completely obsessed.

Yandere bully who talks directly to your pussy like it's a person, his voice low and ragged, whispering how good it is, how perfect it feels for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet.. So good for me. God, I'm never letting you go." He kisses it like it's his lips, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

Yandere bully who gets so messy and sloppy, his face drenched with your slick, but he doesn't care. The more you give him, the more he wants, making filthy, lewd noises as he fuck you with his tongue. "Shit... I can't get enough. I need more, more of you." He's never satisfied, his fingers spreading you open just so he can see how you pulse for him.

Yandere bully who doesn't just lick, he makes love to your pussy with his mouth, slow at first, dragging his tongue in long strokes like he's savoring every taste. Then he's frantic, desperate, his lips locking around your clit, sucking so hard you can't hold back your moans, and he loves it. "Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me. Keep making those sounds, I'm fucking addicted to this."

Yandere bully who can't keep his hands off, always pinching and smacking your pussy between sloppy licks, just to watch it bounce and twitch under his touch. "God, I love seeing you like this, so swollen and needy for me." He'd smack it again, the sound so lewd it makes you blush.

Yandere bully who loves to spits on your pussy, his eyes dark with lust as he watches his saliva drip onto you before diving in with his tongue. "Look at this, baby. So fucking messy for me, just how I like it." He grins, dragging his tongue through the wetness and your slick, slurping noisily like he's savoring every second of it.

Yandere bully who bites your pussy just to see your reaction, his teeth grazing over your swollen lips, nipping at your sensitive skin. "Come on, baby, don't squirm. You know you love it when I get a little rough with you." His voice is low, teasing, as he watches your body jerk at the sensation. He alternates between soft kisses and sharp bites, pushing your limits.

Yandere bully who buries his face deeper, tongue pushing into you as far as it can go while his nose grinds against your clit. He groans with each taste, like he's drowning in pleasure just from having you on his lips. "You're so fucking perfect. I could eat this forever:" His words are so slurred and desperate, like he's too far gone to think straight anymore.

Yandere bully who tells you he loves you for the first time when you squirt into his mouth, the taste driving him so insane that the confession slips out before he can stop it. "Fuck... I love you. I fucking love you." His voice is hoarse, and he's groaning like he's the one cumming, licking up every drop you give him as his face gets soaked in your release. He's a mess, panting, eyes wide as the reality of what he just said settles in, but he doesn't take it back.

Yandere bully who gets so overwhelmed eating you out that he cums in his pants without even touching himself, his body shaking with how much he's lost in it. He's a mess, his cock twitching in his soaked boxers while he keeps his mouth on you. "Oh god.. fuck.. I'm cumming... I can't- shit-"And even after he cums, he still doesn't stop, licking up every drop of you like it's his lifeline.

Yandere bully who grinds himself against the bed, getting off just by eating you out, humping the mattress as he moans into you, obsessed with how you taste and feel. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum just like this... you're too fucking good. I can't take it..."

Yandere bully who stays between your legs even after you're spent, lazily licking and kissing, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "l'm not done... Stay still..." His voice is low, almost hoarse, as he presses one last kiss against your pussy, so utterly drunk on it that he can't stop himself.

Yandere bully who takes so many pictures of your pussy that his phone is filled with them. He's got one as his lock screen, grinning every time he unlocks his phone and sees it there. "God, you're so fucking pretty. I can't get enough." He pulls out his phone to take even more photos when you're spread out for him, snapping pictures while muttering to himself about how perfect you look. He's gross, but he doesn't care-he's obsessed with having every part of you to himself.

Yandere bully who wants to shave you himself, his hands steady as he moves the razor over your skin, but it always ends the same way-with him making you cum so hard that your pussy is swollen and puffy by the time he's done. "You look so cute like this... all swollen for me." His fingers trace over your sensitive skin, teasing you even more, knowing you're already overstimulated. He never stops until you've cum over and over again, leaving you a trembling, swollen mess.

Yandere bully who isn't satisfied until he's made you cum more times than you can count, watching you shake and scream, completely addicted to the way your body reacts. "Look at you.. all mine. No one else gets to touch you like this. Only me." He's possessive, obsessed, and so pussy-drunk that he's practically begging for more, even when you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who cries when you cum on his tongue, so overwhelmed by how sweet you taste that tears well up in his eyes. He's moaning and sobbing, his face soaked with a mixture of your wetness and his tears. "You're so fucking sweet.. so perfect... fuck, I can't take it..."He presses his face deeper into you, tongue flicking desperately, crying with how much he loves the way you feel.

Yandere bully who steals your dirty panties every chance he gets, slipping them into his pocket when you're not looking. He hides them away just so he can sniff and lick them later, getting off to your scent like a total pervert. "God, you smell so fucking good.. I can't stop thinking about İt." He presses the fabric to his nose, groaning as he grinds against the bed, cumming hard while licking your panties, completely high.

Yandere bully who can be the meanest, most disgusting version of himself, using your body for his pleasure, but you can feel the way he's addicted to you, how much he needs to please you. It's a twisted game between love and hate-he's cruel, mean, but the moment he's got his hands on you, he can't stop himself from worshipping you in the most filthy, desperate ways possible.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Forever & Always

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

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

Word count: 22.3k

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

main masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Reid, conference room. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that reassurance made all the difference.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

But then it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance 

[tinystepsforward]

autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

[lilacgaby]

title: i've changed, won't you see?

pairing: prohero!katsuki x reader

summary: katsuki ruined your life when you were small, giving you a life altering injury, though getting nothing more than a pat on the back. throughout his successes he can't get you out of his mind, so he sets out to make amends with you.

tags: silent voice inspired!! childhood bully katsuki :(, disabled reader, mentions of violence, angst to fluff, su1cide attempt, comfort, implied nsfw, no proofread

(a/n: i wanted to give my hand at really long works while doing drabbles in between but i have so many drafts now jajsjsj)

wc: ~4k

your eyes were always blurry around him it seemed. your hands shaking as your voice cracked, just begging him. "please leave me alone!" with all the might a five year old could muster.

they scoffed at you, they always did. "crybaby. blame your parents for not giving you a quirk. you should've moved when i told you to anyways, it's my park dont you know?" katsuki mocked, moving closer to you, noticing the card behind your back.

"stop being so mean! quirkless people don't do anything wrong!"

"quirkless don't do anything."

your chest was heaving with pain, your little heart couldn't take it. "you-- you'll never be a hero, you're too mean!"

in an act of rage, he set off an explosion. it was only meant to intimidate you but..

once the smoke settled your screams of terror filled the playground.

blood dripped on the floor, pooling in your hand as your grasped your ear. a ringing was all you could hear, it was driving you crazy.

were you crying? you couldn't tell, you couldn't hear. your eyes were shut as you were filled with panic, the smell of iron flooding your senses.

but katsuki remembered so much more.

the smell of the burned cartilage of your ear, the sight of it, or rather the lack of. the blood that wouldn't stop coming, why wasn't it stopping?

his group that usually rallied behind him was now gone, leaving him and a wailing you alone. he tried to talk to you, but you weren't responding.

he grew the courage to touch you, tapping on your shoulder slowly, but that didn't comfort you. in fact he thought it made it worse, making you bow your head in a defensive position.

he stared at you, unable to move, he was supposed to be a hero like allmight, were you right?

finally, a teacher came running to get you, an ambulance already on the way. they didn't look at katsuki, only at the pitiful state you were in.

you didn't respond to them either.

katsuki felt sick as he stood where you and the teacher had left them. he felt sick as he looked down to the remains of what he'd done to you.

he couldn't process it yet, but he felt a sickening despair and guilt be placed upon his shoulders.

one that wouldn't disappear.

he wasn't blamed for anything, only getting a quirk consolation. they thought he lost control? his parents eyed him as he tried to explain what had truely happened, he didn't know why he was trying, did he want to get punished?

but even after, nothing was done. with a lecture and a couple promises he was sent back to class with nothing done to him.

your life was changed forever though, it was apparent in the way that you seemed even more quiet and closed off. you sat in the back, never spoke to anyone, and got teary eyed when he even stood close to you.

your hair covered your ears constantly, a hearing aid peeking through the strands occasionally. the teacher never forced you to participate, none of them ever made an effort.

the teacher had explained to the class how you were completely deaf in one ear, and extremely hard of hearing in the other. how you'd use sign language from now on, and that the class would learn some in support. they never did though, the conversation going ignored as soon as it was uttered.

you were pulled out of class often, the teacher having to tap you on the shoulder to get your attention. your eyes dejected and your presence small as the person who came to get you made gestures with their hands to you.

you'd been cruelly placed in matching classes 'til your last years of junior high. you'd stayed the same way for forever, it was like a weight placed over his chest.

yet he felt he deserved it. he knew he was messed up. he watched you, a lot. he saw you in the back corners, usually forgotten and ignored. when you were acknowledged you were mocked, people making random hand signs to make fun of the way he forced you to communicate, mocking your unconfident speech right after.

he saw the way you sunk into yourself afterwards, making his heart hurt as you grew impossibly smaller. your hands held your own as you prayed for it to be over.

everytime you'd catch him in the halls, you'd still freeze up. your breath shaky as you bowed and left quickly, making his friends laugh but make him queasy.

that interaction was witnessed by your teacher who, after a day of you not showing up, assigned him to give you your work for the day.

with sweaty palms and a racing heart, he dropped by your house. he knew where it was, of course he did, your mom and his were close industry friends even after the incident.

because you'd never told anyone about what he'd do to you.

he knocked on the door, attempting to seem nonchalant. when you answered though, he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

"[name], uh-- this is your work."

you didn't respond, you looked almost nauseous at the sight of him, it was deserved though.

he placed your work on the floor and walked off, that was the only time he'd spoken to you since the incident,

and he couldn't even apologize.

