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evieelyzabethh · 6 months

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Warmer than a Comforter

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.

warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it

It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.

When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.

You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.

You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.

"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.

"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.

You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."

"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.

"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.

"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.

"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.

"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.

Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.

"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"

"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.

"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.

You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.

As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.

His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.

"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.

"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.

"You know how to fix windows?"

"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.

You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.

He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.

"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."

"What're you gonna do that for!"

"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."

"But would Xander do it for free?"

"Would you?"

"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.

"You are such a whore, you know that?"

"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.

You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.

"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.

"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.

***********************************************************

Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.

"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.

"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.

"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.

Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.

He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.

He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.

"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.

"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."

"Am I that transparent?"

"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.

"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"

"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."

"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."

"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."

He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.

Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.

After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.

"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."

" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.

You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.

"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.

"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.

Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.

"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.

"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.

Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.

He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.

"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.

"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.

He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.

"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.

His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.

"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.

You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.

Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."

He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.

The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."

As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.

Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.

Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.

"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.

Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.

"Are you still cold?"

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starnews18 · 2 years

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peachsukii · 6 months

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₊✩‧₊◜ thinking about reader and bakugo’s intense “I’m home!” sex after he gets back from a month long mission. (follow up to this!!)

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! masturbation, mentions of phone sex, toy usage (vibrator), praise, light dom/sub dynamic, pet names (baby, peach, sweets, good girl, princess - one mention of slut and whore but affectionately!), fingering, minor roleplay (bakugo in his hero gear & reader wears his mask), oral (blowjob), facial, cum eating, lots of dirty talk, nipple play, marking - biting/scratching, a sprinkle of choking, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aaand fluff! aged up characters to 22. ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is, buuuut i had a lot of ideas of what they did when he came home...so there's a lot. what can i say? y'all missed each other! the smut immediately starts under the cut and does not stop until the end! 😵‍💫 ｡‧˚ʚ cross-posted to ao3 | word count; ~3.7k ɞ˚‧｡ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

It's been a long month without Katuski being home. You've done everything you can think of to keep yourself busy while he's been away - played games, read books, hung out with friends and worked overtime to make the days fly by. You called each other day and night, talking for as long as his assignments for the day allowed. Thankfully, they gave him his own room as an accommodation and didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone else.

Boy, did that come in handy.

You two are not shy and foreign to phone sex of all kinds, it was something you actually talked him into doing when you're apart longer than a week for work. FaceTime, voice notes, sexting; the full gambit. You had a private collection on your phone with all his voice notes that he'd sent to you over the years. You used it as "material" for when you're alone.

One folder was all for praise - "that’s my good girl," "go slow sweets, I wanna watch ya take every inch of me," "you’re so cute when you’re begging on your knees, baby," "love watching your soft lips wrap around my cock," "your moans are so fuckin’ pretty, peach," “god, y’have no fuckin’ idea how goddamn wild you drive me,” and more snippets of him coaxing you along to get you off.

The second folder? That was your sacred treasure trove. There were only three files, but they were some of the hottest things Katuski's ever graced you with. They were 10 minute audio clips of him jerking off to the thought of you, vocalizing every detail. Thank god for advanced technology because it allowed you to hear every mumbled ‘fuck’ under his breath, hushed grunts and audible shudders.

You didn’t have any other plans for the day - listening to your boyfriend’s sexy voice while you test out a new vibrator sounded like the perfect solution!

Stripping out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt from his dresser and throw it over your naked body. It loosely drapes over the top of your thighs, barely hiding the fact you’re not wearing any panties. You grab the vibrator from your nightstand and lay in bed, phone nestled into the pillow next to your head. You decide to choose one of the three files at random. Before you even hit play, your face is flushed and heart is threatening to burst through your ribcage. It doesn’t take long for you to succumb to the gratification, getting lost in his husky moans and the hum of the vibrator.

You’re too busy to notice that the apartment’s front door has opened, along with the commotion of Katsuki dropping his bags in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything as he’s taking off his boots, assuming you could be taking a nap or had headphones on if you didn’t come skipping down the hallway. He didn't tell you he was coming home two days early and wanted to surprise you!

What a surprise it was for him to hear subtle mewls coming from your joint bedroom, immediately catching his attention. He was still in his hero gear, minus his gloves and gauntlets, with his mask settled into his hairline like a headband. As quiet as possible, he tip toes down the hall and peeks around the doorframe. He could hear faint audio playing and a buzzing noise, but couldn’t make out what it was until he got to the doorway.

When he peeked through the crack in the door, his dick throbbed violently as it tented his cargo pants. The sight of you sprawled out on the bed, viciously fucking your new vibrator in nothing but his t-shirt was hot as hell. And you were listening to...his voice notes? He was entranced by your delicious moans and how your legs twitched when the vibrator hit your swollen clit. Part of him jokingly thought you didn’t even need him right now, since you technically did have a version of him, but his selfishness took over instead.

Willpower be damned, he needed you. Now. It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there.

Katsuki retreats to the living room and sits on the couch, desperately fighting the urge to start playing with himself to the sound of you doing the same. Instead, he pulls out his phone and clicks on your name to call you. He could hear your phone’s audio shift from his own voice to your ringtone, a startled yelp escaping you.

“H-hey babe,” You answer, panting quietly. “What’s up?”

He almost bursts out into laughter, but keeps it together enough for his little charade.

“Everythin' alright? Ya sound outta breath,” Katsuki teases, but decides to get to the point. “Eh, fuck it. Come into the living room.”

He hangs up and hears your feet padding against the wooden floor instantaneously. Within seconds, you slide into view, overjoyed that he’s home.

“Kats!” You squeal, scrambling over to the couch and jumping into his lap. You’re peppering his lips, neck, cheeks and forehead with rapid fire kisses, giggling as he tries to still your movements to pull you into a warm hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck lovingly, returning your kisses tenfold.

Your excitement briefly makes you forget that you were just in the middle of pleasuring yourself before rushing to greet him. The realization catches up to you when you fully sit on his lap, his erection teasing your exposed slit. A heat pools in your gut at the thought of him catching you in the act - he heard you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Katsuki says, hands gliding up your bare thighs and grabbing a handful of your ass, grinding your center against his own. The secondary contact causes a gasp to fall from your lips. You don’t respond verbally but lift yourself away from his lap, creating enough space between you two.

“What're ya-,” he’s cut off by you taking his right hand off of your ass and tucking his fingers against your soaked entrance. You take two digits and lower yourself onto them, coating his fingers in all your built up slick.

“I missed you,” you whine as he flexes inside you instinctually, petting your walls with his coarse finger pads. You start to move on your own, gripping his shoulders and riding his fingers to finish the job you started in the bedroom.

Katsuki is speechless, not even a witty remark coming to mind to tease you. His face burns hot when the sounds of your juices sloshing around his fingers fill the room, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Since you previously wound yourself up, it doesn’t take long until you’re ready to explode. Your eyes are threatening to roll back into your head as you swirl your hips on his fingers. His entire being is pulsing with need as he begins to drills his fingers into you, knuckle deep, and drinks in all your breathy moans. The string in your belly is pulled taut - tighter than its been in the last month, snapping with an intensity that leaves your thighs quivering within seconds.

You come all over his fingers, down his hand and stain the crotch of his cargo pants.

“Hah, good thing they’re getting washed,” you joke breathlessly as you go to kiss Katsuki but stops you - he shocks you with something he’s never done before.

He retracts his fingers from your drenched cunt and swiftly smears it all over your lips before capturing them with his own, sharing your tangy release in ecstasy. He licks your bottom lip before sitting back, breaking the kiss and settling the two fingers back to your mouth. Your lips part ever so slightly at the pressure.

“Don’t ya think you taste divine?” He smirks as he watches you open your mouth invitingly, lazily sucking his fingers covered with your spend. You don't break eye contact with him the entire time, heavily panting like a dog in heat as your tongue leisurely trails the length of each finger. A thin string of saliva sticks to the corner of your mouth as you pull away from his fingers with a soft pop of your lips.

You reach for his mask in his hairline, pushing it back to fall into your grasp. Untying the small knot, you bring it to your own face and secure it around your eyes - just like he wears on patrol. Katsuki's giving you a curious look as you slide off his lap and kneel to the floor.

Oh fuck-

Putting your hands to his hips, you drag your fingers to the hem of his pants - he's scrambling to undo his belt while you yank everything to his ankles. His cock springs forward, bouncing off his clothed abs as it’s freed from the confines of his boxers. You can tell he’s aching for you to touch him, tip leaking pre-spend and blazing hot to the touch. With no hesitation, you edge his entire length into your mouth, tongue sliding delicately along the underside of his shaft and consuming every drop of him.

“F-fuck peach, should'a let you wear my mask ages ago,” Katsuki stutters, thighs trembling at the sight your lips enclosed around him. “’m not gonna…last long watchin’ ya like this.”

You start to slither your tongue around his length, subtly hollowing your cheeks and barely moving an inch. His tip hits the back of your throat as he grabs your hair, shoving you all the way to the base and meeting his soft blonde wisps with your nose. He's unable to control himself - your mouth just feels too good around his cock right now. Katsuki’s only known his own fist for the last month, you’re making him feel like a blushing virgin all over again with how fast he’s accelerating toward his orgasm. You’ve hardly touched - well, blown - him and he's ready to combust.

His grunts have morphed into higher pitched moans as he’s bucking his hips off the couch into your mouth in tandem with your own movements, ferociously chasing the building heat in his gut.

“S-shit, fuck fuck fuck!” he yells while ripping your lips off of him by your hair, endless hot ropes of cum painting your pretty face. His mask, your cheeks, lips, and chin are dripping with white, each droplet slowly making it's way to your jawline. The sight is enough to almost make him come a second time, needing to throw his head back on the couch to avoid eye contact momentarily and pull himself together.

You hum with satisfaction and rise from your knees, straddling him on the couch once more. In the heat of the moment, you grab him by the jaw and plant a messy kiss on his lips, smearing his paintjob in the process. In the lusty haze, he doesn't give a shit that you mimicked his actions. Honestly? He kinda liked his own flavor - it complimented your own, dancing together on his tongue.

“Don’t you think you taste divine?” you purr, repeating his sentiment and licking some of the smeared cum off his cheek. You untie the mask and let it drop from your face, realizing that you may have just ruined his professional hero gear. “This…is washable, right?”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. 's gotta be with how dirty hero work gets.”

The two of you get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom to clean up. Once he’s done soaking a wash cloth with warm water, you’re taking his place and bending over the counter to rinse the remnants of his facial from your skin.

Lucky for him, you’re still not wearing any panties. And bent over like that? Your ass and pussy are on full display, still glistening from your previous orgasm.

Katsuki crouches to the ground, kneeling behind you and bites your bare ass with a huff. The sensation makes you jump, water splashing all over the counter and collar of your shirt.

“Katsuki!” You yelp, shutting off the water and blindly reaching for a towel nearby. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you’re complaining.”

His tongue then traces from the inside of your thigh and stops just shy of your center, a shudder of anticipation wracking your body.

“You’re playing with fire, Kat,” you warn, spinning around and lifting your leg, placing a foot on his shoulder to teasingly show off your messy core. His eyes dart up to meet yours, a salacious grin settling on across his lips.

“Then fuckin’ light me up, princess.”

Something in you snaps - an unexplainable strong hunger captivating your mind. You wanted him to absolutely obliterate you in any and every way possible.

Everything happens in a flash - remaining clothes are strewn across the floor, bodies pressed against the plush of the sheets when you fall against the bed, tangled and relishing in the bare skin contact. The sensation kindles the fire in your veins, begging for more of him - all of him.

"K-Katsuki," you whimper onto his lips, breathless between frenzied kisses. "I want - no, need - you to fuck me like you hate my guts."

Your lascivious request has Katsuki's head swimming in a lewd sea of thoughts, gritting his teeth to hold back the ravenous desire. He can’t help but fist himself in response before leering over you.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this game, baby?” He growls into the shell of your ear, squishing you further into the mattress. "Want me to use you like a fuckin' toy, eh? Poundin' away at your tight-ass cunt 'til ya can't take it?"

You're too enraptured by the promise swirling in your head to form any logical thoughts as his hands travel to your breast between your bodies, palms blistering hot to the touch as he tweaks your nipple. "When ya can't walk tomorrow, jus' remember y'asked me for this."

The incoherent whine that escapes you is involuntary, a raw reaction to his words. You hear a pleased hum rise from Katsuki's throat as he towers over you once more. He places a few tender kisses to your neck before he fiendishly groans, "I'm gonna fuckin' wreck you."

Not a second passes before his canines are puncturing your delicate skin, threatening to draw blood with how deep he's sinking into the bite on your jugular. Katsuki releases only to keep biting anywhere he could latch on to as he roamed your body - your neck, breasts, collarbone, shoulder, nipples, hips, thighs - eager to mark every inch of you, claim you as his. It makes you squirm and your pussy ache with need, lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each snap of his teeth. Usually when he bit you, he’d soothe the area with a few kisses - but now? He was a rabid fucking animal, carnality overwhelming his ability to think straight.

You're able to get a quick look at his ruddy cock when Katsuki leans back, repositioning himself while gripping your hips. You’re salivating at the sight - thick, swollen and pulsing, spend dripping down his length and coating the skin with a sheen of arousal. He’s heavily tracing circles into your hip bones, his firm clutch on your waist keeping you in place. He’s tugging your center toward his own, teasingly slipping the head of his cock between your creamy folds. You’re about to plunge down onto him when he pulls back, a wicked grimace crossing his lips. A dissatisfied squeak spills from your lips, pouting up at him with metaphorical hearts in your eyes.

“Y’want this?” Katsuki snarls, bouncing his dick against your mound, the contact causing you to inhale sharply. “Beg like the needy slut you are.”

Words are failing you as you attempt to fulfill his demand, the only sounds falling from your puffed lips a succession of jumbled moans.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He snorts at his own pun under his breath as he trails his palm up your body, resting under your jaw and fixating on the seductive gleam in you pupils.

“I know how to find those pretty words ‘a yours.”

Katsuki applies firm pressure to your throat under his finger tips, tilting your head upward to face him. Your hips buck up in response, begging for him to spread you open.

He clicks his tongue at your shameless plea. "C'mon baby, tell me what ya want."

His fingers flex over your throat, playfully interchanging how much pressure he's using over the pulse in your jugular. His gaze travels down your newly bitten and bruised body, pleased with how they adorn your features.

With every ounce of concentration, you blurt out everything lingering in your heat-riddled mind. "Break the fucking bed, rip my soul from my body, leave me choking on every word, ravage me until there's nothing left...please, Katsuki!"

You barely finished screaming his name before Katsuki releases the hold on your throat, roughly returning his grips to your hips and ramming his cock straight into your sweltering sex, the burning sensation rolling your eyes back into your head.

"Good fuckin' girl, baby."

He's hypnotized by the way your tits bounce as he fucks in and out of you at a feral pace, sweat glistening over both your bodies. The room's temperature heightens, the humidity only adding to the wild desire you're sharing.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you confused and yearning. You don't have time to ask questions as he's rolling - shoving - you onto your stomach, arching your hips into place before resuming his unmerciful thrusts, growling and grunting from behind you. The new position has you crying out, intoxicated by the way his cock is hitting every hotspot along your walls and g-spot repetitively. You're unable to contain the sounds spilling from your parted lips as they harmonize with Katsuki's moans. He bends down to snatch your hair by the roots, forcing your head off the pillow as his other hand reaches around your waist, finger pressing harshly against your puffy clit. The wail that bubbles from your throat is sinful, overwhelmed as the coil in your core is wound tighter, tighter, and tighter.

"I fuckin' love when you moan like a whore, baby," Katsuki barks out between baited breath. "Ya keep screamin' like that, 'm gonna end up stuffin' your pretty pussy full 'a cum."

You flutter around his dick in response, stroking his length with every snap of his hips. "Hah, seems like that's what your beggin' for, isn't it?"

He screws his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he's inching closer to the edge. Your clenched walls coax his release to come rocketing out of nowhere, a guttural moan spilling out of him as he pumps you full of spend. The warmth is inviting - comforting, leaving you floating on cloud nine. Katsuki lets your locks drop from his grasp and removes his hand from your clit, folding over your back with exhaustion.

Imagine his shock when you push back against him, causing him to slide out of you with a schlep and fall back against the bed. You reverse your position to face him, taking hold of his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position and shove his back against the wall.

"Wha-"

You straddle his lap, springing his still-hard cock back inside of you and begin riding him mercilessly.

"One more," you whisper, voice low and demanding. "I know you can do it, my good fucking boy can give me one more."

Your nails are digging into his chest, red scratches left in their wake as you grind your soaked center against his shaft. Katsuki's stuttering, unable to find words as the overstimulation mixed with praise short circuits his brain.

"Ba-mmph-baby, wa-ahh-wait, fuck!"

Numerous beads of sweat roll from his hairline and drip down his cheeks, slack jawed from delirium. A second wave of release is rapidly rising in his abdomen, high pitched whimpers falling from his open mouth.

"Ah-almost!" you shout, fingers tracing his hardened nipples and pinching them roughly. He jolts, a final whine escaping him as the aforementioned wave crashes down, a second round of seed spurting out inside of you. Your own slick rushes to meet his spend, mixing together as it leaks from between your legs and into his lap.

"Holy fuck," Katsuki wheezes, barely able to speak. "Wh-where the fuck did you learn that?!"

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as you lift yourself off of his dick, falling sideways onto the bed.

"I...just thought to try it," you sigh, "Never thought I'd get you to whine like that. Fuck, Kat. That was ungodly hot."

His face is burning red and heat traveling down his neck, somewhat embarrassed at his reaction of losing himself in the moment.

"Oh no, you don't get to be embarrassed! With half the shit you do to me?!" you tease, kicking his thigh jokingly with your foot. He grumbles, scrunching his brows together and crossing his arms.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you."

"Good, ya better. Now move your ass over and make room for me."

Katsuki flops next to you, too exhausted to get up from the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and one under your head, cradling you close as your cheek meets his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thumping away as you close your eyes to the rhythm. He kisses your forehead before laying his head back against the mountain of pillows.

"Guess I should go away on missions more often if that's what I get 'ta come home to, shit. Feels like I just ran a fuckin' marathon."

You can't help but giggle, fighting off the itch to drift into slumber a little longer.

"I'm sneaking into your hotel room next time. No way am I waiting that long again!"

The two of you snuggle close, despite the ungodly amount of sweat coating your bodies and mugginess in the air, too enamored with one another to care.

"I love you so much, sweets. Don't forget that." Katsuki's voice is quiet, the words tightening in his throat as he speaks them aloud.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Forever and always."

He's satisfied with your answer as he closes his eyes, letting the wave of fatigue settle in his bones and lull him to sleep.

tagging @pastelbakugou as a thank you for the idea of a follow up 👀✨ no pressure tags!: @maddietries @slayfics @bkgrl @bub-ss hoping this was explosive enough! 🧡💥

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #my hero academia smut #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo #☆.rei writes

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ambrosiagoldfish · 7 months

Note

I loved your Adam x 3rd spouse piece! I think you really captured his personality! I also just really like you're writing style! You did an qmzyjob and I think you'll continue make amazing pieces like this? Have a wonderful day or night and continue to rest if you can! 🥰🥰🥰

Benefit of the doubt Pt.3

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Viewer discretion is advised

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angsty, General Adam TW’s, Reader HIGHKEY has a complex about being loved, Reader finally talks about their issues, Lucifer and Lilith scout for new kissing partner but fails miserably/hj, Lilith will probably be OOC in the future (once Season 2 comes), Adam has abandonment issues, Adam is a puppy in private but a bitch in public, And the couch returns once again (why do all the sad things happen on this couch), This is set way before the show, and Gn! Reader! (Annnnnd We popped the Y/n cherry! It’s used only once tho)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Request box: Open

Word count: 3664

A/N: Hi!!! Thanks so much! I’m using your request as the ask for part 3 so I hope that’s ok! You all were so nice with all the love for part 1 and 2 😭😭🫶🫶 this part is also pretty long but I just couldn’t stop writing it. I wanted to do 1 more part set in the past before we jump to the angst that is the show. So I guess you could call this the penultimate part! A lot of people wanted to see Lucifer hit on Reader and try to do what he did with Lilith and Eve but with Reader. And I had quite a hard time coming up with a reason that could occur in the past but I think I figured it out.

