#dr. two brains x reader

[thewildsophia]

.For When I Don't Rember My Beloved. WordGirl//Dr. Two-Brains

Dr. Two-Brains/Steven Boxleitner x Reader

Word Count: 4130

"Read More" placed due to length

The henchmen Charlie and “Meatloaf” were the first to aid Dr. Two Brains in the cheese-centric havoc he rained over Fair City. Dr. Two Brains was a strange man, to say the least, but he was weird in an endearing way…ehh, kinda. But you must have thought so too since you were soon to join him, being recruited just a few days after them. 

It was strange really. One day you didn’t exist to them and the next Dr. Two Brains was strolling you into the lair stating that you would be his first in command and that they should report to you. Oh well, there's not much they can do otherwise.

At least you were nice enough. You didn’t yell and berate them like the doctor would — quite the opposite. You were kind and reasonable to them, never placing unattainable expectations on them. You were slow to anger, but they may catch you in a foul mood on a particularly awful day. Overall, you were very normal, very sane, and nothing like their boss which confused them so much about your sudden employment. Yet oddly enough you never told them your name, opting to have them address you as “Commander.” They’re not even sure they’ve heard Dr. Two Brains call you by your name either.

They figured the doctor valued you more than the actual henchmen since you were also a doctor yourself. You didn’t speak much about that fact, but the lab coat and PPE you always wore or at least had on hand clued them into the fact that you were probably an associate of his before his accident. When they asked you about what kind of doctor you were, you were very short in your response, only telling them you specialized in cellular biology and worked at the local hospital at one point.

They watched how you interacted with their boss and were shocked at your boldness towards him. You weren’t shy about voicing your concerns with his plans much to the boss’s dismay, frustrating him even more and forcing him to revise his plan twice, thrice, however many times until you were satisfied. Yet despite his irritation with your feedback, he always acted on what you said. In addition, you were the only one he let aid him in constructing his machinery. Your involvement would range from handing him tools to constructing parts of a larger machine depending on how complicated the schematic the doctor had drawn up, often time being tweaked by you before he began construction. You’d even talk to the boss about his health, pushing him to stay active even in small ways and to try and incorporate small items into his diet that weren’t just cheese. You’d even cook for the man!

To the henchmen, you seemed more like a friend to their boss rather than a worker, and they supposed that’s why you were his “First Commander” instead of another henchman. 

Yet Meatloaf couldn’t help but notice the longing looks you would shoot the doctor, an unreadable expression on your face. He listened to how you spoke firmly but gently to the boss, never once raising your voice no matter how belligerent and unreasonable he would become. Charlie saw the lingering touches you would brush against the doctor’s skin, not wanting to pull away yourself yet not having the heart to stand when the boss would inevitably push you away from him. He watched as you would care for him in small ways like organizing his tools or draping a blanket over him when he would pass out on the couch. They both figured you had feelings for their boss as strange as the man was. That would explain why you so willingly allowed yourself to be hired by their insane boss and why you did things that most certainly weren’t part of your job description.

Oh, how close yet so far they were from the truth with this idea in their mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You practically lived in the lair with Dr. Two Brains, so it was no surprise that you were there before Charlie or Meatloaf. What was surprising was that you were nowhere to be found when the two henchmen came in that morning. You’d usually be busying yourself with some minute task in the main part of the lair, yet today you were not there. 

Just a few minutes earlier, right before the two henchmen had arrived, you had been called over by Dr. Two Brains to help in his “office,” which was just a small back room that was mostly stable and had a partially functioning door on it. He said he wanted your input on his schematic for a ray that would turn gold into cheese. You didn’t go to him immediately, opting to finish what you were doing in the front of the lair before helping him. Your concentration drifted from that task when you heard the crashing of books and the scattering of papers coming from his office. 

You’re quick to sprint over to his office, calling out to him in worry all the way there.

“Doc?” You asked, rounding the corner of the hall, “You alright?” 

You peeked your head into his room to see it in complete disarray. Papers fluttered to the ground and the few reference books you had managed to steal get for him were scattered about without care. Your eyes were drawn to Two Brains in the corner, back against the wall, and head in his hands, his mouse brain pulsing.

He groaned as he tried to soothe his aching head, yet the pain would not let up. You slowly made your way over to him, tiptoeing over the scattered papers and open books. 

“I’m here, Doc,” You whispered, kneeling in front of him and placing a hand on his knee. If he knew you were there, he didn’t acknowledge you. His hands gripped his head harder with strands of his white hair sticking to the rubber of his gloves and slipping between his fingers. He muttered something, but you couldn’t understand him.

You scooted even closer and placed your hands on his own before gently pulling his fingers out of his hair, though they would not leave his head. You rubbed his hands through his gloves and softly spoke to him,

“I’m right here for you, Doctor. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll help you.”

Dr. Two Brains’ muttering stopped and his movements stilled. His hands gently gripped your own and slowly he let you pull his hands away from his face where you placed them on his knees.

His eyes were irritated and red-rimmed, much more than usual, and tears were caught in his whiskers on their way down his lithe face. His cheeks were flush, most likely from crying so hard and unable to breathe properly. He licked his lips and inhaled a shuddering breath before trying to speak again. He was unable to through his raw throat.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, rubbing your fingers comfortingly on his hands, “Just breathe.”

His dark eyes looked into your own E/C ones and for a moment you saw recognition in them. 

“Y/N?” Dr. Two Brains questioned, and it felt as if the breath was forced from your lungs. 

Eyes blown wide you’re silent for a moment, unable to force even a breath from your body. Your hands grip him harder and you feel your eyes burn from unseen tears and your face warm. Your bottom lip trembled but you forced your jaw to unclench and answered unsure,

“Steven?” And he hummed in response.

Dr. Two Brains, Steven, looked around the room and sniffed before looking back at you. 

“What’s…going on? Where are we?” Steven asked, but you were still unable to say anything in response. In an instance, you moved his knees aside and fell into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. He groaned from the hard impact, but quickly wrapped his own arms around you and rested his chin on your head with a chuckle. 

“What’s wrong, Darling? Why are…” Steven’s question trails off as he wipes the tears off his cheek, “We both crying?” 

You wanted to answer him, but you couldn’t force a single word from your mouth, opting to press your face harder into his chest and hug him tighter. You breathed in his scent, laced with some cheddar cheese but still him, before pulling away to look at him and God…

How long has it been since he’s looked at you like this? 

Eyes soft but still that rodent red, he gazed at you with so much love you felt as if you could just die of love for him. 

You steadied your breath and brought a hand up to cup his cheek, wiping away any remnant of his tears before answering him.

“Nothing's wrong,” You sighed, hands never once leaving his body, “I’ve just missed you so.”

Steven chuckles before kissing your cheek and you shuttered at the strange yet familiar sensation. He pulled you in closer to him, moving you to straddle his thigh that was outstretched in front of him, and pressed his cheek against yours in a movement that you hadn’t felt in so long yet remembered so well. His whiskers tickled your cheek the same way his stubble used to.

“You’re such a sweetheart. I’ve been in my lab the whole time, haven’t I?” Steven chuckled, “Where have I been to you?”

You tilted your head to kiss his cheek, not minding the gentle prodigy of his whiskers.

“I know where you’ve been,” You quickly answered, “I’ve just been busy in my own lab at the hospital.” You lied. You didn’t want to risk reminding him of who he had become. 

“The long hours, plus the strange times I have to work, have completely taken me away from you. I just miss being in your company,” You whispered.

Steven shifted you in his lap, pulling back and cupping your face with both his hands and the rubber of his gloves cooled your flushed cheeks. He peppered your face with light and innocent kisses; from your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, the space between your eyebrows, and finally one last kiss to your lips. You hummed into the kiss, one hand gripping his arm and the other trailing up to brush a few strands of hair out of his face. Eyes closed, he wiped the last of your tears from your face. 

Pulling back, Steven rested his forehead against yours and sighed.

“How did I manage to end up with such a loving spouse like you, hmm?” He questioned, eyes soft and unfocused as he looked at you with complete adoration. Your hands fall to his shoulders and you squeeze them, never wanting to let go of him again.

“No, it’s me who is lucky to have ended up with you, my beloved,” You answered in a hushed tone. You pressed your lips to his in a chaste, sweet kiss, savoring the feeling of his soft yet chapped lips against your own. 

The feeling of his body against your own was one you hadn’t felt in so long, yet it was all too familiar at the same time. Hesitantly you pulled away from him and immediately felt another wave of tears build up behind your eyes. You leaned forward and pressed your face into his neck with arms wrapped around his chest tighter than before. You tilted your face to speak into his neck,

“Please don’t leave me,” You whispered, voice small from the unshed tears that burned your face, “Not again. Not ever.” 

“Ohh, sweetheart…What has gotten into you?” Steven questioned, arms wrapped around your shaking frame, “I’d never leave you. Not now, not ever.”

You tried to wipe the tears that fell from your eyes not wanting to soil Steven’s lab coat, but you knew he never minded. He always said that he could just wash it.

Steven’s hands are gentle as they caress your body, careful not to snag his gloves on your clothes or pull your hair too hard. His touches soon falter before he pushes you away from him slightly and for a moment you’re worried that he would push you off of him altogether. 

With his hands on your shoulders and eyebrows furrowed, Steven finally takes a good look at you, his eyes trailing from your head to your feet, then back up to your face.

“Are you alright?” He asked, voice laced with worry, “You look so much thinner than I remember.” He commented. You tried to shrug off his concern, but he persisted. 

“And your eyes,” Steven began while tracing your under-eye with his thumb, “You’ve got terrible eye bags. Not that you look bad! You just seem…tired. More than usual.”

You placed your hand over top of his on your face and smiled softly, yet you knew you had to come up with a lie.

“If I’m honest, I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” You started, eyes drifting away from his own, “The long hours I’ve been putting in have made it difficult for me to rest at night. And being away from you hasn’t helped.”

You shifted under his gaze uncomfortable at the probing but still managed to finish.

“But I feel much better now that I’m with you,” You smiled, meeting his eyes again, but a frown had etched itself on his face.

“Y/N, please don’t lie to me,” Steven whispered, and you cursed yourself for having been caught, “What’s troubling you so much? Where have I been?” 

You frown yourself, gripping him harder and sniffling. You pulled his hand off your face and rested it in his lap, rubbing the tops of his hands with your thumbs. 

“You’ve just…been away,” You mutter, tears brimming in your eyes, “Away from me. I’ve missed you.”

“But where have I been?” Steven asked again.

“I-I don’t know. You’ve been here, but you just haven’t been yourself,” You answered while using your shoulder to wipe your face, “But you’re here now. You’re yourself now! I just want to stay with you…”

Steven pulled his hands from his lap and held your waist, kissing your cheek and shushing your sobs.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered against your skin, “I won’t leave you. I promise.”

You hugged him, arms wrapping your arms around his back and hooking them over his shoulders, and rested your head on his shoulder. His hands on your waist rubbed you gently and soothed the tension you hadn’t realized had settled there. You exhaled a shuddering breath before speaking up,

“I love you, Steven,” You sighed. He holds you tighter.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Steven responded.

Your right-hand falls from where it was resting and trails down his left arm to his hand. There was still something you needed to know. Slowly, Steven lets you pull the glove off his hand and it falls to the floor.

You feel a sob bubble up your throat as your eyes lay on the simple gold band nestled on his slender ring finger. You can’t help but caress the ring, relieved that he still wore it even when he wasn’t Steven. Shakily, you lifted his hand to your face and kissed his knuckles. Pulling away, you lace your fingers together and smile at him, a smile that he returns. 

Steven’s grasp on your hand falters before his arm falls limp. He looks around the room with furrowed eyebrows and gears turning in his head. 

“Why am I on the floor?” Steven asked, voice hoarse and not the same tone he had been speaking to you with. He shifted back from you and you in turn moved away from him.

“Please, just stay a little longer,” You thought, but you knew your plea would not be answered.

“And why are you sitting on me?” Steven, no, Dr. Two Brains asked, and you’re quick to pull away altogether. The doctor rubs his hand subconsciously and quickly notices his left glove is missing. He looks around panicked before finding it on the floor and swiftly pulling it on his hand and over his elbow. He rubs where his ring is under the glove and glares at you.

“What’s going on here?” Dr. Two Brains asks again, yet you couldn’t come up with a lie quick enough, “Answer me, Commander!”

“I-You fell!” You exclaimed, moving to kneel in front of him, “You fell after you called me to look at your schematics. I was just making sure you didn’t hit your head too hard is all…” Your voice trailed off as determination seemed to die down in your throat. 

Dr. Two Brains glares at you for a moment longer before his face softens, but it’s clear his suspicion remains.

“Right…” He draws out while swatting your outstretched hand away and lifting himself to his feet, “Did you look at the schematics yet?” 

“No, not yet,” You answered, dusting the dirt off your pants and fixing your coat. 

“What am I paying you for then?” Dr. Two Brains groaned while pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. He opened them a moment later, sighing and looking over to the door of his office.

“And why are you guys just standing around?!” The doctor shouted, drawing your attention to the two henchmen standing in the doorframe. 

“Just how long had they been standing there?”

From the look they gave you, it was clear they had been there long enough.

“Sorry, Boss. We’ll get right back to work,” Meatloaf said before motioning for Charlie to follow him. They glanced at you one last time before disappearing somewhere in the lair. 

Dr. Two Brains turned back to you and just as he opened his mouth to say something he cut himself off, unsure.

“Are you crying?” Dr. Two Brains asked. 

“Were you crying?” You thought as your eyelids fluttered and you tapped your undereye with your fingertip, immediately noting the moisture there. 

“Uh-” You stutter, unsure of how to answer him. You felt that an affirmative ‘yes’ would make things more awkward than it already was.

“Oh, geez. I didn’t think I was that harsh,” Dr. Two Brains said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Was I?” 

“No-” You clear your throat while trying to quickly dispel the discomfort that had gathered between you two, “It’s nothing. Just…allergies!” 

You scrubbed the tears from your eyes roughly and stood up straight, yet Dr. Two Brains was still cautious.

“Um, alright,” He muttered, “Just look over the schematics when you can.” He gestured to his desk before sitting down himself. You’re quick to pick up the offending schematics and scurry out of his office with a teary-eyed smile.

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer than it should have, his hand subconsciously coming up to caress the golden band on his left hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You found yourself on the upper side of the lair on a “balcony” of sorts, schematics long discarded on a table in the main room. You’d look later. You pull the cigarette from your lips in your left hand, exhaling that smoke in one big sigh. 

Bad habit, you know. But sometimes you just want to forget the same way he does.

You hear footsteps approaching you on your left and aren’t surprised to see Charlie and Meatloaf peering up at you, unsure if they were allowed up there with you. With a sigh, you motioned for them to join you. They climb up and rest on the railing on either side of you. Meatloaf clears his throat as you take another drag from your cigarette.

“Sooo…” Meatloaf begins, dragging out his single word.

“Sooo…” You copy, not looking over at him.

“You and the Boss are a thing?” He asked, looking at your face for an answer. You frown and drop your cigarette on the ground, stomping out the few burning embers. 

“Do you two know my name?” You ask, fingers playing with your glove on your left hand.

“No, the Boss just calls you our commander. He never told us your name,” Meatloaf explains. Your eyes remain down as you take a step back from the railing and pull off your glove. You hold up your left hand for them to see the gold band that rests on your ring finger.

“I’m Dr. Y/N Boxleitner,” You said, dropping your hand back down to your waist and placing your glove back on, “Steven is my husband.”

Charlie’s mouth is agape as Meatloaf stutters out a few incoherent words before taking a deep breath and trying again.

“You’re Dr. Two Brains’ spouse?! I had no idea he was married!” Meatloaf exclaimed, and you chuckled bitterly.

“Yeah, he seems to forget that too,” Meatloaf is silent and Charlie places a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to look up at them.

“We noticed…” Meatloaf whispered, trying his best to be comforting. Meatloaf rubbed your other shoulder and looked over to you in concern. 

“We’re sorry about what you have to go through. While Charlie and me don’t know much, we can’t imagine how hard it is for you,” Charlie shook his head affirmatively as Meatloaf spoke. You place your hands on theirs and sighed.