- - -

U-A wouldn't only be a dream for him, but a release for you both. was it selfish to want to run away from his problems? sure, but it'd help you too.

as everyone in the class exclaimed the names of the schools they picked, unsurprised at katsuki's choice, he pondered on where you'd go.

nobody asked you, so you didn't speak. staying quiet as you looked out the window.

katsuki got accepted into U-A easily, but he couldn't help but feel he lacked the main criteria. he'd hurt people poorly, and couldn't apologize because of his ego.

he felt sick to accept these accomplishments of his, knowing it'd be built up on the foundation of hurting you.

but he did anyway, selfishly. he kept up his harsh demeanor in U-A anyways, working hard and scoring high. he graduated top of his class, job offers to agencies left and right.

he accepted one, working for his old internship officially now. he climbed the ranks quickly, saving lives and catching the attention of the media.

a couple years later, he was a steady number five hero when he took a patrol route over for deku. as he strolled through the city, stores littering the buildings, he saw someone he never thought he'd see again.

you, only now working for your mothers seamstress company. you were embroidering something on the station, hands precise and focused, not noticing him.

he had to keep moving, but.. he made a mental note to come back later.

he finished his patrol anxious, he went to sleep thinking of what he'd even say to you. 'hey sorry for ruining your life, can you forgive me?' he slapped his forehead in frustration.

he searched up basic sign language for beginners, learning a bit. he laughed at the stupid thoughts of your forgiveness that he dreamt of.

"as if i deserve it." he muttered, looking deeply at the ceiling of his room before falling asleep.

as soon as he awoke, he got dressed and prepared. he tried to look causal, as if he wasn't planning this.

he walked in, immediately greeted by your mother who congratulated him on his heroics. "well isn't that dynamite? saving the world i see."

he laughed politely. "i'll be number one soon enough."

"of course! well, what're you looking for? i'll give you a family discount, you grew up so close to [name] didn't you?"

his heart jumped into his throat.

"uh.. we did."

"you two were so adorable! she was so nervous around you, she must've had a crush on you or something!"

"i definitely don't think so."

"oh, you're just being modest." she said, hitting his arm lightly. "there she is now, go and speak to her."

"uh-- i--"

"go!" she shoved him in your direction, making you look up to see him. your lips parted in an unrecognizable expression as you saw him, the line you were working on now crooked as you were left alone together.

it's been about ten years hadn't it? ten years since he last saw you, but a lifetime he needed to apologize for.

he'd learned so much in U-A, outwardly changing his demeanor to what he always aspired to be. but all that meant nothing to you, who only experienced him at his worst.

he awkwardly raised his hand up to you, he did his best to sign while speaking, his hands shaky and unconfident. "hi [name], i'm really sorry about what happened back then."

your eyes followed the movements, your hands absentmindedly wrapping around yourself loosely, defensively.

"i know this is a lot but,

can we be friends?"

he waited anxiously for you to answer, you looking as if you were processing it.

in a grown up, yet timid voice, one that he hadn't heard since you were young, you almost whispered, signing as you did so out of reflex. "thank you, bakugo." your eyes grew watery. great, he just couldn't seem to stop making you cry.

he sat near you after getting wordless permission to, hanging onto every word you spoke, and being mindful to speak in a calm tone himself.

"i.. i'd like a friend, honestly. a new one anyways."

he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when you said that, but still, it wasn't enough.

he wanted to, no needed to make you happy. the years of torment he subjected you to couldn't be made up by anything less than years of happiness.

after a bit of small talk, him asking you questions about what you'd been up to, how your life was treating you. he zoned out a couple times, thinking of how beautiful you've become.

"what would make you happy, [name]?" he finally said, his head supported on his hand as he gazed at you, making sure to enunciate his words so you could read his lips.

"what makes you ask?"

"i-- i want to make you happy. no matter the cost, it's what you deserve."

she laughed softly at that, her eyes flickering with an indistinguishable expression. "...i always wanted to travel. around the world, to see mountains and landscapes."

"then i'll take you."

"you don't have t--"

"i do. and ill do more [name], what i did to you was-- is horrible. you know that."

"i..

okay, okay bakugo."

"katsuki."

you smiled, "katsuki."

going from having very limited contact with your only friend from high school, to having a prohero come to your shop everyday was jarring. but not unwelcomed.

he brought gifts with him everytime, learning what you'd like and not. it ranged from food to stuffed animals, flowers to accessories, all of which you really appreciated.

you grew closer, eventually starting to meet outside of your mother's shop. at the park or walking around the mall, he'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. he'd pay for everything too, despite your reluctance.

he kept his word to you, and at the end of the month he asked you to come up to his apartment.

a penthouse.

as you walked in, greeted by the shimmering atmosphere of the expensive furniture and decor all around, abstract paintings and trophies littering shelves on the walls.

you stood by the front entrance, taking off your shoes as you walked in. "katsuki?" you asked, looking around.

he came out, a tiny smile on his face. "ya made it." he had something behind his back, "come in [name]."

the apartment was huge to say the least, it becoming even bigger than it looked from the entrance. he guided you to his plush couch, sitting next to you.

"so, i know you said you dreamt of traveling, right?"

at your nod, he pulled out the tickets from behind his back. "i.. got this tickets for you. i didn't want to push it in case you didn't want me to go with you but--"

you cut him off with a hug, tackling him into the couch.

"of course i want you to come,

katsuki."

you signed his name differently than other times,

you'd finally made a name for him.

he hugged back mindfully, so excited to finally have a huge first step in the right direction.

but he still needed to make you happy. "we'll leave in two days if that's okay, i just wanted to give you time to pack."

"okay, that's good."

"do you.. want to stay?" he asked nervously, the thought had popped into his mind and out his mouth in a millisecond.

you blinked, sitting up on his legs, pondering it over.

"sure, okay."

he put on some movies for the two of you, his heart was racing at the proximity of your body to his.

the night ended with you laid on top of him, fast asleep as he was comforted by the beating of your heart against his. your chest against his, his hand in your hair as your head laid in his neck.

he woke up first, to the sight of the gold light making you look heavenly, your hair messy from how he was playing with it throughout the night. your face was almost against his, he could kiss you right now.

but he shouldn't. he would move but he didn't want to couldn't, so he looked you over. you woke up to the feeling of his fingers caressing your face, your eyes half lidded from sleep.

"'suki. g'morning."

his heart was getting used to irregularly pounding around you at this point. "[name], uh-- hi."

after a couple moments, you got off of him, much to his discontent. his hands sliding down your legs as you got up.

"i'll be going now, i gotta pack and stuff." you said, looking in one of the many mirrors scattered around as you fixed your appearance as much as you could.

he nodded. "let me walk you home at least."

and he did walk you home, hand in hand.

those two nights he spent pondering over you. he didn't know why, but hero work felt much lighter after talking it out with you. becoming your friend was one of the best things he'd achieved in years, and that was including his recent rankings.

he thought back to how he treated you as a kid, had he really just been searching for your validation all along?

is that why it hurt when you told him he'd never amount to his dreams, because he only valued your opinion?

he let himself sleep, he'd see you tomorrow. and he'd make it all right.

he woke up and picked you up at your place, his expensive sports car standing out against the comfort of the neighborhood. you walked out, dressed simply but cute, a bag of your own in hand.

he grabbed it from you and placed it in the back, opening the passenger door for you as he drove to the airport. his hand on your thigh as he did so, letting you play the music you'd like with loud bass.

it was a half hour ride in comfortable silence, he gazed at you occasionally, a thoughtful expression on your face.

on the plane, you sat by the window. it was first class so you'd get to sleep in a physical bed, in a closed room. you were treated to whatever food and drinks you wanted, hugging katsuki when you found out you where you were heading.

the flight was a long eighteen hours, but it was spent hanging out with katsuki. on his lap asking him questions about the shows you two had watched, power scaling arguments about past heroes, fights he'd recently been in.

also what you two planned to do as you were there, you wanted to go to the beaches and mountains, he just wanted to follow you.

you fell asleep together again, your face laid directly in his chest as he held you.