Since Luci and Lilith would still be together at this time I’ve decided to add Lilith in as well for POLY GOALS. Also they may seem malicious but I genuinely don’t think they are (they just find Reader hot LBH) 😭😭 Also I added a few more people to the tag list!

Tags: @tired-of-life-86 @nervoussystemss @qopia @lovelyemily

It’s been a while since Adam first moved into your newly shared home. You weren’t sure exactly how long, it was hard to keep track of time in heaven. Days seemed to blur together. It made sense to you at least, it is heaven after.

After Adam moved in, your life was filled with so many new things to experience with him, and the same was true for him. While he may seem a bit brutish, (and at times he can be) he loved the new things you showed him, the new feelings you showed him.

You were so kind, so thoughtful and so, so patient with him. You never forced him to do something he didn’t want to do but you would still push him to explore new things, even managing to convince him to be a part of heaven's official duties. That’s why, at times like these, you knew exactly what to do.

The sound of Adam slamming the front door as he entered the house made you jump. Even from a few feet away, you could hear him mumbling curses about something as he plopped himself down on the couch. You followed quickly behind, gently laying next to him

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You try to keep your voice light and soothing. Looking at him it was obvious that something was bothering him. The gold feathers of his wings were unkempt from them flaring up, his halo was slightly crooked and his LED mask showed an almost snarled expression.

Your hand slowly caressed his wings, moving the out of place feathers back to normal. But no matter how hard you tried they would stick back out.

“It’s nothing, just some lame shitty meeting I have to go to tomorrow” he crosses his arms and looks away from you.

“Hmm? Something tells me there’s more to it than that, right?” You snuggle into his belly, rubbing it softly .

His mask pouts “Dammit’ bitch, how do you always see through me, huh?” He sighs defeatedly before continuing “You know how more people are starting to kick the bucket or whatever? Well, heaven’s worried about the surplus of sinners so they're having the aforementioned shitty meeting to come to a solution and…”

He pauses

“And?” You look at him anticipatingly

“And… He’ll be there.” Oh… So that's why he’s upset. “They’re having the meeting in their brand new “heaven embassy” down in hell.” His voice mocks

“Oh, I’m so sorry Adam, Have you tried asking Sera if you can sit this one out?”

Adam groans, putting his face in his hands “Yeah like forty fucking times but she keeps saying that it’s my “heavenly duty” and she won’t let me.”

You bring your arms around Adam’s neck pulling him in towards you. You weren’t sure what to do if you were being honest. There’s nothing you can do really, if even Sera won’t let him miss it. Hmm…

“Adam, I know it’s gonna suck but if you can’t get out of it, then that’s that.” Adam looks at you a little confused “but I can go with you, I’m sure Sera wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands in the discussion.”

“What! Hell no!” He shouted as he sat up from the couch, shaking his head defiantly.

You look at him confused, “Why?”

“That’ll only make the whole thing fucking worse! If it’s just me, I don’t have to worry that he’ll get anywhere near you!” Adam’s mask turns into a slight grimace as he attempts to keep his eyes off you.

You make your way to him, the sound of your footsteps falling off as you stop in front of him. You grab his hand as the other one moves up to his face, cupping it.

“Adam…” you rubbed circles on his hand as you continued “We’re partners. You haven’t forgotten my promise right?” You play with the golden ring on his finger.

Adam groans “No, I haven’t… sigh Shit- Fine! But… just stay by me, alright?” Your face lights up before your arms wrap around his shoulders joining you both in an embrace

“Of course,” you rub his wings gently before you grasp his hands in yours, leading him by them. “Come on, you must be tired right? It’s getting late. Couch or bed?”

“Couch. I’m way not in the mood to make a bed right now.” You laugh at his comment as you pull him to lay on the couch with you. His soft, warm body pushes up against you as you both slowly drift off to sleep for the day ahead.

A not-too familiar sight laid before you, the pearly gates of heaven, guarded by the one and only Saint Peter. There was no real reason for you to ever come here. You never had the chance to die, which is when most, if not all Winners see it for the first time. No one’s allowed to leave heaven unless given permission by a higher up and on top of all that, you weren’t really that enticed to leave the oh-so perfect afterlife, so there had never been a reason to see these golden gates.

But now, here you were standing behind them with some other angels. You didn’t know most of them, the only ones you recognized were Sera and Adam. As expected, it was pretty easy to convince Sera to let Adam take you along. They even prepared an extra wide seat for both of you to share. How generous!

Ever since you woke up this morning, Adam had been… Nervous? Scared? The right word doesn’t really matter but he’s been sweating buckets and was clearly more agitated than normal. His feathers were once again unkempt and you tried your best to keep them in order but he always seemed to get them messy.

Eventually, right on schedule, a flaming portal opened in front of the group. Sera was the first to enter, then followed by the others. Finally it was just you and Adam but as you take a step towards the portal, Adam stops you

“What is it?” You look up at him.

“Just… stay by me, ok?” Adam’s voiced was softer than normal, a way he only did when you two were alone

Nodding your head with a smile, your hand comes down and interlocks his. One of his bright golden wings veils itself around you, bringing you closer to him. You snuggle into him slightly before you both step into the portal.

You didn’t know what to expect when you stepped through the portal but a sight that was almost like home awaited you. The familiar gold that heaven was so fond of was everywhere in the building, accents of white and orange were also present. All and all, it was a familiar sight in a not-so familiar place.

But there was definitely something that wasn’t familiar in that place. Sitting in a chair at the end of the room was him, Lucifer Morningstar. The aura he had definitely made him seem angelic but there was clearly something about him that separated himself from divinity. Though you do have to admit that he was much shorter than you anticipated.

There was something that surprised you however, to his left sat a tall woman with long blond hair and horns. It took you a second to put 2&2 together but when you heard Adam mutter “Shit…” you knew immediately it was Lilith. And from Adam’s reaction even he wasn’t expecting her to be there.

You squeeze his hand gently as comfort, giving him a smile before you both walk to your seat. Your body is pushed closer to him as his wing wraps tighter around you. Looks like there’s no calming him down.

Finally the meeting starts, Sera begins by explaining the issue of the fast growing population in hell, leading to groups trying to form uprisings against heaven. To be honest you didn’t really understand it too well, just a lot of business-y sounding words that weren't really your forte. So you just stayed quiet.

From what you could tell, the meeting was going… well? They haven’t been able to agree on a proper decision even with Sera leading the conversation. Adam though, was being eerily quiet. You don't even think he’s said a word since you both got there. Sera seemed to notice this.

“Adam, want to share any ideas?” Sera spoke in an encouraging tone slightly gesturing to him. This seemed to catch Lucifer and Lilith’s attention. Maybe they didn’t recognize Adam because of the mask?

Adam was caught off guard but still talked “Oh uh… Man, I don’t know, can’t we just fucking kill them?” Both you and Sera looked over in surprise, “What? That would solve the problem wouldn't it? “ He shrugged

Sera sighed “Ok, how about we take a short recess to clear our minds to let in new ideas. We’ll resume the meeting in 30 minutes”

With that, everyone went their separate ways for the time being, you and Adam were the first to leave the board room, he practically was pulling you along and you could tell he wanted out of there. You both ended up in the lobby, neither of you saying a word.

The silence was so very loud. The only sound was yours and Adam’s breathing. Adam’s hand was still firmly tied to yours, not even the slightest hint of letting go. You rubbed your thumb in circles over his hand when a voice echoed through the air

“Adam, may I have a word?” Sera’s voice echoed lightly through the lobby. She gestured to a door next to her. You both made your way over to her and was about to go in when Sera put her hand in front of Adam stopping him

“What the hell Sera?!”

“Alone, please.”

Adam’s LED eyes widened his mouth slightly agape. He looked down with a scowl before turning his face to you. Your free hand going up to his mask, caressing it.

“Go talk with Sera,”

“But-“

“Shh, I’ll be fine,” You give him a kiss on the cheek, the cold of the metallic mask reaching your lips, “I’ll just be in the lobby, I won’t go anywhere till you get back. Ok?” Adam didn’t look at you, clearly avoiding eye contact, you grab his chin lightly and gently turn him to look at you,

“Ok?”

Adam’s mouth formed a frown and he groaned “Fuck- fine, ok…” You gave him a smile as Sera walked into the room, you felt his grip loosen and loosen, until finally his soft hand left yours as he walked into the room. He gave one final look back before closing the room's door.

Silence filled the air once again. It wasn’t like it was with Adam, that comfortable silence that you shared ever so often. This one laid in the air, thick and heavy, threatening to suffocate you at any given moment. You sat on one of the many yellow and white sofas in the lobby.

You tried your best to ignore it. Paying attention to less important details about the scenery around you. The weird zigzagging pattern of the carpet of the floor, the intricate designs on the doors, the huge windows. Heaven sure had a unique taste in interior design.

You tried so hard to ignore the silence that you eventually ignored the sound that broke said silence. Footsteps began echoing through the lobby approaching you. You didn’t realize someone was next to you until you heard a voice say.

“Ahem Hello!” A male voice startled you as it chimed in with a sickening sweet tone. You look towards the direction of the voice only to be greeted by the king of hell himself, Lucifer. You jumped back to the other side of the sofa in shock.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya.” He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Lucifer, But judging on your reaction, I guess you already knew that. I’ve never seen you before so you must be relatively new, right?”

You nodded your head sheepishly to answer his question. You honestly didn’t know what else to do, what could you do? You slowly picked yourself up from the sofa.

“I’m sorry but I have to go-“ you turn to leave only to bump into a tall woman. You must have been so surprised by Lucifer that you completely missed Lilith coming up behind you.

“But we haven’t even learned your name yet, Dear.” The woman’s voice sounded both somber but also welcoming, it was quite frightening how much it could calm your nerves if you kept listening to it. “How about we talk? No harm in it, right?”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Darling!” Lucifer came up from behind you, a sharp smile on his face. “Come on, sit and chat!”

Crap… they had you cornered. You had no telling what they’d do if you set them off, you wanted the meeting to go as smoothly as possible, for Adam. A few minutes to indulge them. that’s it.

You bit your lip but sighed “Ok… but just a few minutes”

“Great!” Lilith took your shoulders moving you to sit down beside her as Lucifer sat on the other side, sandwiching you between them. “So, I’ll ask again, what’s your name?”

You hesitated for a moment but decided it was better to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible.

“Y/n”

“That’s a very beautiful name,” Lucifer spoke, his tone trying to make him sound almost charming, almost. “So, if you don’t mind us asking, who are you to… Adam?” He gestured over to the door Sera and Adam went through earlier.

“I’m his spouse.” This time you answered with complete confidence, not even a shred of hesitation in your voice.

“Ah!” Lucifer nodded his head in understanding. “How’s that going?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I for one know how much of a hassle that man-child is,” Lilith laughs, covering her mouth slightly “I asked around, is it true he hasn’t taken that ridiculous mask off since he got it, hmm? Has he even shown you his real face yet?”

“No but-“

“He can be so… tiresome at times, don’t you agree?”

“No. I don’t. Adam is the best thing to ever happen to me-“

“Exactly.” Lucifer interrupted you as your eyes furrowed “You don’t have anything else to compare it to. Of course you’d see trash like the “first man” as the best thing ever.”

Trash. That word really set you off, at least it would have, if it wasn’t for the next sentence .

“But hey! It’s fine! Eve was the same way! You too are honestly very alike, let me tell you-“

Thousands upon thousands of thin threads binding you up. That’s what this conversation felt like. Each annoyance was just a new thread getting tighter and tighter as they were pulled taut, threatening to simply slice through your body, your soul. But they didn’t, instead they kept stretching past their limits until finally those words came.

Like… Eve. It felt like each of those tightly pulled threads were all cut at once with those words. Any and all tension suddenly seemed to disappear. A strange sensation of losing any care about your situation.

You know what? To hell with the meeting! You quickly stood up from the sofa causing them both to jump slightly. You turned toward them, your voice was louder than you thought was possible for you. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you but you felt so… Angry.

“I am nothing like Eve. And I’m especially nothing like either of you.” You had enough, it was untelling what would happen if you stayed. You started walking toward the room Adam was in when Lucifer grabbed your arm

“Wait! That’s not what I meant-“

“Don’t touch me, snake” you stared daggers at him before quickly grabbing his hand and shoving it off.

“We’re sorry if we upset you Dear, but that’s no way to talk to someone” Lilith walks up to you, putting an arm in front of Lucifer in a protective stance.

You walk up to the tall woman, she was at least two heads taller than you but still, you barred your teeth before speaking “Oh! You really think I care about what the first whore thinks of me, Huh?” Your voice dripped with poison from every word.

Even Lilith seemed caught off guard by your sudden change in demeanor as her face turned into a scowl. Red horns protruded through Lucifer’s head, his eyes turning red with anger. You turn your attention back to him.

“What are you gonna do?” Lucifer’s gaze slightly softened with hesitation “Exactly, nothing. Less’ you want to dig yourself deeper into this cyst pool you’ve created for yourself and end up on even worse terms with heaven.”

Without even sparing them a glance, you try to make it to the room, only to be greeted by Adam and Sera standing by the door. How long were they standing there? You must have not heard them over your screaming..

“What the fuck are you assholes doing to them? ” You rush over and grab him by the hand, the action startling him “Babe, what happened-“

“Nothing. Sera. Open a portal back home.”

“But-“

“Sera!” Your voice was gritty and rough “open a portal. Now... Please…” your voice cracked at the end

Sera had never seen you show so much anger before, but here you were, your entire gaze filled with nothing but pure unadulterated wrath.Threatening to burn anyone who got in your way. Whatever happened clearly set you off like nothing else before.

Sera nods her head “Understood”

“Thank you…”

A familiar flaming portal opened up, you quickly made your way through it with Adam following suit. The portal ended up right inside your home, closing as you both were fully through. You honestly didn’t know where you were going but eventually your body couldn’t go any further than the couch

Feeling the soft couch beneath you made your aching muscles feel like they were melting away, and only then did you realize that you were crying.

Adam crawled next to you, hugging close to you. “What the happened out there, Babe?”

You felt your body slowly break down, as more tears left you then you had cried your entire existence. Adam hugged you tighter, his wings coming over you like a blanket.

“H-How much did you see?” Your voice was shaky as you sniffed slightly.

“Not a lot, just some shit towards the end,what did those bastards say to you?”

You cleared your throat slightly. “I only talked to them because I didn’t want them to get upset and ruin the meeting and make your day even worse than it already was”

Adam’s LED mask shifted into a small sad frown “Sweetheart, you never have to talk to any motherfuckers you don’t want to, let alone for me. “

You smile but look away “it wasn’t… it wasn’t…” you tried to get the words out but couldn’t. You took a deep breath before trying one more time,”It wasn’t the only thing that set me off.” Adam looks at you curious

“They said that I reminded them of… Eve, and it just made me so… angry. I was created for you, to love you-“ your tears start swelling back up as you spoke “I want to be so much better than Eve, than Lilith for you. And then she pointed out how I’ve never seen Your face, which I’ve always been fine with, but at that moment, I started to think ‘what if they’re right?’ What if the reason you don’t want me to see you is because I also remind you of Eve”

You choked back tears “So to be compared to her when I’ve tried so hard… if I’m not better than her for you, then what is even the point of me! I was created to make you happy, if I can’t do that better than someone who hurt you so bad then I’m just useless-“

Soft lips met yours, cutting you off. This felt different than what you normally got on the cheek. It was warm compared to the cold metallic feel you’ve felt previously. Your eyes opened slightly looking at Adam’s LED mask… or what you thought was going to be a mask. He had pulled his mask off while you were crying.

You pulled back from the kiss “Adam your mask!” Adam just kisses back again

“That fucking thing doesn’t matter right now.” He paused “You're not useless and will never be useless to me. Fuck- I love you because I love you! Not because you were created for me or some stupid shit like that! You make me so fucking happy. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were just some object that was made to make me feel better, because you aren’t.”

“Adam…” to think tears could roll down your face this harder than before “I love you so much Adam” you cry into his soft chest.

Adam kisses you again “I love you too Sweetcheeks.” Adam paused before clearing his throat “So umm… how do I look? I hope I didn't disappoint you…”

You look up at his newly unveiled face, just as you had been told, short brown hair, golden eyes, and a little bit of stubble on his chin. By all accounts, he was completely ordinary. So ordinarily perfect.

“Perfect. So so perfect. What’d I do to end up with such a handsome husband, hmm?”

“Oh stop, now you’re just being fucking cheesy” he laughs, he would never admit it but his eyes were a little watery just from hearing you say that.

“It’s true though” you lean in and wrap your arms around him, killing you both with a deep kiss.

Truly ordinary. You couldn’t be happier

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redeemingvillains · 1 month

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cold comfort - mattheo riddle

summary: mattheo has one rule: any girl can share his bed (and there's been plenty) but none can stay the night. when the unexpected happens, and you're begging to be the first, you find out why he had the rule in the first place.

word count: 4k

soundtrack: between the sheets - imogen heap

a/n: wait this is kind of a saga! it just kept flowing and flowing, but i'm obsessed with it! hope you enjoy!! ♡♡

When Matteo heard that a first year in Charms cast a spell that backfired so badly it rendered Hogwarts unable to regulate the temperature in the castle, he'd nearly spit out his firewhiskey. The mental image of Flitwick, McGonagall and all of his other professors frantically trying to fix it to no avail gave him sick pleasure as he thought about all the times they'd looked down on him because of his last name. Fuck 'em he thought. Serves them right.

He'd enjoyed his twisted happiness for several days until an unexpected early spring snowstorm rolled off the mountains, leaving the castle a veritable chamber of cold. For two days now it had nearly been cold enough for him to see the white puff of his breath inside. As others scrambled for a place in front of the fireplaces, his mood darkened, making him even more sullen than usual as talk of canceling classes and sending everyone home began to circulate; home wasn't really a place he was looking to go back to.

So now he was sat in the Great Hall in a large sweatshirt with his hood drawn up around his face, the standard dress code long since forgotten, one hand wound tightly around his second cup of black tea in an effort to warm himself while the other rubbed his tired face as he listened to the incessant chatter of his friends.

He was quietly zoned out until he caught a glimpse of you walking through the large entryway. Everyone in the castle looked in disarray: mismatched sweaters, hats and gloves in haphazard layers to stay warm, but not you, you looked like a perfect snowbunny. You were wearing tight black leggings, fur-lined boots, a thick sweater and a headband to keep your ears warm that complimented your hair. Anyone looking closely enough would see the imperceptible tug of his lips into what could almost be called a smile as you made your way to the Slytherin table and slid onto the bench next to him.