“Thanks…” You muttered out quietly, “It really is hard. After the accident, I thought Steven was dead until I saw the news broadcast about him.” Charlie and Meatloaf nod as you continue.

“In a way, he sort of is. He doesn’t even remember me most of the time,” You lean forward and press your face into your hands, elbows resting on the guardrail, “Everytime he forgets…It’s like losing him over and over again.” 

The tears finally fell freely down your face and the two henchmen looked at each other panicking, not knowing what to do to comfort you. They let you cry while rubbing your back and Charlie offered you a tissue when most of your crying was done.

“Thank you…” You sniffled before wiping your face and blowing your nose.

“Does the Boss really not recognize you?” Meatloaf asked hesitantly. You shook your head.

“Most times, no,” You answered, shoulders slumped and legs tired, “But I took that vow, ‘In sickness and in health.’ How funny…”

The henchmen are silent.

“I mean, really. What horrible act did I commit to deserve this outcome?” The tears were back with a vengeance and you rubbed your eyes extra hard to rid yourself of them, ignoring the sharp sting of your lab coat rubbing your delicate skin so rough, “It’s n-not fair. I’ve don’t nothing but love Steven with all my heart, and when he looks at me-”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale, suddenly unable to breath properly.

“He doesn’t even remember me!” You shouted, banging your fists on the railing and noting the small dents in the metal, “It hurts…More than anything, it hurts so bad.”

The henchmen stayed with you for the rest of the night, even helping you cook dinner and having a small sleepover that Dr. Two Brains wasn’t a part of. You looked absolutely tired when the three of you sat down to watch a movie and you ended up only making it half way through it before you were out like a light. The two covered you with a discarded, mostly clean towel that was lying around -- it was the closest to a proper blanket -- before leaving the lair for the night. Charlie glanced at your sleeping form one last time, sympathy for you overflowing, before Meatloaf called him over to the truck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Less than an hour later, Dr. Two Brains made his way into the main part of the lair, finding you passed out on the couch. As he approached, he pulled the towel off of you with a disgusted sneer and immediately noted the smell of cigarettes on you. It was faint even for the mouse nose, but it was definitely cigarettes he was smelling.

Dr. Two Brains grumbled to himself about forcing you to quit while grabbing a proper blanket and pillow from the storage area of the lair. He came back and covered your now shivering body with the thick comforter. There were a few holes in it and it smelled a little funky, but it was better than the damn towel that’s for sure. 

Ever so gently, Dr. Two Brains lifts your head and squeezes the pillow underneath it before dropping you back down. He watched you turn your head in your sleep and sigh. 

The Doctor felt odd as he stared at your face, subconsciously tucking a loose strand of hair out of the way. 

But the longer he looked at you the more you reminded him of his own spouse...

He always did wonder where they went after his accident.

[dearest-painter]

hey could you do headcanons for dr two brains and a touchy/clingy female reader?? (if not please dont respond this is embarrassing to ask idknwhy😭😭)

Nah it’s good! Sorry for the long wait!

- Absolutely loves it, I feel like he himself is super clingy

- He will make sure you aren’t touching him while he and Word girl are fighting because he doesn’t wanna get you hurt :(

- He will let you hug him

- You Can’t tell me he doesn’t have the body strength to carry you around as you hug him

- When It’s that time of the month he definitely will put everything aside and make sure you are alright as he holds you

- He mostly likes holding your hands as he likes how they feel

[humanjarvis]

a closer look

synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!

tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets  pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy

“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.

“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”

“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.

Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.” 

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him. 

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.” 

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.” 

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night. 

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429. 

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside. 

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night? 

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.” 

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs. 

“Not there,” he calls. 

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness. 

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.” 

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding. 

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on. 

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall. 

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?” 

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.” 

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder. 

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt. 

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties. 

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly. 

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.” 

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers. 

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins. 

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.” 

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch. 

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly. 

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.” 

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for. 

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire. 

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.” 

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.  

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth. 

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter. 

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop. 

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you. 

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch. 

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely. 

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely. 

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue. 

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him. 

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?” 

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.” 

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first. 

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you. 

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?” 

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words. 

“You what, my love?” 

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling. 

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.” 

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch. 

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.” 

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down. 

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.” 

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy. 

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.” 

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans. 

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”

[chosonore]

summary: your relationship with aventurine and veritas was easy, a haven of comfort and care - it was one that started gradually but quickly became an integral part in your life. despite your anxities and worries about what people would think about being in a relationship with both of them, you couldn't imagine a life without them

a/n: i haven't written anything in two years :') this is just 1.4k non-coherent word vomit from 3am - i was listening to emei's don't know about the world and it just created this fluffy image in my brain that i needed to get out. i didn't bother proofreading this lol also please don't expect any more or consistent writing, idk how to write anymore

“hey baby, how was work?” aventurine wrapped his arms around you, leaning down to kiss you gently. you inhaled his familiar scent, instantly feeling like you were at home. he swayed back and forth with you for a bit before letting you go, opening the car door for you. “i missed you.”

“i was only gone for a couple of hours.”

“i still missed you.” he gave you a grin before starting the car, driving off to your usual groceries store. it was a routine that you’d gotten used to, one that so effortlessly made you feel safe and loved. aventurine would pick you up from work, you’d get anything you needed from the store before heading home to veritas and your three critters. you’d have dinner together, talk about your day and have a cozy night. 

when you thought about it, you still didn’t quite understand how your relationship came to be. the three of you met at uni and quickly formed an inseparable, unlikely trio. though aventurine and veritas had always been very close despite their frequent bickering, you felt like you just kind of stumbled into this. you felt confusing at first, after all, you harboured feelings for both of them. one kiss had led to another, led to dates and more. it was a relief to know that they felt the same. neither of you had really talked about it as it just gradually grew into what it was now. 

it started with you staying at aventurine’s large penthouse apartment more and more frequently until he finally asked you to move in. then one day, as you were building furniture for your shared bedroom, veritas brought home the three critters. seemingly he had felt pity upon encountering them and couldn’t separate them whatsoever, so he just took them all home. and there it was, your little family. 

you knew you loved them as they did you. but recently, you’d noticed the stares of strangers and in particular your co-workers more. heard some whisperings about your unconventional relationship and it bugged you, even if you tried not to pay attention to it. it was slowly nagging on your soul and heart, making you question the relationship. was it really that odd? or frowned upon? could you really stay in this relationship, grow old and happy together?

“i booked a spa weekend for us at the end of the month!” aventurine’s rambling interrupted your trail of thoughts. he seemed excited as he always was whenever he could spoil you and veritas. “it was about time, both of you have been way too busy. i miss having my two loves all to myself.”

you snorted, taking his hand in yours. the way he incessantly spoiled you had made you uncomfortable at first until you realized that it was one of the ways he liked to express his love. he was happy being able to provide his loved ones with anything they could ask for, so that they would never have to worry about anything ever again. you lifted his hand to press a kiss against it. “i look forward to it.”

as you entered the apartment with aventurine, you were greeted by a rather calm and comfortable atmosphere. soft music was playing and when you rounded the corner, you could see veritas sitting on his armchair with his legs propped on the ottoman. the critters were sitting around him, staring at the book in his hands as if they could read as well. it was an adorable sight, the way their heads moved along with veritas’ hand movements whenever he flipped a page, the way he pet them every now and then. you wished you could secretly snap a photo without him noticing but he always did. then he would scowl and disappear from the frame, grumbling about hating having his photos taken. you never told him that you liked the way his cheeks slightly reddened whenever you did this.

“we’re back,” you called out, placing the bags on the counter before opening your arms and catching a critter that was hopping over to you. it made happy noises as you pet it gently. aventurine put the groceries away, turning slightly to peck veritas’ cheek as he padded over to you. “thought we could make some casserole.”

“we? you mean i cook and you watch,” veritas raised his eyebrows at aventurine. 

he pouted, feigning outrage. “babe, i would never dare to! besides, i know you don’t mind.” he wrapped his arms around veritas, waddling around with him as he watched him cook. veritas would never admit to it but you could tell that he enjoyed himself by the way he leaned to the side to peck aventurine’s lips or absentmindedly held his hands whenever he was monitoring the food. you prepared the critters’ food, smiling as they crowded around you and mewled hungrily. veritas would lean over to spoon feed you every now and then, asking for your opinion on the meal before he finished preparing it. 

after dinner, you spent your evening cuddled between veritas and aventurine as you watched your tv shows together before heading to bed.

aventurine was still showering when you crawled into bed with veritas, yawning tiredly. he propped himself up on his elbow, regarding you with an inquisitive look. “what’s wrong?” he asked pointedly, the kind of tone he used when he meant business and didn’t want any kind of dodging. you knew you couldn’t lie to him, he would see right through you. your first instinct was to say “nothing” but from the corner of your eyes, you could see him raising his eyebrows.

“i’ve just been noticing the looks we get when we’re out together. people stare or give judgemental looks, you know?” you started to explain, fidgeting anxiously. just thinking about this issue made your stomach churn. “then i heard some of my co-workers talk about us, saying judgemental things… some of it was kind of hurtful too.”

you glanced at him, suddenly feeling ashamed that you were even questioning anything. you knew that veritas and aventurine sincerely loved you and cared about you. “honestly, it made me question our relationship. if we can really grow old together like this or if it’s doomed to fail. whether it’s right for me to be with you.”

veritas looked at you as if you just said something unfathomably stupid. “there’s no reason to question what other people are saying. it’s your life to live, is it not?” he retorts and you can tell there’s a sigh in him that wants to escape. “are you happy? with this?” he gestures vaguely between you two and aventurine who just came out of the bathroom and joined you two in bed. “with us?”

“yes? of course i am,” you replied. aventurine glanced between you, trying to figure out what the conversation was about as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him.

“then don’t question it. your happiness is all that matters. why pay any mind to fools that have nothing better to do than talk about you behind your back?” veritas pulled the covers up and gave everyone a quick kiss before reaching out to turn off the lights. his words made you feel more at ease, slowly melting any doubts and anxieties you had been feeling the past few weeks. 

“who hurt you? do i have to make someone disappear?” aventurine asked yawning, placing his head on veritas’ chest. “i love you, always have, always will. what goes on in our relationship is none of their business. i think we’re a good team, aren’t we?”

you knew home was with them - they made you feel safe, loved and comfortable. you couldn’t imagine coming home to only one of them, it wouldn’t feel complete. you liked coming home to aventurine showing you little souvenirs he had brought from his business trips, seeing him play with the critters and the way his eyes lit up with a competitive gleam whenever you tried out new video games together. you liked when veritas sat with you and explained whatever new findings or research he was working on, his well contained enjoyment of being able to share it with you. the way he wrapped his arms around you and placed his chin on your head when he opened up to you and was vulnerable, as best as he could. you knew he didn’t like to be but was willing to in his own way. and you were grateful, for both of them.

when you watched veritas and aventurine bicker about who was hogging the blanket again, leaving the other cold, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing about this relationship for anything in the world. you loved them, with all your heart. there was nothing else you needed from this world - you were happy.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you. 

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife. 

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant. 

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

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[cheftsunoda]

beauty and brains

in which charles leclerc's twin is a doctor and the grid is constantly in awe that they are even related...she may even catch the eye of a certain driver.

SMAU!

Charles Leclerc x !Doctor Sister Reader x Platonic F1 Grid

Leclerc Reader x Lando Norris

part two here:)

part three here:)

part four here:)

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, leclerc_pascale & 4,442,989 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : a week in the office ft milo chewing on my birkin

charles_leclerc : Toujours si fière de toi ma belle sœur! (Forever so proud of you my beautiful sister)

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charles_leclerc : but seriously we all miss you come visit

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dr_jules_leclerc : be home so soon charlie promise you

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leclerc_pascale : ma belle fille - tu me manques tellement. fier est un euphémisme. (my beautiful girl - i miss you so. proud is an understatement)

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dr_jules_leclerc : je t'aime tellement maman. merci d'avoir toujours cru en moi. (I love you so much mom. thank you for always believing in me.)

alexandrasaintmleux : my princesssss i miss you

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dr_jules_leclerc : my wifeeee i'll be home soon- ilysm

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charles_leclerc : what am i witnessing?

dr_jules_leclerc : lets face it cha, i'm a doctor and save lives everyday and you drive a car in circles all day- she has her priorities straight.

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arthur_leclerc : bring milo when you come home pls

arthur_leclerc : oh and I MISS YOUUUUU

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dr_jules_leclerc : ofc, miss you too turtur - did you start taking those vitamins i told you about?

arthur_leclerc : Yes Doc...

username : her doctoring arthur and then him calling her doc is taking me out -

username2: oh to be dr. jules

username4: Jules- I just got accepted into my top med school today and I wanted to tell you thank you- you have been a huge inspiration to me!

liked by author, charles_leclerc & leclerc_pascale

dr_jules_leclerc : OMG! Congratulations!! I remember how exciting it was to get that letter. If you ever need some studying tips or want to be my resident - come find me ;)

username4 : Absolutely!! Thank you!

carlossainz55 : Miss you Hermosa! You're killing it. So proud! ❤️

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dr_jules_leclerc : Miss you sm Carlitos- hope williams is treating you well!

maxverstappen1 : sometimes i forget charles is related to a literal genius- hope to see you in the paddock soon.

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dr_jules_leclerc : oh maxie you are always so sweet to me

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scuderiaferrari : Nice car, Doctor! Should we be expecting a paddock appearance anytime soon?

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dr_jules_leclerc : Absolutely. I need to greet the newest member of the Ferrari family. @lewishamilton

liked by scuderiaferrari & lewishamilton

lewishamilton : Excited to witness the beauty and brains in person again.

liked by author

charles_leclerc : OH but not to support your TWIN brother?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I felt like that was a given Cha...

lilymhe : gorg

liked by author

lando : so if i wreck the car will you save me, doc?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : not if you do it on purpose lando

__

alexandrasaintmleux added a post to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, charlotte2304 & 2,432,638 others.

charlotte2304 : beautiful girls! we all need get drinks while jules is in monaco!!

alexandrasaintmleux : yes absolutely!! jules is so excited for it!!

franciscacgomes : WAIT- my fave Leclerc is back and no one told me???

alexandrasaintmleux : yes!! she will be coming to the race:)

—

f1gossipgirls just made a post!

liked by username4, bananas4leclerc, ln4whoree & 12,482 others.

f1gossipgirls : Dr. Jules Elise Leclerc was spotted in Monaco with Charles’ girlfriend Alexandra and then was later seen in the Paddock! Jules has not been seen in the paddock since 2022 as she has been out of the country to continue her work as a Pediatric Oncologist!

username4 : I always forget Charles’ twin is a literal doctor- it’s insane to me.

username8 : so excited to see her back in the paddock! she is such an inspiration for so many!

username10 : YAYYYYY- she looks so good!

username12 : those Leclerc genes are STRONG.

username14 : I love how since she has returned she has been seen more with Alex more than her own brother 😭

—

dr_jules_leclerc just made a post!

liked by charles_leclerc, lando, roscoelovescoco & 10,253,384 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : isn’t it a coincidence that the first race I attend after YEARS, charles ends up breaking the monaco curse? I think not.

But in all seriousness, Charles, you are my twin, my rock, my best friend and I am so proud of you. Watching you continuously chase your dreams and grow as a person has inspired me so much over the years. I love you and hold every memory with you so close to my heart. You are an absolute legend. Keep the wins coming brother, I know you’ve got it in you. ❤️

also finally met my new nephew leo and was reacquainted with my son roscoe:)

+ lando fell flat on his face and required a minor stitch.. still not sure if he did it on purpose or not

—

charles_leclerc : thank you jules - I could have never done it without your support. I am so glad you were here to witness it. I always want to make you proud as you are the most intelligent and amazing person I know. So grateful I was given a sister like you. I love you❤️

liked by author

username4 : oh the Leclerc’s are making me SAPPY

scuderiaferrari : ❤️❤️❤️

liked by author

lando : it was definitely on purpose

liked by author

dr_yn_leclerc : oh norris…what am I gonna do with you?

username4 : LANDO LITERALLY ADMITTING HE FELL ON PURPOSE TO GET JULES ATTENTION-

charles_leclerc : anymore flirting with my sister and you will really need a doctor

lando : as long as it’s jules idc 😃

liked by author

oscarpiastri : So glad to finally meet you! Thank you for taking care of Lando🙄

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : So nice to meet you and lily!! total angelsss

liked by oscarpiastri + lilyzneimer

roscoelovescoco : loves yous jules!! ❤️❤️

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : love you more my baby roscoe

lewishamilton : Please stay around. I missed you dearly, Jules.