you woke up to katsuki tapping you on the shoulder. as you raised the volume on your aids, you heard the beeping on the intercoms that meant you'd have to go back to your seats for the landing, groggily being helped up by katsuki as he moved you to to your seats.

you sat by the windows, looking at the tropical region as you two landed, your hand still in his. the moments after we're a blur, before you knew it you were in a car being buckled up by katsuki as you were being driven to your hotel.

what you didn't know was that it was a villa, built on top of the waters of the ocean, your very own private beach right outside your doors with the mountains you'd dreamt of treking right behind you.

you'd never been so happy.

the days you'd spent started and ended all the same, you waking up and going to sleep in katsuki's arms. pretending like you didn't notice how your bed hair got worsened after he played with it all night.

the first days you'd spent at the beach, attempting and failing at surfing. your jet lag was killed off by your utter excitement.

you being thankful your aids were water resistant because of how much you loved the waters of the river and the seas.

you'd had a sandcastle competition, sunbathed, and soaked off in the hot tub of your villa together.

the trek's were fun too, katsuki was annoyingly good at everything so you'd have to fight to keep up.

your polaroid in hand as you snapped candid shots of him, turning it to yourself as you got a selfie of you two with the gorgeous rivers as background.

you jumped into those too, making katsuki freak out as you dived in to the deep waters.

you even got to the top one day, jokingly saying that you should've brought a flag to the top to celebrate. the golden hours of the sunset making you glimmer.

a moment of silence passed over you as he slowly approached you, wordlessly asking for permission as you once again put your hands in his.

you leaned in first, kissing him with the sun as witness.

"i really like you [name]." he sighed and spoke after you pulled away.

"i like you too." you replied, hugging him tightly.

the rest of your trip was filled with your firsts with katsuki.

your first official date was in the burrows of the forest, a picnic where you two painted portraits of eachother. albeit, unique portraits... but painting nonetheless.

your first moment truly loving someone, the feeling you recognized as you laid him in your lap for the first time.

your first talk about what happened all those years ago. a deep one.

"[name], before we become something um.. official. we need to talk about how i hurt you." katsuki said one day, laying faced to you but taking your hands into his.

"kats--"

"let me speak. please." after you nodded, he took a breath and began.

"i was egotistical and really insecure all those years. you were the only one who really read me, that's why i think i got so upset.

i didn't mean to hurt you, i never wanted to hurt anyone i swear-- i just hated that you were right.

that weighed over me all these years, the fact that my hero work meant nothing if i was doing it while acting so.. unheroic.

i never fully felt like a hero, not until i met you again.

not until you graced me with your friendship, your undeserved affection towards me. i just-- i really care about you. and im really sorry, ill spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, and you don't have to accept it because i don't deserve it.

i guess what i'm trying to say is..

sorry, and.. i love you [name].

you don't have to--"

he was cut off by a kiss on his lips.

it felt different somehow, he couldn't place it. almost sad in a way as you pulled back.

"i don't think you were trying to hurt me. but, you did.

and you're working to change it, i appreciate that.

i really care for you too katsuki."

the rest of your trip was comfortingly domestic, learning things about each other you'd never know.

your last week was bittersweet, having to leave your jointed paradise was a reality that saddened the both of you. but your dream was fulfilled, and so was his.

seeing that he was the cause of your smiles and not your horror, making you happy was the light of his day. no, his life.

he thinks he was born to make you happy.

the flight back was a blur, you spent it clinging to him. you started to gift him your own things over the hours, a scrunchie of yours, a bracelet for him to keep.

a locket with a photo of you two, and the polaroid you'd taken on the mountains.

"why are you giving this all to me? not that i'm complaining."

"well, you'll get more use out of it. that's all."

he scrunched his face up in confusion, but with a smile you waved off his concerns.

he wished he pushed you more.

he wished that you'd forgive him for failing you once again, as he fought to take the razor blade out of your grip, slicing your hand in the process.

you were in your bathtub, surrounded by water yet fully clothed, tears and wails wracking your body as you just wanted it to be over.

you finally relented, your blood staining his clothes and the water as he picked you up. you couldn't hear him, you'd taken out your aid.

but you could feel his sobs, his tears hitting you as you shut your eyes, embarrassed of what you'd just done.

you were rushed to the hospital and given stitches, you were to be closely watched from your mom now on, you were told by an interpreter.

katsuki's eyes were red, matching his pupils as he looked at you.

he was frustrated, you could see it in the trembling of his fists and the scowl in his mouth. if he hadn't been there.. you would be dead.

why, he asked you. and to be honest, you really couldn't explain it yourself.

when you got home to your apartment, empty and reminding of your reality away from katsuki, you just felt so..

scared. what would happen when he finally got the validation he needed and left you? your whole life was quiet and tranquil, you'd gotten used to it. but he flipped it upside down again, showed you what your life really could be.

it was too much for you. you had to escape, so after sitting on it, tapping your leg anxiously as you pondered your decision, you went on your phone.

you went online and saw his life outside of you, how he had everything going for him yet what did you really have? a mom and a job at her company?

you grew impulsive, grabbing it absentmindedly and filling up the tub with the water you grown to love over the past month.

after you started bleeding, you panicked. what had you just done? but it was too late..

until he saved you from yourself.

you were zoning out. when you didn't answer him, he repeated himself, grabbing the interpreter so you could sign.

but still you said nothing, except a small sorry.

he left afterwards, leaving you alone in the bed to think.

you were back in your childhood room now, your mom having sobbed as she looked over your hands, as she asked you, "what the hell were you thinking?"

you looked at those glow in the dark stars and tried to find an answer, but there was none.

you held yourself to sleep for the first time in months, already missing him deeply.

little did you know, he was thinking about you too.

the next morning you awoke to a knock on your bedroom door. assuming it was your mom, you got up and opened it.

it was katsuki instead, holding a bouquet of flowers and the locket you'd given him.

"can i come in?"

you opened the door wider, leading him to sit on your bed.

"katsuki i--"

"[name]. i don't know why you did what you did.. but i know it probably has something to do with me. so what did i do wrong?" he looked defeated, as if he thought it was his fault you tried to end your life.

"no! no that wasn't it at all. well, it was about you but not like that.

it's just.. i've been alone. for so long? having you around felt.. too good to be true. i didn't want to go back to how i was before. in a way, you were too good for me."

"you're.. an idiot. but i guess i understand."

"i just.. i really love how you treat me. i didn't want it to go away."

a moment of silence passes, a small anxious laugh leaving katsuki's lips.

"fuck, i thought you hated me. could barely sleep without you."

he pulled you into him, staring deeply into your eyes as he pulled you impossibly closer. he kissed you deeply. his worries, passions, and frustrations all poured out into it.

he pulled away, eyes half lidded as he asked gruffly.

"wanna take this back to my place?"

he took your last first away, gentle and loving as he guided you through it. reassuring you that he'd never leave you.

you moved in with him soon after, finding it hard to sleep without eachother, no matter how late he got back to your shared home.

he'd be welcomed back by the sight of you, who always tried and failed to stay up waiting for him. he'd pick you up, like always, and hug you to sleep.

he'd know he woke you up by the feeling of your smile in his chest, the way you tightened you arms around him.

he loved spending every waking moment he could with you. you were right though, he did break up with you after he got your validation.

...

but that's just an odd way to say he proposed to you, vowing to spend the rest of his life making you happy and fufiling your wishes one by one.

he changed not only himself, but the way you see yourself. he changed your relationships with yourselves and eachother for the better,

and as you walked down the aisle, your wedding planned by your two designer parents, being lavish and gorgeous. the silk on the floor being runway to your expensive shoes specially designed for you, the guests in awe of how gorgeous you are.

you both knew, you'd better eachother for better or for worse, for as long as you'd be together.

he signed 'i do', sealing the rest of your lives together,

with a kiss.