It wasn't lost on him that his best friend was beautiful. He was well and painfully aware of the fact and had been for as long as he'd known you. But, despite the thoughts that ran rampant through his mind at the sight of you, he was determined to keep you at an arm's length. Simply put, you were too good for him, too pure. You had a smile that radiated a warmth that he could feel even now, you were caring and compassionate, smart and sweet, quick with a hug and a kind word. You were everything that he wasn't. He told himself, constantly, on repeat, that it was better to have you in his life at all than to fuck it up trying for anything more.

He subtly traced your face through the corner of his eye: your long lashes, the curve of your smile, and your warm, rosy cheeks, and just like no one but you could see his smile, no one but him noticed the tiredness in your eyes. He nudged his shoulder into yours.

"Alright?" he mumbled.

You glanced up at him, his groggy morning voice and the way his curls stuck out from his hood making you feel like you'd swallowed a pixie. You felt yourself flush, your exhaustion wearing down the mask you normally kept up around him, determined to never let him know how you really felt.

"Just tired s'all" you smiled kindly, nudging him back, coaxing what could almost be another smile out of him as you met each other's eyes. "I can't sleep for shit. No matter what I do, I can't get warm, even under a pile of blankets, in my fuzziest pajamas and a jumper" you shivered.

"Skin to skin is really the only solution" Pansy chimed in with a smirk as she sank further into Draco's arms and you rolled your eyes at the two of them. She had snuck out of your room the last few nights, leaving you not only cold, but alone too.

"Couldn't agree more" Theo said, smirking, before lifting an eyebrow at you "ready, able and at your service, babe" he said, opening his arms to you as you swatted him away, laughing at his attempt to flirt with you. He smiled widely and laughed back before glancing over your shoulder at Matteo whose eyes were narrowed in his direction.

"What, mate, it's not like you're any help, what with your strict 'no sleepover policy'" Theo chirped at him, referring to the fact that regardless of how many girls came in and out of Mattheo's bed, (which was a sizable number) not one had ever stayed the night, always kicked out in the end, despite the fact that they hoped to be the one to break his streak.

You turned to see Mattheo shooting daggers at Theo.

"S'my bed" he muttered, "more than happy to have someone in it for awhile, but a lad's got to get his rest, yeah?" he laughed and the guys laughed back.

You faked a bitter smile, returning your attention to your breakfast in front of you. You weren't naive but that didn't mean you had to sit here and listen to this, you nibbled a piece of dry toast, the mental image of Mattheo with other girls making you nauseous.

Matteo's smile fell from his face as he watched your reaction, and wished for the thousandth time that he could tell you that he made that rule because of you. Because if he couldn't have you, then he wasn't going to waste time getting closer than necessary with anyone else. The nights he spent alone his bed his punishment for who he was, the fact that he'd never be good enough for you.

You stood abruptly and shot him a small smile as you moved to leave. He said your name quietly and reached for your hand, but you were gone before you realized it.

That night you crawled into cold sheets that felt almost damp with a chill. Despite the pile of blankets and your thick pajamas, you couldn't get warm or comfortable, tossing and turning as small shivers ran through your body and Pansy's words echoed in your head. You were desperate for warmth at this point, desperate for a good night's sleep, but there was only one bed you wanted to crawl into, and it was with the only person who refused to share it.

Surely he would break his rule for you, for his best friend? you thought; things were different between you two. But were you willing to try, to embarrass yourself if he said no? You rolled around for another hour before climbing out of bed.

Mattheo was in a fitful sleep, which was not unusual for him; his nights were frequented by nightmares, leaving him constantly groggy and grumpy, but when he heard your voice, he was sure he was dreaming, a good dream, a great dream at that.

"Mattheo" you were whispering.

He turned to see you standing at the other side of his bed and was incredibly confused, until you moved to get in... and then he panicked. He panicked because he had thoughtfully planned every way to avoid this exact situation from the moment he met you, knowing that at this proximity he wouldn't be able to control himself. And he was right. You were close, too close. He could smell your shampoo, like warm vanilla, and his hands moved on autopilot towards you, his fingers twitching to bring you closer to him before he stopped himself, inches short.

"Whatareyoudoing?!" he whisper-mumbled in frustration, the words coming out angrier than he'd intended at the range of emotions he was feeling.

You froze, your heart shattering. He was angry. He didn't want you here, he didn't want anyone here. He was going to kick you out and you'd be mortified, your friendship would never be the same, you'd taken things too far. You felt a scratch in your throat as tears threatened to spring forward.

Even in the thick darkness, Mattheo could see that he'd upset you, able to read your expressions better than his own. He could see the wobble of your bottom lip as your wide eyes looked at him and he hated himself and the situation all the more for it.

"Please Matty, m'just so cold, I can't sleep" you whispered, using the nickname that was strictly forbidden for anyone but you that made him melt.

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed deeply, trying in his sleepy state to figure out a solution as he felt his strength waning; the figment of his every daydream was literally begging to be in his bed and he was certain he couldn't trust himself, certain that this only ended one way.

You took in his rigid form and his frustration and began to backpedal, moving to leave.

"M'sorry, it's okay, I'll go, maybe Theo—"

And you didn't even get a chance to finish your thought before you felt his large, warm hands wrap around your middle and tug you across the bed and into his chest, quickly but gently.

"C'mere" he mumbled as he settled you against him, chest to chest, your head tucked under his.

Your arms wound around him naturally, your legs intertwining, the two of you fitting together effortlessly, perfectly, like puzzle pieces. You let out a small giggle as you nuzzled into him, making yourself comfortable.

He could feel your warm breath as you let out a contented sigh, the innocent sound somehow sinful to his ears as he willed his mind to stop wandering in every direction it wanted to as he felt every dip and curve of your body against his own despite the layers of clothing between you. He kept his hands at your back, unmoving, for a moment unsure if he was even doing this right, unable to remember the last time he'd cuddled with anyone.

"Thank you" you whispered, your voice already sounding relaxed and sleepy to him as your fingers traced patterns on his back, a lavish feeling that released every ounce of tension he had been holding.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as his arms hugged you to him firmly and you felt a sensation like melted honey spreading through every inch of you, as he rubbed your back, warming you from your heart to the tips of your toes for the first time in days as you fell into a hazy sleep.

The first thought Mattheo had was that he felt heavy, his limbs felt weighted and his mind felt calm. Rested he realized after a moment. His brain was slowly turning back on, piecing together the dream he'd had, it was a dream, right? You, in his bed, in his arms, pressed against him, nuzzling into him, contented and happy. It felt so real, real enough that he could still smell you, the intoxicating scent of your shampoo, could still feel you in his arms, could still ghost his fingers down your back. You hummed in response and his eyes fluttered open only to realize it was definitely not a dream.

You were here, with him, in his bed, had been all night, your body still wound perfectly in his, neither of you having let go of one another or moved an inch; if anything, it was like you melded together even further. Fuck this is nice he thought as he looked down at you curled into his chest. This was everything, everything he'd hoped it would be. He wanted to stay like this for as long as physically possible, the looming fear of it having to come to an end already upon him.

Suddenly, a pillow came flying onto the bed, askewing the thick curtains that draped around his four-poster.

"Oi wake up, will you, Riddle? Shit, it's almost noon and we've got practice in an hour" came a shout as a cacophony of voices followed behind it into the room.

You stirred in Mattheo's arms just as a hand reached through his curtains to pull them aside.

"Oh. My. Fucking. Days" Blaise drawled, annunciating every word as the others gathered around him.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it"

"Let's gooooooo!!"

"Mattttyyyy!!!" each of them shouted as the jumped up and down in excitement at the sight of you in his bed.

"Fuck off" he said, grasping the pillow they'd thrown at him and hucking it back at them, causing them to disperse as they fell apart with laughter and more cheers.

He felt you shift next to him and looked back to see that you had pulled the covers over your head, just the tips of your fingers and the top of your head visible. He yanked his curtain closed before leaning back towards you and gently grasping the blanket near your hands to pull it back.

While not the wakeup you had hoped for nor expected, Mattheo pulling back the blankets with a soft sleep-ridden smile on his face and his rumpled curls to see you was a mental image that you were sure you would think about every day for the rest of your life. You were swimming in a sea of him, engulfed in his smell, like pine and amber, and you were delightfully warm; he was going to have to pry you out of here.

"Hi" he said quietly in his morning voice.

"Hi" you whispered back.

You looked perfect. He may have thought about waking up to you, with significantly less clothing on and significantly fewer onlookers, but he'd never considered how beautiful you would look, your eyes not all the way open yet, your hair spread like a blanket of its own and fuck if he didn't want to kiss you. His eyes drifted lazily to your lips and back again and he swore he saw a flash of something in your expression in response, curiosity, or perhaps confusion.

"I should—" he started, shaking his head clear.

"—Yeah, of course! Sorry, I didn't realize the time—"

"No problem, take your time—" he said as he rolled out of bed to more cheers and shouts as he shepherded his friends out the door to give you some privacy.

You pulled the sheets back over your heard, burying yourself further into his blankets, reveling in the warmth his body had left before squealing with excitement at the way your day had started.

You were afraid that things would be awkward, but surprisingly they weren't, you were in your easy, unbothered rhythm together. Besides the giggles and teasing from your friends, nothing had changed... including the temperature. As the day went on the warmth you had woken up in faded and you felt progressively more cold settling into your bones, already dreading the cold night ahead of you.

Spending the night with Mattheo was a nice reprieve, but not something you intended to make a habit of, certain you didn't want to live through more teasing nor get your hopes up trying to read into how intimate it had felt.

You were leaving dinner, arms wound around yourself at the chill in the air when you heard a voice calling for you. You turned to see Mattheo jogging after you.

"Hey!" he called.

"Hey" you smiled back, glancing up at him as he fell into step with you.

He smiled readily back at you; he'd seemed peppier today, letting the ceaseless taunting roll of his back with a shrug of his shoulders, the unwillingness to turn everything into an argument or fistfight very uncharacteristic of him.

"Yeah, so—" he started to say, as he looked around for a moment and carded his hand through his hair. He took in how cold you looked and all he could think was how badly he wanted to fix it. "—About last night or whatever...I know it's still fucking frigid, if you wanted to come by or sleep with, er, stay with — in my — yeah, you could do it again if you wanted?"

You couldn't hide the smile the spread widely across your face, nor the way your eyes sparkled mischievously as you stopped walking to face him.

"Mattheo Riddle, are you asking me to sleep with you?" you said flirtatiously, leaning towards him.

He stopped breathing. Your proximity and the words coming out of your mouth snatched every last breath and every last thought he'd had.

"Don't fuck around with me" he said through smirked lips, his voice low and measured, holding a hint of playfulness, but also a warning.

You laughed softly back but didn't back down.

"I'll see you tonight" you said as you continued your path back to the common room, leaving him gazing after you.

Your new outfit that night wasn't lost on him. You were wearing a form-fitting pair of soft pants and a matching top that hung slightly off your shoulder, revealing the lace of a bralette. You crawled into bed beside him, smiling contentedly and curling into his arms like you were married, like this was the most normal, easy, simple thing in the world, and yet it still took him a minute to really comprehend the situation, to relax.

He barely had a minute to catch his breath before Blaise shouted across the room, "Goodnight Theo!"

"Night, Blaise!" Theo shouted back.

"Night, Enz!" Blaise said again.

"G'night!" Enzo replied.

Mattheo rubbed a hand over his face at the antic.

"I swear they don't do this every—" he started.

"—Night, Draco!" Blaise shouted.

"And Pans!" Theo chimed in.

"Full fuckin' house in here" Enzo said.

"Goodnight!" she giggled back.

"Goodnight Mattheo..." Blaise said slowly, drawling out his name.

Mattheo didn't reply.

"GOODNIGHT YN" they each shouted.

You laughed, "Goodnight!" you said back and they cheered as Mattheo turned and buried his head into your shoulder in embarrassment, letting his body weight fall on you in exasperation.

You laughed at his reaction, instinctively bringing a hand to tangle in his curls and hold him to you before you could stop yourself. It was decidedly more intimate than anything that had happened between you before, but it had just felt right, something about pulling him into you, comforting him. You paused after a moment, catching yourself... running your hands through his hair should not make you feel this way; suddenly, you were very very warm.

As if he could sense your reaction, he lifted his head just slightly to meet your eyes, his face inches from yours.

He had to feel your heart hammering in your chest at this proximity, right? As he searched your face, it felt like a veil had come down between the two of you after a night spent together on top of years spent dancing around one another like you didn't know exactly what this could be. On cue, the room around you fell deeply silent as the others settled into sleep.

Your hand slowly dropped to trace his cheek.

"YN" he said in a low voice, cautious, guarded, his tone roughly translating to "Don't".

"What?" you whispered.

"I can't" he said.

"Can't what, Matty?"

The nickname made his heart beat double-time, an impossible feat based on the way it was already drumming loudly in his ears.

"You know what" he said sternly.

"Why?" you asked, innocently, the tips of your fingers moving to trace his jaw, nearing his lips before his hand grasped yours firmly, stopping you, making you jump slightly.

His body was rigid and taught, his expression was serious, maybe even threatening to anyone but you, but all you could see was the look in his eyes that were burning with something else, something much more passionate than anger.

His words were strained, like it was a physical effort to form them.

"I. Can't. Alright? Just let it go" he said as his eyes continued to beg otherwise.

Your next words were so soft, he almost didn't hear them, might have missed them if his entire being wasn't fine tuned to hear the exact phrase.

"Kiss me" you said, somewhere between a plea and a demand.

He caught your eye and his breath caught in his throat at the way you were looking at him: your eyes wide, soft and focused on him, your chest visibly rising and falling underneath him, your body pressing against him as you wiggled your hand out of his grasp to trace his cheek. Surely he couldn't have heard you right?

"I'm not—I can't— that's not a good idea. I can't just kiss you" he said, stumbling over his words uncharacteristically.

"Why?" you asked quietly, sadly.

"No—not—fuck—" he started and stopped, trying not to upset you again.

He paused, trying to collect himself.

"Why do you think no other girl has slept in this bed?" he said seriously.

You pulled your hand back at the mention of other girls at a moment like this, but he responded by reaching to cup your cheek, to force you to look at him.

You were shaking your head.

"Because if I couldn't have you, then I didn't want anyone else. You're fucking it for me, always have been, but girls like you don't end up with guys like me and it's best I don't waste your fucking time and ruin our friendship in the process, alright?" he said resolutely, with finality.

"Matty—" you started

"—Please stop calling me that, please" he said, slamming his eyes closed, "I'm trying to maintain a semblance of self control here."

"Stop holding back!" you whisper-yelled, which caught his attention, causing his eyes to flutter open. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I want you. I've always wanted you, ask any of our thickheaded friends, they've all known for a long time."

He blinked slowly like each individual word had to register in his head. You could see him swallow, could see the sentence process in his brain as the pad of his thumb traced your cheek and you leaned into him, pressing further against him.

"Kiss me, Matty" you said.

And the last thread of his self control snapped. He leaned in, hovering close enough that you could feel the faintest touch of his lips as they ghosted against yours, teasing you.

"If I kiss you, that's it then, you're mine" he said, like it was a threat, an ultimatum, and not the best thing that's ever happened to you.

A smile spread across your lips and you nodded against his.

"All yours" you whispered back and he caught the last of your words with his mouth, his lips taking yours as both of his hands came to grasp your face firmly but gently, pulling you into him.

You could barely suppress the hum of pleasure that left you at the sensation, the relief of the feeling of his lips pillowed against yours, the tenderness and softness so opposite of everything that he was, the duality of it all had your body tingling. One of your hands grasped at his sweatshirt while the other wound around his neck, attempting to pull him impossibly closer to you as he moaned into your mouth. His tongue tangled with yours and you swore there wasn't anything in the world but this moment, this feeling with him as you tasted the lingering flavor of cigarettes and peppermint that you would come to associate with him.

It was all grabbing, desperate hands and crashed lips at first, trying in moments to catch up on years of wanting, until it was tantalizingly slow, languid, purely achingly perfect and intimate. You were certain you would kiss him like this every single day, given the chance.

It could have been minutes or hours that you were lost in each other before he pulled back, and the whine that left your lips at the loss of contact nearly had him throwing you over his shoulder and marching you to the first broom closet he could find.

"I've spent just about every day for the last 5 years thinking about this, and I cannot believe I'm about to fuckin' say this, but I'm not gonna rush it. At the very least, I'm not gonna hook up with you in a room full of people" he said, before tilting his head, "Well, at least not the first time... after that, no promises."

You laughed quietly and swatted at his shoulder.

"C'mere" he said, pulling you into him.

You curled into his arms, head nuzzling into his neck, your head resting on his chest as he held you tightly, brushing soft kisses to your temple as you fell asleep.

E P I L O G U E

You had been so caught up in the events of the evening, you hadn't really stopped to consider what happens next, namely, how would you tell your friends? Just make an announcement at breakfast? Put on enough PDA that they drew their own conclusion? Take off the scarf you were wearing that was covering the innumerable hickies on your neck? Your mind was in a heady fog about it all as the group of you wandered towards the Great Hall.

You were glued to Mattheo's side, but that wasn't really unusual; his fingers brushed against your own as he shot you a look out of the corner of his eye, a mischievous smile on his face.

"YN!" a voice shouted behind you.

You turned to see Cedric Diggory jogging towards you and you slowed your pace, as did everyone around you. Boys had to be either brave, stupid or naive to approach you when you were with your guy friends, and you weren't sure which category to put Cedric in as his eyes met their unwelcome stares but addressed you anyway.

"Sorry— yeah, I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to—" he started.

Oh no you thought.

"—Cedric, really, that's so kind—" you interrupted, trying to prevent a scene from breaking out as you felt Mattheo tense beside you.

"—You didn't even hear what I was going to say?" he said with a laugh, somewhere between offended, annoyed and amused.

"Well, think that makes the message pretty clear then, mate" Mattheo said, the anger palpable in his tone.

"Excuse me?" Cedric replied. "I was talking to—"

Oh no you thought again.

And you weren't quick enough to intervene before Mattheo had Cedric pinned against the stone wall of the hallway, his forearm at Cedric's chest, nearly lifting him off the ground as his feet dangled for purchase.

"I don't fucking care who you were talking to. From now on, you don't talk to her at all, alright?"

"What are you, her bodyguard?" Cedric sputtered as he gasped for breath.

"No" ... a pause... "I'm her boyfriend" Mattheo growled.

You tried and failed to hide the huge smile on your face behind your manicured fingers as your friends shouted behind you.

Well, that's one way to do it you thought. ♡

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fluff

646 notes · View notes

tanlakarix · 1 year

Text

Improve customer interactions using voice solutions.

The COVID-19 outbreak has certainly put enterprise customer service to the test. The dramatic increase in the demand for customer-service teams to operate around the clock has caused some businesses to question their dependability, efficiency, and quality of service. During the epidemic, customer service was one of the hardest hit departments. Consumer needs and behaviors have shifted, and time is of the essence.

Because of the high volume of calls, the consumer faces numerous uncertainties. Long wait times, inaccurate agent transfers, and call prioritization are becoming commonplace. Customers leave calls and are dissatisfied because of an agent’s query-handling efficiency.

Contact centers and enterprise voice are both becoming more important in providing an omnichannel experience. Contact centers can handle a wide range of communications. It offers technical support through in-app chat or video, but the infrastructure costs far more than enterprise voice solutions. Enterprise voice solutions, on the other hand, can integrate with APIs that help streamline development. One of the most common issues consumers have is having to wait a long time for answers to their questions, but with a corporate voice solution IVR, all simple questions can be answered by a pre-recorded informative voice bot that can answer client questions with a few key presses. If a customer decides to continue the chat, he or she can hit a key to speak with a live agent. This will result in cost savings and increased productivity because only high-end inquiries will be handled by a live agent and a platform that can be coupled with CRM will be required.