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I’m definitely thinking about sticking around, lew:)

username5 : is jules moving back to monaco????

alexandrasaintmleux : leo and i love his auntie jules soooooo much

liked by author

pierregasly : my gf has not shut up about you since she saw you

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : god i love her

franciscacgomes : JULESSSSSS

liked by author

arthur_leclerc : who is that handsome man in the lower left corner???

dr_jules_leclerc : just this weirdo who hasn’t left my side since i got home

arthur_leclerc : OH SUE ME FOR MISSING MY BIG SISTER

liked by author

danielricciardo : visit aus soon:)?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : absolutely- missed seeing your smiling face dr3

liked by danielricciardo & maxverstappen1

lilyzneimer : so so nice to meet you! thank you for all your help with my math class!

liked by author

dr_yn_leclerc : ofc!- you will be the best engineer ever 🧡

mclaren : We are sorry about Lando but so glad to see you Dr. Jules!🧡

liked by author

—

dr_jules_leclerc made a post!

monaco 📍

liked by lando, charlotte2304, alexandrasaintmleux & 10,255,378 others.

dr_yn_leclerc : so many reasons to stay in monaco

lorenzotl : We all missed you so much!

liked by author

charlotte2304 : I need you here to help with wedding duties!!🤍

liked by author

alexandrasaintmleux : i hope i am your main reason to stay <3

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : yes but don’t tell cha he will lose his mind

charles_leclerc : i can read yanno

dr_jules_leclerc : ohhhh you can?

liked by arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : please stay so we can play chess together everyday…charles is not a good opponent I get bored

liked by author

lando : stay so that lovely bloke can take you out on another date

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : he is definitely a contributing factor

liked by lando

username5 : OH MY GOD DID SHE GIVE LANDO A CHANCE

username10 : ODKEJDJDJ

f1 : we vote for you to stay !

liked by author

arthur_leclerc : wait is that l**do?

liked by author & lando

—

themedicinejournal is with dr_jules_leclerc

liked by formula1, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari & 12,453,374 others.

themedicinejournal : We had the incredible honor of sitting down with Dr. Jules Leclerc after her recent Nobel Award for her outstanding contributions to Pediatric Oncology. The young doctor has founded her own Pediatric Cancer Institute and continues to work alongside many other physicians to try to end childhood cancer.

Jules on founding the Institution.

“My biggest dream has been founding this institution. It began with assembling a multidisciplinary team of experts in pediatric oncology, research, nursing, and psychosocial care, united by a shared mission to advance treatment, research, and support services. The institute’s foundation is built on partnerships with academic institutions, hospitals, and philanthropic organizations to secure funding, infrastructure, and community support. Central to its mission is the integration of cutting-edge research with compassionate clinical care, offering access to the latest therapies and clinical trials. A strong emphasis is placed on family-centered care, survivorship programs, and educational outreach. Ultimately, the goal of a pediatric cancer institute is not only to cure childhood cancers but also to ensure that every child and family receives the highest standard of care, hope, and support throughout their journey.”

Jules on receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in Medicine.

“To be recognized by my peers and mentors in the medical community is both incredibly meaningful and profoundly moving. This award is not just a reflection of my work, but of the incredible teams I’ve had the privilege of working with—nurses, researchers, residents, and fellow physicians who have inspired me every day with their tireless commitment to patient care and innovation. I’m especially grateful to my mentors who have guided me, challenged me, and believed in me from the start, and to my family, whose unwavering support has been my foundation. Working in medicine—especially in pediatric oncology—is both a challenge and a calling. It’s a field where the stakes are high, but so are the rewards. Every day, I am reminded of the courage of our patients and the trust they place in us. They are the true heroes, and it is for them that we do this work. This award fuels my passion even further, and I accept it not just as a recognition of what has been done, but as a motivation for what still lies ahead. There is still so much more to discover, to heal, and to change for the better.”

—

charles_leclerc : The proudest brother there ever was. Sis, you have continuously changed and saved lives. There is no one I could ever think of that deserves this award more than you. What you do and the mark you leave on this world will never ever be forgotten. I don’t know how this world got lucky enough to have you. Thank you for all you do and all the sacrifices you have made. We all thank you and love you. ❤️

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : So unbelievably proud of you and could not have asked for a better role model in life. Continue to shine bright and leave your mark on the world, Jules.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

leclerc_pascale : Il n'y a absolument aucun mot pour décrire à quel point je suis fière de toi en tant que mère. Tu m'as complètement époustouflée. Tout ce que tu fais est animé par tant de passion et d'amour, et c'est tout ce que j'ai toujours voulu pour toi. Tu mérites tout et même plus, ma chérie.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

lando : You are incredible, Jules Elise. This world does not deserve you. Thank you for all your hard work, Bub.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

username5: BUB???

lewishamilton : One of the most intelligent and caring human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Thank you for sharing your gift and kindness with the world, Jules. This world needed you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

maxverstappen1 : You deserve every award in the world, Jules.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : So beyond proud to call you my sister in law and my best friend. I love you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

danielricciardo : So so proud of you, Bug. I knew you had it in you!

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

formula1 : Dr. Jules! We are so proud to call you a member of the F1 family. You are such a shining light in this world and an amazing example for all to follow.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

scuderiaferrari : So happy to see you get recognized for all your hard work and dedication, Doc!

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

lilymhe : I am SO proud of you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

alexalbon : Such an incredible human being. So humbled to know you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

lorenzotl : Never been more proud of someone. You are so deserving of this award and more. Can’t believe my little sister is this incredible.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

charlotte2304 : An amazing achievement for an amazing woman. Love you sista.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

carlossainz55 : This is so incredible. Jules, thank you for sharing your gift with the world. You are so inspiring.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

view 450,364 other comments.

—

lando added this post to his story!

charles_leclerc added this post to his story!

arthur_leclerc added this post to his story!

maxverstappen1 added this post to his story!

alexandrasaintmleux added this post to her story!

carlossainz55 added this post to his story!

formula1 added this post to their story!

—

dr_jules_leclerc made a post!

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux & 7,247,484 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : my last week in office before packing up and restarting in Monaco! so excited to be reunited with all my family and friends and so many great things coming in the future. all of my incredible fellow physicians will be holding down the institute and I am so grateful for all of them.

—

oscarpiastri : cheeky cheeky

liked by author and lando

oscarpiastri : no but seriously very proud of you and your work, jules. look forward to seeing you in the paddock a lot more. i won’t hurt myself like that muppet.

liked by author and lando

carlossainz55 : i recognize that mullet…

liked by author & lando

charles_leclerc : wait what do you know that i don't

carlossainz55. : nothing cabrón

charles_leclerc : So happy to have you home. I’ve missed you so much.

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I’ve missed you every day, Charlie.

maxverstappen1 : muppet man better treat you right or i will drive him off the track. happy to have you back, jules.

liked by author

lando. : threatening violence? 50 place grid penalty.

liked by author and maxverstappen1

dr_jules_leclerc : poor pear gasleak

liked by pierregasly

alexandrasaintmleux : I am so so happy to have you back. You don’t know how much I miss you every day!!

liked by author

alexandrasaintmleux : very sad you picked him over me though

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : could say the same about you picking my brother over me :(

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux : it’s not too late for us to run away together

liked by author

charles_leclerc : sigh

lando. : mystery man seems rather fit wouldn’t you say?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : mmm yeah but he is kind of full of himself

liked by lando

lando : he is just a confident lad

liked by author

maxfewtrell : no he is definitely just big headed

liked by author

username4 : jules and lando dropping so many crumbs and charles picking up on absolutely nothing is killing me

liked by author, lando, alexandrasaintmleux & arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : i am gonna record his reaction and sell it

leclerc_pascale : Arthur, ne vous mettez pas à dos votre frère.

liked by author

leclerc_pascale : Je suis si heureuse que tu reviennes parmi nous. Ce beau visage me manque tous les jours.

liked by author

arthur_leclerc : can i move in with you?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : you have your own place tur - why?

arthur_leclerc : well you have Milo and i love Milo and I just missed you so much and charles was mean while you were gone

liked by author

charles_leclerc : I absolutely was not- I rebuke that statement.

liked by author

leclerc_pascale : They were both a little…feisty with you gone, Mon amor. That’s why we need you back!

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : you are always welcome in my home, bug. as long as you two manage to keep the peace 🙄

—

lando added to his story!

seen by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell &7,459,478 others

maxfewtrell : can’t believe you pulled a Leclerc let alone a DOCTOR Leclerc

lando : lowkey never thought I’d have a chance with her

charles_leclerc : 👀 whoooo?

lando : you know her...very well.

pietra.pilao : so excited to meet her!

lando : you will love her:)

flonorris1 : HOW in the world did you PULL a DOCTOR?

lando : hey hey - have a little confidence in your brother please

flonorris1 : yeah whatever - Bring her home soon please- Mom and I are dying to meet her.

lando : that’s the plan

—

hello guys- my first official post! i have many things sitting in the drafts rn- including a part two to this - let me know if you guys want it! send me requests as well! i am always down to write:)

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

[spockiguess]

I Start My Mornings With Folgers and Hot, Steamy Sex

Summary: Dr. Robby doesn't get to share many mornings with you, so when the day comes that he's finally able to spend just a little bit more time in your embrace, he doesn't pass on the opportunity to make it memorable.

Pairing: Michael "Dr. Robby" Robinavitch x FEM!Reader

Warnings: SOMNOPHILIA, Smut

A/N: HEYWASSUPYOUGUYSYES, I am back from my nearly year long hiatus with something from a fandom I have never posted about before, but that's okay! I'm a dirty liar and a cheat, so I'm sorry for not updating the Laszlo Kreizler series I had in the works. I'm bad at continuity. Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! Yay!

Mornings spent with Michael Robinavitch have always been painfully short, fleeting moments that spill from the gaps between your grasping fingers like rushing sand, so you treasure the times when everything seems to stop for just an hour or two and you can hold each other while the sun begins to rise. This morning is one of those intensely special times.

It’s around four in the morning–only now the sun is still slumbering soundly just beneath the shimmering horizon millions of miles away–when Robby snakes his arms further around your middle and squeezes ever so slightly. You unconsciously moan in response, the deep recesses of your brain faintly aware of the comforting action as you melt deeper into his velvet touch. His nose is pressed against the back of your neck, inhaling your vanilla-sweet scent with every easy breath, while his large, sculptural hands cup the heavy mounds of your breasts, gently kneading. 

The emergency room attending could stay in this protective bubble forever, completely blocking out the frenetic, ever-speeding pace of the world outside as he keeps one of the people he truly cares about anymore locked in his embrace forevermore. The glimmering lights of lampposts and stretching skyscrapers would wipe across his vision in great streaks, like the measured strokes of a master’s paintbrush across a twilight canvas. Robby is content to have that be his future; these rare instances being wholly untainted by the horrors of the known universe and only meant for your shared enjoyment. Then, he could finally find peace.

Unfortunately, that's not quite in the cards for him just yet. Life has its hands wrapped firmly around the deck, dispersing fate indiscriminately. Dr. Robby has this, though. He has just a few hours with you before he’s inevitably pulled into his grueling work and forced to clear its waters for the next twelve hours. Because of this, Michael Robinavitch is eagerly determined to make the best of the time he has with you. Robby figures he'll start this day off on a good, memorable note.

With that, Robby commences with his plan. As an attending who's participated in countless, intense surgeries, he's startlingly deft with his hands. His grip around your breasts tighten, causing the skin to spill over his palms before Robby lightens up and allows the tip of his calloused finger to graze the pebbled surface of your nipple. Robby’s touch is feather-light, for now, he doesn't want to rush through this like a crazed bull released from its pen. 

Ever so slowly, he circles your nipple with his forefinger, tentatively forcing the skin to contract and become a stiff, little peak beneath his hand. Now, Robby’s able to delicately grip the peak with his forefinger and thumb and roll it between the two, slightly squeezing with every other turn. The effects of his work are already taking place as you moan again, unknowingly bucking your plush hips into his, awakening Robby’s cock to full attention. Robby forces back a pleased groan of his own as he feels the soft mounds of your ass tenderly grip his aching dick in a warm hug. You're too tempting, most of the time. 

Robby isn't distracted from his goal, however. No, he just shifts his attention on your breasts to the other hand while another travels down the curved planes of your body, rustling your sleep shirt and shorts. Your stomach is smooth under Robby’s hand, radiating a soothing heat that he could get lost in for hours. On some days, he comes back from work and immediately draws you into bed just so he can rest his weathered face against your tummy. There, he’ll press light kisses and reminisce on how lucky he is to have a partner like you. At this moment, though, Robby is only using your stomach as a roadmap to somewhere far more important. 

Robby’s searching hand stops just above the puckered hem of your elastic, light blue sleep-shorts, curious as ever. As if it had a mind of its own, Robby’s hand begins to toy with the top of your satin shorts, mindlessly playing with the band while his other hand continues to work one of your stiffening nipples. Finally, your brain switches gears and your toasty body moves of its own accord, rocking into Robby’s firm silhouette. 

Robby unashamedly moans, now, his rough throat giving way to breathy gasps as your ass cradles his hard dick in a near-perfect way. He can already feel sticky, hot precum leaking from his tip, no doubt staining the front of his boxer-briefs with a damp puddle. Every sense is electrified, begging for Robby to amp up the sensations tenfold, but he can't let that happen just yet, this is still about you. 

So, Robby’s hand continues its adventure north, down the front of your shorts, and lightly skimming the silky lace of your panties as it reaches the apex of your pubic mound. Robby can feel the intense heat emanating from your core, nearly burning up his hand with its fire. The emergency room doctor can feel his head go dizzy as he fantasizes about how hot you'll be wrapped around his weeping cock. Still, he presses onward. 

With Robby’s hand now firmly seated above your sex, the man whose whole body surrounds you presses warm, wet kisses to your neck as his middle finger inches forward to grab the edge of your panties and pull them off to the side. Now, your sticky cunt lays exposed to the cold air around it, and even in your sleep, you shudder from the chill. Slowly, Robby’s middle and ring finger search through your folds, grabbing the glossy slick that's there, before finding the rosy bud at the top of your cunt. 

Covered in your wetness, Robby uses his fingers to rub slow, tight circles around your now-buzzing clit, delighting in the sounds you're making as his forearm muscles strain from the awkward position. You shift, opening your legs further as your sleepy brain struggles to process the new sensation probing at its walls. 

Even though Robby’s pace is sluggish, he can still hear the quiet, squishy slap of his fingers against your throbbing cunt loud and clear. Robby knows how wet you can get–what exactly can happen if all of your delicate buttons are pushed in the correct way and order, and tonight, he hopes to have you writhing beneath his touch while your sex unleashes tidal waves of arousal on his dick. In the times Robby has managed such a feat in the past, his ego would skyrocket to preposterous levels, allowing him to walk with a certain bravado he isn't keen to most days. Robby figures that he’ll like to start today off like that, even if it'll draw attention from others.

As the good doctor fantasizes about making you squirt, his rugged hand absentmindedly speeds up its pace, pushing against your clit just that much harder. It's not a painful amount of pressure, but just enough to make your entire body buck with pleasure, nearly pulling you out of your unconscious state. 

Too soon, Dr. Robby thinks. With this, he slows to a screeching halt as he can practically feel the electric currents of arousal flowing from your body to his, exciting his cock further. Robby guesses it would be fine to move on from this phase of his plan, even if every molecule buzzing around in his body is telling him otherwise. All of his barbaric senses are screaming for him to make you cum right then and there, to force multiple orgasms from you before you're even awake, but Robby wants this to be a somewhat relaxed morning, all things considered.