[dadbodbuck]

god. from every angle that video call hurts so fucking bad like ok. you are christopher diaz. your dad is doing his best. you know this. it still fucking hurts. your mom died and your dad does stuff that scares you sometimes and one day you came home and for the briefest moment you thought your mom was back again, but it turns out it was your dad chasing ghosts like he always does. and that's his best. that's his very, absolute, utmost best. and you have to live with the fact that he loves you and it's not enough to stop him from doing things that hurt you, even if he doesn't mean to. and every time he calls, it's just a visceral, sick reminder of what he did. you can't stop looking at your dad's face and remembering that fleeting, childish hope. and all that's left over after you're done being hurt is the anger.

or you're eddie diaz, and your son is still pulling away. it's been three months and you can't stop scrambling desperately for something, anything you can say to make him come back. you put up streamers. you invite over your friends. you get party hats and noise makers and you pray that this time it'll be enough. this will be enough love and care. you love him so much. you love him so much and it's not enough. your mom doesn't even let you watch the whole happy birthday song.

or you're buck, and you love this kid too. and it's almost like everyone forgot. they forgot that you pulled him out of a tsunami. they forgot that you'll be his guardian if your best friend in the whole world dies. but you're not the one who lost a kid, that's your best friend. you need to be there to hold him together while he's falling apart. and you get this chance to surprise this kid you love while doing something for your best friend, and he doesn't even notice. this kid, who isn't your kid, but you love anyway, and haven't seen in months, doesn't even acknowledge you. and you have to watch your best friend break in half again, and there's nothing you can do about it.

or, frankly, you're tommy kinard. and you're in this new relationship with a beautiful, sweet, thoughtful man. and maybe he's a little close with his best friend, but that's fine, because you like his best friend too. in fact, his best friend is quickly becoming a close friend of yours. and you don't talk much about your past, your family, how utterly fucking lonely you were before this ball of sunshine and his goofy codependent bestie fell into your lap. but they know it wasn't great, and that your dad was kind of a piece of shit. but your new friend, and your newer boyfriend, they love this kid more than your dad could have ever loved you. they put up streamers. they invite you to surprise him because he thinks you're cool. they give you a party hat and your boyfriend is smiling all hopeful and giddy. you never remember your dad being this happy to see you. and all they get is a blank face and a cut signal. they don't even get to sing him happy birthday.

[all3-stxr]

i like the way you kiss me

you and satoru were both teacher at jujutsu tech. as always, he pestered you just as much as he did with nanami and yaga. now, he was sitting on your desk of the empty classroom as you dusted off the chalkboard, pouting about the higher ups.

"i just. . . i don't get it. how they don't give a damn about those kids. i think i do a good job about caring, right?"

"you do really well, satoru." you ruffle his hair before returning back to cleaning the chalkboard.

that makes his cheeks flush a little red, not used to such praise. well, sure, he's praised by so many people, but from you, it just felt. . . different.

he cleared his throat before changing the subject. "so. . . wanna go out and get dinner? or is it too early for all of that?"

you hum quietly. "well, actually, i've been meaning to talk to you about something."

as you turn to face him, his blue eyes met yours as he tilted his head to the side. this was something he wasn't prepared for, but he could deal with it. "yeah? what's up?"

you were only able to meet his eyes directly since he was hunched over on your desk (thank god for that). "i want you to leave jujutsu."

he blinked. did he hear that right? sure, the idea of leaving did come across his mind every now and then, but he could never bring himself to do it. he opened his mouth to protest but hesitated before saying anything. ". . . why?"

you glance away for a moment. "they're just using you."

he stared at you for a moment. he knew you were right. hell, everyone knew it - he hated it just as much as you did - but there was no other option. he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know. . . i know they are. but i can't just leave. not now. i have responsibilities, there's so much more that i have to do that i can't just leave."

you gently cup his cheeks, tilting his head back up to look at you, despite his blindfold being on and you didn't know where his eyes were trained. "but you deserve more than that."

he didn't hesitate to lean into your hands, letting out a shaky breath. he wished he could leave. but who was going to take his place? he was the strongest for a reason. and what happens to his students when he leaves? megumi? itadori stuck with sukuna? he would never stop blaming himself if something or someone got hurt after he left. "i- i know but- i can't."

"if you wont leave, then promise me this-"

he didn't hesitate to nod, eyes trained on you as he listened to each and every word you had to say.

"-always come back safe to me."

he was a bit taken aback by this. he was strong enough to take on anything, that was what he was made for, right? he didn't doubt his abilities at all, but if it would ease her anxiety and make her happy, then he'd do it. "i promise."

your eyes narrow, taking in his expression with great scrutiny, making sure he wasn't lying. you gently lift his blind fold onto his forehead, finally meeting his beautiful blue orbs (he knew you loved just looking at them).

"thank you, 'toru." you say softly.

his ears grew a little pink at that. "of course." he muttered quietly.

you couldn't help but laugh a little at how shy he seemed for a moment. "dork."

"but i'm your dork, right?" he smirked down at you, looking at you with those bright, adoring eyes.

you roll your eyes and tug the blindfold back down. "yes. my dork."

he was a bit surprised by you tugging down the blindfold but could only smile like an idiot. that's all he was. he was just a big idiot when it came to you. "good. all yours~" he smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

you hum. "you know, i never see you kissing nanami's forehead. . ."

he snorted. "i never kiss anyone's forehead. except for yours." he hummed, pressing another kiss to your forehead, then to your nose. he really was just trying to kiss any part of you he could.

"alright, lover boy, that's enough." you smile and push him away gently.

he pouts and tugs you back against his chest. "come on, just one more. please?"

you shake your head which causes him to whine and pull you closer, your thigh sliding between his and you feel him. all of him.

"i need you." he murmured into your ear.

now, this wasn't the first time you two have gotten a little handsy. working as a sorcerer, you don't have much time for relationships, but that doesn't mean you can just stop being horny. so, just as satoru was your cure for that, you were his. and you couldn't just leave him like this.

"i didn't even do anything, satoru-!" you're cut off by him grinding his hips down against your thigh and you feel that familiar heat pool in your stomach.

"don't need to baby, you're just so fuckin' pretty."

you have to bite back a groan at the sultry hint in his voice, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "please, angel."

you push him back against the chair, making him sit, easily sliding off his belt like it was an everyday occurrence (which it practically was from how good this man felt and sounded while he was balls deep inside of you).

his eyes are trained on you and he slides off his blindfold once more so you can look into his eyes. but what he wasn't expecting was for you to get down on your knees after sliding down his boxers to his ankles, and begin pressing kisses down the shaft of his pretty pink cock.

he has to stop the moan from escaping his lips just at mere kisses, and a large hand clamps over his mouth as your tongue swirls over his flushed tip, leaking with precum.

"so wet already." you snicker, but before you can utter out another word he bucks his hips up into your face, dick sliding down the slippery hole of your throat, making him groan loudly. "mm, i'm sorry. so so so sorry, baby. please- ngh- forgive me." he babbled out, hand coming down to gently stroke your hair as you tried to suppress your gag reflex from acting up.

you can only hum, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine as you began to suck him off, hands holding down his toned thighs to stop him from fucking your throat until you couldn't breathe.

his hand bundled up your hair to give him some sort of leverage so he could try (and fail) to hold himself together. that's when his eyes flicker over to the open door and he almost cums right there on the spot - you fucking knew.

"y/n, the door-" his voice is muffled by his hand, and the look in his eyes shows he's about to lose it. if nanami or yaga, or even one of the kids walked in right now-

you slowly slide him out of your mouth, swallowing his slick as you respond. "then be a good boy and be quiet, sweetheart."

he whines at your words. you knew how vocal he could be, especially when you sucked him off - nothing but loud groans and praises, practically begging for you to let him cum in your pussy next or he "might just die."

for someone known as the strongest, he didn't act like it the second his dick came into the picture.

he watches intently as your candied lips slide over his length, cheeks hollowed out, making room for him just because he got hard after kissing your face.

he's entranced by the way only his tip stays in your mouth when you pull up, then sink back down around him in a heap, and he's biting his shirt just to shut himself up (not that it was doing him any favors). you could still hear his pretty groans as his head rolls back, hips faintly stuttering up into your mouth as he tried to close that space and feel your tight little throat around him again.

"fuckfuckfuckfuck-" his hand begins to guide you, pushing you down and slowly lifting you back up easily. he can feel your throat spasming every time you take him in fully, little white hairs tickling your nose before you're back up to just his tip.

you blink up at him and god is this view ethereal. brows knit together, long white lashes fluttering ever so slightly at each thrust, his uniform wettened by his mouth as he moans into it, saying your name like some sort of prayer. you feel just how wet your panties are, and you know you're gonna ask those long fingers to do you a favor later.

"'m gonna cum," the shirt falls from his mouth as he warns you, but you just hum some more, and you know that's what set him off as he lets out the most pornographic moan and keeps you at your pace to ride off his orgasm, and you're sure every person in the school could hear it. creamy white liquid just filling your throat and no matter how many times you swallow, it just keeps coming.

and your thoughts are only confirmed when nanami's voice comes from down the hallway and you almost choke on his load. "gojo?"

[alchemistc]

Tommy slumps further into the couch cushions, and the looks Eddie gives him is - dire, really. Tommy sort of wants to get shit faced and cry a little while cradling this throw pillow - the same one Evan had smacked him with a week ago while they crowded Eddie's too-small couch and Tommy had made fun of Evan for not knowing a single player on the Dodgers.

("You're actively rooting against them, why do you care if I know who they are?"

"Know thy enemy, Buckley," was Eddie's immediate response, and Evan had swung the pillow when he caught Tommy and Eddie fist bumping out of the corner of his eye.)

"Pretty sure it's actually cheating to come to me," Eddie intones, but he's already up and moving towards the cabinet where he keeps the good whiskey.

He settles into the recliner and gestures with the bottle, a very clear 'go on' in his expression.

Tommy thinks about maybe just - drowning himself in spirits and hiding under a rock for the rest of his life.