Customers who try to communicate with businesses are likely to wish to do it in more than one language. Multilingual communication fosters cultural understanding and is regarded as an efficient method of conducting business. Multilingualism becomes critical when businesses desire to develop globally or reach domestic or rural consumers. To target each region, voice campaigns must be in the local language. As the familiarity and comfort factor rise, the consumer is more inclined to purchase things from a salesman who speaks the regional language.

Here are some examples of how voice services might supplement your current services and communication channels.

Enterprise voice products such as IVR, missed calls, outbound dialers, and click2call are critical in the early stages of customer engagement. These goods provide numerous tremendous benefits to both customers and businesses. These advantages include fast voice connectivity with comprehensive call control, which reduces operational expenses while improving cross-channel communications for your apps and services.

Personalized IVR and outbound dialer to promote interesting offers, as well as for feedback and surveys:

Karix Mobile worked with a leading e-commerce company to improve consumer contacts through the use of tailored Interactive Virtual Response (IVR) and outbound dialers. The client desired a combination of both communication methods that were coupled with analytics for sales reviews. When new promotional offers are announced, OBD calls are placed to their target clients to engage them in discussions about their purchasing needs. The corporation sees an increase in sales and collects data that demonstrates sales statistics. To supplement the OBD service, a multilingual IVR was also deployed based on customer preferences to handle any queries or provide feedback.

To improve operational efficiency, use voice OTP as a failover option.

Another classic case of Karix Mobile collaborating with a real estate consultancy: The purpose was to improve its two-factor authentication by using voice OTP if an SMS OTP was not delivered. It was vital for the client to ensure that critical communications reached the end user on time. The OTP is requested through a phone call as recorded voice, which prohibits copying. It is simple to set up because it can be customized with an AI-powered voice.

Confirmation of cash-on-delivery via missed call:

Logistics organizations and their delivery teams frequently want order certainty. This includes whether the customer confirms the order, whether it is canceled, whether they are available at the designated time and whether the order is dispatched on time. The logistics company worked with Karix Mobile to receive timely confirmations via missed calls. When parcels are shipped using cash-on-delivery, they must now make missed calls to the given number after the parcel is successfully delivered.

Payment reminders that increase the likelihood of recovery:

Recovery of late payments can be a time-consuming operation. The world’s leading financial services company partnered with Karix Mobile to send payment reminders via inbound calls. Financial organizations profit from decreased costs and higher payment rates. Payment reminder links can be embedded in WhatsApp Business Solutions by agents.

At quiet airports, voice calls reminders and updates are used to notify passengers of their boarding gate and time:

One of the world’s top five airlines cooperated with Karix Mobile to improve customer happiness through voice call reminders and updates. When the airports are silent, they use voice calls to transmit notifications if there is an emergency announcement or if there is a need to update passengers about changes in boarding gates or time.

IVR and call patching are simple solutions for dealing with high call volumes.

During the epidemic, only a few banks had extremely high call volumes. In such cases, an IVR solution can assist in resolving the issue and allow banks to manage them more efficiently. An IVR can answer the most frequently asked inquiries and resolve typical consumer issues. Account information, investment portfolio updates, and status, loan-related questions such as application, disbursement status, new passbook request, product information, and so on can be quickly resolved. To ensure customer satisfaction, the IVR can connect the call to an agent using the call patching capability if the customer needs additional assistance.

Businesses can use Click2Call to provide their customers with a consistent experience.

The popularity of click-to-call has grown in lockstep with the proliferation of mobile phones. Click-to-call buttons can be beneficial in chatbot applications, websites, and applications. An online pharmacy employed Karix Mobile’s contact management tool to improve client satisfaction. They can reach a bigger audience and save time by not having to dial a new number each time. Customers may obtain medications, schedule lab tests, get doctor consultations, and much more via phone.

End Thoughts

Because employees are increasingly working remotely, enterprise voice solutions help ensure business continuity and seamless communications. In addition to massage services, brands are increasingly thinking about IVR calls, outbound calls, missed calls, and click-to-call services to supplement their existing communication channels. The effective usage of enterprise voice and company organization will prevent customer loss during these trying times.

For More Info: Voice Solutions - Karix

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stxrslut · 2 months

Text

what happens when bbf!jj notices you crying in your room after none of your friends showed up to the sleepover you’d so tirelessly prepared.

he sighs and sits back on the couch as your brother walks out of the door to run some errand that apparently just couldn’t wait. this isn’t the first time hes been abandoned at your house, your brother doesnt care that he hangs around, and so sometimes he forgets that he needs to keep his friend company.

not that he doesn’t have a solution to his boredom in these times. when hes left alone, he comes to see you, his best friends cute little sister that he just adores so much.

today is not unlike any other, and so he gets up to find your room. though he notices something wrong. the sound of quiet sniffles are to be heard through the door.

he furrows his eyebrows in concern before he knocks on the door. he’s met with you calling out your brothers name in an irritated manner, “go away, I don’t wanna talk.”

he raises his eyebrows, hes never been around you crying before, but he supposes it’d be mean to just leave you to your misery, however it was caused. “uh, s'just me jj.. are you okay?” he calls through the door.

theres a beat of silence before the door unlocks and you appear infront of him. your cheeks are tearstained and eyes red as you sniffle pitifully. “hi jj...”

“woah, whats goin’ on with you?” he raises his eyebrows in surprise, sure he knew you were crying, but actually seeing it makes it seem more real, and he feels sorry for you.

you sniffle, “m’sad.” It’s a blunt statement, you know it, but it’s true. you’re devastated. everything today has just gone wrong.

“sad? n’why’s that sweetheart?” he lets himself in, sitting down on your bed now that a conversation has somewhat started up. he looks around to take in your decorated room, plus the extra two sets of blankets set up on the floor.

you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand, “nobody showed up t’my sleepover.” you murmur, “got everythin’ set up.. i decorated n'all..”

he frowns, “what kind of friends have you got then, standin’ you up like this?” he shakes his head dissaprovingly at the thought, how could they ghost a girl as sweet as you?

you shrug, “m’sure they all got good reasons...” you sniffle, “they’re not bad friends.” you’re not even sure if that’s the truth anymore. really, this sleepover had been a last ditch effort to get them to somewhat like you again.

“no, don’t say that.” he shakes his head, “f’they were good friends they wouldn’t have stood you up like this.” he has an irritate tick in his jaw now, though he pushes past it. he knows that his annoyance isnt going to do anything to console you. all you’d wanted to do was have a sleepover after all.

“look uh..” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck, “you got any.. activites? that you were wantin’ t’do or anything?” he looks a little lost, like he thinks he’s making a fool of himself.

you nod nonetheless, “yeah actually.. I made a face mask to do.” you tilt your head, wondering if he’s about to say what you think he might be.

“look im about to totally embarrass myself here but uh.. you wanna do it with me? y'know... t’make you feel better.” he’s got a tentitive smile on his face.

you giggle softly, “what about my brother,” you ask, “won’t he be missing you in the other room?”

he shakes his head, “nah, he left to run some errand ages ago.” he smiles again, “so, what d'you say about that face mask? just to warn ya I ain’t savvy with all this beauty stuff.”

you giggle, not quite believing that the jj maybank is offering to do something so 'girly'. “okay then, i guess I’ll have to show you the ropes.”

#divider by anitalenia #jj maybank prompt #bbf!jj #jj maybank concept #jj maybank dialogues #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank

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ajortga · 3 months

Text

(over) protective

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: jenna has never let you out of her sight after she almost lost you, even during the most unnecessary times.

word count: 2.4k+

warnings: little angst, mentions of blood, injuries, near character death? knives, kidnapping mentions, mostly fluff after the parts inspired by a good girl's guide to murder pass, jenna being a silly girl

based off request! the start was a little rushed:(

Where r goes missing for a month and when she was found somewhere kidnapped or smthng Jenna has been so very very VERY protective of r and has NEVER let r out of her sight. Thats all tyyy

Most likely dead.

That’s the word Jenna couldn’t stop hearing on the news once the 72 hour mark hit on the news.

Dead, dead, dead.

She couldn’t bear it, it made her stomach stir wildly, her breath quickening like she just ran a 20k race.

The first three days a person goes missing is the most important, as those hours go up, the likelihood of a person being found decreases.

The likelihood of you being found decreases by a landslide each time Jenna sees the clock hit another hour, anxiety filling her belly even though it was filled enough.

She wishes that she would have noticed the signs sooner. You weren’t home for four hours after going to run some errands.

You said it would be quick.

Jenna just brushed it off that you took some time off for yourself for that time, maybe got a massage. You always did that. She wished that she would have called you instead of texted you the first hour you were gone. You always answer her calls, maybe then she would’ve noticed that something was wrong. If you didn’t answer, you’d call her back just a little moment after.

She wished that she would've noticed that something was wrong when the signs were right in front of her.

Sweat dripped down her forehead during those 3 nights. 3 nights of restless movements and praying that you would be okay. What would she do if you weren’t? No, Jenna couldn’t think like that. She hoped that you just decided to get time to yourself for a while, she really hoped that would be the case.

The police came with little solutions. It was likely that you ran away or got kidnapped. Jenna couldn’t bear to hear the second part if evidence supported it.

Endless ticks of the clock were slow, yet as slow as they were, she hoped that it could mean that you could be found faster since the clock was ticking so slowly. But it just wasn’t like that.

72 hours turns into a week. Then 3. And by the time Jenna feels like she’s going to mentally kill herself, she finds out. As soon as the sheriffs send her a call, she’s busting out of her apartment, going speeds that would get her a ticket, two if she were lucky.

The police had told her you were kidnapped. They had gotten a lead when your girlfriend told them that you went out for some errands. They traced back to the security footage that was available. They searched all stores that could possibly have a slither of Sure enough, after a few days of waiting, footage from multiple stores were sent back.

Replays and replays. The day when your body was found is when he found you, about to enter your car after stuffing bags of groceries. A strong pair of arms dragging you away as they shoved chemicals, most likely chloroform into your mouth.

But who was he? Who was this man that dragged you away as your kicks and struggles lessened, your eyes rolling back when you began to pass out?

The killer was masked, but they weren’t slick enough, of course when they drove away, they were stupid enough (Jenna was so glad for this) to drive a licensed car that belonged to them.

They may have found the killer, but it would take even longer to find you.

How the hell did it take them a month to be able to find you? That’s 10 times as much as 72 hours.

You were found, unconscious and limp in a secluded area 25 minutes away from the city. You were taped against the wall so you couldn't move. Fresh looking bloody wounds and gashes littered all over your body. Even the police couldn’t recognize you with the blood covering your shaking figure.

The body they found was cold, starved, maybe a cracker or two per meal, you were so malnourished.

It was scary. So so scary. As soon as Jenna came to the scene, she was sobbing. Sobbing because a part of her thought you would die.

The building was small, gray, locked doors and broken windows. You had tried to get out, police told her from how the upper windows were shattered. But as soon as you did, you were dragged back. Duct taped even further against poles surrounding you, a rope barely strangling you, a knife sinking through every piece of untouched skin so you were in too much agony to move. They caught your kidnapper. Caught him before he could escape or hurt anyone else. If he was the cause of a disappearance for someone else, there would be someone like Jenna, hopeless and scared. Jenna was too tired and terrified to feel glad. But someone wouldn’t have to live through what Jenna did for a month, someone wouldn’t have to live like you did for a month.

“Oh my god!” The brunette girl wailed as she pushed out of medics' ways, seeing your pale body against a stretcher. “Y/N,” she cried, cupping your blood-stained face with her hands. “Wake up, it’s okay! I’m here.”

An oxygen mask was covering your face, helping you breathe properly. This was the first time in weeks you were able to breathe fresh air. You couldn’t get proper airflow from how tightly your kidnapper tied tape around your neck. Your eyes barely open, catching a blurry sight of your girlfriend, her tears dripping on your teared up sweater before fluttering closed again.

“You can’t go,” you hear, before you nod off.

Jenna found out that your kidnapper was an obsessive and mentally insane fan of hers. He tracked you down as soon as he found out she was off limits and admitted he was planning to kill you. She didn’t even know how he tracked you, must’ve waited till paparazzi released photos and moved to the area nearby.

It made her sweat and stir with guilt, knowing that it was her fault that you could’ve been in massive danger. You were in massive danger, just saved at the right time. It might haunt her for years.

When you wake up, bright hospital lights greet you as you make a surprised and weak groan. The first thing you see when you open your eyes is those freckles you know all too well, cupping your cheeks as you whine from the sting of the cuts.

She’s rubbing your cheeks, caressing your neck, ruffling your hair, looking down at you with worried eyes. You feel as though she might cry when she’s shaking your body. “Y/N? Baby, are you awake?”

“Mhh,” you mumble, squinting around the room as the steady monitor of your heart beeps through your ears.

“Hey, stop moving.” Jenna gently pushes you back onto the bed as your eyes look around in confusion. “Fuck, you scared me so badly,” she sniffles, wiping her tears as she grips onto your hand tightly. “I thought you died.”

If you two weren’t in this situation, you’d think it’s cute and silly how protective she was over you. But she was right, you could’ve died. You were trapped in a room with a kidnapper that wanted to kill you. The smallest windows, doors that were locked shut, and your vision was taken away from you most of the time, except when he fed you. It was basically crackers and the littlest amount of water. He fed you a little more when the two week mark hit, when you were basically a ragdoll.

The terrifying moments that would flash into your mind, creep into your dreams and turn your slumber into a nightmare would haunt you for months. Even when you managed to get out, he found you and hurt you so badly that you couldn’t move anymore.

Jenna could tell you weren’t trying to show her you were scared. You didn’t want to make her more worried.

"I'm never letting you leave my sight again."

When you got discharged from the hospital, Jenna made sure to stick with you wherever you went.

As you make a tiny grunt and reach for the sugar on the top shelf, Jenna shrieks. “Nope! Not happening, I can get it.” She says, beginning to grab a big ass ladder from outside.

“Baby, I don’t think that’s necessary.. I can get it, you’re shorter than me and it’ll take a lot more work-”

Jenna comes back from the hallway, carrying a big ladder with her tiny hands, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she places it on the floor tile. She begins to climb up and grab the sugar. “You need to rest that body.”

You sigh, “Baby, I’m a month healed-”

“Are your injuries fully healed?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

“Well.. No but the doctor said-”

“Then I’m not letting you overstretch a single muscle, we can’t let those stitches rip, baby. Cuddles are the only exception.”

You roll your eyes, let her take the win on this one.

“I’m gonna go get us some watermelon! It’s hot, be right back!” You call out, grabbing your keys as you turn to go to open the door, except your girlfriend is already there.

“Nuh uh, not happening. Let’s go.” She says, extending her hand out to you for you to hold. You look at her with a confused expression, “Baby, we already have kiwi, I can go by my-” She interrupts you, “No, the last time you went to go out, you didn’t fucking come back for a month from that psycho. We are going together, I don’t care about kiwis right now. I care that if someone were to kidnap you, they’d have to go through me first.” Jenna pulls out a pair of boxing gloves from her tote bag.

“Where the hell did you get those?”

“On set! So I can defend you and don’t have to scratch my arms in the process.”

A deep breath leaves your lips as she shakes her hand, impatient to feel yours in hers. “Fine, you win. But don’t be upset if a kidnapper manages to take off those boxing gloves within seconds and take your short body away.”

She huffs, tugging your arm to the grocery store.

“Aliyah?” You blink, looking at the younger Ortega in your apartment. “What are you doing here?” You itch a bandaid as she plays with her hair.

“Jenna said I have to play bodyguard,” she says, shaking her head. “This girl had to film and didn’t want you to be alone.”

Your nose twitches.

“I could’ve just driven to your house, I don’t want us to both get kidnapped,” you joke.

Aliyah snorts, “I did think about that, but Jenna said no cause she didn’t want you to be in danger if you get into your car and somehow you get taken away.”

That’s just Jenna. Jenna Ortega. Sometimes you feel as if you should feel a little annoyed when she never lets you go alone anywhere. But you never can, you’re way too in love to be frustrated at your baby. If anything, it gives you an excuse to cling to her everywhere you go without being told off.

“You wanna bake?”

Aliyah looks at the kitchen as she shrugs, “Sure. Then I can tell Jenna we wanted to have a heating pan to defend ourselves and decided to bake while we were at it.”

"He looks suspicious." Your girlfriend says, taking a step forward and making sure you're behind her while she glares daggers at the man.

Sometimes you wish she was taller, because right now, she looks like a child you're babysitting.

She leans back a little too hard onto your front and you wince.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Shh, I'm sorry." She says with a frown, softly rubbing your healing wounds against your stomach.

"Baby, I think he's just staring because you have a butterfly knife out and about, looking like you're going to murder him." You admit, gesturing to the knife that was point sided up.

"That could be a reason. But I will fight if he comes near!"

"Jenna, we're standing in front of an entrance for a coffee shop. The poor man just wants to get coffee."

The freckled cheek girl turns to see what you're talking about and notices the glass door behind you two. "Oh shit."

You drag her wrist gently as you two step to the side, you give the man an empathetic smile. He nervously looks at Jenna and runs into the coffee shop.

"Why are you still staring at that man? And put that knife away!" You smack her arm lightly as she goes "Hey!" and closes the knife.

“Jenna, do you seriously have to be in the same stall as me while we go to the bathroom?” You say quietly, looking up at her as she stares at you intently while you do your business. “Hey, no eyes here, invasion of privacy. Couldn’t you have waited right outside the stall?”

Her freckled nose wrinkles, “And risk someone grabbing you from behind?” She waddles to the wall behind the toilet as she knocks. “I’m 500% sure that this wall can slide and someone is just waiting to take my baby, not happening!”

“Jen-” you sigh, a grin spreading across your lips, “At this point, I think you’re just making an excuse to stare at me pee.”

She gasps sarcastically, making a pfft noise. “Oh yeah, for sure. I just love watching you go to the bathroom in this cramped stall.” She mocks, her cheeks a little red.

“I know, I must be a beauty.”

You hear the restroom door open as you flush. “Dude, I don’t even think you can fit with me in here. It's so small. ”

Jenna rolls her eyes, an annoyed whine escaping her lips. “Well, it is a little tight in here.”

As you two exit the stall, a lady waiting in line looks at you both with a grimace. Confusion lingers in her features before you can tell that she’s thinking something different than what actually happened. The faucet turns on as cold water and bubbly soap cleanses your scarred hands. You giggle at the picture of that weirded-out look the poor lady gave you two. After you shut it off, you pull Jenna closer and cup a hand against her ear, whispering, “I think the person that was waiting in line thinks we just had sex in that stall.”

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna marie ortega #vada cavell x y/n

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er-osion · 3 months

Text

Stumble In(to my life)

pairing: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

summary: You tend to Red Hood after he’s mildly injured on patrol, he then sticks around a little.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none, fluff

author’s note: you can find part 2 here

∾∾∘⋅∗⋄⋆⋄∗⋅∘∾∾

You looked up from your books to the soft thump outside your window. A normal person wouldn’t have heard the noise at all, but your ears had become accustomed to listening for it. It was late, far later than you should be up, but tonight was a night filled with studying and anxiety, so sleep evaded you. You put a bookmark in your textbook and closed it, being careful of your notes, and got up from your couch. You just reached the window as a large armored figure clamored through. Backing up, you gave the beast of a man space to gracefully tumble through your window and into your apartment. The sound of sirens off in the distance became muffled once again when the man closed the window tightly behind him.