So, Dr. Robby stops his ministrations. Instead, he brings his hand to the edge of his mouth and takes in your heady flavor. When Robby is in a situation like this, something nestled deep within him, a primal urge, takes over his mind and he becomes something wholly unlike his usual self. He can't quite explain it, but you're the only person who's ever brought this side of him out, before. Robby isn't necessarily complaining, either. No, he just moans around his fingers before eagerly unearthing himself from the nest he’s built around his body, you included, trying carefully to not wake you just yet. 

As he finally finds himself free, Robby climbs down the length of your now-prone figure and sheaths himself between your silky legs, adjusting once more to allow his arms to come around the bottoms of your thighs so his hands can rest just below your navel. Once there, Robby slides your sleep shorts and underwear to the side, breathing in your sticky scent, all the while. With your cunt now fully exposed to the outside air, Robby can see it glisten in the low light of your shared room, still drooling from before. 

Robby waits a beat, stilling as he watches your resting form rise and fall with each breath that leaves you, and he finds himself utterly in love with the person caught beneath his eager body. Dr. Robby is incredibly lucky to have someone like you.

It’s with that thought that Robby finally delves into your weeping folds with a parted mouth, his tongue zeroing in on your clit the moment he makes contact with your cunt. You and Robby share a wanton moan as you wake up from your sleepy reverie, your hips moving of their own accord while Robby desperately tries to pin them down once again. 

With a hazy fog still trapped in your throat, you call out to the man nestled firmly between your legs, “Mhm, Michael, what are you–what are you doing?” 

Robby hums before pulling away from your sex, slick dripping from his bearded chin, “Starting the day off strong, don’t you think?” Robby’s voice is deep and rich, now, his vocal chords inactive until recently. 

You laugh before choking back a strained moan when Robby reassumes his work, “If this is how we’re starting the day, I can’t wait to see how it ends.” 

Dr. Robby laughs, too, the vibrations ricocheting against your clit and sending shockwaves directly to the base of your spine. You thread your hands into Robby’s thinning hair, pulling ever so slightly when he sucks your clit into his lips and licks. You don’t know it yet, but your orgasm is closer than you can register, especially considering what happened before Robby positioned himself beneath your quivering sex. Your mind is too caught up processing how enthusiastically he’s eating you out, as well as the way Robby’s hips seem to hitch against the mattress with every swirl of his tongue. You don’t even catch when one of his hands slips from the resting point above your pubic bone to travel beneath your legs and station itself just to the side of your parted lips. 

When your mind finally does catch up is exactly the moment Robby begins to ease a finger into your cunt and carefully curl inwards, in a sort of beckoning motion. You groan loudly, impatiently welcoming the intrusion with a strong clench of your legs while Robby presses his free hand into the base of your stomach. 

His tongue, his finger, and his other hand all create this perfect symphony of pleasure that has you shaking beneath Robby’s touch. If you were in your right mind, you might have possibly felt Robby’s smirk against your cunt, but you’re currently preoccupied. 

Still, when Robby introduces another finger, deliciously stretching your wanton hole to a comfortable degree, you can’t help the thrashing your body does, completely overwhelmed with sensations. Before you know it, your orgasm is at the door and knocking to be let in, which you gladly allow. 

A burst of electricity simmers beneath the surface of your skin as your cunt spasms, your hold on Robby’s hair tightening that much more as he continues to lap at you like a starved man. Liquid gushes from your core, absolutely coating the lower-half of Robby’s face, the beginnings of his neck, and his hand while wild slurping noises can be heard just below your shaking body. 

He’s barely letting up, so it’s not long until you’re buzzing from overstimulation and begging your partner to ease off of you. Dr. Robby relents, struggling to hold himself back from tasting even more of you as your orgasm washes past your senses. 

Once the rush of sound filters through your ears, you tug on Robby’s sleep shirt to bring him to eye-level with you. Robby crawls back up your body, arms supporting his weight on either side of your head. 

“So, how was that?” Robby asks, a wide smile painting his features. 

You giggle, leaning in for a kiss and only slightly grimacing at the feel of your juices on Robby’s face.

“Is amazing an okay descriptor?” You answer his question with a question of your own, to which Robby chokes back a laugh. 

“That’s great. Don’t change it,” he says, leaning down to peck your cheeks and neck. 

The morning isn’t quite over, yet, as you feel the hard length of Robby’s dick pressing against your most sensitive spot. As Robby spares a kiss to your cheek, you take a minute to worm your hand down your bodies so you can firmly grasp his cock and squeeze. 

Robby moans, quickly getting the hint as he’s reminded of his own pressing matters that need to be attended to soon. Your partner pushes himself off of your body so he can lean back on his haunches and yank his pajama pants down, just enough to free his glorious dick. 

The sun is starting to peek through the curtains, now, so you’re able to see the faint outline of his cock, long and thick, proudly shoot out from the base of his pelvic bone. Robby takes it in his hand and cautions a gentle swipe over the leaking head, moaning again as you attempt to take your shorts off, as well. 

Robby snaps out of his daydreaming and helps the offending garment off of your legs, your lower half perfectly bare for him. You open your legs further, to which Robby eagerly positions himself between them before resting his dick against your stomach. You’ll never get used to his size, you think, with his dick being much bigger than anyone you’ve been with previously. 

Robby smiles, his question heavy in the air, “Are you ready?” 

You nod, eventually voicing an affirmative when he doesn’t continue. Satisfied, Robby takes his cock in his hands once more and leans back to line it up with your entrance. What a way to start the morning.

[thewildsophia]

WordGirl//Dr. Two Brains x Reader

A/N: Back on my bullshit again lmaoo. Idk why but my sister reminded me of how 6-year-old me was in love with Two Brains back in like 2010. Anyway, I'm very disappointed by the shattering lack of fanfics for this guy. So, like always, I made my own headcanons for him. I actually do have a full fanfic drafted out for him, but I'm not sure when it will be finished.

A/N pt 2: LMAO I FORGOT TO TAG THIS PERSON. So I got the idea from an ask on @cheese-induced-madness ‘s page about an affectionate reader and wanted to do my own version of it.

A/N pt 3: so apparently it wasn’t cheese induced madness who posted the prompt I was referencing??? I had to search for it again but it was actually by @dearest-painter. Sorry!

Words: 1489

"Read More Link" placed due to length

Dr. Two Brains x Affectionate!Reader

I imagine it’s in Reader's nature to be both physically and verbally kind, but with Dr. Two Brains their affection is multiplied by like 100 lmao.

And Dr. Two Brains LOVES it omg.

Two Brains is also affectionate in nature but doesn’t show it often until you and him become official. I mean, he loves his henchmen but he doesn’t always treat them the best :/

You and him are probably both touch-starved sorry I don’t make the rules. But that’s okay because you have each other.

You would often try to be in physical contact with him as much as possible: brushing shoulders, holding hands, bonking heads, anything really that allows you to touch him. It’s your own brand of affection and he doesn’t mind the unconventional choice of touch.

I feel like he’s also weird with the way he chooses to show physical affection. Like yes, he enjoys hugs and holding hands, but he also gives little love bites while kissing you or he straight up just walks up to you and bites your shoulder. He’s very careful with his teeth tho.

You often try to keep him calm while he’s working on things. Squeaky doesn’t let him rest much, so Two Brains gets antsy when he’s not being productive.

He may have been working on something for hours on end without taking any breaks, so you’ll walk up behind him, rest your chin on his shoulder, and lace your fingers with his, stopping his motions. He’d ask you what’s wrong before you’d hug him, wrapping his own arms around his waist and kissing his cheek. 

He’d giggle at the ticklish sensation of your lips on his skin and shake from being embraced so tightly. You’d whisper sweet nothings into his ear before letting go of him and allowing him to turn around and face you. 

If you told him to take a break, he’d do it in a heartbeat for you. 

You’d cook sometimes for him, and other times he’d cook for you. Most dishes have cheese in them, but occasionally he’s able to eat something small without cheese and squeaky not getting upset at it. 

I could see you two carrying each other around the secret hideout at random times. Like you could be doing your work or cooking and he’s on your back. Or Two Brains may be working on some invention and you’re on his back, arms wrapped around his neck and legs hugging his waist. 

You can’t tell me he doesn’t have the strength to do so. And since I’m tall and strong you’re also strong. Sorry, I make the rules now lmao. 

You also like to carry him with him facing you and peppering kisses across his face and neck, leaving him a flustered and stuttering mess in your arms. 

Sleeping with this man (not like that (¬_¬") ) is so random and never consistent. He sleeps at random times, sometimes late at night, other times in the middle of the afternoon. 

The only consistent thing is how he chooses to sleep with you.

He often begs you to go to sleep with him even if you just woke up. He says that you calm him enough to actually fall asleep and that you keep squeaky at bay. 

If you just woke up you’ll lay with him until he falls asleep and then go back to whatever you do. If you were just about to go to bed then there’s no problem!

I will say that this man is ALWAYS all over you. He often likes to lay on you lmao. Even if he didn’t start off laying on you - like if you two were originally just next to each other - you’ll wake up in the morning barely being able to breathe because this man is laying on you like you’re the fucking mattress. 

Two Brains will apologize with this small voice and it’s hard to stay man at him. 

He also likes to snuggle into you. Two Brains likes to lay his head under your chin and face in your neck where he’ll kiss you while his arms wrap around your waist with legs tangled. 

He likes it when you gently comb your fingers through his hair, being careful of the mouse brains, and whisper quiet words of affirmation to him. He falls asleep FAST. 

Little. Spoon. Fr.

This man just LOVES to be held and you hold him so gently okay??? 🥺

He feels secure in your arms. You hold him firmly yet carefully and he’s never felt so loved than in those quiet moments. 

Two Brains probably gets a little jealous when you also dote on his henchmen. He knows that it’s just your nature to be kind and physically affectionate, so he doesn’t actually get mad when he catches you squeezing their shoulders or hugging the two together. 

He’s just a little jealous that it isn’t him you’re holding (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

He gets over it fast when you run up to his and rest your head on his shoulder. Or better yet you, literally, sweep him off his feet and deposit the both of you somewhere else.

When it comes to dealing with the mouse brain, your verbal affection shines. 

There are some days when Two Brains and his mouse brain disagree with each other, the mouse brain usually berating Two Brains. You’re there to comfort him and get the mouse brain back in line.

Because of that, the mouse brain doesn’t particularly like you. It thinks you're nothing more than an obstacle in the way of acquiring more cheese. When Squeaky took control he forced Two Brains to push you as far away as possible. It hurt, but you knew those weren’t the actions of Two Brains himself.

When Two Brains was allowed to be himself again this man was crying, BEGGING for your forgiveness and him affirming how much he loved you and didn’t want you to leave him.

You told him you were never mad at him and THREW himself at you. Bro had you pinned down on the ground just by laying on you and crying into your chest. He didn’t move for a few hours lmao.

Two Brains gets flustered a lot. He’s not used to much verbal affection considering he’s a villain and all. Even when he was just Steven no one really paid mind to him in that way.

So whenever you say something simple like, “You look handsome today, as you do every day.” or “You’re so pretty <3” he absolutely loses his mind. This man is blushing and stuttering like a little schoolboy omggg.

He also just really appreciates hearing you say kind things about him; Two Brains doesn’t have the best self-esteem. He’s more than confident in his intelligence, but not so much in the physical department.

He knows that he looks…odd. Not many people found him attractive when he was Steven, and even less now as Dr. Two Brains. So hearing you say he’s pretty and that you love him makes his day every time.

But he doesn’t just receive compliments from you; He makes sure to voice just how much he loves you the same way you do. 

He says casual things like, “You’re so sweet.” or “Oh, look how pretty my S/O is.” It’s so cute really, he can’t help but blush whenever he’s trying to compliment you. You just make him so nervous sometimes because you’re so beautiful/handsome (whatever you prefer) to him.

In more intimate movements like when you two are cuddling or just enjoying each other’s presence in the few fleeting free moments, Two Brains is much more confident in what he says. He’s not as much of a blushing mess as when you two are around his henchmen or Wordgirl. He’ll whisper how much he loves and adores you, pressing gentle kisses to your skin in between breathless praises.

However, if you say even the simplest of compliments to him in these moments, all of his previous confidence leaves his body and he’s back to the muttering, stumbling mess he usually is. 

Call him pretty, call him smart, call him kind he absolutely loves every word you say about him. Just be careful with how much you say in one sitting because one complements too many and he’ll start crying from how much he loves you.

Two Brains is a sucker for praise. His henchmen often praise him for his intelligence and ingenuity with his creations, but this man will do anything for you to praise him.

Two Brains will make inventions based on your late-night ramblings or he’ll cook and clean for you; This man would pull the stars out of the night skies as a gift for you if you only said the word.

Dr. Two Brains is completely and totally infatuated with you and he’s so lucky that he’s found someone who is equally infatuated with him.

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his — flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his.

And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair — no, unnatural — for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult — a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages — typical Spencer reading material — but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word — just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee — clean, warm, him — and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping — not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first — you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not —"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me — you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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join my taglist here!

[sneedlier]

Maybe you can write a hurt/comfort? Like TB recalling his old life while Reader helps him out? Sorry I’m not too good with describing things.

(AN: I'VE ALWAYS WANTED AN EXCUSE TO WRITE SOMETHING LIKE THIS EEEEE!!!

Written in a second person POV so I can avoid using Y/N too much, also this can be interpreted as either a platonic or romantic relationship between TB and reader :))

---

You walked towards Dr Two-Brains' lab, you wanted to check on him as you haven't seen him all evening. As you approached the door, you heard...crying?It was slightly muffled due to the walls but you could hear it.You began to feel anxious and concerned.You knocked on the door. Dr Two-Brains didn't respond. You sighed. You began to slowly open the door, as you did the crying got slightly louder. The noise of sniffles and sobs could now be heard.You peered your head through the door.

"Dr Two-Brains..?" You say softly. No answer again, only soft sobs and sniffles.

You turn your head in the direction on where the sobs and sniffles were coming from. You find a Dr Two-Brains, who was sobbing on the ground, his back pressed into a corner whilst he curled in a ball, his head hiding in his knees yet you could still clearly hear the sobs that were coming out of him. You look beside him and see a picture frame on the ground, the glass smashed as if it was thrown on the ground. From what you could make out, it was a picture of Dr Two-Brains in the past...back when he was Steven. Dr Steven Boxlietner...but the face was scribbled out frantically with a pencil. It clearly didn't work that well as you could still make out the face. Your face began to contour into look of concern and worry for the mad scientist.You began to walk towards Dr Two-Brains, standing beside him.

"Doc?Are you okay?" You ask softly and reassuringly, you crouched down beside Dr Two-Brains.

Dr Two-Brains looked up at you reluctantly as his sobs began to die down, you could see his mouse-like eyes we're more red than usual and were puffy from all the crying. He let out a few choked sobs. He looked down at the ground.

"I'm...I'm..so sorry...I..didn't want this to happen...I don't...remember..I'm..." Dr Two-Brains paused for a moment. He lifted his hands up slightly,ever so slightly closer to his face. He looked like he was thinking deeply about what he was going to say and do. His sobs began to get louder again.

"I..I don't know who I am." He said in a quiet, croaked voice.

Dr Two Brainz suddenly began to break out in sobs again, his hands covering his eyes. Your eyes go wide with worry. With not many options on what to do, you shuffled closer to Dr Two-Brains. You then wrapped your arms around him comfortingly.

As soon as your arms wrapped around Dr Two-Brains, his sobs died down ever so slightly. He removed his hands from his eyes. He sniffles and wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. He began to cry softly on your shoulder and he tightened his grip ever so slightly as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder, searching and looking for comfort and reassurance. You felt Dr Two-Brains squirm and wriggle in your arms whilst he looked for comfort. Once he was comfortable and stopped squirming, you leaned your head against his. You began to stroke his back, letting him sob into your shoulder whilst you gave him the comfort and reassurance he needed.