"I asked Evan to move in with me."

Eddie's brow kicks up. He purses his lip. Nods. His eyes do something that tells Tommy he is actively biting down on whatever it is he's thinking.

"And...you...fought. You fought about Buck ... moving in."

(Six months is such a short time, really. They've just leapt every other milestone like it's their damn job, and - Christ, they'd had keys to each other's places in weeks.)

Tommy narrows his eyes. "You know something."

"Yeah, and that's why this," he gestures vaguely in the direction of Tommy, fully pouting on his couch and commandeering too large a surface area for Eddie to actually join him there, "is cheating."

Tommy would love to point out that he just doesn't have a shit ton of friends willing to listen to him bitch about an argument he's trying to figure out without fucking imploding the whole goddamn thing. He'd love to point out that he and Eddie have already set these boundaries and Tommy is aware he's pushing it.

Tommy tilts his head against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. "Well if we can't talk about it, at least get me drunk."

Eddie hands him a shot glass and stands to go grab them both beers.

---

"So the thing is," Tommy says, slumped against Eddie's side and gesturing in front of himself. His hands are - they're a little blurry. Thank God he isn't on call. "The thing is."

He's got a hangnail that's been driving him nuts for weeks. He's already got a layout in his head for how to make Evan's wardrobe fit in his closet. Half of Evan's kitchen lives in Tommy's already, and he'd - he'd been sure they were in the same page.

"The thing?" Eddie asks, and - Christ, it's not like Eddie's having an easy time with any of the - anything. He's definitely overindulged right along with Tommy. Thank fuck they're not maudlin drunks, just what they need is two PTSD riddled idiots filled up with liquor and bemoaning their lives.

"What thing?"

"The thing, Tommy."

Right. The thing. "I love him," Tommy says, and Eddie's eyes go wide like he doesn't already know this. But Tommy - Tommy's said it in range of Eddie's hearing, right? He's - he's said it.

(The lone braincell shared between them whispers that Tommy has said it, once, to the curls atop Evan's sweaty head while Evan was still passed out on his chest. Fuck braincells.)

"Uhuh."

"What uhuh?"

You don't ask someone to move in with you when you still haven't worked up the courage to say I love you to someone's face, is the thing. And Evan's said it - happy and carefree and open even when Tommy just kissed him to distract him from Tommy not saying it back. He has to know, right? Tommy's said it in every other way he knows how.

"Listen, bro code broken, man, Buck's fucking terrified to mess this up with you and the whole 'you haven't said the words' has been, like, messing with his head for weeks, dude. And now outta the blue, hey move in with me? He's trying desperately not to assume you did something terrible and are using this to cover it up."

"He told you that?"

Eddie scoffs. He actually says 'pshhh', and rolls his head towards Tommy. "No." He enunciates too much. The 'o' is way too long in that word. It's a two letter word, how did he make it sound like seven syllables?

Tommy wants another shot, but Eddie had clearly not meant for that whiskey to be shared and it'd already been more than half gone when he pulled it out. There's...maybe half an ounce left. Fuck.

"Then how...?"

"I already broke bro code for you, dumbass. Can't you read between the lines?"

"Is this like the couch thing?"

The mindfuck of trying to decipher Eddie and Evan's little shared looks while Evan announced that Tommy's couch was his favorite couch had been -

He's getting off track.

He hasn't said the fucking words. He's in love with the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful, filthiest fucking man he's ever known and he hasn't said the words.

"Hamster wheel," Eddie says sagely, like that means a damn fucking thing, but Tommy's already fumbling for his phone. Texting that is out of the question, and he doesn't want to call while he's... more drunk than he'd care to admit.

Tommy shoves Eddie off his shoulder, and only gets a little spinny when he stands. He's a forty year old man, he can absolutely ask his boyfriend to pick him up from... his boyfriends best friends house and help him sober up so he can have a conversation.

"Water," Tommy says, and Eddie snorts.

"Toooo late."

Tommy feels about five years old when he shoves at Eddie's face before retreating to the kitchen.

---

"Tommy," Evan says, bent low over the couch, and Tommy blinks himself awake, regretting every drop of whiskey he'd drunk last night. He'd - there'd been water. An attempt at typing out a message. A slap fight in Eddie's kitchen when he decided to chow down on the last of the casserole Evan had left behind three days ago. More water.

This couch is way too fucking small for him. He's - he's still got one shoe on, and a blanket crumpled haphazardly over one leg. His head is pounding.

Evan looks - concerned. Maybe still a little annoyed. Fond.

"Ev," he manages, moving to sit up and regretting it when five million bees make a home right there against his frontal lobe. Smoke clears that out, right? He remembers Evan being super fucking proud that that had worked.

Evan holds up a glass of water that Tommy takes gratefully. He doesn't drink it nearly as slowly as he should.

When he's done, Evan stands, and - God his legs are long. Tommy loves those fucking legs - loves the hair that catches against his calluses on his way up towards the promised land, loves the strength behind them when he snaps his hips forward, loves the way they feel all wrapped around him when they're -

"We are not anywhere close to the sort of resolution necessary for that look," Evan says, and Tommy sighs. Because they haven't talked about it. Because they'd yelled and smacked their hands against counters and the explosion had sent them careening off in different directions and Tommy hasn't told him.

"Angry sex can be fun," Tommy wheedles, a little unnecessarily because he doesn't actually want - and on Eddie's couch to boot, which is absolutely not what he's angling for.

"I'm not mad at you," Evan says, and Tommy gives him an unimpressed look. "Okay, I'm mostly just - confused."

Fair enough. Tommy's been confusing. Tommy's been -

Tommy curls a hand around the meat of Evan's calf and tips his head against Evan's thigh. "Can we not do this in Eddie's living room?"

---

He doesn't want to admit that it took Eddie breaking all sorts of friendship rules for Tommy to even grasp the point of Evan freezing the fuck up when Tommy had mentioned his lease. He doesn't want to admit that he's fucking terrified, all the time, about the feelings in his chest that never quite settle, that bubble up at the strangest times because every-fucking-thing reminds him of Evan. He doesn't want to admit that he'd just leapt that hurdle in his mind even though Evan has been very clearly marking every other step with metaphorical (and sometimes literal) sticky notes.

Evan hands him his tea and immediately starts picking at the paper sleeve on his cup of coffee.

"I'm not afraid of losing you," Tommy starts, which is - the opposite of the point he's trying to make, and Evan's grimace tells him it's a bad place to start. "I mean that's not why I asked."

Evan is still grimacing. And that's - Christ, he hadn't even planned it, it was just - he'd been there, digging through Tommy's sock drawer, his shit tumbling out of his overnight bag at the end of the bed and his book on the history of perfume in the bedside table and his crock pot stewing something that smelled heavenly, thirty feet away, and he wanted that always, wanted that forever, wanted more than anything to enjoy all the little moments that came before he spent the money in savings hed been setting aside since successful date number five when he'd wondered if Evan had ever thought about getting married.

"You think I asked out of convenience, right? Your stuff's already there, might as well?"

"I'm not leaving things there on purpose."

"I want you to leave things there on purpose. I want all your things there, on purpose. Even when you move my milk to the fridge door and my sugar stash to the wrong pantry shelf and even when you replace my toothpaste because it doesn't have the right enamel protection."

His lip quirks. That had been a near argument too. Tommy was particular. Tommy didn't do great with change. Evan's changed damn near fucking everything, for Tommy, and he's never been more grateful for a single thing in his fucking life.

Tommy curls a finger around Evan's wrist, and his gaze darts up through his lashes. They're long, and distracting, and Tommy wouldn't mind shoving this disagreement to the side so he can brush his lips across the paper thin lids of his eyes, but -

"I missed some steps, getting there," Tommy admits, and Evan bites his lip like he's trying to hide a smile.

"My fault, a bit. I - I could see why you might have just assumed we were scaling 'em two at a time."

"Evan," he says, and breathes a sigh of relief when his free hand darts out to smooth the veins on the back of Tommy's hand.

"Next week is six months," he says, like Tommy doesn't fucking know that, and his thumb sweeps over Tommy's knuckles. "So, i -if you have anything you wanna say before then, you got a week before you can ask me again."

(Six months is the blink of an eye, actually, but Tommy hates every blink that doesn't include Evan in it.)

"You got plans?" Tommy asks, and Evan's face pinkens.

"If you're lucky I'll even tell you them."

"It's a date."

[justagalwhowrites]

Can't Stay Away - A QZ!Joel Miller Fic

Years after you turned to Joel for help getting out of a bad relationship, he can't seem to stop coming back to you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Angst (duh), Joel is a bit of an asshole (that's the point and it makes him even hotter, I fear), mention of past domestic violence (not described), injury from past domestic violence, threat of continued domestic violence. unprotected P in V sex, breeding kink, fantasizing about pregnancy (doesn't actually happen.) Minors DNI 18+ only, no use of Y/N.