Red Hood never said much. A man of few words you supposed, at least when he was injured —which was the only time you saw him. You couldn’t recall when this little arrangement between the two of you began, maybe around a year ago. The Red Hood crashed and stumbled into your life one fateful night, and had been doing so ever since. But only when he needed a patch job, and he never took off his helmet. Even when you could tell he had a head injury that needed tending, he wouldn’t remove the red helmet. You knew he trusted you, clearly a lot more than he trusted others, but a part of you was still a little hurt. You'd known him for so long and still yet to see his real face or hear his real voice unmodulated. Oddly enough, you��d call Hood a friend. Even if you didn’t know his real name along with many other things about him, and even if he knew very little about you other than the basics, you’d consider him a good friend. And deep down you’re sure he thinks the same.

Hood slumps down on the couch, but you notice he’s careful to avoid being anywhere near your textbooks and notes. You silently appreciate the move, since last time he got blood on your papers and you had to come up with a believable story for your professor explaining why there were blood splatters on your homework.

“Rough night?” You ask jokingly as you get out the first aid kit. Hood gives a ‘Hmpf’ in response and rests his head against the back of the couch. You move your school stuff off the coffee table and set out the supplies from the first aid kit. You let your eyes roam his figure to try and find the injuries you’d be taking care of tonight. You slyly take in Hood’s toned muscles as you look for wounds, taking the action as a less obvious chance to check him out. However secretive he may be, you can’t deny the man looks good. Actually, “looks good” is an understatement, his abs could cut diamonds.

“How many bruises are you gonna have in the morning?” You ask as you help him take off his leather jacket which is crusted with dried blood here and there.

“Too many.” He’s short with his words but by now you can hear the underlying exhaustion in them. His voice sounds robotic from the mask, but it still brings you a wave of comfort to hear.

“Anything I can’t see?” This phrase has become your way of asking where his most concerning injuries are, and whether or not he’s comfortable with you dealing with them.

“No, tonight’s just the obvious stuff.”

“Not any less painful I presume.”

“And as usual, you’re right, angel.” Your lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile at the nickname. You’ve started cleaning the gashes on his arms and wrapping them with gauze and bandages. Hood relaxes a bit more into the couch, tensing only when you start cleaning wounds with the cold water and saline solution.

As you’re working your mind drifts into thinking about the nature of your relationship with this vigilante. Part of you is proud, honored even, that the elusive Red Hood trusts you enough to seek you out for medical care. But another part of you, the part you don’t really want to acknowledge, is angry he only ever visits when he needs fixing. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, not even ice-breaker facts, and he doesn’t really ask about you. He doesn’t drop by anytime he’s not injured and he never tells you when he’s coming, he just shows up at your window injured without warning. Your heart stings when you think that you might be dead last on Red Hood’s priority list, especially considering he’s first on yours. Does he really only think of you as a patch job? Someone who will treat him without asking any questions? Does he even have any interest in your life at all? Does he ever think about you when he’s not around, like you think of him? By now, you’ve lost yourself in the spiral of your thoughts and are blankly working out of muscle memory. You don’t even notice, but Red Hood does.

Jason watches you work through the eyes of his helmet. He can see the distance in your eyes and can tell you’re thinking hard about something else. But even as your mind wanders, your hands do not. You work efficiently and effectively on cleaning and wrapping his wounds. You take care to check for broken bones and remove any debris you find in his skin. He appreciates you. He’s certain he appreciates you more than you’ll ever know. He didn’t realize how lucky he was when he stumbled through your window all those nights ago. He didn’t realize that night that he’d gain a safe haven. He’s never felt more secure than when he’s with you in your apartment. Jason’s never felt more comfortable than when in your presence. He thinks it’s a little odd. You don’t know what his face looks like, hell, you don’t even know his real name, but his trust in you is an ever flowing river. Jason trusts you more than he trusts himself sometimes. Jason blinks out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in and focuses back on you. The lamps in your apartment provide the only measly light for you to work with, but right now they aren’t crummy. No, the lamps have painted your figure in a warm glow that has Jason’s heart stuttering in an unusual way. The homey furniture melts into the dim background and you're the only thing in focus in Jason’s vision. It’s moments like these when Jason is hit with a flurry of emotions he doesn’t understand. You finish wrapping his last bandage and look up at him with the most gentle but curious eyes he’s ever seen and Red Hood suddenly feels like he’s about to choke. His chest swirls with feelings and he can’t even begin to grasp what they are or what they mean. He wants to say “thank you, thank you for always looking after me even when I don’t deserve it,” but the words get caught in his throat. There’s a tranquil silence that follows where you just look at each other, of course, you can’t tell exactly what Red Hood is looking at but you can feel his gaze on you. When a minute passes you get up slowly and start to put the first aid kit away. Jason watches you from behind the safety of his helmet and moves to help you package everything back up.

Hood’s gloved hand picks up a roll of gauze and brings it over to the kit, but you quickly —albeit gently— put your hand over his to stop him and take the gauze yourself. “You don’t have to do that. You’re injured, rest.” You say with quiet authority and go back to cleaning up the table. Hood doesn’t say anything but leans back into the couch and doesn’t continue to help, though deep down he wants to. He feels he owes you, he knows he owes you. He wants to do something, anything to pay back the kindness you’ve shown him but he can never think of the right thing to do.

“You’re welcome to sit here for a bit, regain some energy before you head to wherever it is you hide during the day. I’ve just got some notes to finish for class.” You provide as you sit down in the chair next to your sofa, repositioning all your textbooks and papers. Hood just nods in reply. “Oh, and you can turn on the tv if you’d like, I don’t mind.” There’s a pause before you see the vigilante move to grab the remote and turn on your tv. You smile a bit at your papers, finding a small happiness in the fact he’s able to settle into your home so well. You secretly wish he’d come and watch tv with you just for fun, not because he needs to recover from a stab wound.

Every once in a while, Jason’s eyes drift from the tv screen to where you’re seated taking notes for your class. Jason does his best to memorize this moment and neatly pack it away in a safe little box in his brain. He wants to remember this quiet moment of togetherness forever. He wants to say something, he wants your beautiful eyes back on him but he also doesn’t want to disrupt the pleasant quiet that swirls around your living room.

Red Hood clears his throat and shimmies into a straighter posture. “Thanks by the way.” You look up at the vigilante and tilt your head in confusion at his remark.

“For what?” You let out a small chuckle, the confusion is evident in your voice. Jason’s lips quirk up in a small smile under his helmet at your confusion at his thanks.

“For all this to start,” Hood motions to himself “and also just for letting me in here. For letting me into your home without fair warning. Your patience with my bullshit seems to know no bounds, you deserve an award merely for that. So… thanks.” Thank you for letting me into your life and making me feel cared for, Jason wants to add on, but that seems a little too open about his feelings for the moment. He hopes you’re able to pick up on the subtext of his words, he hopes you can put together the puzzle pieces of his words that form the colorful picture of his appreciation for you.

You smile lightly, “Of course, Hood. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy having your giant smartass around.” You took a deep breath and let loose a shot in the dark. “I just wish you’d stumble in here when you weren’t injured sometimes, just to hang around.” You awkwardly divert your eyes to the floor and take a major interest in the small stains in the wood. Hood is quiet and unmoving and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad, you can’t tell if you crossed an unspoken line. Jason’s mind is reeling, trying to catch up with the implications of your words. Do you mean you want him around more? Do you mean you want a deeper friendship with him? Do you mean you truly enjoy his presence so much you want more of it in your life? You risk a look back up at Red Hood and when Jason sees the genuine look in your eyes he hopes the modulator in his helmet doesn’t give away the deep breath he had to intake to try and calm his heart.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to drop by more often then, angel.” Hood tries to play off the deepness of the moment with suave teasing, he has to retain at least a little dignity in front of you.

You smirk at his clearly playful comeback, “Just make sure you show up with takeout or some groceries. I can’t be providing everything for you all of the time.” Hood huffs out a laugh.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good.” You smile warmly at him and Jason mirrors you beneath his helmet. There’s a soft silence that follows where the two of you just look at each other. Then you go back to finishing your notes with the smile still plastered on your face. Jason is already planning out his schedule so he can drop in just for fun as soon as possible without seeming desperate to hang out.

“My cuts are pretty sore by the way and I’m quite fatigued so I might have to stay for a bit longer.”

“Hm, well if that’s what you need to do then I can’t deny you. I’m not going to kick Gotham's hero out of my apartment while he’s down.” You know he’s not really that sore or fatigued. You can tell by his body language or his tone of voice when he is. You know he’s just saying that to ask if it’s okay if he stays a bit longer than usual. Of course, you’d never say no. You’d offer him to stay the night but you don’t want him to get uncomfortable, though deep down, you’re desperate for his prolonged presence.

“Tch, that’s a relief. However, I’m afraid I might also need some moral support, as you can see, your poor hero of Gotham has had a rough night.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow but don’t deny him. You get up from your seat and move to sit next to him on the couch. Your finished notes are left forgotten on your previous chair and you dial into the show Hood was watching on the tv. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing my hero of Gotham and I have a similar taste in tv —it makes giving moral support easier.” You feel Hood’s quiet chuckle through the vibrations of the couch, a feeling you want again and again. Jason tries not to think too hard on your use of the word ‘my’ or how it’s echoing in his head like a tantalizing mantra.

“A good thing indeed.”

“I didn’t realize vigilantes had time to pick favorite tv shows.”

“How else do you think we pass the time waiting for a store to be robbed during patrol?”

“I figured you just brooded the entire time, seeing as you costumed weirdos can never get over anything in your entire lives.”

“How rude, us weirdos do get over things, like buildings or cars when chasing down our enemies.”

“Hardy har har, I bet you think you’re clever for that one.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think, I know I’m clever for that one.”

“So arrogant.”

“Not arrogant, confident.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” The lighthearted banter between the two of you fills the room with the warmth of familiarity. Neither of you seemed to notice how close you’d gotten to each other on instinct. Your shoulders are just brushing his and you can feel his body heat seeping into your skin. You’re fighting the urge to press closer and unbeknownst to you, Jason is doing the same. Your body and heart is begging you to rest your head against Hood’s leather-clad shoulder but you push the thoughts down in fear of making things awkward or scaring him off. Jason’s mind is running rampant with internal pleas for you to rest against him, he wants nothing more right now than to feel the comfortable weight of you against his side. But Jason doesn’t act or speak any of these thoughts into reality, worried he’ll cross a line or make you uncomfortable. So the two of you sit there on your couch for who knows how long. Mingling on the side of cuddling but not quite reaching the threshold. Both of you sit contented with the closeness and security of spending what had been a rough evening together, but silently desperate for more. But more is for a different evening, another night when Red Hood stumbles through your window.

#jason todd x reader #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x you #fluff #dc comics #dcu #red hood #red hood x reader #dc fanfic #dc jason todd #dc red hood #dc universe #jason todd imagine

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reidmarieprentiss · 25 days

Text

Ghost of You

Summary: Instead of Maeve, you, Spencer's girlfriend, are shot while Spencer is watching. Except, like Emily, no one confirmed your death.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt, fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: death, guns, shooting, light smut (18+), grieving and mourning, lying and deceiving, loss, funeral, mistrust, illusions to vomiting, spencer getting drunk, happy ending

Word count: 14.3k

a/n: again ,, i'm sorry i don't know what's wrong with me ,, i live and breathe angst like i need it to survive

main masterlist

The room was oppressively silent, filled with the tense breaths of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit team members who were either physically present or listening intently over the comms. The stark white walls of the abandoned warehouse where you were held captive only amplified the gravity of the situation.

Spencer Reid stood, his body rigid, his eyes locked on you—his partner, his love, tied down to a chair in the center of the room. His jaw was clenched, every muscle taut with barely contained fury and fear. Diane Turner, the woman responsible, paced before him with a demeanor that was chilling in its calmness.

“All you have to do is kiss me, Spencer. Just one kiss to prove you don’t love her, and she walks free,” Diane's voice was soft, almost coaxing, as she gestured nonchalantly with the handgun she held.

Spencer’s response was a strangled mix of defiance and desperation. “I can’t do that. I won’t.” His voice was firm, unwavering despite the tremor of fear that threatened to undermine his resolve.

Diane’s lips twisted into a cruel smirk as she turned her attention back to you. “Well, then I suppose we have a problem,” she said as she stepped closer, the gun now pointed directly at you.

The team listened and watched, helpless. Hotch’s hand hovered over his weapon, his mind racing through any possible solutions. JJ’s face was pale, her fingers gripping the edge of the tactical table. Rossi murmured a prayer under his breath, while Garcia, back at Quantico, had her hands clasped tightly, her eyes closed as she hoped for a miracle.

The moment stretched, a torturous eternity compressed into seconds. Then, Diane’s finger tightened on the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was deafening, a brutal punctuation that shattered the tense silence.

Your body slumped as the impact threw you backward, the chair skidding across the concrete floor. Spencer’s cry was guttural, filled with a raw pain that echoed through the room and the comms, reaching every member of the team.

As chaos erupted, with team members rushing into the warehouse, Hotch was the first to reach you. His experienced eyes quickly assessed the scene. Feeling the faint pulse beneath his fingers, he locked eyes with you as you barely managed to open yours.

“Let them think,” you whispered hoarsely, the effort to speak clearly costing you.

Understanding immediately, Hotch nodded subtly. As he called the medics over, he helped to obscure their view, ensuring that your whispered directive remained between the two of you. The medics, following his lead without question, prepared the stretcher and body bag with efficient, silent agreement to the unspoken plan.

As you were zipped up, hidden from view, the last thing you saw was Spencer, his face a mask of agony, being held back by Rossi, who whispered words meant to comfort but which couldn't touch the depth of Spencer's despair.

—

As the echoes of the gunshot faded, the stark reality of what had transpired settled heavily upon the entire BAU team. Inside the cramped FBI surveillance van parked discreetly a block away, the air was thick with grief and stifling silence. Each member of the team was caught in the throes of their own personal hell.

Emily Prentiss felt a crack in her usually impenetrable armor. Her hands, hidden from view, trembled slightly as she replayed the scene over in her mind, wishing there had been something more they could have done to prevent this tragic outcome. Rossi, who had seen too much loss in his years, wore a somber expression, his eyes dark with the weight of unspoken thoughts, perhaps reminiscing about losses past and the cruel repetitiveness of their job.

JJ, standing beside a silently crumbling Spencer, placed a gentle hand on his back, her touch light but filled with a world of empathy. Her eyes, usually so bright and confident, mirrored the horror and sadness that had momentarily overtaken her usual resilience. She knew all too well the pain of loss, yet knowing did nothing to soften the blow.

Penelope Garcia was a statue of despair; her colorful attire and vibrant demeanor dimmed by the shadow of your apparent demise. The screens before her that usually flickered with data and leads now only reminded her of the loss, the dreadful permanence of the moment your chair had fallen back, the moment that had seemingly snuffed out a light amongst them.

Derek Morgan, whose strength often served as a pillar for the team, stood rigid, his body tensed as if ready to spring into action, to undo what had been done. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and profound sorrow. He felt a protective rage for the family he’d built here within the BAU, a family that had now been irrevocably scarred.

As the team returned to Quantico, each member was engulfed in their own silent reflection. The bullpen, usually abuzz with activity and light-hearted banter, was subdued, a somber shadow of its former self. Spencer's desk, a mess of papers and books, remained untouched, a stark reminder of the vibrancy of your relationship with him, now painfully absent.

In the days that followed, the team tried to navigate their grief while maintaining the facade of normalcy. Meetings were quieter, coffee breaks more solitary, and the weight of your absence was a constant, unspoken presence. Even as they delved into new cases, your memory lingered, a ghost in the machine, driving them forward but also holding them back, a reminder of the stakes at play in their line of work.

—

In the silence of the apartment he once shared with you, Spencer found himself enveloped in the echoes of a life that now felt like a distant memory. Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the loneliness settled around him like a dense fog, suffocating and cold. The apartment, once filled with the warmth of your presence, now served as a mausoleum of all the dreams and plans that would never come to fruition.

Spencer would wander through the rooms, his fingers trailing along the surfaces, half expecting to feel the electric touch of your hand in his. Your clothes still hung in the closet, and on particularly difficult nights, he found solace in the faint scent that lingered on your shirts. Pulling one out, he’d clutch it to his chest, sinking onto the bed as sobs wracked his body, the fabric dampening with his tears.

Books you had left on the nightstand, bookmarks still nestled between the pages where you had last stopped, became his new companions. He read every word you had read, traced the lines you might have touched, hoping to glean some part of your thoughts, your essence, from the text. It was a ritual that brought him a painful comfort, a way to feel close to you, to imagine that you were still there discussing the plot twists and character arcs with him.

Even your coffee habits became a part of his mourning. Spencer, who had always preferred tea, found himself brewing coffee each morning. He winced at the bitter taste, nothing like the soothing herbal blends he favored, but it was your taste, and that was what mattered. Each sip was a reminder of the mornings spent in shared silence, a newspaper between you and a mug in your hands, and he cherished these imagined moments as he sat alone at the kitchen table.

At work, Spencer's grief manifested in a quiet protectiveness over anything that had been yours. Your desk, an unassuming space cluttered with case files and trinkets, became sacred ground. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching your things, rearranging the chaos that was so distinctly you. When others offered to clean it or pack it up, he refused, his voice low but firm. It was a line he could not allow anyone to cross, not yet.

Despite the pull to isolate himself in the apartment surrounded by your belongings, Spencer knew he needed to be around people, around the living reminders of normalcy and duty. The BAU was a place of shared purpose, and being there, immersed in the work, allowed him moments of respite from his grief. Yet, even surrounded by his colleagues, the solitude he felt was profound, as if a vital part of him had been hollowed out, leaving him forever incomplete.

—

The arrangements for the funeral were meticulously crafted, cloaked in secrecy and necessity, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on Hotch as he orchestrated the somber affair. It was kept small, intimate, with only the BAU team in attendance. Hotch explained that your family was holding a separate, private celebration of life, a half-truth designed to protect the delicate fabric of the operation and to keep your true fate concealed.

Your family, forewarned by you of the possible outcomes of your dangerous gambit against a formidable foe, had been bracing for this day. You had instructed them with clear, calm precision: should news of your death reach them, they were to detach, to grieve privately and avoid any direct contact with your professional life. If Spencer—or any other team member—reached out, they were to embody the role of the bereaved, too shattered by grief to speak of you. This directive was to hold for three years, after which, if silence remained unbroken, they could assume you were truly gone.

At the funeral, the air was thick with a palpable sorrow, the team huddled together under the gray expanse of the sky, their expressions somber, eyes glistening. Spencer summoned a strength he didn't know he still possessed to deliver a eulogy that touched the very core of all who listened.

Standing before the small gathering, beside the casket that symbolically held you, Spencer's voice was steady, imbued with a deep melancholy. He spoke of your zest for life, your laughter that could light up a room, and your profound impact on his own life. He wove in lines from your favorite poets and authors, their words a tender tribute to your love for life, literature, and him.

"I’m glad I got to spend your life with me, even if I can’t spend mine with you," he concluded, his voice breaking slightly, the finality of the statement hanging heavy in the air.