(AN: OMG I FINISHED THIS IN LIKE, AN HOUR OR LESS??OMG

Sorry if it's corny and a lil short and if Dr Two-Brains is acting outta character, it's 4am where I live and I haven't gotten any sleep so I'm pretty eepy but I really REALLY wanted to write this. But either way, I hope you enjoyed reading!!Requests are still open so feel free to send more Dr Two-Brains x reader requests if you want!! :3)

[i9chicago]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet loving you.

pairing — spencer reid x professor! fem! reader.

genre — smut (18+ so minors dni)

summary — you think you despise dr. spencer reid with all your bones, you think he's too good and too accomplished at what he does, and you think he despises you too. till you discover his particular liking for you that night when he saw you in a red dress.

word count — 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings — oral (f receiving) fingering, soft dom! spencer cuz it's rotting my brain cells. masturbation. semi-public sex. lots of kissing. reader is a neuroscience professor.

a/n — this is my first fic here so be nice or i'll cry. english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar mistakes. like for part 2 (please) ehh, i hate the ending. that's it. hope at least you enjoy it! <3

Red was never a color linked to joy. For some, it was the antithesis of calm—an unruly hue brimming with everything those fond of gentler tones tended to avoid: anger, desire, unbridled passion. A color that rose along a scale of relentless intensity, evoking not warmth, but power.

That’s why you chose to wear a crimson dress fitted neatly across your back, for the event. It didn’t need to be overly elegant or striking— just enough to keep you from feeling underdressed. Just enough to give you the confidence to stand tall and lift your chin in a room full of professors and potential future colleagues, the ones you'd meet again in hallways and over hurried lunches. You loved teaching. And truthfully, you didn’t mind being surrounded by university students who emailed you at four in the morning with long-winded excuses dressed up in flowery language to explain why they missed class or hadn’t done the work. You bit your tongue and kept going. People in the field admired your approach to teaching and your background in neuroscience had taken you far—far enough to park your car outside a sleek hotel and walk through its doors to stand among the best. To make your position as a tenured professor feel less like a myth spun into fantasy in your own head—and more like the fact it was becoming.

It was meant to be a calm affair, or so claimed the invitation embossed in gold thread and impeccable calligraphy, which promised a welcoming evening for the newly appointed tenured professors. You were one of them, even though you'd only been teaching for a year. Your heart thudded in erratic rhythms and you clutched your small handbag so tightly your knuckles turned white, the click of your heels echoing across the ceramic-gray tiles. Tilted your head, curious, catching sight of a golden chandelier overhead, mirroring the three-dimensional designs painted into the ceiling. It was such a pivotal moment, and yet, in all the hours spent getting ready, your mind had spiraled through a thousand reasons for things to go wrong. You couldn’t help it. Your head was always turning against you like it took some kind of pleasure in watching you unravel into a mess of nerves and dread, about the room’s reactions, about your own autonomy. Maybe you’d spill wine on your dress. Maybe you’d choke on a piece of ice from a champagne flute. Maybe you'd talk too much and accidentally let slip something painfully personal. The other professors didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about you. Still, when alcohol starts to feel like a second skin, you’d promised yourself you’d manage it, one drink every two hours. Enough to keep disaster at bay.

You greeted a few adjunct professors as they passed by, and the moment you stepped into the grand hall, your jaw nearly dropped. The entire place was blue. Neon lights laced the walls, and a young DJ—probably no older than twenty—was spinning electronic remixes of ‘80s hits. It was almost a joke. There were far too many people for this to be just faculty. You doubted it. The entire teaching department must’ve been here, something you hadn’t quite expected. You’d imagined a more traditional venue: jazz music, old money burning through the most expensive drinks at a quiet bar in the corner. Instead, the tables were dressed in white linen with centerpieces of soft blue and white flowers. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. You accepted the glass of champagne a waiter offered you, now, it felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. You didn’t see a single familiar face and with the sheer number of bodies crowding the space, heat began to wrap around your bones. Usually, you were good at socializing, at least good enough not to make a fool of yourself. Winning over professors — especially the ones in physics— was a simple task, and the unspoken rule from the arts department was clear: never, under any circumstances, cross them. So yes, faking camaraderie came naturally to you. And with a few drinks, the task became almost idyllic.

You approached a table and picked up a small peach pastry, the sweetness of the powdered sugar melting on your tongue as your eyes scanned the room, now with a faint smudge of red lipstick on the bite. Then, something shifted. You felt it a gaze on the back of your neck. You turned slowly, your breath catching just as your pulse began to quicken.

Spencer Reid. And he was looking at you.

The same who was too ‘good’ to consider a tenured position at the college. The genius. The chosen one. The prodigy. An FBI profiler whose dignity vanished from the young girls in his classes as soon as they saw him or attended his seminars purely to watch him talk and talk and spill random data that none of them really cared about. They just went to see him. And he didn't even notice. Or, if he did, he was perfectly good at turning a blind eye to it.

It made your blood crawl. Cause you spent months hearing praise behind your back about how all his degrees and accomplishments put him in an optimal position to walk the halls as if he were a member of royalty himself. Sometimes you would see him in the gardens talking to some students being so generous and so kind that you would inevitably roll your eyes at his perfect kindness that you wanted to avoid seeing him as soon as possible. Everyone talked about him and you could understand why: He was an excellent prototype of the good man wrapped in good faith. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze at teacher's meetings, passing a cup of coffee in the mornings of pure silent politeness because neither of you had ever conversed in sentences that veered beyond a harmless thank you and good morning. You offered him your best smiles as his fingers brushed yours as you held out the cardboard cup full of black coffee and he would stare longer at your lips before sliding his periphery into your hands and leaving, as if touching you made him burn, as if he ached for the involuntary touch of your skins. Your friends were aware of how much you didn't like at all everything that endorsed his presence, and they didn't understand. You had a stable job. And of almost the same vitality as his. They told you that your reasons for loathing him were ridiculous, childish and, for a moment, they said you just didn't like him because he incarnated in flesh and blood everything you were attracted to in a man. And you were perfect at dismissing that.

Because it was. And that's what you really fucking hated.

You were unlucky. That was it. As if there was some bizarre entity pre-existing that dragged your decisions into an eternal abyss and turned you into a mixture of bad experiences that only increased as the years went by. And Spencer, in theory, seemed to be too surreal. Sure, his proportions as a whole were appropriate. And you had no trouble figuring out why young girls sighed with their hand on their chin every time he opened his mouth. There was no name for what you felt for him. It was just... It was weird. Weird for you, even, because you were used to being around people like him. But never like him. No one was like him.

Maybe your friends were right in saying that your occasional disdain for Spencer was born solely out of a need for adrenaline that you simply stopped paying attention to him. When your eyes met his in the distance, in a crowd, he smiled at you.

Bastard.

He had no right. He had no right to smile warmly at you as he raised his hand slightly in greeting, which he then lowered because of how awkward and absurd it looked. Much less did he have it to look this well melted by a suit that seemed to be itching his skin. With the red tie and the white shirt stuck to his body. All your attempts to pretend to be indifferent when it came to him were more than unsuccessful, in fact, irrational was a better word to describe it. You did nothing more than answer his greeting with a rehearsed smile as you turned to the food table swallowing a couple of those peach snacks, which you simulated with another swig of champagne feeling how the taste of alcohol numbed the few senses you had left one hundred percent. You sighed, much to your dismay, the dress was starting to feel tighter and tighter around your waist and you felt a flash of wind caressing the bare skin of your back. And to think that Spencer was probably watching you sent a searing heat through all your extremities. You stood up on your back and walked to the other end, however, the glass goblet you held in your right hand had a small crack that dug into your palm making you gasp from the sting of the glass against your flesh. Blood, thick and metallic, gushed out in small gushes from the wound. You felt dizzy for a second. And you wanted to go straight to the nearest bathroom.

Spencer followed your figure gliding through the crowd. The music was loud and what he heard from some of the professors, even if he didn't like to admit it (they were a bit older and kind of jerks) he stopped listening to them the moment your eyes connected with his and just lost himself in how he felt his heart rate become erratic. Superficial. He didn't need the world to be quiet to hear his heart racing. And it wasn't in the ingestion of alcohol, so in his glass rested a simple apple cider that he drank with enthusiasm. It was in how you received his perception, he was used to reading between the lines. And he had spent a lot of time reading specifically how you responded to being in his presence. Always evasive. You pleaded silently. He was not indifferent to your avoidance and sometimes caught you looking at him when you thought he didn't notice. In some other context it would seem creepy and worthy of concern. But it was you. All he saw was you. He wanted to see why his limits seemed to be nonexistent when it came to you and everything that warranted your mere objectivity. He listened to you in your classes, giving extensive perorations on the theory of neuroplasticity, and your students raved about you.

There was something irrefutable in how you learned to avoid him with a grace that overwhelmed him. He wished the words you never pronounced could be a clear language. But no. You chose evasion, silence. An elusiveness so subtle that it only left room for curiosity, for the need to understand why you were doing it. As if everything between you was an unwritten dialogue that he couldn't complete.

He could hear the softness of your words as he rummaged deep into his memories, when you talked about the evaluative changes in neuroscience in front of a packed classroom, your voice flowed like a calm river but inside him everything was churning and he didn't even bother to look for its root. It didn't bother him, actually, he was fascinated by how you were able to captivate everyone, and, at the same time, keep him out of your reach.

It killed him. It killed him slowly and torturously how he begged you with the simplicity of his gestures and looks and you purely eluded him. But what killed him the most was that, despite being so close, it always seemed like it wasn't enough. That he never reached that last layer that protected you.

He couldn't help but feel like a doomed voyeur watching as that invisible barricade between you held firm. Talk to me. Look at me. Why not? How long will I endure? Every vestige of desire of his was mounting to catatonic levels.

A cold current was seeping deep into his skin, icing his fingers as he waited, patiently, for some movement, a sign from you.

But nothing.

Only the pleasure of your indifference, so bitter and bewitching, like a trap he didn't know how to escape from. And, damn it, he loved it.

The white walls in the bathroom loomed over you as you walked in hoping for an aid kit somewhere, you looked in the mirror for a moment, realizing how lousy the night was going and you were just getting there. It was supposed to be a good time to continue making friends and finally find more people to have lunch with at noon. You should have seen it coming. You thought for hours about whether it was a good idea to attend and your apartment, not far from the hotel, a few blocks from the venue, was a mess. Dresses strewn across the floor and your cat found the jumble of sleeping fabric in every corner of the house fascinating. The pain in your hand was getting more intense, too strong, unbearable. A burst of burning that intensified every second. You made a point of washing away the bright blood with the water and grimaced at the new coolness and stinging sensation of the cut.

But even the pain didn't lessen the fact that you were thinking about him. And that infuriated you. The gazes that lasted longer than usual, the gestures you avoided and those imperceptible moments charged with something much more substantial. What did you want to do with all of that? Nothing. You couldn't do anything. Spencer was in a completely foreign league to you and you had to respect that.

You didn't even want to imagine what would happen if people at the college found out. People talk, and they don't measure the magnitude of their words and all that a simple hallway rumor could trigger. Like teens. No one should be interested in what two professors were doing outside the institution. And besides, he wasn't even working full time. He was an agent. Even more reason why this growing, heated thing between you two was a flat out no way it was going to happen. It was undermining all your senses. All your good judgment diminishing it to nothing. No, it couldn't happen. The tension was limiting your core beliefs. And as you tried to maintain a control you knew you didn't have, the restlessness in your chest only grew.

As you did everything in you to heal the cut quickly, you heard the faint creak of the door. You raised your head and, in the reflection of the mirror you saw Spencer's figure bursting into the glare of the bathroom lights. You failed to keep calm. Because you had nothing left. Spencer briefly held the handle, his eyes sliding a quick glance between the mess in your hand and the confusion evident on your face, your cheeks flushed, your breathing still uncontrolled. And, without a word, he locked the door.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the air, amplifying the tension already vibrating in the space. His scent enveloped you, the warmth of his presence washed over you so tightly that the sting in your cut receded into the background. But for him it seemed otherwise. He stood in front of you so close you could feel his breath, a faint sigh that seemed to touch your skin, make the air thick, dense. He looked at you briefly, straight into your eyes and that's when you understood why you were avoiding him so much. It was him. His gaze. His warmth. Everything about him sucked you in, pulled you in and was all too evident. His intensity was like a force of gravity that drew you in hopelessly. No matter how much you dodged it, no matter how hard you tried to shield yourself from that connection, it was as if the very nature of the situation had determined that the distances between the two of you were simply not viable.

He looked at you as if asking for permission to heal your hand, and though he didn't say it out loud, he didn't need to. The question was in the solid silence between the two of you, in the way he watched you, so close that you could almost feel his thoughts without a single word needing to be uttered. That look, that little action.

You couldn't hide from him.

You, who had always maintained control, felt how he crumbled at the softness of his gesture, at the implicit trust he offered. At how his hands, veiny and warm, took yours with an unspoken hush. You were trapped in his closeness and in his palpable presence. And worst of all, you wanted to stay there, caught in the nervousness of his look, in the subtle touch of his fingers.

You decided to speak. Or else you couldn't stand it any longer. “I should put in a beef about the dangers of champagne glasses.” You said trying to sound normal, calm. But the tension in your voice was so intense that you ignored it, "It was broken, hmm, I guess it's no big deal. It's probably not even deep."

“You're bleeding out here,” he chuckles, and the sound of his laughter, light but kind of warm, sneaks through the cracks in your conscience. You feel his thumb caress the palm of your hand, and the derision in his tone makes you laugh too. He clears his throat, before scanning his gaze around the bathroom for an aid kit. "You need to clean that. Or it'll get infected.”

“No, no. You don't need to ” you whisper, but you let his hand continue to hold you. “I'm fine, really...”

Spencer stopped in front of you, bent down slightly to look at your hand in more detail. “It does need to,” he replied in a slight murmur. "Superficial wounds can be much more dangerous than they appear. In fact, small cuts are more susceptible to infection than larger ones, because they may go unnoticed, but they leave a perfect entrance for bacterias. In this case, if you don't clean and disinfect it, Staphylococcus aureus bacteria are quite common, and that could lead to a serious infection."

You felt a little stunned. The amount of information he dumped on you so quickly left you somewhat entranced. However, the concern on his face was genuine. And it touched you.

Why did he have to look like that?

“Uh, I can't say I knew that.”

“Does it hurt?”

 “Just a bit.” You replied. It was true. But it hurt more that as he looked at you he kept stroking your hand with his thumb and each caress drove you crazy. “Any diagnostic, doctor?”

He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. God. His smile was even more charming holding you that close. A pair of dimples growing in his cheeks and he effortlessly aroused sensations in you too primal to admit out loud.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he whispers, the hint of his smile still visible. “But I need to clean that up for you... It's... It's okay if I do?”

You nodded, not knowing what to answer. Her gaze slid across the bathroom coming across a small white box resting on the counter. He turned away from you for brief seconds and, though it was a flicker in time, you felt the emptiness he left. You missed his touch and felt pathetic. So simple. So insignificant. And yet he still managed to unsettle you

Why did his closeness make you feel exposed, vulnerable? You knew something between the two of you was changing, but was it something you really wanted? Or rather, something you could afford to want?

It didn't give you time to think as he stepped in front of you again and wiped a cotton ball with antiseptic. Taking your hand again, the cool sensation of the antiseptic with the warmth of his fingers pressing against you making a twisted contrast of what it was. It was soft. It was gentle. As if he feared to break you with the simplicity of his caress. He was exalted, you could tell by the way he was breathing through his nose and his chest was rising and falling in a continuous back and forth. You couldn't help but think how, for a second, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was him. Just him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It was strange to hear him say that. Because how could he not know that discomfort was, in fact, what made you feel so alive? The vulnerability, the not knowing what was going on between you and the uncertainty you felt in his every gesture. It was all there, hovering between the two of you, and you weren't saying anything about it. You just held each other in this delicate balance that you longed to break.

“You don't.” you said quickly, "It's dumb. I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm not good at this stuff, the last time my cat scratched my whole arm and I'm pretty sure I made the scratches even worse."

Spencer looked up, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I just don't want you to think I'm invading your space,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice was like a soft punch to the chest.