Length: 4.1k

A/N: Shared for the Joel Miller Birthday Celebration found on Tumblr here. This is QZ!Joel with Secret Relationship and Breeding Kink. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist | AO3

“Where the fuck else is there to go?” Tommy asked, shucking his mud-covered boots and leaving them in a pile by the door. 

“Just got business to take care of,” Joel said, voice rough. 

“It’s pourin’ rain, man,” his brother said, dropping his drenched pack to the table as if to make a point. “We didn’t even know we were makin’ it back tonight until fuckin’ tonight. Just stay home.” 

“Wanna get this done,” Joel said, taking his portion of their haul from his pack and piling it on the table. He left just one thing inside the pack. “Probably won’t be back ’til morning.” 

Tommy just pursed his lips, shaking his head a little. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid, Joel.” 

Joel didn’t say anything back. What did he have to say? 

Tommy had every reason to worry about him being stupid. Every reason to believe that Joel was going to do something that would hurt their smuggling operation. Every reason to believe that Joel was going to do something that would hurt himself. 

Which, he supposed, wasn’t particularly far off. 

You were, indeed, something stupid and something that would hurt him. 

You were his biggest indulgence and his biggest risk, the thing that was the largest threat to him here in the Boston QZ. 

Ex-wife of a FEDRA guard, Joel should avoid you. 

His work was dangerous enough as it was, he shouldn’t make it more dangerous by messing around that close to the people who could execute him if they really wanted, especially not with someone they seemed to take pleasure in tormenting.

But he couldn’t seem to stay away from you. 

He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It wasn’t that he loved you. Not that he’d ever really loved a woman - he’d tried with Sarah’s mom and was sure he’d come up short - but he knew he didn’t have it in him to love anything now. The aching wound of loss took up too much of him, there wasn’t space for anything else.

But he did care. Whether that was because he was attached to you as a person or because you made him come so hard he forgot the world ended for a moment, he didn’t know. 

He supposed the why didn’t matter. He cared. He cared enough that he couldn’t lose you without it adding to that wound, one that had damn near killed him and had seemed to have only grown worse with time. 

That should be enough of a reason to stay away from you. Hadn’t he learned his lesson by now? That giving a shit only led to pain? That if he was going to keep surviving any of this, he had to be far, far away from something like you? 

Still, he made his way through the QZ, the pouring, cold rain fitting the grim environs. Everything here was slightly wrong. It looked something like a city from before but not. It appeared as though things could be normal, somewhere, except they weren’t. It seemed as though Joel had been tailor made for this place, this time. Living some kind of half life where everything was shades of gray, nothing left to live for but - apparently - not able to die. The last gasp of humanity left in him clinging to this world. 

That made you a shade of gray, too, one he wasn’t sure what to do with. 

It had started years earlier, when you were desperate and willing to trade sex for a gun. 

Joel hadn’t taken you up on the offer then, frowning as you watched him with wide, desperate eyes. 

“The hell do you need a gun for?” He’d asked. “If you don’t already got one, hard pressed to see someone like you startin’ in on a business that needed one.” 

“Does it matter?” You asked. “I’ll give you what ever you want, please.” 

“Matters to me,” Joel said. “Not about to arm someone looking to move in on my business.” 

“It’s not for that.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem tellin’ me what it is for,” he replied. 

You looked around, cagey, before lowering your voice further. As though talking about an illegal weapons trade wasn’t enough of a reason to keep quiet. 

“I’m leaving my husband,” you said, those wide, soft eyes watching him so closely. “He’s FEDRA and he’s made it clear that he won’t let me go without a fight. I need to be able to protect myself, please, I can give you ration cards as I earn them, I can… I’ll do anything else you might want, I…” 

“Stop,” Joel cut you off, tears starting at the edges of your eyes. He took his hand gun from its place tucked in the small of his back and passed it to you as discreetly as he could. “There, now you got somethin’. Meet me here tomorrow, same time, I’ll get you more ammo. Know how to use it?” 

“Don’t I just point it and pull the trigger?” You asked, brows raised. 

He just sighed. 

“Think you can keep from usin’ it until tomorrow?” He asked. You nodded quickly. “Good. I’ll show you.” 

“Thank you,” you said, stashing the weapon quickly. “What… what do I owe you?” 

The fear in your voice made his stomach turn.

“Nothin’,” Joel said. “Fine on ration cards at the moment. Don’t trade in the other shit. Tomorrow. Don’t be late.” 

 You just nodded quickly, thanking him with too much earnest hope in your voice for something being spoken to him.

Joel spent the afternoon the next day teaching you how to shoot as best he could inside the QZ. Turns out, the reason you didn’t already know how is that you’d been in Boston during the outbreak. You’d just moved there with your shitbag of a husband a few weeks before it all came crashing down. You’d never really needed to fight, let alone shoot or kill. You never needed a gun. 

Until your husband started hitting you. 

Joel learned quickly exactly why you felt like you needed to be armed. He’d put a hand on your ribs to adjust your stance and you hissed in pain. Joel pulled away quickly, frowning as you tried to hide your pained expression but it didn’t work. 

“You gonna tell me what that was?” He asked, brows raised. You clenched your jaw and stared at the ground. 

“It’s not your business.”

“I’m helpin’ you, your husband is a fucking FEDRA officer, if you’re about to haul off and kill him I should know why,” he said, voice heated. “So tell me, he do that?” 

Your eyes finally met his and he didn’t need to ask again. 

“Lemme see.” 

“Joel…” 

“Show me,” he said, voice sharp. 

You sighed and lifted your sweatshirt, revealing discolored and swollen skin along one side. 

Joel clenched his jaw. 

“It’s gotten worse,” you said quietly. “I can’t keep pretending it’ll be OK if we just get through this, I can’t pretend like he hasn’t been building toward this for years. I need to get out before he kills me.” 

Joel stepped back and you lowered your shirt, your eyes on his. 

“He bigger than you?” He asked. You nodded. “Alright, gonna teach you a few more things, too…” 

He showed you how to protect yourself without a gun and how to end a conflict with one. He hoped you wouldn’t need to use either. After a few days of showing you how to do the things he’d assumed just came with the territory of surviving the end of the world, you went your separate ways. 

But Joel still thought of you, an odd twinge in his chest when he did, something like concern. He wanted you to be OK. He couldn’t put his finger on why that would matter to him but he wanted that, he wanted you to be safe and happy. 

So when he ran into you on the street a few months later, he couldn’t help but ask. And you smiled at him, brighter than he’d ever seen you look, when you told him that you had your own place now, that the gun he’d given you had never been fired. It was hard, but you’d survived. 

The two of you went to the speakeasy and you bought Joel a drink, saying you owed him for helping you get out of your situation. He let you buy the first round. He bought the second. Before too long, he was in your apartment, pulling off your clothes and touching your body without you flinching away from him. 

You became like a drug to him then. Every few nights he found himself outside your door, desperate for the reprieve you and your sex gave him. Some sense of normalcy, the ability to feel something beyond the crushing weight of loss, that brief moment when he was buried inside you and reaching his peak that the rest of the world fell away and he existed on a plane where nothing bad had ever happened to him and he’d never done anything to deserve it. 

He tried to pretend like that release is all it was. But then there were moments where he couldn’t deny that it was more. The time where he passed you on the street and your eyes met his and he wanted to go talk to you, to see why your eyes seemed dark and sad, but there was a FEDRA guard watching you from the corner and he couldn’t risk it, not for either of you. The time he showed up at your door and heard yelling and he pretended to be a neighbor to intervene. All the times he held you as you fell asleep nestled against his skin, soft and beautiful and trusting, all things that should have been driven out of you in the QZ. All things you should never have been with him in the first place. 

He swallowed those moments, tried to not let the fear and panic they sparked inside of him take over. The last time he loved someone, they died. The last time he loved someone, it almost killed him. He couldn’t love you. He couldn’t risk it. 

But here he was, at your door again, anyway.

He tried to stop himself from knocking but all it did was make his hand stutter before he did what he always did: wait for you to let him in. 

“Joel?” You opened the door in an oversized t-shirt and boxers, looking groggy. “You’re back.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him inside, pressing your body against his, burying your face in the hollow of his throat and he let himself breathe you in, remind himself that you were safe. 

“I was so worried about you,” your voice was muffled in the wet fabric of his shirt. “I heard some things from people at the gate and…” 

“The gate?” He frowned, pulling back from you. “The hell were you doin’ down there?” 

You looked at him, your lower lip going between your teeth, fingers twisting on themselves. 

“What. Were you doin’. At the gate.” 

“I heard something at work,” you said quietly. “About a patrol getting overrun by infected and… I wanted to see if there were signs of other people getting hurt, I’m sorry, I couldn’t just sit here and wait for you and not know…” 

“You can’t do shit like that,” he said roughly. “It ain’t safe, your fuckin’ husband is always looking for a reason to make your life hell, he would have me and Tommy killed if he knew about us, you can’t just…” 

“I know.” 