—

In the small, cramped space of the Kansas precinct, the air hung heavy with the kind of solemnity that often accompanies a tragedy. Spencer was set up at a makeshift workstation, papers and photographs from the case splayed across the table in a meticulous arrangement, his focus as sharp as ever. But even the most disciplined mind couldn't fully shield itself from the emotional tremors of personal loss.

JJ noticed the victim's boyfriend first, his face etched with grief and confusion, a mirror to the very emotions Spencer had been wrestling with since your apparent death. Her instinct was protective, maternal almost; she stepped forward, intending to steer the man away, to spare Spencer the inevitable surge of his own raw, unresolved grief. But Spencer saw the boyfriend and saw a reflection of his own torment.

He stood up, his movements a bit too stiff, the mask of the professional profiler firmly in place but his eyes betraying a deep, abiding sorrow. "I can talk to him," Spencer offered quietly, his voice firm despite the tremble he couldn't quite suppress. JJ exchanged a worried glance with Hotch, who observed silently from the corner. They were hesitant, aware of Spencer's vulnerabilities but also of his uncanny ability to compartmentalize his pain.

Sitting across from the boyfriend, Spencer's empathy was palpable. His voice was gentle yet carried the weight of his own grief. "I—I lost my girlfriend too, she was... taken, in front of me. I'm so sorry for your loss," he shared, the words costing him more than he expected.

The man's response was choked, the kind of raw emotion that comes from this kind of grief. "I can’t even imagine—I feel like I can’t breathe every time I think about it."

Spencer nodded, his professional demeanor flickering. "I understand. But it's not your fault, you couldn't stop this man."

"What if I could though? I could have been there, I could have done something," the man insisted, his voice tinged with desperation and guilt.

That sentiment struck a chord too close to Spencer's own heartaches. He was there, he watched, unable to save you, powerless and shattered. His response was visceral, a burst of emotion too powerful to contain. "It’s not always that easy, okay? It’s not my fault!" His voice rose sharply, his hands slamming down on the table with a force that startled both himself and the man sitting opposite him.

Hotch, who had been watching the interaction with growing concern, recognized the signs of Spencer's unraveling. Without hesitation, he stepped in, his presence commanding and reassuring. He gently but firmly guided Spencer away, leading him out of the precinct as Spencer’s façade crumbled, revealing the raw, unfiltered pain beneath.

Outside, under the less scrutinous eyes of the public, Spencer sobbed, his body racked with the kind of sobs that shake the very foundation of a person. Hotch, strong and steady, offered his shoulder, a silent pillar of support in the storm of Spencer's grief.

As he held Spencer, Aaron felt a profound sense of guilt and responsibility. He knew the reasons behind your decision, understood them intellectually, but the emotional fallout, the raw pain Spencer displayed, was a stark reminder of the human costs of such decisions. In that moment, Hotch vowed silently to do whatever it took to support Spencer, to help him find a path through the thicket of his grief.

—

Spencer took it upon himself to dig deeper into the remnants of your digital life. The walls of your shared apartment closed in around him, every corner filled with memories, every drawer a repository of a life paused mid-breath. He should have been resting, healing, using the time Hotch had given him to mourn and gather strength. Instead, he was driven by a relentless need to understand, to unearth the reasons behind the tragedy that had unraveled both his world and yours.

Sitting at the dining table cluttered with your personal effects—emails printed out, texts transcribed, voicemails played back into the empty room—Spencer's initial hesitation about invading your privacy had dissolved into a desperate need for answers. With each new piece of information, the narrative of your last days became clearer, and with it, his anger and guilt intensified.

Why didn't she tell me about the threats? Spencer's mind raced as he sifted through the digital breadcrumbs you'd left behind, each one a stark reminder of the danger you had faced alone. He felt betrayed, not by your love, but by your silence. The team was a family; they protected their own. The idea that you had borne this burden alone, without leaning on him, on them, gnawed at him relentlessly.

Then, among the tangle of threatening messages and cryptic warnings, one email stood out starkly. It was meticulously detailed, outlining a chilling ultimatum: your life for the safety of everyone else you cared about. His hands trembled as he read it, the implications of those words slicing through the fog of his grief. Had you planned to sacrifice yourself from the start? Was this why you had kept silent?

The realization hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as the pieces fell into place. You hadn't just been taken from him; you had walked into the maw of danger with eyes wide open, hoping to shield him, to shield all of them from further harm.

But who were they? This shadowy group that had orchestrated such terror, that had driven you to such an unthinkable decision? The question echoed in the increasingly claustrophobic apartment, bouncing off the walls lined with books you’d both loved, past the pictures of happier times.

Spencer knew he couldn't do this alone, not anymore. Despite your choice to keep the threats from him, he realized that to honor your sacrifice, he needed the team. They were stronger together, and this was bigger than any one of them—bigger than his grief, his anger, his betrayal. It was about justice, not just for you, but for the sanctity of the life you had all built together.

Determined, Spencer gathered all the evidence, his resolve hardening. He would bring this to the team, to Hotch. They would find them. They would end this, once and for all. And perhaps, in doing so, he would find a way to forgive you, to forgive himself, and maybe find a path back from the precipice of his own consuming grief.

—

As the investigation intensified, the entire BAU team, honed by years of profiling complex criminal minds, began to uncover a series of subtle discrepancies and cryptic messages scattered across the case files and your personal communications. These inconsistencies didn't fit the expected pattern, weaving a complex web of suspicion that permeated the office atmosphere.

"Have you noticed these anomalies in the communication logs?" Spencer asked during one of their briefings, his eyes dark with both determination and unspoken grief.

"Yes, and these tips coming in—they don't add up," Emily replied, looking over the scattered papers and digital messages displayed on the screen.

Hotch watched the exchange closely, his mind racing with the implications of their findings. He was caught in a precarious balancing act—eager to dismantle the network behind the threats while protecting his team from the explosive truth about your staged death.

"We need to tread carefully," Hotch interjected, his voice steady but laced with caution. "This isn't just about following leads. We need to consider the broader implications."

Spencer, fueled by a relentless drive to seek justice for your loss, responded with a hint of frustration, "I know, but we can't just slow down. They're still out there, and who knows what they're planning next?"

Hotch paused, the weight of his secret knowledge pressing down on him. "Spencer, I understand your urgency, but we must ensure we're not walking into a trap. It's not just about finding them; it's about making sure we're ready for what comes next."

The team nodded, though Spencer's expression showed his internal struggle to balance his raw desire for justice with the strategic caution Hotch advised.

As they delved deeper, connecting the dots between the obscure threats, the mysterious inconsistencies in your case, and the shadowy group behind it all, Hotch's role became increasingly complex. He had to guide and sometimes redirect their efforts, always careful not to reveal too much too soon, especially to Spencer, whose emotional state remained fragile.

"We'll get them," Hotch assured the team, his voice firm yet heavy with the gravity of their task. "And we'll do it the right way, as a team, ready for all consequences."

The challenge loomed large, demanding everything they had to stay united and prepared for the potential revelations ahead. Hotch's leadership was crucial, walking the tightrope between maintaining secrecy and steering towards disclosure and resolution, all while safeguarding the team's integrity and emotional well-being.

—

As the seasons shifted to Fall, the relentless march of time brought both frustration and a forced return to routine for the BAU team. Despite the lack of significant breakthroughs in unraveling the conspiracy that had seemingly claimed your life, Spencer and the team remained vigilant, their resolve undiminished but tempered by the demands of their ongoing cases. The initial fervor had quieted into a persistent, underlying current of determination.

Unknown to the rest of the team, including Hotch, you were far from idle. In a twist laden with risk and secrecy, you had enlisted Emily Prentiss in a clandestine investigation. Emily, with her own history of deception for survival, was a perfect confidante and co-conspirator. Together, you delved into the shadows, tracking the elusive threads that connected your apparent demise to a larger, more sinister plot.

"We need to be careful," Emily cautioned during one of your late-night meetings in a nondescript safe house. "If the rest of the team finds out, especially Spencer, it could jeopardize everything."

"I know," you replied, your voice full of determination and regret. "But we can't let them continue to threaten the team. Spencer... he wouldn't understand, not yet."

Your efforts were meticulous and calculated, driven by the dual goals of protecting the team and dismantling the network that had forced you into hiding. The data you collected was encrypted and stored securely, only accessible to you and Emily. You traced financial transactions, monitored communications, and connected dots that were invisible to those not initiated into your secretive endeavor.

As the leaves began to fall and the chill of autumn set in, you and Emily had started to piece together a comprehensive picture of the criminal syndicate. It was broader and more complex than anyone had suspected, with tendrils reaching into unexpected places. The stakes were high, and the danger to the team was real and imminent.

"Once we have enough evidence, we'll bring it to Hotch," you decided, knowing that the moment of revelation was fast approaching. "We have to be thorough. This has to end, Emily."

Emily nodded, her expression grim but resolute. "We'll get them, and then you can finally go back home. To Spencer."

The thought of reuniting with Spencer and the team brought a bittersweet pang to your heart. You longed for the day you could return to the life you had been forced to leave behind, to reveal the truth and hopefully mend the fractures your disappearance had caused. But until that day, secrecy was your shield and patience your weapon.

—

On a brisk October morning, the Manhattan streets were bustling with the usual blend of haste and routine. Hidden beneath a wig, colored contacts, and a prosthetic nose, you moved with calculated caution, tailing a key member of the criminal network that had turned your life upside down. Despite the disguise, certain features—a constellation of moles, the unique curve of your jaw—remained tellingly distinctive to anyone who knew you well. You were acutely aware of the risks, especially since Hotch had mentioned that the BAU team was in the city for a case. Yet, the opportunity to close in on one of the circle's members was too critical to pass up.

Meanwhile, Spencer, his morning routine altered by a mundane decision to grab coffee, found himself halted mid-step. Across the crowded street, a familiar pattern of moles on the skin of a seemingly random passerby caught his eye. His heart raced, his mind refusing to accept the ghostly possibility. Shaken to his core, he didn't head to the precinct as planned but instead found himself running back to the hotel, driven by a surge of hope and confusion.

Bursting through the hotel corridor, Spencer reached Emily's door, pounding on it with a desperation that bordered on panic. Emily, alarmed by the urgency, quickly opened the door.

"Spencer? Are you okay?" she asked, her concern deepening as she took in his pale, distraught appearance.

"I saw Y/N," Spencer managed to get out, his voice trembling.

Emily's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing as she struggled to maintain the facade. "No, you didn't, Spencer. That's impossible," she insisted, her voice steady but her insides churning.

"No!" Spencer's voice rose, too loud for the early hour, his agitation palpable. "It was her, I saw her moles."

"Spencer... we buried her. You were there," Emily tried to anchor him back to reality, her words heavy with shared grief.

At her words, Spencer's composure shattered completely. Tears streamed down his face as the weight of his grief, mingled with the surreal hope of what he thought he'd seen, overwhelmed him. Emily, her heart breaking for him, pulled him into her room and embraced him tightly, trying to offer comfort.

Inside, Emily felt like she was teetering on a precipice, the deceit weighing heavily on her conscience. Holding Spencer as he sobbed, she felt the acute sting of guilt—like the worst person, dead or alive, for keeping such a monumental secret from someone who was more like a brother to her.

—

In the dimly lit motel room, the tension was palpable as you recounted the latest development in your covert mission to Emily. The stark, functional space was a far cry from the comforts of home, echoing the stark reality of the path you had chosen.

"I got him, that's four down," you stated, your voice devoid of emotion, focusing solely on the task at hand. "Em, he's gone," you announced, your tone cold, almost detached, as if to shield yourself from the gravity of your actions.

"Gone? Like, gone gone?" Emily's voice was tinged with caution, her words measured, probing the depths of what 'gone' really meant in this clandestine war you were waging.

"Gone," you reaffirmed, the finality in your voice leaving no room for ambiguity.

"Phew, okay. Don't ever tell Hotch that," Emily sighed, a mix of relief and concern flickering across her face as she paced the cramped confines of the room. Her hands settled on her hips, a gesture that spoke of her inner turmoil. "How many does that leave?"

"Three. I’m so close I can taste it," you replied, a fierce determination lighting your eyes. The end was in sight, but with each step forward, the lines of morality blurred further.

"Y/N... I want them put away, gone, whatever, as much as you, but I need you to think about what you’re doing. Please, let us arrest them," Emily implored, her voice heavy with the responsibility of her role both as your confidante and as an FBI agent.

"I didn’t kill anyone, Emily," you snapped back, frustration and fatigue bleeding into your words. "He’s gone, he can’t hurt us anymore. He's not dead."

"I don’t even want to know," she murmured, her voice low, resigned to the complexities of the situation. Emily knew better than to press further; the less she knew about the specifics, the better she could maintain her role within the BAU and support you from a distance. "Okay, who’s next? What’s the next move?"

The conversation shifted back to strategy, both of you aware that each decision, each action taken, drew you deeper into a web from which there might be no untangling. The mission to dismantle the network that had terrorized your life and threatened your loved ones was nearing its critical phase, and with Emily's reluctant support, you prepared to face what came next, each step forward shadowed by the potential costs of the choices you were making.

—

In the bustling heart of the BAU, the sudden exclamation from Penelope Garcia broke through the usual hum of focused activity, drawing everyone's attention toward her tech-laden sanctuary. Her screens flickered with streams of data, her fingers danced across the keyboard, and her eyes were locked onto a particular piece of information that had just surfaced.

"Hotch! I got something," Penelope called out, her voice a mixture of excitement and urgency, beckoning the team leader to her side.

Hotch, his expression instantly shifting to one of focused concern, made his way quickly to Garcia's station, the rest of the team's eyes following him. They gathered around, curious and anxious about the potential breakthrough.

Penelope pointed to a specific line highlighted on her screen. "This right here, this was one of Diane's contacts," she explained, her voice steady despite the rapid pace of her discovery. "He was seen here in DC."

The revelation sent a ripple of alertness through the room. This contact could be a significant link in unraveling the network behind the threats and possibly lead them closer to understanding the full scope of the conspiracy that had ensnared you.

"Good work, Garcia," Hotch commended, his eyes scanning the information displayed. "Do we have any current visuals or known associates in the area?"

Penelope quickly typed away, pulling up additional data. "Working on it now, sir," she replied, her concentration absolute as she sifted through security feeds and intelligence reports.

As Garcia continued her search, Hotch turned to the rest of the team. "This could be a major lead. I want everyone on this—start pulling together all we know about Diane’s operations and any other contacts that might connect back to this one. Spencer, I need you to help Garcia with the profiling aspects. We need to anticipate their next moves."

—

The operation at the abandoned military building, initiated by Garcia's crucial lead, was intense and fraught with danger. The structure, looming and dilapidated, its windows boarded and the facade scarred by the elements, was a fitting hideout for the remnants of the criminal network that had caused so much turmoil.

Derek Morgan, with his characteristic blend of bravado and precision, took point as the team approached the shadowed entrance. With a powerful kick, he sent the door crashing open, splinters flying, as he bellowed, "FBI! Hands where we can see them!"

The interior was chaos incarnate. The suspects, caught by surprise but desperate, reacted violently. Gunfire erupted almost immediately, echoing off the hollow walls, as the team took cover. Commands were shouted, and the sound of scrambling feet mixed with the sharp reports of gunfire. Despite the chaos, the BAU team's training and resolve shone through. They moved with practiced efficiency, their actions coordinated under Hotch's calm directives.

It wasn’t long before the situation was under control, with each member of the crime circle detained, their plans for escape foiled by the team's decisive intervention. However, amidst the takedown, Spencer Reid's actions stood out. His usual composure was replaced by a raw, almost visceral intensity. Observing from a distance, Hotch saw Spencer deliver a fierce blow to one of the suspects who had tried to fight back. It was uncharacteristic, a clear sign of the deep-seated anger and pain that Spencer had been harboring.

Hotch understood the cathartic nature of Spencer's reaction; he knew the young agent needed to vent the pent-up emotions that had been simmering ever since your supposed death. It was a moment of human frailty, one that Hotch knew he would address later in a private conversation to ensure it didn’t spiral into something more destructive.

As the dust settled and the suspects were secured, Hotch’s mind turned to the daunting task ahead. The team was unaware of the full scope of what you and he had orchestrated. The truth about your survival, hidden under layers of deceit and protective maneuvers, was going to surface, and Hotch was acutely aware that the revelation would not be received lightly. The trust they had in him, and potentially in you, would be tested.

He contemplated the right moment and the right words to use, knowing that the bond of the team, the very cohesion that made them effective, could be jeopardized by the forthcoming disclosure. Forgiveness, he knew, was not guaranteed, but necessary for healing.

—

As Hotch and Emily prepared to meet with Spencer, the weight of what they were about to disclose hung heavily in the air. Choosing a neutral location, they rented a separate room in the motel you’d been staying in to ensure privacy for the sensitive conversation.

Upon Spencer's arrival, his knock was met with a quick response. "Spencer, come in," Hotch greeted, his voice betraying none of the apprehension he felt.

As Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately found Emily seated casually on the bed. His mind raced through a myriad of possibilities, his initial confusion giving way to a fleeting, inappropriate guess at their intentions. However, as Emily gestured for him to take a seat, it became clear that the gravity of the situation was far from what his fleeting thoughts had entertained.

"Spencer, this is hard, but we have something we need to tell you," Emily began, her tone serious, cutting through any lingering misconceptions.

Hotch took over, his expression somber. "I need you to know, Spencer, that everything we did was for the protection of the team and all of our loved ones. And at the request of Y/N."

The mention of your name caused a visible reaction in Spencer. He stiffened, his face paling slightly as the name he'd mourned in silence was spoken aloud. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice tight with a mix of hope and rising anger.

"Y/N...she’s—she’s alive," Emily stated bluntly, her words deliberate.

"That's not funny," Spencer snapped, standing up quickly, his chair clattering to the floor. The suggestion seemed cruel, a twisted joke at his expense.

"Reid, it's not a joke," Hotch intervened firmly, stepping forward to emphasize the truth of their words. "She never died that day in the warehouse. She went into hiding."

Spencer's reaction was immediate and fierce. "You're telling me this now? After how long—how long have you both known about this?" His voice rose, a sharp edge of betrayal slicing through the thickening tension in the room.

"Spencer, please understand, we—" Emily tried to interject, her face a mask of sympathy and regret.

"No, don't 'Spencer, please' me, Emily!" Spencer cut her off, his voice laced with sarcasm and hurt. "You both lied to me. To all of us. How could you possibly justify that?"

Hotch met Spencer's gaze steadily, recognizing the pain and anger boiling over in the younger man. "It was Y/N's decision, to protect everyone. We were respecting her wishes, Spencer."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to accept that? That you all decided my mental and emotional torture was worth the cause?" Spencer's voice was cold, his usually warm eyes now sharp and accusing.

"We thought we were doing the right thing, Reid," Hotch replied, his voice even but firm. "I know it's hard, but she did it thinking of you, of all of us."

Spencer shook his head, his emotions a whirlwind of anger, relief, and unresolved grief. "Hard doesn’t even begin to cover it, Hotch. Not even close."

The room fell silent, the heavy truth settling around them like a shroud. His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tensed visibly as he stood towering over the small coffee table separating him from Emily and Hotch. His voice was sharp, laced with a bitter edge that neither of them had often heard before.

"This is some kind of sick test, right?" Spencer snapped, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You pull me in here, say something like that—"

"Spencer, please," Emily interjected, her voice steady but her eyes revealing the strain of the moment. "It's the truth. Y/N is alive. She's been in hiding. We couldn't tell you—"

"Couldn't tell me?" Spencer's laugh was hollow, humorless. "Or you chose not to tell me? Which one, Emily? Because last I checked, we're supposed to trust each other."