Spencer curved his lips, barely a smile. He continued his slow, meticulous movements cleaning your wound with a precision that was hard to ignore. Every time his finger brushed your skin it was like lighting a thousand matches inside you.

 “This isn't so bad,” he murmured, as he carefully cleaned the area around the cut. “It could have been so much worse.”

“Well, hopefully I'm not bleeding to death,” you replied with a small touch of humor. The slight stinging in the wound when the antiseptic touched your skin was somewhat tolerable now, and his presence somehow made you feel calmer.

And, of course, you decided not to pay attention to the closeness of his face and that incipient beard that adorned it perfectly. All over his jaw, you had the urge to touch it and put the fingers of your free hand on the fabric of your dress as if it contained all those growing desires.

“Hopefully not” Spencer laughed, not looking away from your hand. "It's not that dramatic, but you know, some people faint over something as simple as this. The body's reaction to minimal pain can be interesting."

“Really? How?”

You knew the answer. But hearing him speak for you was a necessity now and you decided to take advantage of every second.

"The fear of pain and the physiological reaction is more prevalent than it seems, that's all kind of like a mind game. That it thinks you have something, when the damage is likely to be minimal.”

“And I assume that if there was anyone here passed out, it would be me.” you said, shaking your head and looking at the wound with mock concern. "Yeah, I should have guessed. I cannot tolerate pain.”

Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a laugh that made the air around the two of you feel less tense.

“Definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Good to know.”

He continued cleaning and gently placed a children's band-aid (from some cartoon you couldn't recognize) over your cut, now clean and out of harm's way. Were his eyes always this bright or was it the glare of the white lights? And his lips, his lips. Slightly splendorous from whatever he was drinking before he came in. You swallowed saliva, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks as he seemed to have scanned across your face and the bathroom was flooded by a couple of giggles that pretended to say a lot, but was nothing. It wasn't awkward, but that kind of silence that hovered over you and enveloped you in a still atmosphere that you countered with the rowdiness outside. You sat on the countertop, the coldness of the ceramic hitting your thighs hoping he wouldn't leave. You lay your head back in the mirror, and Spencer's head shorted out.

He didn't know how much more he was capable of taking, if he was fit to drown everything that came into his head when he saw through the mirror's reflection that curve of your back, smooth, perfect. The red dress tight to every curve fitting in the right places and that lipstick, lightly smeared across your lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets and swallowed thickly. Your eyes traveled down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness and notoriety.

“You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself over there" you say amused, your voice tired. "I don't blame you. Teachers' humors are crap."

Spencer nods, standing in front of you. Your knee brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. "I usually enjoy theoretical physics jokes but there's a point where it gets repetitive and boring. If I'm honest, I was looking forward to getting out of there.”

The laugh you let out was soft, almost intimate, as if only he was meant to hear it. Spencer drank it in as if it were something sacred. His fingers, still warm from touching you, flexed in his pants pockets, trying to contain the absurd need to brush against you again. 

“Spencer Reid?” you repeated with an arched eyebrow, watching him with a vague smile as you leaned your head back against the mirror a little more. "You must have the highest tolerance for repetitive. You analyze it, dissect it. You find patterns in it, revel in it. I thought you were used to it.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, tickled by your remark. His eyes roamed over your face with a scrutiny that made you hold your breath. He didn't seem to be looking at you out of mere habit anymore, it seemed he couldn't even help himself. You cleared your throat, but his closeness was brutal. He smelled like aftershave, so strong that the scent drugged you completely.

"Maybe you're right, but there are exceptions. There are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how much I'd rather abide by them." he said, this time turning to you and you swore your heart was going to jump out of your rib cage.

His hands slowly came out of his pockets, and he leaned lightly on the countertop to the side of you. His arm almost brushed your thigh and for an instant you thought he would do it on purpose, that he would trace the fabric of your dress with his fingertips. That he would dare. And you thought how good it would feel to be on his hands, long fingers and protruding veins, holding you like a longing.

“And is tonight one of those exceptions?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, watching him closely. 

His throat worked in a strained swallow. "I'm sure it is.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing got slower, deeper. Your inhibitions out of you. His knuckles, distracted, barely grazed your knee in a touch so light it might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for all your skin igniting in response. Spencer froze at his own boldness, but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his eyelashes lowered slightly as he looked back up at you. All content, his eyes dancing all over your face.

He didn't move. 

He didn't leave. 

The air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as Spencer leaned forward gently, closing the distance with torturous slowness as if to give your body time to react, to reject him. But you didn't. And you had no plans to either. Your back brushed against the mirror, the coolness of the glass seeping through the thin dress as Spencer's warmth enveloped you from the front. His hands continuing to rest on the countertop on either side of your legs, locking you in with devastating ease.

He was tense. You could see it in his jaw. The line of his throat working as he swallowed saliva with visible effort. Almost instinctively, you tilted your head, and mentally beat yourself up as you thought you could ignore or simply disregard everything that revolved around him because it was impossible. You hesitated on whether to do that thing that was killing you so much, to touch his face, to caress his cheek. Let him do something. His gaze made you breathless. Dark, intense. Fixed on you and only you. His dark, chocolate irises, a hazel hue that you could finally detail up close.

He had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

“Why do you keep avoiding me so much?” his voice was a whisper, but you felt it throughout your body. His breath was warm with a minty undertone, it brushed your mouth. "Did I...did I do something to bother you? I didn't say anything bad about you, if you were wondering. I have eidetic memory, I would remember if I was rude to you at any time.”

You found yourself caught between need and uncertainty. Your hands rested on your thighs, and you wanted him to push them away. Spencer saw it. He saw it in the way your eyelashes quivered in a flutter that sent shocks through his body, in how your gaze dropped fleetingly to his mouth before returning to his eyes, in the way your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratically. 

His knuckles brushed the fabric of your dress with calculated carelessness, a light touch on your right thigh that made everything in you tense with an internal jolt. There was no urgency in his movement. Only a torturous patience, an unspoken question in the way his skin tested yours. As if testing the ground.

A restrained sigh escaped your throat, almost inaudible, but he heard it. 

“You didn't do or say anything bad about me, Spencer.” you murmur, your voice sharp. "It was my thing. I make movies all the time in my head. I think I was just jealous.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. His knuckles still moving in a steady rhythm over the fabric of your dress, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?”

Your tongue fleetingly moistened your upper lip. His gaze followed the movement with unsettling thoroughness, his fingers twitching subtly on the countertop. You were unconsciously tasting him. And it delighted you to watch his jaw clench.

“I guess you're too good to be real.” you let out an irony-laden laugh, "It's lame. Don't mind me. I actually thought you didn't like me."

“Why would you think that?” he sounded almost offended, incredulous at what you just said as he let his fingers trail southward away from the red fabric. It was silk, fine silk that hugged your thighs beautifully. His fingers were just as warm on your skin and you shivered as his caresses went up and down. Paulatine, subtle, but it made your hair stand on end. And the way he whispered your name... Almost like a longing held on his tongue, like a heavenly prayer. "I've done nothing but silently wanted you. If you only knew... How long I've been saving this. Keeping you. As if just looking at you was enough.”

Your lips parted, but the words stuck in your throat. As if every particle had stopped in time, leaving them suspended in that instant where nothing else existed except the way he touched you. His hand slid, slow, barely perceptible, but enough to set your skin on fire. His fingers traced invisible lines over your thigh with a devotion that left you gasping for breath, memorizing the texture of your skin, the way you reacted under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, it was the only thing that could come out of your mouth. Your voice cracked, feeling the pressure building in your chest, in your belly, in every nerve ending in your body. 

A sound escaped from his throat. Low. Grave. As if the confession had managed to shake something inside him. 

His hands moved, with deliberate leisure, barely moving up the curve of your thigh before clinginging to the flesh. His torso was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the racing beat of his heart pounding in sync with yours.

"No, don't be sorry" his voice was a whisper, his lips against your temple. They were so close you could feel them, a temptation suspended in the air. The edge of his nose brushed yours, a touch so thin, so intimate, that a shiver danced down your back. "I guess it's my fault for not talking to you in the first place. But if you'll let me... I promise not to ask for more than you're willing to give. Because having you anyway is already more than I ever thought I deserved."

God. 

You couldn't think, not when he was there, so tangible, so immensely real, tearing down every barrier you'd ever built between the both of you. 

His fingers came up again, this time with less hesitation, brushing the inside of your thigh in a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent an electric whiplash up and down your spine. If you moved a little, just a little, he would brush the fabric of your panties.

"Spencer..." his name was a breath caught in your mouth, a plea, a surrender.

He took it. He took your exhalation and made it his own. He kissed you with the kind of awe with where someone touches something sacred for the first time. His mouth rested on yours in a brush that contained months of longing compressed into a single instant. So violently that your body tensed. His lips moved gracefully over yours and his hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs as if he was holding back from touching you further. At first it was slow, painfully slow, waiting for you to refuse. But you had no intention of it. You sensed how his tongue brushed your lower lip in an invitation to thrust inside you, and the sweet gasp that came from your mouth in delight entranced him. He sensed it in the way your fingers reached up to grasp at the lapels of his suit, clinging to him as if you were about to collapse.

Kissing Spencer was just how you imagined it would be. Addictive. Teeth and tongues in a rough dance, he was stunned by how you responded to his caresses. By how your hands stopped trembling and rested on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer to you till you melted into a lingering kiss. Spencer moaned against your mouth, a harsh, restrained sound that reverberated between the both of you, becoming a vibration that traveled down your backbone and spread in torrid heat throughout your body. His fingers, which until now had traced a contained path over superficial parts of your body, twitched over the skin of your thigh, sinking just barely into the soft flesh, as if he needed to hold on to something in particular to keep from twisting his grip. He was losing it completely.

The kiss became hungrier, more impatient. His tongue slid against yours in a fiery, deep caress as his other hand moved up the curve of your back, pressing you against him as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. You shivered from just feeling his touch on your back and how that slit in your dress gave him the opportunity to move down a little.

Every scrape of his lips against yours was a silent confession, every halting gasp a secret that slipped out without the need for words. 

Spencer wasn't doing anything by halves, and kissing you was the ultimate proof of that. He was feeling you with every fiber of his being. He was drinking you in with the devotion of a thirsty man finally finding water in the middle of a forsaken desert.

With every particle of his autonomy, with every heaving breath that escaped his throat and the way his body pressed against yours, drawing closer and closer until the air between you ceased to exist. His hand, the one that had traveled up the curve of your back, slid with exasperating slowness to the base of your nape, tangling in your hair. Wrapping itself around the strands of your locks.

As if afraid you might fade away.

His other hand went up another inch, and when his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your panties, a fierce thrill ran through you, arching your back involuntarily at his touch. Wanting more. That he would turn his attentions upon you. He sensed it in the way your nails scratched his hairline, in how your thighs trembled under his caresses and the sudden gasp that escaped from your mouth, imprisoned in his. 

He pulled away just a few millimeters, just enough to be able to look at you. To see the slight tremble of your lips swollen by his kisses, the febrile shine in your eyes. His breath collided against your skin, warm and ragged, and in the thick silence of the bathroom, his breath seemed an echo of yours. 

The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell in an effort to swallow saliva. 

"I can't believe we missed this just because we had misconceptions about each other." he whispered, as if he found it hard to speak, as if the words scraped his throat as they came out, "You don't know all you do to me."

"I think I have an idea." you said, stunned. With a slow smile curving your mouth as your hands went back up to his cheeks, his beard stinging your fingers, "But I think I'm starting to like it when you show me."

A low growl escaped his chest before he took your mouth again, and no fantasy could match how good it felt to be in his arms. His kisses were intoxicating, tongue everywhere, low moans sending shocks straight to the recent growing bulge in his pants. He held your jaw and claimed you. And you loved it. You melted into him. Your hands took advantage of traveling to his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders. You could spend hours like that. There was a latent tension in his muscles, in the visible struggle between his control and his desire, in the way his dark gaze devoured every detail of you. His hands were so big, gripping your face as you moved closer until you wrapped your legs around him, your thighs at his sides.

Spencer pulled away, he was a mess. His brown hair tousled and his lips glossy and swollen from you. His thumb traced a sweet line over your lower lip. "You're beautiful," he exhales briefly. "So beautiful.”

You pull him by the neck and kiss him again. Hopeless. Hungry. You were sure the denim of your lingerie was wet and that he could feel it. You move your hips moaning against his mouth from the friction of your center against his pants. Spencer noticed your need, and his knee began to rub you. Slowly, feeling you contract from the pleasure. Your dress rode up over your thighs and he pulled them almost all the way up, to the level of your hips, allowing himself to revel in the matching lace of your wet panties. Soaked. For him. His right hand slid to your chest and groped your dress, seeking to pull it down. You nodded in agreement still with your lips on his, letting him know you needed him. That he would touch you. It was a slight effort, but with blind skill he lowered the top of your dress.

"I'm surprised at how skillfully you did that," you whispered between kisses. You hear his laugh, hoarse and throaty, as his knee continued to rub your center, and you cried out. A low cry that you silenced by biting your tongue.

"If it makes you feel any better, I thought as soon as I saw you come in." he said resting his forehead with yours. Widening his hands below your knees, and when he stretched a little, the breath caught in his throat.

You looked like a gorgeous wreck. Your lipstick was running, your barely visible red lace bra made your hardened nipples noticeable and the feel of the cold made them hard as rocks. Spencer kissed you. Quick, fleeting, placing his thumb and forefinger against your right nipple and pressing it, making you turn your eyes. His touch sent tingles all over your body, no matter how small or large, the mere fact that he was touching you was driving you crazy.

His kisses descend to your neck, leaving soft bites in an everlasting path. He nibbles that spot on your pulse and you tremble. Your hand touching his curls as you gasped uncontrollably.

"You're..." he began, but the word was lost in your neck. He kissed the curve of your collarbone, the racing pulse in your throat. " You're devastating.”

He scattered sporadic kisses across your neck and suddenly you felt like you were out of orbit when his fingers found your panties. Stroking you over the fabric. You wiggled your hips in search of more friction and melted into his arms. He teased both of your nipples. He kissed you with such vehemence and eagerness. It was simply too much. Your eyes traveled to the bulge in his sweatpants, and you had that urge to touch him again. It was big, you deduced immediately by how the fabric of the pants fit painfully around the outline of his cock. Your hand barely grazed it as he pushed you away and returned his kisses to your lips. Tugging at them. Biting, sucking with impetus.

"Is that good or bad?" you asked curving your back.

Spencer looked up from his spot, his eyes burning with an intensity so pure it took your breath away. "It's all I want.”

He bent down with only one knee digging into the floor, and your brain lit up. You were aware of what he was about to do and you pressed your thighs together, almost reluctantly. In response, he put his hands on your knees and looked at you over his long eyelashes and his eyes sparkling from all the excitement that was only growing more and more. No, he had no right to look at you like that. To have you at his mercy with just a kiss. To look so needy for you. 

"Don't get shy now." he said, his fingers squeezing the hypersensitive flesh of your thighs to open them for him again. "I want to touch you, please, angel. Let me show you how much I've needed you. How much I've longed to touch you, please, can I?"

His plea turned you to plasticine. It was a desperation rooted from deep in your chest and the mere thought that he had imagined this precise scene in the past turned you on. That maybe he had it all planned out and now he was kneeling before you basically begging to touch you. Your hand reached out to his curls, stroking his brown, unruly hair and you nodded as your lips curved into a smile that Spencer was quick to retort.

"Of course, I wasn't going to let you leave me like that and then leave." you whisper in amusement, holding his face "You owe me.”

Spencer smiled at you, sweet, almost too sweet for the kind of look he gave you. Filled with desire, with something far, vastly stronger than you. His fingers groping the edges of your panties. Swiftly pulling them down to your ankles. You shuddered at the change in sensations, the gusts of wind setting your nipples on edge and his gaze fixed on your cunt enveloped you in a cloud too intense for your brain to function properly. He looked at you with dilated pupils, licked his lips slowly as if tasting you on it.

"I owe you, huh?" he said, pressing a kiss on your inner thigh. Then on the other. "I guess I should make it up to you, right? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, but he bit down on a thin layer of skin and you gasped.