“Then why’d you do it?” He smacked his hand against the tabletop, making you flinch, hating himself for scaring you even for a moment. “I know you fuckin’ know better!” 

“Because I care about you!” You yelled, your voice thick. “Is that such a crime?” 

Joel crumpled at that, shoulders slouching. 

“That’s…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That ain’t what this is, honey, you know that.” 

“I know,” you said again, voice soft. “I’m not expecting anything from you, Joel, I know better than that. I just… I’m not just going to pretend that you’re nothing to me. Life is too short for that.” 

His heart thudded against his ribs, so hard it felt like a bruise. 

“I can’t…” 

“I know,” you whispered, reaching up and cupping his cheek. “It’s OK. I know.” 

He should have turned to leave then, he was smart enough to know that. But your hand was soft on his skin, your body was warm next to his, your eyes were welcoming and understanding in a way that nothing else had been since he’d lost the only thing that mattered. 

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t something that was soft and romantic, nothing like what you deserved, nothing like how he would have kissed you if he’d known you before. Instead it was fierce, devouring, harsh enough that he knew his stubble must be scratching your skin and he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting more of you. 

You tugged him back toward your bedroom, Joel stepping out of his boots as he went. He dropped his pack on the floor and tugged your shirt up and over your head, casting it aside. He ran his hands over your bared skin, your flesh pebbled where the cold, wet of his shirt touched you. He pulled that off, too, before he could do anything that hurt you, even for a moment. Christ knew you had enough of that behind you, the look on your face when he’d lost control just a minute before already a scar in his mind, adding to the scars on your skin from your marriage he wished he could go back and stop. 

You undressed each other quickly, desperately, and he all but threw you on the bed once you were naked. He followed you there, shedding the last of his clothes before crawling up your body, his finger tracing your slit to spread you open just enough that he could get his thick, hard cock inside. 

He should be more careful with you, he knew that. But he didn’t have the patience and you’d never, even once, asked him to slow down or be gentle. So he pushed himself inside with one sharp, hard stroke, making you gasp and arch beneath him as he groaned at the feeling of your tight cunt. You whimpered as he stilled deep inside, adjusting to how you held him, fighting to keep from coming too quick because you felt too goddamn good but he couldn’t waste it, not this fast. 

“You’re OK,” he panted, his mouth against your shoulder. “You can take it, baby, know you can, take it so well.” 

He felt you nod against him, your hands trembling as they went to his back, holding him close. 

“Just take it,” he said as he started to fuck into you, caving to his baser instincts and letting himself have you the way you seemed so willing to give yourself to him. “Just take it, honey, just let me… let me…” 

Your hips rolled to meet his, your nails digging into his skin. 

“Feels so good, Joel,” you whined against him. “Fuck, I missed you, you feel, you feel, I…” 

He kissed you, swallowing your babbling before you had a chance to complete your thought. He couldn’t hear what he was afraid was coming, a line he couldn’t bring himself to cross. There was so much he couldn’t give to you, so much that he knew you deserved but was too selfish to give you up so you could find it. 

But fuck, did he wish he could give you that. In another time, another place, another reality entirely, he could. He knew that. In some other world, one where humanity wasn’t gone and his daughter was still breathing, he would give you everything. In that world, he would love you. He would open your car door and share inside jokes and care for you in a way no one else could. In that impossible world, you and him lived in a little house with a garden out front and a spare bedroom where Sarah stayed when she came for a visit because she would be an adult now, with a life of her own instead of forever frozen at 14. In that reality, you were his in every way. His ring was on your finger, his roof over your head, his baby in your womb. He wouldn’t need to hide it then, wouldn’t need to tiptoe around FEDRA, wouldn’t need to be afraid of what loving you might mean. He could fuck you until you were full of him, so full that you carried part of him inside of you for months, your body growing and changing with it and then no one would ever question that you were his, fucking his. 

Your pussy drew tight around him as your fingers wound tight in his hair. Your nipples were hard against his chest, the plush of your breasts pressed to his front as your thighs tightened around his hips. 

He pulled his mouth from yours to kiss and suck his way down your neck to your chest, pressing himself deep inside you and letting himself pretend - just for a moment - that the reality he occupied was one where he could have you, really have you. That the two of you were in a cozy bedroom with furniture he built for you with a room a few doors down that you’d already started looking at cribs and changing tables to fill it with. 

“Gonna come,” you panted, your hips stuttering against him as he pressed inside, forcing the head of his cock against the soft, tender place deep within you. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m gonna… I… I…” 

He was so close to his peak that he almost wanted you to say it. He wanted you to say it while he came deep inside you, leaving himself there so it could take, so he could watch you grow his child and take care of you through it, so he could take care of both of you after. Claim you so thoroughly that when you were in the QZ there was no question that you were his, not with his baby inside you and his arm around your shoulders. 

He wanted it. He wanted it so bad that, in that moment with his cock buried inside you as you keened below him, he didn’t care if it fucking killed him. 

Joel came apart when you did, the fluttering of your tight little hole sending him over the edge, the high of nothing else in the world mattering outside of you and the hot clutch of your body swallowing him whole for one glorious moment. 

But, as always happened, he came back down to earth, still held in the cradle of your hips, still breathing the scent of your skin, still lost in the wasteland that was once the world. 

He didn’t kiss you as he pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed next to you, closing his eyes for a moment to keep from looking at you too long. 

“You gotta be more careful,” he said after a moment. 

You were silent long enough that he looked over at you, finding you on your side facing him but staring down at the mattress. 

“I know,” you said eventually. 

“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he said, his voice gentle. Or as gentle as he seemed to be able to make it now, anyway. “But you know what happened the last time he thought you were seein’ someone. If killing him would fix it, I would, but I can’t kill every fucking FEDRA guard who’d take it out on you and I’m not gonna be the reason you get hurt.” 

“I know,” you said again, looking at him this time. “But I… I just…” 

“I know,” he said it this time, his stomach twisting. 

You just nodded. 

“You deserve better,” he said eventually. “Shouldn’t let me treat you the way I do.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“You should,” he snapped and then sighed, staring at the ceiling again. “Sorry for scarin’ you before. When I hit the table. I… I would never…” 

“I know,” you said, more confidently then. He looked back to you, frowning. “I’m not afraid of you, Joel. I know better about that, too.” 

He was silent again, going back to staring at your water-stained ceiling. 

“Should probably take a break,” he said eventually. “Not see each other for a bit.” 

“It wouldn’t change anything,” you said quietly. He frowned, watching you again. “I know myself. I know how I feel. It’s OK. I don’t expect anything from you. Not even this.” 

His eyes searched yours and he let himself try to reach some other version of him on some other plane, one where things were safe and he was in the bed you shared with him in the home you made together. A version where he could be honest with you and it wouldn’t destroy him. 

“I’d give you more if I could,” he said instead. 

You smiled ever so slightly, a gentle curve to your lips. 

“I know,” you said softly. “Believe it or not, I know you, too, Joel.” 

He let himself look at you for a moment, let that terrifying wound at the center of him hurt where he could really feel it, to feel the horror of what letting himself love you would be. 

“It’s OK,” you whispered as you reached out and brushed his curls back, your fingertip grazing the scar at his temple. “I’ll just love you, anyway.” 

He stayed in your bed that night, lying awake as you slept against him, ignoring the scream of panic at the core of him to run while he still could. He knew it couldn’t last. He knew he couldn’t rest like this, not with you this close, not in this awful place with that awful hurt. But he couldn’t leave you either. Not like this. 

“Oh,” he said the next morning when it was still dark so he could slip back to his own apartment before some FEDRA prick was awake to see him leaving your place. “Almost forgot.” 

He pulled a scarf from his pack, the one thing he hadn’t left at home after this run. It was thick, the knit heavy, a color that made your eyes shine. Not that he had pictured you wearing it with those eyes of yours when he’d picked it up. He held it out to you and you frowned, confused, as you took it. 

“Winter is around the corner and you were cold all the time last year,” he said gruffly. “Don’t want you freezin’ to death.” 

You smiled a little, running your fingers over the pattern knit into the yarn. 

“Thank you,” you said, holding it to your chest and looking back to him. “I really needed this, Joel.” 

He just grunted, pulling his pack on and heading for the door. 

“I’m gonna stay away from you for a while,” he said, trying to ignore the pain in his chest at that. “Don’t want anyone catching on.” 

“OK,” you said, eyes searching his before you stepped close to him and slowly, cautiously, pressed your soft, warm lips to his own. “Take care of yourself for me, OK?” 

You said it like you would say I love you. 

“You, too,” he said. He wondered if it sounded the same to you, too. 

 Staying away from you took work. He wanted to see you, be next to you, get lost in you. But he knew where that would lead and he couldn’t let it, not now, not like this. 