Hotch stood up, his presence a calming force in the room, though it did little to soothe Spencer's frayed nerves. "We did it to protect her and everyone else involved. It was Y/N's decision, and she specifically asked us to keep it from the team until it was absolutely safe. You of all people know the dangers that come with our line of work."

"That doesn't give you the right to lie to me, to us!" Spencer’s voice rose, a rare flash of anger crossing his normally composed demeanor. "To fake her death? Do you have any idea what that did to me? To all of us?"

"We understand it was hard, Spencer," Hotch said, his tone softening. "But we had no other choice. The threat was too great, and it still is. That's why we're telling you now—because we need you to understand and to help us finish this, the right way."

Spencer shook his head, his anger mingling with a resurgence of pain, the old wound torn open anew. "And you think just telling me this now makes it all okay? That it justifies everything?"

"It's not about justification," Emily added gently. "It's about trust, and yes, we're asking a lot of you. We're asking you to trust us now, after we've kept this from you. But we need you, Spencer. Y/N needs you."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Spencer's shoulders slumped slightly, the initial surge of anger giving way to a complex storm of relief, betrayal, and confusion. He sat back down slowly, his mind racing as he processed the enormity of what he'd just been told.

"I need to see her," Spencer said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I need to hear this from her."

"And you will," Hotch assured him. “But right now, we just need to ensure it's completely safe—"

Hotch's assurance was cut short by Spencer's sharp retort, the anger and betrayal he felt boiling over. "No fucking buts," he seethed, each word dripping with venom.

"Spencer," Emily chided, taken aback not just by his tone but by the raw edge of his language.

"Emily," Spencer shot back mockingly, his patience frayed to its very ends. "Where is she? Take me now or accept my resignation from the BAU."

The room fell into a charged silence, Hotch and Emily exchanging a look that conveyed the gravity of Spencer's ultimatum. Hotch knew this was no idle threat; Spencer's entire demeanor screamed of a man pushed to his limits.

Understanding the stakes, Hotch pulled out his phone without breaking eye contact with Spencer. He quickly sent you a text, concise and to the point, indicating he was bringing Spencer to your location. Once the message was sent, he pocketed his phone and stood, gesturing toward the door with a nod.

"Come on then," Hotch said, his voice firm, as he led the way out of the room and down the breezeway.

The walk was tense, each step echoing hollowly in the corridor as Spencer followed, his mind racing with a tumult of emotions—anger, anticipation, confusion. What would he say? What would he do? The scenarios played out in his head in a relentless loop.

Finally, they arrived at your door. Hotch knocked, a formal, almost perfunctory sound against the heavy wood. Spencer held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of dread and desperate hope coursing through him.

The door swung open slowly, revealing you standing there, alive, a sight that was both immensely relieving and incredibly infuriating to Spencer. For a moment, he could only stare, taking in the reality of you—so familiar yet so distant after everything that had transpired.

The moment was fraught with tension, a silent standoff as emotions swirled palpably in the air. Spencer's relief at seeing you alive was overshadowed by a barrage of questions and accusations, his previous affections now tangled with a sense of betrayal.

“Hi, Spence.”

The moment you spoke, a simple greeting barely above a whisper, the atmosphere thickened palpably. Spencer's gaze was intense as he took in your appearance, noting every change that the months of separation and stress had etched into your features. The person before him was both deeply familiar and unsettlingly altered. You looked worn, shadows beneath your eyes, and a tension in your posture that spoke volumes about the ordeal you had endured.

The sight of you, so changed yet still unmistakably you, ignited a complex torrent of emotions in Spencer. The pain of your loss, the relief of your presence, and the sharp sting of betrayal all collided in a devastating rush.

"Fuck you," he spat, the words harsh, laced with hurt and anger. Without another word, he turned sharply, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he stormed off, leaving the tension of the room to coil tighter in his wake.

Hotch, standing a few steps behind, remained silent, his expression grim. He understood the depth of Spencer's reaction, the relief and betrayal too potent to process in the heat of such a sudden reunion.

Emily, who had lingered by the doorway, gave you an apologetic look, her eyes conveying sympathy and concern. She knew the road to reconciliation, if it was even possible, would be long and fraught with emotional landmines.

As Spencer's retreating figure disappeared around the corner, the reality of the situation settled in. The revelation of your survival, meant to be a moment of shocking relief, had instead reopened wounds that had never fully healed.

—

Spencer's return to work was a study in silent turmoil. He moved through his days mechanically, engaging only when absolutely necessary and avoiding any unnecessary interaction, particularly with Hotch and Emily. The news of your survival and return had been a bombshell he was still struggling to process, and his feelings were a tangled mess of betrayal, anger, and an unwillingness to face the new reality that you were back, alive and in the same space as him.

When you officially returned to the BAU, the team's reactions were mixed. While betrayal hung heavy in the air, time and distance from the initial shock allowed some semblance of forgiveness to seep through the cracks of strained relationships. As you walked in, the emotions were palpable: hugs were exchanged, tears were shed, and in a moment of overwhelming emotion, Penelope, the heart of the team, slapped you, only to burst into tears and apologize profusely soon after. Despite the rocky reception, it was clear there was relief mingled with the hurt, a complex welcome back.

Observing your old desk, untouched and exactly as you left it, you couldn't help but express your surprise. "Wow, my desk hasn't been touched?" you remarked, a mix of nostalgia and sadness in your tone.

Derek chuckled sadly before responding, "Reid wouldn't let us move your things."

At Derek's words, Spencer, who had been passing by, couldn’t hold back his biting retort. "She was fucking dead, you can trash it all now for all I care," he spat venomously, his words laced with unresolved anger.

The harshness of his comment drew a heavy sigh from Hotch, who had been monitoring the team's dynamics closely. Knowing he needed to address Spencer's ongoing struggle, he called him into his office for a private conversation.

"Look, you don’t have to be okay with what happened, or forgive any of us," Hotch began, his voice steady yet empathetic, understanding the depth of Spencer's pain. "But you do have to be professional. We're a team, and we need to function as one, regardless of personal feelings."

Spencer, standing rigidly across from Hotch, his jaw set and his eyes cold, listened without responding. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger at the deceit, sorrow for the past, and a grudging acknowledgement of Hotch’s words.

—

Your first week back at the BAU was a tightrope walk of navigating old connections and mending frayed bonds. By the end of it, you realized a conversation with Spencer was inevitable and necessary. The tension had been palpable, and his avoidance was a clear sign of unresolved issues between you two. With a tentative breath, you approached him, your voice carrying a mix of hesitation and resolve.

"Spencer… hi, I just have a quick question," you started, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"What?" His response was curt, clipped with an edge that made you flinch slightly, though you weren't entirely surprised.

"Um, well all of my things are still at the apartment. I guess I was wondering if I could come get them? Or I could have movers do it, I—I found an apartment," you explained, the words tumbling out more quickly than you intended.

Spencer's reaction was immediate, his stomach twisting painfully at the implication of your words. "You’re—you’re not going to live with me anymore?"

"I didn’t—I didn’t think you would want me to," you replied softly, the hesistence evident in your voice.

"Of course I want you to, I mean, Jesus Christ, I don't know. Maybe you're right, maybe I don’t," Spencer confessed, his emotions raw and conflicted.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for the conversation that needed to happen. "I think we need to talk about more than living arrangements…"

"No shit, Y/N." Spencer's reply was deadpan, his frustration boiling over. "You can come home tonight, for a bit."

"Okay, okay. Of course. I'll see you at, let's say 7?" you proposed, hoping to set a definite time for what would undoubtedly be a difficult discussion.

"Yeah," he agreed, albeit tersely.

As Spencer turned to walk away, not wanting to extend the conversation any longer than necessary, Emily, who had overheard the exchange, called out to him. "Reid!" She jogged to catch up to him at the elevators, but he ignored her initial call.

"Spencer," she tried again, her tone pleading, "please."

"What, Prentiss?" he snapped, his use of her last name marking a clear sign of his irritation and distancing.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and—and I hope tonight goes well," Emily offered, her apology sincere, though it did little to soften Spencer's demeanor.

"Hey, maybe don’t fucking eavesdrop and focus on not being a shitty friend instead?" Spencer retorted sharply, his words cutting through the air like a knife. He didn't wait for her response, stepping into the elevator and disappearing from view, leaving Emily standing in the hallway, her expression one of regret and concern.

The elevator doors closed on Spencer, encapsulating him in his turmoil, a storm of anger, betrayal, and lingering affection swirling chaotically within him. Tonight’s conversation would be a turning point, one way or another.

—

At precisely seven in the evening, you stood outside the apartment that had once felt like a sanctuary, a place filled with love and shared secrets. Now, it held a different energy, charged with tension and unresolved conflicts. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door, bracing yourself for the conversation ahead.

Spencer opened the door swiftly, his expression unreadable. He stepped aside to let you in, his movements precise, controlled. "Before you say it again, no, nothing has been touched," he stated right away, his tone a mixture of resignation and bitterness.

You nodded, taking in the familiar surroundings that now seemed somewhat foreign. "It looks nice, I missed being here," you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

"Yeah, well I missed you being alive, and now I miss when you didn't lie to me and fake your death!" Spencer retorted with mock enthusiasm, his words sharp, each one landing like a blow.

You couldn’t help but wince slightly at his tone, the raw edge in his voice a clear reflection of the pain he felt. "You got me there," you admitted with a sad chuckle, acknowledging his anger and the legitimacy of his feelings. "Can I explain why I did it?"

"You better," he responded tersely, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, his posture defensive yet expectant.

With a heavy sigh, you began to unravel the story, the words heavy with the weight of the decisions you had made. "When the threats started coming in, they weren't just directed at me—they were aimed at everyone I care about, including you. The people we were up against... they made it clear they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted. I couldn't risk your safety, or the team's."

You paused, the heaviness of the moment settling around you as you searched Spencer's face for any sign of softening, any hint that he might understand the depth of the desperation that had driven your actions.

"They, um, they got to Sam,” you managed to say, your voice breaking into a sniffle. Sam had been your closest confidant, a spy much like Emily once was—a detail Spencer was unaware of, which fueled a fresh wave of anger within him.

The revelation that there were still secrets kept from him, critical pieces of your life and decisions made without his knowledge, stirred a renewed turmoil in Spencer. His brow furrowed deeper, confusion and betrayal etching his features as he processed the new information.

You drew a deep breath, steadying yourself as you pieced together the narrative that had dictated your life for the past tumultuous months. "Sam was highly trained, I think they went for them first to show how serious they were. I knew if they started there, it wouldn’t be long before they got to my family, or you. And the thought of losing you was more than I could bear."

The words hung heavily in the air, laden with the gravity of the choices you had faced, each decision infused with a desperate instinct to protect.

"I thought by faking my death, by disappearing, it would draw their focus away from you, from everyone. It was supposed to be temporary, just until we could neutralize the threat," you explained further, your voice thick with emotion and regret. Each word was a plea for understanding, a bridge you hoped would span the chasm of hurt and betrayal that had opened between you and Spencer.

The room felt smaller, the air between you charged with tension and unspoken questions as you awaited his response, hoping for understanding, yet bracing for further backlash.

"It was the hardest decision I've ever made," you continued, your voice faltering slightly. "Leaving you, lying to you... it went against everything I believed in. But I did it because I believed it was the only way to keep you safe. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now how much hurt it caused."

The room was thick with emotion, the air charged with the weight of revelations. Spencer pushed off from the wall, his movements slow as he approached you. The distance between you felt immense, filled with months of pain and separation.

Spencer's anger, simmering just beneath the surface, erupted as he struggled to reconcile your reasons with his own harrowing experience.

"Let me get this straight…” he seethed, his words laced with a palpable bitterness. “You faked your death, let me believe I lost you because you couldn't stand the thought of losing me? That sounds a bit fucking selfish, now doesn't it?"

You tried to interject, to explain further, but Spencer was relentless, his pain turning his usual precise speech into a torrent of raw emotion. "Spen—"

“Why was watching you die supposed to be better for me?” he cut in sharply, not allowing you to get a word in edgewise.

“I—I,” you stuttered, floundering under the intensity of his gaze and the force of his anger.

“I—I, nothing. Because it wasn’t. I mourned, grieved, suffered. I watched. You. Die.” His words were punctuated, each sentence a hammer strike, his voice rising with each syllable, expressing the depth of his anguish.

Seeing Spencer in such raw, unguarded turmoil was a stark deviation from the composed, analytical person you knew. The pain etched across his features, the fury in his voice—it was all too much, a vivid portrayal of the deep scars your actions had left on him.

"I'm so sorry, bug," you murmured instinctively, using the affectionate nickname that had always been reserved for softer, happier times.

"Don't!" he exploded, his voice filling the space between you with a harsh, jarring intensity. His next word was softer, but no less intense, "don't," he repeated, the anger subsiding into a plea.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, it slipped out," you quickly apologized, realizing too late the mistake of using such a personal term in such a fraught moment.

Spencer stepped back, putting physical distance between you as if the space could help shield him from the emotional barrage. His next question was quieter, vulnerable, "Did you think about me? At all?"

The simplicity of the question, asked with such genuine uncertainty, twisted at your heart. "Spencer... every single day," you responded, your voice thick with emotion. "The thought of getting back to you was the only thing keeping me going."

"Don't you dare say that to me," he snapped, turning his back to you abruptly, a clear signal of his overwhelming feelings of hurt and betrayal. His body language closed off any further attempts at consolation or explanation.

You stood there, helpless, watching his shoulders tense as he wrestled with the revelations and his own feelings. The divide between what you had intended with your actions and how they had devastated him was now painfully clear. This conversation, necessary as it was, had unearthed a torrent of pain and resentment that wouldn't easily be soothed.

"Where do we go from here?" you asked, your voice a mere whisper, almost drowned out by the gravity of the moment.

Spencer paused in his pacing, a physical manifestation of his inner unrest, and faced you. "I don't know, I'm really, really fucking mad at you," he admitted bluntly, his voice a raw edge of honesty that cut through the tense air.

You nodded, accepting his anger as just and warranted. "I know," you replied softly.

"I’m mad at Hotch and Emily too, and it’s your fault," Spencer continued, his frustration spreading outward, casting a wider net of blame.

"Don't be mad at them, please. They were just helping me," you tried to explain, hoping to shield your friends from his anger.

"And lying to me! God, Y/N, I buried you, I gave a eulogy!" His voice rose, the pain evident in his exclamation, each word underscored by a memory of grief.

Your heart ached anew, the sorrow palpable. "Oh, Spencer, that must have been so hard," you murmured, your voice tinged with genuine remorse.

"Were you there?" he suddenly asked, a sharp turn in the conversation that caught you off guard.

"What?" you were taken aback, not fully grasping his meaning at first.

He fixed his gaze on you again, intensifying. "Were you at the funeral? Hiding somewhere? Did you have to listen?" he demanded, his inquiry sharp, seeking uncomfortable truths.

"No... I wasn’t there," you responded quietly, the truth laying bare another layer of separation between what he had experienced and what you had chosen.

Without another word, Spencer turned abruptly and stormed off towards his office, leaving you frozen in place, rooted by fear and regret. Moments later, he returned, holding a piece of paper — his eulogy, written for a ghost. "Allow me to share," he spoke cruelly, the words dripping with bitterness.

He thrust the paper into your hands, his eyes not leaving yours, challenging, daring you to read the words he had prepared to say over what he believed was your final resting place. The paper trembled in your grip, each word a testament to his grief and the depth of his betrayal.

“I mourned someone who was alive, who had decided that faking her death was better than trusting the people who loved her,” Spencer simmered, his voice sharp as a blade.

You looked down at the eulogy, the words blurring as tears welled up in your eyes. “Spencer, I...”

“No,” he cut you off sharply, stepping back. “You chose this path. You chose silence and deception. How am I supposed to move past that? How are any of us? You can at the very least read what I felt, I hope it hurts.”

The room felt suffocatingly small as the reality of what had been broken between you settled in. Spencer’s words were a clear signal of the chasm that had formed, a divide possibly too wide to bridge. He had shared his pain in the most tangible way, leaving you to grapple with the enormity of the hurt you had caused.

As he turned back to his office, leaving you standing there with the eulogy in hand, the silence that followed was a painful reminder of all that had been lost and the long, uncertain road ahead if there was ever to be reconciliation.

—

When Great Trees Fall

Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance, fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of

dark, cold

caves.

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

—

Reading Spencer's eulogy, filled with such heartfelt pain and profound love, shattered the last defenses around your heart. It was as though all the sorrow you'd held at bay came crashing down, overwhelming you with a grief so intense it felt physical. His words, "I’m glad I got to spend your life with me, even if I can’t spend mine with you," echoed in your mind, each syllable a poignant reminder of what had been lost between you two. The emotional weight was nearly unbearable, leaving you feeling as if death, the one you had faked to protect him, was now clutching at your soul for real.

Once you managed to gather yourself, a semblance of composure clinging by a thread, you dragged your feet to Spencer's office. The door was open, and you paused at the frame, leaning heavily against it. When Spencer looked up and saw the raw anguish on your face, his heart constricted with conflicting emotions. On one hand, seeing you so broken stirred a vindictive satisfaction within him; on the other, it tore at him, hating to see the woman he loved in such profound despair.

"Did you read it all?" Spencer's voice was soft, cautious as he watched you struggle with your emotions.

You nodded, barely managing to keep the sobs at bay. Speaking was beyond your capability at that moment; even breathing felt like a chore.

Spencer observed you with a complexity of feelings churning inside him. "You loved Maya Angelou," he started, his voice trailing off a bit, "but you didn’t like that poem, it made you sad."

You sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself, a meager attempt to find some solace in the hold of your own embrace.

"Y/N…this isn’t forgiveness, but—" Spencer hesitated, his offer hanging in the air, "—do you need a hug?"

Your response was immediate and desperate, "Oh god, please," you sobbed out, rushing into his lap. The physical proximity to Spencer, once so normal and now so charged, brought a rush of comfort and more tears.

You curled into him, your arms around his shoulders, your face buried in his neck, and your body fitting into his lap as if molded to be there. Spencer, after a brief moment of hesitation, wrapped his arms around you as well. One hand gently stroked your hair while the other soothingly scratched your back. He couldn’t help but inhale deeply; you smelled different, tainted by the generic scents of motel life, yet underneath it all was your natural scent—a reminder of countless shared moments, grounding him even in the midst of turmoil.

In that embrace, a silent acknowledgment passed between you both. This wasn’t reconciliation, nor was it forgiveness, not yet. It was a moment of mutual need, a complex dance of grief, love, and countless unspoken words, each seeking solace in the simple presence of the other amidst the chaos of emotions unleashed by your return and the revelations that followed.

—

After the intensity of the emotions shared in that long, clinging hug, a tangible shift occurred between you and Spencer. As the wave of your sobs finally subsided, Spencer, with a gentle firmness, eased you from his lap. It was clear he needed some space, a moment to gather his own scattered emotions, and you understood immediately. The depth of what had transpired, the shared physical comfort, had been a momentary reprieve in the storm, not a resolution. With a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, you whispered a tearful goodbye, preparing to leave, feeling the ache of separation anew.

As you reached the door, Spencer's voice stopped you. It was hesitant, filled with a vulnerability you hadn't heard in a long time. "Don’t move into an apartment, I want to try," he said, his words tentative yet filled with a profound significance.