"Use your words, angel."

"I..." you doubted that your head could work correctly, his touch sent tingles through parts of your body unthinkable. "Fuck, Spencer. Just do it.”

"So desperate." he whispered, his tongue beginning to lick the wetness of your thigh. You swayed in response to the sensation, your back arching as your hands involuntarily moved up to your nipple, pinching and stimulating. You needed to feel him everywhere. It was disarming you. "Have you thought about this, do you think I don't notice when you look at me, when you sneak into my classes?”

He grabbed you by the knees and pulled you into his mouth with such speed that you didn't even have time to get used to the thrill. Fuck. His mouth was desperate, he licked your folds and his curls hide between your legs. You'd let him sleep right at dawn right there. You moaned his name so loud that you were thankful the music outside was so loud no one could hear, 'cause you needed that. You needed to scream how much you enjoyed it and when Spencer gasped in delight, your whole body jerked. A rough hand gripped your thigh, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you open just for him. To keep you from shivering. His tongue was relentless. He swirled with precision, sucked you with intensity and reserved kisses for your clit. You rolled your eyes and your hips followed in a back and forth motion over his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure.

There was a heat swirling over your belly, over your bloated, hypersensitive center. You shuddered and Spencer hummed above you as you tightened his head making him bury himself in your pussy. You were drunk, it was vertiginous, too much to bear.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. You couldn't see him because he was still hiding between your legs but the image was projected in your head instantly. His lips glossy from your wetness, yearning for more. The fibers of his hair messy from your pulls "How did I not notice before that you are this beautiful?" he kissed one of your folds and your back flexed again. "That you taste so good…”

Your whole body jerked in pleasure as he sealed his lips on your clit. Sucking. Drinking. Opening his mouth wide and devouring every nerve of you like a starving man. As if you were his last entrée that he would hesitate to ravish for how exquisite it was. One hand came up and took away yours that was caressing your boobs, his now cold fingers closing on them. His hand was large. It went all the way around you and pressed your hard, overstimulated nipple between the middle of his fingers.

"Spencer," you moaned, your thighs trembling and his mouth devouring your cunt with vigor, "It's too much. Sensitive."

His mouth closed on you again, your hips still twitching at him. Pleasure engulfed you, your stomach contracted and you swore you saw nebulae and tiny stars the moment his tongue sucked slowly at your slit. It curved, it teased you, driving you to your limit.

"No, not yet" he groaned against your skin, but his fingers didn't falter for a single second. The bundle of stimulation cut your lungs out. "Just one, yes? Can you give it to me, angel?"

You barely nodded as he returned to devouring you. He wanted to take you to the last of your strength. Heat coiled in your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Irregular beats that succumbed you in instant pleasure. His tongue licked in one last long line in your pussy that tore out a scream that you stifled by biting your lip. The release of your orgasm taking you elsewhere. You were trapped in ecstasy. Your limbs ached and you needed him more and more. His breath was warm as he pulled away and kissed your mons pubis, testing, seeing how much more you could take. It made your hair stood on edge.

"You had this well planned, hmm?" you whimpered in a murmur, feeling the sequels of your first orgasm shaking your body, "I bet you've thought about it too. About how good it would feel to have me in your hands, is that it? Did you want me so bad you couldn't do anything but imagine it?”

He growled in reply, and the sound made your blood rise. Time slowed down around you and for a moment you forgot there was a whole party going on outside. But all you could think about was that you had Spencer on his knees for you, his erection probably being too painful for him and yet he continued to kiss you and tasted all of your senses. The pressure of his lips was deep worship, in restrained cravings that would sooner or later explode into frenzy. Your head fell against the mirrored glass as now his fingers curved lightly to touch your cunt in search of more. He added a finger, then another, patiently opening you up. Your hips throbbed again from the overstimulation, your brow furrowing as he rose and began to spread kisses all over your face.

"You have no idea, I asked myself that every night I pretended I didn't care about you more than I should have." he murmured, his palm pressed against your clit and his bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, in pursuit of a delicious friction you both needed. You were at his mercy completely. You lowered your head and rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling his fingers move nimbly inside you. "And each time, the answer was yes. I wanted you so much that it hurts. Do you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?"

You nodded again and that sweet moan that came out of your mouth when he added a third finger made you see stars. Your eyes closed, you impaled yourself on his hand until you felt Spencer silencing as best he could his moans by stifling them with his own lips, still glistening from your arousal.

He continued touching you. Kissing you with ardor. And you questioned if you would have done this if you were both talking to each other instead of immediately deducing that you disliked each other. You were an idiot. Because from now on you didn't want to be in the hands of any man but Spencer. You didn't want to see another face. Neither did you want to go back to the normal course of your life when he had brought you to a point of no return that you never reached with anyone else.

"Just like that," he whispered, kissing that dangerous spot in the area of your racing pulse. Provocatively. "Fucking my hand. Gasping for me. You're so good. So beautiful. I can't get enough of you."

He bit back a slim layer of skin, and you moaned.

"Spencer..." you hissed, leaning your hips into him, "Fuck.”

You glimpsed his frown trying to concentrate on your own pleasure, but his hips bucked and he rubbed at your inner thighs, you could almost see some pre seminal liquid pouring out of his pants and the sight made you rush at his touch. His fingers curled, you grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him as you bucked unconsciously and the surges of your second orgasm filled you up to your ears. Spencer gasped as you came in his hand, and he was precious. Beautiful, dark eyes, rosy cheeks and fully swollen, glowing lips. Your breaths hitched in unison as he pulled his hand away from you and you brushed back the strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

You give him a smile, tired, and his head does nothing but spin. At the need, at how good it felt to finally touch you and feel you collapse into him. At how masterful you perceived better than all the times he imagined what it would be like. A giggle escapes from his lips, pressing a kiss to your temple, his warm breath spreading over your skin, and his hand, almost by instinct, moved up your abdomen in a lazy rubbing tracing distracted circles. Now yours played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and you let yourself drift in the sweet silence surrounding you.

"Hmm," he whispered. "It took us longer to heal your wound."

You opened your mouth in an offended gesture, hitting him gently but you didn't have the strength for much. His body vibrated from his laughter, and you loved it. "I want to see you say that later. We'll see who gets the last laugh and it will definitely be me.”

Spencer looked at you with those deer-eyed eyes full of tenderness that your knees felt weaker. He left another soft kiss on your cheek and you hummed in delight at the gesture. Slipping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Melting into him.

"Whatever you say, angel." he said with his eyes closed. "We still have time."

It was as if the entire universe had shrunk to that instant. The feel of your skin against his effortlessly banishing everything you felt for him before. Of knowing he craved you as much as you craved him. His breath attached to yours, coupled in a quiet, slightly agitated rhythm, just enough to fill the bathroom with him.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the slow waves of his breathing, and for a moment you felt light. As if in that minuscule piece where nothing bad could reach you. As if he was the refuge you had always wanted to return to without knowing it.

"Do we have it?" you repeated softly, shyly, almost as a question to yourself.

Spencer nodded, his nose brushing against your temple."We have all the time in the world if you're with me.”

Your lips pursued his just because the words got stuck in your mouth, this time in a more chaste kiss. One that tasted of rest, of complicity. And your heart was beating so fast you could hear its beat rewinding in your ears.

"I like you so much," you murmured against his mouth, barely a whisper. "I reiterate that I'm concerned about all the effects you have on me.”

His hands traced slow figures on your back, the whisper of his voice lulling you low:

"Then let's be scared together. It's much safer for both of us, isn't it?"

And you did. You closed your eyes, sank into him... And, for the first time in a while, you didn't care what came next.

[asxgard]

A Lesson in Firsts | alternate ending

Resident!Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x resident!f!reader

Alternate ending of A Lesson in Vulnerability, but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: A positive pregnancy test flips your life on its head. You try to take it one step at a time.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Expect some things inspired by this Robby and Reader! I can’t stop thinking about the possibilities lol

sorry she took awhile, she turned into something else while I was writing lol the ideas kept coming (gender was a coin toss, so don’t be upset with me)

Enjoy this monster💜she was so fun to write

Word Count: 8.2k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, foul language, unplanned pregnancy, medical inaccuracies, ANGST, y’all disappointing your parents, fluff, SMUT (MINORS DNI), pregnancy sex/unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), p in v, pet name (sweetheart), hospital mentions, violence at said hospital/combative patient, it’s the 90s, vague birth descriptions, I’ve never been pregnant so forgive any errors

not beta read

It was reassuring to have Michael by your side, holding you steady in his tiny bathroom as you both waited to see what your future may hold. After puking at the hospital and realizing how late you were, the next course of action was logically this: taking a pregnancy test in Michael Robinavitch’s apartment.

You were thankful he was there, but worries ate at your mind. While he had promised to stick by your side regardless of the results, you wondered how much you could believe him. That didn’t even begin to touch your worries about your residency, and to an extent, his as well. You hoped your life didn’t have to change — you hoped you could figure out your relationship with Michael on your own terms, not by something now out of your control.

“Are you ready?” He asked gently beside you.

You were not, but you nodded regardless.

You both stared down at the tests, two little pink lines on each staring back at you. All three showed positive.

You were pregnant. You nearly threw up again.

“Are you sure it’s mine?” Was out of his mouth before he could think about it.

“Do you want to keep it?” Was out of yours before you could process the question.

You both stared at each other for a long time as you silently digested his question. How on earth could he think it was someone else’s? Sure, you weren’t in an official relationship, you were in…well, you weren’t certain what you were to each other. He cared about you. You cared about him. But other than whispered words, you felt like you had no leg to stand on with whatever this was or was going to be.

“You think I’d tell you I thought I was pregnant if I didn’t know it was yours?” You whispered, irritation building. “I’ve only been sleeping with you.”

His dark brown eyes watched you like he was still thinking — and your brain was running a mile a minute. You found annoyance was the first emotion you had begun to process, wondering if his doubt was simple shock or something more. The second thing you digested was your fear for the glaring unknown future you now had to face. The third thing was sheer panic, making your knees shake.

You moved out of his tiny bathroom, the walls slowly starting to cave in on you. Would he really stay with you? Help you? Face this with you? Your chest felt tight and you had the urge to cry.

“Hey, hey,” Michael followed you, putting his hands on your arms. “We’re in this together, yeah?”

“You thought—fuck.” Tears came, blurring your vision, forcing you to blink rapidly and turn away from him.

He let out a long sigh, “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”

Even through your teary gaze, you found his eyes. He blinked quickly, but you caught the emotion setting in, tears building. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried, and while you could not feel him crying, a few drops of tears landed on your shoulder. You gripped him tighter.

“I’m so sorry.” You breathed out against his shoulder, trying not to hyperventilate.

Michael stilled in your arms, moving his arms from around your middle and looking at you in the eyes. His brows were drawn together, tear tracks on his cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, no. I could’ve—we might’ve—I—”

He shushed you, bringing you back into his chest.

“I don’t want to ruin your life.” You whispered. “I guess I could—”

“What? No. No. I’m not going anywhere.” He swallowed, bringing a hand to your head and holding you close. “I’m more worried I ruined your life. Your residency.”

You exhaled, all the air leaving your lungs as you thought about it. You would likely be able to finish your second year before needing to take any time, but who knew about your third year. Maybe they would let you continue without much hassle. But childcare—the money to raise a child.

You held each other for a long time, worries bleeding together, but he never let you go. Not once.

When you finally moved, your tears had dried, but the weight in your chest had not dissipated. He moved silently behind you, both of you settling in his kitchen, leaning against the countertop while he started some hot water.

You knew you both were going to have to have a deeper conversation about this — you were going to have to come up with a plan. Despite how devastated you were at the results, both of you seemed to be on the same page about keeping it. A baby.

Your baby.

—

The first OBGYN appointment came with a flood of nerves, uncertainties crashing together. Michael had been unfocused throughout your night shift together, but both of you had decided several nights before to keep your relationship as private as possible. You both taking that part step-by-step, wading through the water of your new circumstances with small, careful movements.

After the nurse took urine and blood, you ensured that your OB didn’t do any work at Big Charity — not wanting to get the two lines of your life crossed. You were relieved to find she did not.

She was cheery when she entered, subtly taking in your energies and bringing a sense of calm. No judgement crossed her face, but she did ask about your residency after reading your file.

“Well we’ll start with a pelvic exam, and then make sure there’s proper placement in the uterus with ultrasound. Then we’ll go over your medical history, alright?” Dr. Lyons said, moving to grab the machine and get the gel.

You only nodded silently at her, still having a hard time processing it all. Michael squeezed your hand, bringing you out of your head.

“Are you a resident, as well?” Dr. Lyons asked casually, squirting some gel onto your stomach.

Michael cleared his throat, “Yeah, year three.”

“Very nice, what specialty?”

“Emergency department,” He said, small smile forming. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was proud of it. “It’s how we met.”

She got the transducer ready with a hum, “That can be very stressful.” She eyed you only briefly.

“I can cope.” You told her, but after a moment, you felt like you were more trying to convince yourself. Stress and pregnancy? Bad mix.

Her smile returned, “Just keep an eye on her blood pressure, yeah?”

Michael nodded, eyes going to the screen once she started. She was unable to see much detail, and so she switched you over to a transvaginal ultrasound. It was grainy, but the unmistakable form of a fetus took center stage.

“Measuring at about 3.1cm,” Dr. Lyons said. “About seven weeks, I’d say, based on your last menstrual period.”

Michael’s grip got tighter and you looked away from the screen to peek at his face. You found tears in his eyes, and he looked like he was trying not to cry. You rubbed your thumb over his fingers.

“Let me get the doppler, hear that heart activity.” She gave you a few tissues and allowed you to scoot back up the exam table.

The sound of your baby’s heart filled the room, racing like a speeding train at 119bpm. It filled your heart up with warmth and tears leaked from your eyes.

After your exam, Dr. Lyons gave you some more information, went over her concerns with your stress levels and a few prenatals she wanted you to take. You assured her that your residency would not interfere and she sent you on your way — scheduling for another appointment in four weeks.

In the quiet of his car, Michael grabbed your hand. “We’re having a baby. We’re really having a fuckin’ baby.”

You chuckled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “We’re going to be parents.”

—

“A shotgun wedding is awfully cliche.” You said one afternoon on Michael’s couch, channel surfing. “My mom would be so disappointed.”

Michael walked into his living room with a sandwich, ham and cheese by the look of it. Your stomach grumbled, eyes trying to focus on the television as he took a seat beside you.

“I live to be a disappointment.” He said with a shrug and a smirk, biting into his sandwich.

You huffed a laugh, “Seriously though. I think we should put that thought to rest for now.”

“Oh, don’t wanna marry me now, huh?” His tone was light.

You hummed, your hormones flaring within you, suddenly souring your mood. “I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m having your baby.”

He looked over at you in surprise at your shift in mood. “Are you alright?”

You huffed, turning your eyes away from him. “What are we really even doing, Michael? We have no plan, no fucking money, loans up the ass…what? You gonna stay with me because you knocked me up?”

“What the hell has gotten into you? I thought we decided to try this out?” He placed the plate down onto the coffee table to give you his full attention.

“What the hell has gotten into me?” You scoffed, barely looking at him. “I’m trying to be realistic here.”

“It feels like you’re doubting everything I’ve been telling you.”

“Most of what you told me was in your bathroom, before we found out. You said you’d try and I still feel like we barely know each other.”

“I think I’ve made it obvious how I felt.” He said, tone low, eyes burning the side of your face.

“Oh, did you? I must’ve lost the memo.” Now you were just being mean, but you couldn’t help it. Doubts had been eating away at your mind, and you had been terrible about voicing them. A crippling flaw, it seemed.

“I don’t care about you just because you’re fucking pregnant with my baby. Jesus Christ.” He stood quickly, running a hand through his hair.

The tears came unexpectedly; you blinked once, barely registering his words and his tone, and then there they were, blurring your vision.

He stalked back into the kitchen, footfalls heavy, shoulders rigid. You watched him go.

Part of you wanted to sink into the couch and be swallowed whole. The other part of you wanted to rise to follow him. You felt stuck between both — fear and anger equally eating you alive. You moved to flee instead, avoiding both altogether.