So he stayed away for weeks. He stayed away until the first snowfall of the season in Boston and he made an excuse to go stand outside your job. He couldn’t help it. He needed to make sure you were warm and safe so he stood there and watched you leave, his scarf around your neck, You caught his eye with a small smile as you passed a FEDRA guard and he knew, with sinking certainty, he’d be back at your door that night. 

He just couldn’t seem to stay away from you. 

[justanotherpjofan]

You know most of the time people get angry at Cale because he can't for the life of him communicate things as they are, specifically regarding his health and seems to be unable to register his family worries for him.

And to that I said, of fucking course, his whole life on earth was horrible and he didn't develop emotionally because let's do a quick recap:

His parents died.

His abusive uncle took him in

He ended up in an orphanage.

When he was twenty the world collapsed.

He was bullied because he didn't have abilities.

Then the shelter he was in was destroyed

Once again he was alone until he met with LSH and CJS and let's not forget he was already 20 something.

Not long after they died as well.

Then he closed off with everyone because he didn't want to get attached just to lose them again.

He woke up in a novel

GoD confirmed he was supposed to die not CJS nor LSH.

He had to face his past again due to SG test.

...Well you get my point by now he was a little too busy surviving for him to actually develop self worth, most of his life he learned he wasn't someone who deserves affection or care and unfortunately no one said otherwise and if they did they die leaving him worse than before.

So it is no wonder he keeps things to himself all the time, after all why would others worry about him it makes no sense? At least from his pov.

That's why he is so detached at the beginning, still he can't help but try fixing things because it is the only action he knows

Surviving and saving others is so deeply engrained in him that unknowingly he keeps getting in a bigger mess. He got attached against his best efforts and gives more than he can take because he is not used to getting, the people who ever gave him anything always ended up dying before he could understand being emotional or plainly having emotions is normal.

[ghouldtime]

Neighbor! König

Probably can't write a full series for this but for now HEADCANNONS

He initially moved to a residential/suburban area because of his need for privacy. He couldn't stand being in barracks provided because it's too close for comfort and there's just too many people and not enough room

He grew up in a rural village which he would really, greatly prefer but his job doesn't allow him to have that amount of space and no neighbors. The upkeep would be too much

While he doesn't have the full amount of space he'd like, it's enough to keep him busy when he's not deployed and grant him the piece of mind he needs

When he's home and in his 'residential/domestic' mode, he's not wearing the mask. That's a quick way to signal him out and lets be real, it sets off red flags. He'd rather not have the police called on what looks like a very suspicious man, thanks.

Not wearing the mask is also a good way for him to come off of 'work' mode, where he can just be himself, no covering that up.

Plus it's for safety. He knows he's taking a risk by living off of base and he's a man with many enemies. Wearing something trademarked to him in an unprepared environment is a dumb idea and is a great way to end up six feet under

His front yard is pretty minimal but he has a lovely garden in the back. Half the reason he settled on the house that he did was because of the mature trees in the backyard that reminded him of home

When you moved in, König - as much as he didn't want to, made the move to introduce himself. The main motivator wasn't out of politeness but rather necessity. Since he's away for so long, he gives out his personal number and email just in case something happens with the house

He's genuinely surprised when you react positively and even ask if there's anything he'd like you to do when he's away (like collecting his mail, watering any plants)

He's so stumped by that, not having expected such hospitality, that when you ask for his name as you enter in his contact info, his brain short circuits. He tells you it's Kevin, because it's the first K name he could think of that wasn't distinctly Germanic.

Also he doesn't want to bring anyone into his work life. He moved out into the suburbs for a reason. König is who he is on field, that's his callsign. And, once again - safety reasons. If he went around, telling people who he was, he's asking to get another target painted on his back

Though you two initially don't really talk much, you still wave when you see him or wish him a good morning. Even if he's blunt and usually brusque, you never mind it and always try to make polite conversation while respecting his boundaries and need for space

Seeing each other in the mornings becomes routine. You're up for work while he's up tending to his garden (it's better to water early morning, he insists)

He's slow to warm up but when he finally does, he's surprisingly talkative

He really opened up to you because you showed express interest in his garden and flowers alike. You always listened to his advice or would ask specific questions to get him talking and when it came to explaining things, he could talk and talk and talk

The moment he was won over though was when you asked if he'd like help weeding his garden. Taking care of it was therapeutic to him (as tedious as it might be) and wanting to actually come over and spend time with him, even if it was a "chore" made him feel something that day

Being allowed into his yard, his botanical sanctuary, is as great of an award as you can get

He finds it significantly easier to talk when his hands are busy and when there can always be things to talk about (mainly his plants, he's so proud)

You learn of his plants, the fact that he's a private contractor (he conveniently leaves out the military part), and he'll start to actually talk about himself instead of avoiding questions for once

If it weren't from exertion reddening his face already, he's sure he would've turned as red as his tomatoes when you inquired about the off handed comment about his miniatures collection

No one had ever asked him about them - or actually taken them seriously. He's used to people making fun of such hobbies

But not you, you embraced him

Seeing your face light up with amazement and hearing your specific comments about the details he made in replicas of things such as his hometown and some of the fairytale stories he liked as a kid officially had his heart feeling the warm, fuzzy feelings that he usually ignored

The next morning, he was already planting your favorite flowers in his front yard 🪻

(Part Two)

[felassan]

On romance in DA:TV -

""It felt right to also give them the opportunity to romance each other, and also romance other characters," said John Epler, The Veilguard's creative director. "We never want companions to feel like they exist just for Rook, just for the protagonist, they always should feel like real people." Corinne Busche, game director on The Veilguard, explained how this bolsters that "found family" fantasy BioWare companions have always been so good at evoking: "We've all been around that friend: They've fallen in love with someone, you get to experience that joy, that new relationship energy they're going through, and to be able to experience that and see that manifest amongst your companions, in many ways it's as joyous and as exciting as your own relationships." [...] "When you have companions that are interested in each other," said Busche, "It makes those choices, how you interact with them, what you task them with that much more difficult." Busche alluded to the potential for our own intervention into these relationships in response to a question about whether or not we'd be able to sabotage those companion romances: "I don't want to spoil anything," Busche cautioned, "but they might come to you for advice, and I can't guarantee you'll give them good advice.""

[source]

[grlpartdoll]

Oki part two of this HERE WE GO

I originally wrote you meeting all four in this part but it added up to like 4k words so I'm splitting it up LOL

this is just reader meeting johnny soap mactavish for the first time. Yah yah he's soooo cute. 18+ mdni pls

The first one to see you is Johnny. You look like you've come from the woods surrounding the place, messy and rattled and cold. So fucking cold. Matter of a fact, you're trembling, teeth chattering.

You're wrapped in nothing but a trench coat and you're wearing those little heeled boots, like you're fresh from the city.

You stumble into his pub empty-eyed and with only the bag slung over your shoulder. You settle slowly and quite heavily into a seat at the bar — a place where you can observe the whole room and keep an eye on the door.

Johnny approaches you while buffing out one of those stubborn cups that just refuse to shine properly, that cocky little smirk on his face because he's got fresh new prey among the town, finally.

"Aye, aye, lassie." He watches as your body tenses at the attention, your eyes flicking to his, your mouth stretching to accommodate a grimace of some sort. "Whit can I get ye?"

"I don't.." you clear your throat, cupping the edges of your neck gently with a shaky hand. Johnny doesn't quite believe his own eyes when you peel your hands away and he peeps at a few bruises there, scattered around like someone had grabbed you by the throat and squeezed just a bit too hard for it to be the source of any pleasure.

Johnny half wonders if you're about to have a mental breakdown right here, right now, in his pub, seeing your eyes flicker through about a dozen different emotions — panic and shame and anger and something else he can't quite name.

"I don't have any cash on me."

"Pssh, dun't ye worry aboot that, hen. First drink an' meal's oan da hoose." That's not technically true — but for a pretty frightened little bird like you, he's ready to make an exception.

You clutch the straps of your bag against yourself, and stare around the place for a moment, your eyes searching and searching and searching. Johnny eventually joins your search, but only finds Marty there, the old man that practically lives here since his wife, the local bookstore owner, divorced him — poor guy. Two local kids also sit in a nearby booth, warming up by the fire, having come in for breakfast before school. It's quiet in here, safe only for the kids' low conversation and the old jukebox repeating the same Prince song for the tenth time this morning.

"Do you.. I'd like something.. warm?" You finally ask, quiet as a mouse. It makes his lips twitch into a slight frown. If you notice, you don't say anything.

"Coffee an' breakfast?"

You lick your lips, as though the simple mention of it is making you want to drool, and Johny, like a savage, goes hungry, watching those wet lips plump on your face again. They're a bit bloody — picked raw by those shaking hands on your lap. Johnny wonders how they would taste, just like this. Cold and bloody.

You nod at him, ripping out of his outlandish imagination, and then, like it physically pains you, you choke out a little "please."

Johny gives you his signature puppy-like grin, and turns away to the kitchens, trying to not make it too obvious that he's found his newest obsession.