You turned around, gasping slightly at the implication of his words. There was hope there, a delicate thread of possibility that perhaps not all was lost between you two. His statement, simple yet heavy with meaning, suggested a willingness to mend the fractures, to rebuild from the debris of heartache and deception. You nodded, unable to form words, your heart swelling with a mix of relief and cautious optimism.

Feeling a sense of hope for the first time in over a year, you left Spencer’s apartment with a sense of hope. Spencer’s words echoed in your mind, a promise of potential reconciliation and healing. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be fraught with challenges, but the mere possibility of trying, of working through the layers of hurt and betrayal together, was a balm to your bruised heart.

—

The situation was precarious. The joy of knowing you were alive was shadowed by a chaos of emotions Spencer couldn't neatly categorize or understand, and in a moment of weakness, he turned to the one thing he had avoided for years—alcohol. The few bottles you had left behind became his solace for the evening, a poor substitute for dealing with the whirlwind inside him.

When his call came through in the middle of the night, your heart skipped a beat at the sound of the special ringtone you had set for him—a signal of the deep bond you still shared despite everything.

“Hello? Spencer? What's going on?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and concern.

“Y/N!! What's up?” Spencer's voice was unusually buoyant, slurred with the unmistakable tinge of inebriation.

“I'm sleeping, bug. Are you drunk?” your words were tinged with worry, not just for his state of intoxication but for the underlying turmoil that must have driven him to it.

“Bug,” he giggled, a sound so out of character that it tugged at your heartstrings. “Why do you call me that? Do I look like a bug? You look like an angel, you almost were an angel.”

The mix of humor and pain in his voice was disconcerting. “Spencer…” you began, trying to steer the conversation into calmer waters.

“Did you know I almost called my old dealer? I wanted to forget so bad, your death made me want to do drugs. Isn’t that crazy?” His tone was light, almost flippant, but the words struck a deep, alarming chord.

Hearing him so vulnerable and on the edge, you knew you had to act. “Spencer, bug, I'm going to come over, okay? Are you home?” you asked, already pulling on your clothes, preparing to head out.

Spencer laughed, a sound that was more unnerving than reassuring. “Duh, love!”

“I’ll be there in 15,” you assured him, your voice firm, trying to convey both your love and your resolve.

“Make sure you aren't wearing anything!” he called out just as you were about to hang up, his judgment clearly impaired.

Ignoring his inappropriate comment, you quickly gathered your things. The drive over was tense, your mind racing with worry about what state you'd find him in and how you could help steer him back from the brink. This was a Spencer you hadn't seen before—raw, unraveling, and dangerously close to old demons.

—

As you stood outside Spencer's apartment, your concern heightened by the minute, you called out softly yet urgently, "Spencer! Open up, please!" It was late, and your voice was hushed to avoid waking the neighbors, but the silence from inside the apartment only fueled your worry.

When there was no response, you swiftly used your old key, the one you'd luckily thought to bring, anticipating a situation like this might arise. Pushing the door open, you stepped quickly inside, scanning the apartment for any sign of Spencer.

You found him in the bathroom, a heart-wrenching sight: curled over the toilet, visibly shaken and unwell. "Oh, baby," you murmured as you knelt beside him, "I'm here, do you need anything?"

"I need you," he sobbed through gags, his voice desperate and raw.

"I'm here, Spence. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," you reassured him, rubbing his back gently as he heaved, trying to soothe him with your presence and touch.

Once the worst of his nausea had passed, you helped Spencer to his feet and supported him as you both made your way to the bedroom—what had once been your shared space. You carefully propped him up with pillows and fetched him a glass of water.

"Drink," you instructed gently, raising the glass to his lips. He complied, taking large gulps of water, his actions still a bit clumsy from intoxication. "How much did you drink?"

"Your wine," he mumbled, leaning forward to rest his head against your chest, seeking comfort in your closeness.

"How many bottles?" you pressed, trying to assess just how much alcohol he had consumed.

"Two," he admitted, his voice muffled against you.

"Oh, Spencer…why?" you asked softly, concern and sadness threading through your words.

"I miss you...but you're right here." His words were a poignant reflection of his struggle to reconcile the you he had lost with the you who was now before him. "It’s like...I can't put together the you that's sitting here," he continued, taking a deep, shuddering breath, "and the you I watched die. How did you not die?"

You began to scratch his hair gently, a familiar gesture that always soothed him. "Let's not talk about that right now," you suggested with a soft smile, wanting to keep the mood light and focused on his immediate comfort.

He huffed a bit childishly, the alcohol still loosening his inhibitions. "Okay. Can you get naked then?" he asked, half-serious.

"Spencer!" you laughed, both amused and a bit shocked by his bluntness.

"What? It’s been a long time, a guy's got needs," he retorted, his tone playful yet earnest, clearly still under the influence. Your laughter filled the room, a light moment amidst the heavy emotional backdrop.

Spencer's playful inquiries, despite his inebriated state, lightened the mood, and you couldn't help but respond with warmth and amusement. His words, though tinted with alcohol's bluntness, reminded you of the intimacy that had once defined your relationship.

"Okay big boy, how’s this, I’ll spend the night, and you can ask me in the morning?" you suggested softly, your smile attempting to bridge the gap between comfort and the promise of discussing things more seriously once he was sober.

"Mmm, I like it when you call me big boy... Are you going to sleep in our bed?" Spencer's voice held a hint of hope, his earlier flirtatiousness blending with a genuine desire for closeness.

"Yeah, Spence, I can," you affirmed, committing to staying close, to help anchor him through the night's emotional turbulence.

"Naked?" he ventured again, half-teasing, half-serious.

"Spencer!" you laughed even harder, shaking your head at his persistence.

Your laughter, mixed with gentle chiding, reminded both of you of the deeper connection that still lingered, resilient despite the trials. As the night settled around you, the decision to stay seemed to offer a tentative step towards reconciliation, a quiet acknowledgment of the unresolved feelings and the potential for healing that lay ahead.

—

Spencer lay awake for a few moments before you stirred, soaking in the reality of having you beside him once again. The complexity of the past year's events seemed to blur at the edges as he focused on the simple, profound comfort of your presence. As he gently brushed your hair away from your face, he was struck by a wave of affection and longing that had been suppressed under layers of grief and anger.

When you murmured his name, his heart swelled. "Good morning, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and filled with emotion.

Snuggling closer to him, you found solace in the warmth of his chest, a familiar haven that felt both nostalgic and right. "Morning, you feel so good," you mumbled, the words muffled against his skin, conveying more than just physical comfort—they hinted at the deep emotional connection that neither time nor circumstances had been able to erase.

"Yeah?" he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, a soft rumble of contentment that you felt more than heard.

You nodded, pressing a little more firmly into him, affirming your shared comfort. "Best pillow in the world," you declared, your voice a sleepy murmur of contentment as you pressed a kiss above his heart.

Your playful banter brought a lightheartedness that the room hadn't felt in a long time, lightening the weight of the past's shadows that had settled between you. Spencer’s heart lifted with every laugh and every teasing remark, feeling more like himself than he had in months.

“Thank you for coming over last night,” he said, his voice soft with genuine gratitude, feeling the echo of your kiss still warming his chest.

“Of course, bug. How are you feeling now?” you asked, your concern for his well-being shining through despite the jokes.

“Not great, definitely need some water, and a warm bath,” he admitted, rubbing his temples lightly.

“This isn’t another ploy to get me naked, is it?” you teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Spencer tensed for a moment, a flush of embarrassment coloring his face. “Oh god, I did that, didn’t I?”

“You did, but it’s okay. I’d say we’re even, but I’ll let you tease me for two years,” you replied, your smile broadening as you looked up at him, inviting a lightness back into the moment.

He sighed, half in exasperation, half in amusement. “Three years and you’re taking the trash out for the next month,” he countered, trying to maintain a semblance of negotiation despite the smile tugging at his lips.

“What?” you sat up abruptly, feigning shock but quickly breaking into laughter.

Spencer laughed too, a sound so warm and genuine it filled the room with an ease that had been missing. “I told you I want to try, I meant it.”

“So, I can live here again?” you asked, the question loaded with more than just the inquiry about moving back in; it was about rebuilding, about truly coming home.

“Do you want to?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with a nervous hope, his eyes searching yours for an affirmation.

You leaned forward and kissed him, a soft, meaningful gesture that spoke volumes. Your hands caressed his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. His hands responded instinctively, pulling you closer, securing you atop him in a gesture that reaffirmed his need for your presence.

“Is that a yes?” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and inviting.

“Yes, now can we make up for lost time? I heard a man has needs,” you whispered back, your voice playful yet thick with emotion.

Spencer’s response was a low chuckle, his arms tightening around you as he rolled, reversing your positions with a gentle but firm maneuver that spoke of his longing and the desire to reclaim the time and intimacy lost. The morning light, the soft sheets, and the rediscovery of each other's touch warming the pit of your stomach.

“Is that a gun in your pajamas or are you just happy to see me?” you smirked, teasing him playfully.

“It’s the morning, but I’m happy to see you, all of me is,” Spencer replied with a low, seductive tone, leaning down to gently bite your lip in a playful yet intimate gesture.

You gasped, delighted by the escalation, and put your hands on Spencer’s ass, pulling him closer into you. Spencer's lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, his kisses light yet purposeful, tracing a path that sent shivers down your spine.

"You know," he murmured against your skin, his hands deftly and gently lifting the bottom of your top to remove it fully, "I've thought about this, about you, about us, every day."

Your response was a breathless laugh, tinged with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you'd both been through. "And here I was thinking you might have forgotten me," you teased, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Spencer chuckled, the sound warm and rich, vibrating against your skin. "Forget you? Impossible. And God, you’re just as beautiful as I remember." His hands continued their gentle exploration, reaffirming his familiarity with you as he groped your breasts, twisting your nipples between his fingers. Each touch was reverent, as if he was memorizing you all over again.

The air between you grew warmer as you twisted and groaned, the morning light casting dancing shadows across the room as you moved together. Spencer leaned down then taking your nipple between his teeth and tugging, just how you liked. Your back arched, pulling on his hair harder and making him groan.

"Is this how you always greet people in the morning?" you whined, choking out the words as Spencer’s hands found the hem of your pants, pausing as if asking for permission without words.

"Only the ones I love," he replied seriously, looking into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. With a slow nod from you, the fabric slipped away, forgotten on the floor.

As Spencer’s exploration continued, his fingers danced across the fabric of your underwear, tracing the edges with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity in his eyes.

"You make it hard to stay mad at you," Spencer whispered, his voice low and husky with emotion. His fingertips brushed lightly over the delicate fabric, sending a shiver through your body. His touch was gentle as he familiarized himself with your core, as if rediscovering something precious that he thought he'd lost forever.

You responded with a soft moan, encouraging him with a slight arch of your back, pressing closer into his touch. "Maybe we should focus on making up for lost time instead of remembering," you suggested, your breath catching as his fingers pressed on your clit through the fabric with more confidence, his touch growing bolder.

Spencer smiled against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. "I like the way you think," he murmured, his hands gliding around to the small of your back, his fingers deftly and carefully making their way under the elastic. The slight tension of anticipation was palpable, your breaths mingling, quick and shallow.

As the last barriers of fabric were gently removed, you felt so vulnerable “Spence, bug, baby…can you please–,” you cut off with a moan as Spencer rubbed direct circles on your clit now. “Take off your pants, please. Want to see you.”

Spencer responded immediately to the soft urgency in your voice, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you both. There was a pause in his movements, a brief moment where his eyes locked onto yours the intensity of his gaze was a silent promise, reassuring and raw.

"Of course," he whispered back, his voice slightly rough with emotion. With a nod, he pulled back just enough to comply with your request. The sound of fabric sliding over skin mixed with the quiet breaths that filled the room. Soon, Spencer laid back on top of you, the last remnants of clothing discarded, his vulnerability matching yours.

The sight of him, bare and unguarded, reignited a familiar warmth that spread through your chest, an ache of longing and love that had been tempered by time and trials. As he returned to you, the space between you charged with anticipation, your hands reached out, tracing the lines and contours of his body that you had memorized long ago but felt like you were discovering all over again.

Spencer's hand resumed its place at your core, slipping a finger inside of you, his touch sending shivers across your skin. His movements were perfectly calculated, exactly what you needed, he knew how to play your body like an instrument. As he curled his long finger inside you, it brushed that sweet spot deep inside your walls, causing a deep whine to spill from your parted lips.

"Spencer!" His name was a plea, an acknowledgment, your voice carried through the quiet room, a mix of delight and affection.

Moved by the desire to reciprocate the overwhelming sensations, you reached down, intent on giving Spencer the same pleasure he was giving you. But Spencer, aware of his own limits after such a long separation, gently caught your hand as you grabbed his cock under the sheets.

"Oh, my love, darling, no. It will be over too soon if you do that, it’s been too long," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly with need and restraint. The sincerity in his plea, the raw admission of his vulnerability, made you pause, a giggle escaping you despite the intensity of the moment.

"That’s kind of sweet—OH," your words cut off abruptly as Spencer added another finger, allowing his palm to catch on your clit as he increased the pace, pounding into you. “Fuck! Fuck, oh my God, Spencer!” You cried, arching further than you thought possible.

Spencer's movements became faster if possible, trying to bring you to orgasm, not knowing if he’d last long enough once he was inside you.

"That's the spot, darling?" His voice was a low hum, filled with both satisfaction and anticipation as he sensed your approaching climax.

Unable to form coherent words, you simply nodded, the overwhelming sensations rendering you speechless. His chuckle was low and resonant, adding another layer of intimacy to the moment. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, a thrilling contrast to the warmth of your shared skin.

"Are you going to finish for me, love?" His words were both a question and a gentle command, spoken softly yet with an undeniable intensity that urged you closer to the edge.

His presence, so close and so attuned to your needs, enveloped you in a sense of complete trust and surrender. As you approached the brink, the world narrowed down to the here and now—the feel of Spencer, the sound of his voice, and the gushing of your core around his fingers.

“Fuck! I love you!” you screamed

Spencer slowed his motions, letting you calm down from your high. The intensity in his eyes softened as he processed your heartfelt declaration. The room was thick with emotion, tangible and raw.

"You love me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, vulnerability lacing his tone. It was clear he needed to hear your words again, to believe them fully in the context of everything that had happened.

"What?" You were still coming down from the intense high, your mind a bit hazy, but his question drew you back sharply to the moment.

"You said you love me, is that true? You mean it? Still?" His questions tumbled out, each one underscored by a yearning for reassurance.

"Spencer Walter Reid," you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze more directly. The use of his full name was both a playful and earnest touch. "I love you right now more than I loved you yesterday, and I'll love you more tomorrow than I do today."

His expression flickered with relief and lingering doubt. "What about a year ago?"

"I love you a year's worth more," you responded firmly, your voice steady and sure.

The simplicity and depth of your words seemed to reach him, a visible relaxation in his posture as if a weight he'd been carrying was lessening. There was a long pause, a silent communication as you both lay there, the emotional distance narrowing as understanding and love filled the gaps.

Spencer's response was a tender whisper, "I love you too," filled with relief and affection. He leaned up to kiss you deeply, a kiss that spoke of reunions, healing, and promises. It was a moment of pure connection, a reaffirmation of everything you meant to each other.

Breaking the kiss, you looked into his eyes, the playful sparkle returning to your own. "Spence?"

"Yes, love?" His reply was soft, the term of endearment slipping out naturally, a sweet note in the quiet of the room.

"Can we have sex now?" You mumbled out shyly, with a silly smile.

"Yes, love," he laughed, the sound rich and joyful, dispelling any remaining tension.

As Spencer leaned in to kiss you once again, the connection deepened with a palpable intimacy that seemed to resonate through the room. Each kiss was a deliberate exploration, his hands moved with a familiar reverence, tracing the contours of your body with a gentleness that spoke of profound love and respect.

The softness of your skin under his fingertips felt like the finest silk, each touch igniting sparks that seemed to travel through every nerve, awakening a hunger that had been suppressed by the pain and separation of the past months. Your responses to his touches, the soft moans and gentle sighs, encouraged him further, each sound a melody that he had longed to hear.

Your hands were not passive; they roamed across his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch, a silent dialogue of push and pull that drew you ever closer. The warmth of his body against yours felt like a balm, soothing away the remnants of any lingering pain, the physical closeness helping to heal the emotional scars.

As the pace of your heartbeats quickened, so did the rhythm of your movements together. Each motion was synchronized, a dance refined by years of intimacy and renewed in this moment of reunion. The emotional intensity of the connection made every touch, every kiss, feel more profound, filling the room with an energy that was as nourishing as it was exhilarating.

Lying there with Spencer, wrapped in his arms as the early morning light began to fill the room, you felt a peace that had been elusive for too long. It was as if each ray of sunlight was blessing your reunion, affirming the rightness of your being together. In these quiet moments, tangled in sheets and each other's arms, the world outside didn't matter. What mattered was the love that had survived the greatest test, emerging not just intact but stronger, a testament to both your resilience and the depth of your bond.

—

“What happened to all of my coffee?” You teased, turning around with the mostly empty canister in hand.

Spencer's response to your playful accusation about the coffee was met with an equally light-hearted rebuttal. "Okay first, it's stale," he quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

You narrowed your eyes in mock indignation, holding up the nearly empty canister. "Then why didn't you throw it out?" you challenged, enjoying the back-and-forth that felt so natural, so reminiscent of easier times.

"I could never throw anything of yours away," Spencer replied, his tone shifting to something more sincere, the levity fading into a genuine expression of his feelings.

"Spence, that is so sweet, baby," you said, walking over to him and cupping his cheek in your hand, touched by his sentimentality. "But I hope you threw away my lettuce, I know it wilted and I know you hate it."

He scoffed, a playful look returning to his eyes. "I do not hate lettuce, it just has no flavor!"

"You put it in salads and put dressings on it!" you countered, emphasizing the normal use of lettuce in a way that made him chuckle.

"Well, if you make it, I’ll eat it," he conceded, his tone softening as he looked at you, appreciating the lightness of your banter.

You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a more seductive whisper, trailing a nail down his chest suggestively. "As long as I can eat you," you teased, watching his reaction closely.

Spencer groaned and laughed simultaneously, a sound that was music to your ears. "I forgot how insatiable you are," he admitted, his eyes alight with amusement and something more—anticipation.

"Oh baby, you have no idea what's coming your way," you continued, your tone playful yet promising as you caught his nipple with your nail, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. "You didn't think you could get that haircut, put on this muscle, and I wouldn’t want to jump your bones?"

—

Walking into work hand in hand with Spencer, you both presented a united front that hadn’t been seen in a long time. The sight was indeed refreshing and brought a hopeful buzz to the team, who had been through so much uncertainty regarding the two of you.

Derek leaned back in his chair as you passed by. “Pretty boy, you forgive little miss?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, a hint of his usual teasing tone laced with genuine curiosity about the status of your relationship.

Spencer, without missing a beat and squeezing your hand slightly, replied with false seriousness, “No, just leading her on,” his eyes twinkling with mischief as he played along with Derek’s banter.

“Oh perfect,” Emily laughed from her desk nearby, relief evident in her voice. She caught your eye, giving you a small, hopeful smile, her own guilt and desire for forgiveness palpable. Her comment, though light-hearted, carried an undercurrent of hope that Spencer’s playful demeanor might be a good sign for their own reconciliation.

Spencer's smirk grew wider at Emily's response, and he gave a playful nod, “Yeah, she doesnt know though, can you keep a secret?”

"I think you know I can," Emily had said, her laugh echoing.

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