Despite your blurry vision, you found your bag filled with extra clothes next to your purse.

He was on you in an instant, “No, no, no.” His tone was still hard, annoyance coming off him in waves. “We’re gonna sit down and talk about this like adults.”

Your eyes did not move from your hand and his on the strap of your bag, tears freefalling. One hit the top of his hand and he let out a long sigh. With his other hand, he tipped your head up so you would look at him instead of the floor.

“Come on, talk to me.” He said softly, the frustration on his face giving way to concern. “Where did this come from?”

You struggled to find your voice, though when you did, there was really no explanation. “I—” You broke down, a sob coming from your lips as you tried to look away from him again.

He brought you into a hug, bag dropping back to the floor, forgotten about. He kissed your hairline and shushed you.

It was too much. Neither of you had even told anyone yet, or discussed much more than vague details of your plan. It was still early, you both had said after your first appointment, we have time. It felt so foolish now, dancing around your problems like neither of you had learned anything in that bathroom a week ago. Like hiding your feelings was still a suitable option.

“I—I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to take that out on you.”

He hummed against your hairline, “Thank you for your apology. Just breathe for me.”

You followed his advice, taking a deep breath in and then releasing it. It did little to solve the tension in your shoulders.

When you looked at him, he brushed your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you wanna sit and talk about it?”

You nodded silently and you moved back to the couch. You sat quietly for a few minutes, fiddling with your fingers.

“I’m just having my doubts, you know?” You let out a shaky breath. “Like this is still so new and I don’t know. There’s still things to figure out. I don’t want to rush this between us, but I don’t know—it’s just another uncertainty and it’s making me so anxious.”

He processed your words with pursed lips, watching you with those pretty brown eyes of his. He fully turned toward you and grabbed your hands in his.

“This won’t be easy, but I want to be by your side. I want to be in your life. I care about you and I have long before we found out.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to rush our relationship either, but I want you here. I want you to let me in.”

You met his eyes, “I want you to let me in, too.”

He smiled, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

—

The pizza place was not the intention for your first official date together, but you took one step into the place Michael had chosen and nearly thrown up. The meats cooking seemed to strike straight to your stomach, and the nausea was immediate. He had worriedly ushered you out of the nice restaurant, rubbing your back while you leaned over, hands on your knees trying to breathe.

No vomit came, thankfully, that would have been so embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. “That place was lovely, I swear.”

He did not take it to heart, hand not moving from your back. “Don’t sweat it.”

Hunger grumbled in your stomach, and a few store fronts down was a little pizza spot. The smell of cheese and yeast was actually a welcomed one when you stepped inside. You both looked a little overdressed for it, but you sat down after ordering a few slices without being fazed.

“Are you looking forward to your fourth year?” You asked, sipping your clear soda — Michael insisting, even after you assured him your stomach had settled.

“I am,” He nodded, “Is it weird I still feel wildly underprepared?”

You shook your head, “You? You’re the best person we’ve got in there aside from Dr. Long.”

He blushed heavily, shaking his head. “No way.”

“You should consider going for that chief resident position.” You told him with a grin, winking, “I love a man in power.”

He sputtered a laugh, “Ulterior motives? I’ll consider it.”

“You should, though, seriously. You’d be very good at it.”

“Thank you.” He said, “Are you going to tell your PD soon?”

You frowned, thinking about the program director in question. It was the logical next step regarding your residency. “I was thinking about next week? I’ll try to tell Long then too. I’m just nervous, I didn’t really look over the benefits with this sort of thing when I started.” You chuckled lightly. “Didn’t really think it would affect me.”

He smiled sheepishly, sipping his soda, “Happy accidents.”

You grinned at him, “I’d cheers to that.”

So you did, laughing and enjoying his company over greasy pizza.

When you returned to his apartment, heat had settled low in your belly. You had been spending much of your free time at his place, leaving more and more of your clothes behind — even doing a shared load of laundry.

His quick kiss once you had gotten inside had turned into something much deeper, hands roaming and clothes falling to the floor. The date you had gone on had made you feel worlds better about this whole thing working out. It was a small step, but it lifted the weight from your shoulders.

Michael had you against the wall, one hand beside your head and the other gripping your hip. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth and gripping his hair in both hands. His hand on your hip slipped to where you wanted him most, ghosting over your clit before settling by your slick entrance.

“You’re so wet. Fuck.”

You whined against his lips, trying to desperately pull him closer.

It wasn’t long before you were on his bed, wrapping your legs around him, kisses sloppy and his lips searing the skin of your throat. You rocked your hips up, eager for more friction and he groaned. He fumbled off you, reaching towards his nightstand.

You blinked curiously at him, pulling him back to you. “We don’t need that.”

“What?” He asked against your lips.

You giggled, moving your hips up again to feel him. “I’m already pregnant, Mike. Let me feel you.”

He moaned at your words, making you smirk. He was lost in your kiss when you moved your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance. His breath hitched before pushing in slowly.

“Jesus Christ.” He exhaled once he was fully sheathed, eyes screwed shut like he was trying to focus.

It felt like all your nerves were on fire, so much more sensitive to the feel of him, each drag of his hips. His pelvic bone and patch of hair brushing up against your clit. You whined, simultaneously already over stimulated and needing so much more.

He tried not to be too rough with you, while also trying to consider your pleasure above his. He adjusted his movements until you were responding, clinging to him, one hand gripping his back desperately, the other between your legs.

“Mike, holy shit. Michael.” You moaned against his shoulder, the band in your lower belly growing more taut by the second.

“Fuck.” He breathed against your jaw, “Let me feel you cum, come on, sweetheart.”

The tension in your belly snapped with a moan, and your pussy gripped him impossibly tight.

“I’m gonna—” He hissed.

“Please. Please. Please.” You begged, arching your back.

The warm feeling that filled you was different, but you found it felt so good. His hips stuttered, moan swallowed by your mouth, and you tightened your legs around him.

Ragged breathing filled his bedroom, and his forehead rested against yours. He peppered a few kisses to your cheeks, making you grin. He rolled off of you with a groan low in his throat when he slipped out of you, both of you unmoving for another minute.

“Well that’s a first I can get used to.”

He laughed.

—

The first people you told were your PD and the chief attending, both men, and despite the disappointment clear on Dr. Long’s face, it went over well. Dr. Long assured you that he would work with the schedule to ensure you would be able to take your leave once you gave birth — six paid weeks. Anything additional would need to be vacation time, plus a slight risk to your residency. Thankfully it all lined up enough that you would be able to start your third year without a hitch, seven weeks after your due date.

You did not mention Michael to them, but you had both discussed that he would attempt to take a few days to a week around your due date to stay with you. You knew they would likely pick up on the overlap.

The first people Michael told were his parents, who had gone quiet on the other line as he paced his kitchen. You stood still leaning against the dining table, watching it unfold.

His mother’s voice rang out like a bell on the other side, “Oh, honey, did you forget to tell us you were engaged?”

He physically deflated, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “No, mom. We’re not engaged.”

The other line was quiet for a few beats, then it was his dad, “Son, how the hell could you be so reckless? First, choosing to be a damn emergency room doctor, and now what? Got some broad knocked up?”

Michael’s jaw tensed and you looked away, guilt filling your gut.

“Don’t call her that.” His tone was hard, the serious edge to it making you look back at him.

“...some golddigger…whore…does she even know you’re not a real doctor yet? Ha!” His father was ranting in the background.

“She’s a resident, too.” Michael snapped back. “You don’t have to be proud of my decisions, but this is happening. I’m having a baby, that’s a fact. You don’t even need to stay in my life, but she is going to be, so deal with it.”

“Michael, honey, you don’t mean that—”

“No, I do. You don’t get to shittalk her, I won’t tolerate it.” His voice cracked, “I wanted you to be a part of it, but it’s clear you don’t want to be.”

“Michael—”

“If you’re going to be this fucking stupid, fine. Don’t come crying to us when—”

Michael hung up, the weight of it crushing him, tears coming. You moved quickly, taking him into your arms before his knees could buckle. He held onto you like you were a lifeline, sobs wracking his body. You were silent, rubbing circles onto his back, knowing no words would be enough.

You felt an anger brewing in your stomach over how his father had spoken to him, but he had revealed a few weeks prior that his parents had wanted him to be a surgeon. Michael said it took awhile before he got the nerve to tell his father he had chosen the ED over trauma surgery. Now you knew why.

You brought him to the couch, kissing his face and running your nails along his scalp. He curled up, resting his head in your lap, while you ran fingers through his hair. You knew he should not have to bear the weight of their disappointment, especially since he was such a good man.

Flicking on a random baseball game, you didn’t let your fingers stray from his hair.

His anger seemed quick to follow his sadness, moving to sit up, face scrunched together.

“They don’t even know you! How could he even—he has a lot of nerve—”

“Hey, hey,” you placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to take what he said to heart. I appreciate you standing up for me, that meant a lot.”

His eyes softened when they met yours, “You don’t deserve that.”

You nodded in agreement.

Later that night, your parents took it a bit easier, though their voices were still thick with disappointment.

“What about your residency?” Your mom asked, “How could you be so foolish? You worked so hard for this!”

“I know, I already figured it out. I’ll still start my third year on time.”

“Baby’s aren’t easy, and if you go back to work full time? What about childcare?”

It was unnerving how silent your father had been.

“There’s a daycare at the hospital, we’ve been thinking about that.”

Your mother sighed, “Well we can’t stop you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You really did not, but you didn’t dare say that.

—

Michael’s mother warmed up roughly a month later, right around your appointment to find out the gender. She had explained that his father would come around, but hadn’t yet, but she expressed wanting to meet you. They lived all the way in California, so them coming to meet you (or you going to meet them) seemed more placating than realistic. Still, you agreed, voicing over the phone you would love to meet her.

Michael anxiously tapped on the steering wheel the entire way to your OB.

“Do you wanna bet on it?” You asked, trying to pull your own anxious mind from running wild.

“Bet on what?”

“The gender.” You said with a smile, looking over at him.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at you before looking back at the road. “What’re the stakes?”

You contemplated with a hum, “I could really go for ice cream.”

He laughed, “Ice cream?”

Shrugging, you added, “Or a beignet.”

“Not quite as high stakes as I was thinking.”

“And what were you thinking?”

“You should move in with me.”

You choked on your saliva, coughing, “Excuse me?”

It had not been long enough to consider that, even if your relationship was going well. It had only been official for a month.

“Not right now!” He said, swallowing thickly. “My lease is up in three months. Might be smart to consider a two-bedroom, you know, even if you don’t move in.”

“Oh.” You looked at the road ahead of you. “That might be too high a stakes.”

“You’re right, that was stupid.”

“No!” You objected. “No, it’s a smart thing to consider. It would be easier once they’re here to live together. But are we ready for that kind of commitment?”

“Sorry to inform you, but we’re going to have a baby together. Surprise!” His lighter tone was back, as was the smirk. “I think just about everything else is much lower stakes than that.”

“I would like to seriously consider that.” You told him quietly. “Just not over a bet.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry to spring that on you. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

You grabbed his right hand and squeezed. “I really just don’t want to fuck this up over spontaneous decisions. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, “So higher stakes than a sweet treat, but lower than moving in together? Hm, oh! What about that craft beer festival I was telling you about?”

You barked out a laugh, “I’m not going to a craft beer festival. I can’t even drink!”

He smirked, “You’ll be a perfect DD, then! Plus, they’ll have those fancy craft sodas and music I know you like.”

“Fine!” You huffed out, trying to hide a grin. “If I win, then you’re taking me to the next stupid rom-com that comes out.”

“Pfft, I love a rom-com. Think bigger!”

You thought for a moment, “I want to go to the next Comic-Con fully dressed up as whoever I want.” While you had no strong feelings about the con either way, you knew Michael did.

He groaned, “Dressed up, too? At least you’d be able to enjoy yourself at mine!”

“What? I’m sure there’d be a panel on that comic you like so much.”

His tongue moved over his lip, his eyes narrowed at the road.

“So, do we got a deal?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

“Fine. I’ll even let you pick first.”

“Oh, what a gentleman.” You laughed. “A boy.”

“You sound confident.” He noted, turning into the parking lot.

“Call it mother’s intuition.”

The smile that came over his face made your heart stutter, sweet and soft.

“Alright, if it’s a girl then we’re going to the craft beer fest. A boy and we go to comic con.”

“Dressed up.” You added, smirking. “Oh! I also want a beignet right now, too.”

He laughed, “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You even shook on it.

You waited anxiously for Dr. Lyons to confirm the gender, your gaze holding steady with Michael’s. You held his hand while he rubbed circles on your knuckle with his thumb.

“A girl!” She said, turning the screen to face you both, pointing to your baby.

Your head whipped over to look at the grainy image, disbelief settling in — more so upset at the fact that you lost rather than the gender itself. It was fleeting, however, and a cozy, warm feeling replaced it.

“A girl.” You echoed, smile forming.

Michael moved from the stool he was sitting on to kiss your forehead, whispering a subtle, “I win.”

You shooed him away. “Sore winner.” You whispered back.

Dr. Lyons left a few minutes later, leaving a few prints on the counter for you and Michael to take home.

You stared at the photos, pointing to a few features you noticed. Little feet and nose. You began to wonder what she might look like — who she might take after more, or if she would be a perfect mix. Your heart swelled.

“I’ll go buy tickets this weekend.” Michael told you, a triumphant grin stretching across his face.

You scoffed, moving off the exam table to put your pants back on.

He wrapped you up in his arms, twirling you around, “We’re having a baby girl!”

You laughed, holding him tight, echoing him. When he set you back on the ground, he kissed you tenderly and your eyes grew teary.

“I may be a sore winner, but let’s go get you that beignet.”

—

Michael first told you he loved you while you were making dinner one night. It had been your first night off together in nearly a week, and you were thankful to be in his company again, craving his touch and his voice. You moved to place something in the oven and stood back up to find his eyes already on you.

He had a goofy smile on his face, making your cheeks warm. So many feelings were swirling in your stomach — and something you felt was dangerously close to love. It had been enough time to call it that, surely, but part of you worried it was mostly your hormones talking.

Until he voiced it first.

“I’m in love with you.”

Several beats of silence echoed in his kitchen as you stared at him. Emotion constricted your throat, and you blinked away the coming tears.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

He kissed you deeply, one hand holding your head while the other moved to the small of your back.

“Say it again.”

You giggled against his lips, “I’m in love you, Michael Robinavitch.”

He kissed along your jaw, “Again.”

So you told him, again and again, in every way you could until dinner was ready. He made sure you knew how much he loved you later that night.

—

At twenty-three weeks, you had a much more noticeable bump, though your scrubs hid it well. You had announced it to your co-residents weeks ago, to a weird mix of congratulations and odd looks. Your relationship with Michael was still primarily private, and you barely talked about your boyfriend while in the hospital so your pregnancy was very out of left field to all of them (which, it had been to you as well).

Michael had grown increasingly protective after you started your second trimester, moving to take the more combative patients or shoulder the more stressful cases. Part of you appreciated him, but the other part was finding it increasingly frustrating.

Dr. Long already had you parked in triage for a majority of your shift, and you definitely did not need Michael treating you with kid gloves, too. Your senior resident gave you a bit more leeway, but you could see Dr. Rivera was picking what to give you just as carefully.

After a possible DV victim had come into your care, you assessed her injuries and found she was not critical. Her husband hovered while you asked questions, answering most of them for her, which set your teeth on edge. You brought her into the back, placing her in East 3, and put her on the list to get a head CT. You moved to inform a senior attending of what you suspected, and he noted it and sent you to find the social worker.

Not long after you had, you also noted to try to talk to her while she was alone, but then an ambulance rolled in, stealing your attention. Michael was the first one to get to the patient, assessing quickly.

The patient struggled against the soft restraints, making Michael keep stepping in front of you. You were never going to learn this way.

You pushed past him, checking the man’s vitals and pupils. Likely an overdose, by the look of it, but you still wanted to run urine and blood. The man was also talking in riddles, so psych might be a good call to make, too.

Grabbing hold of Michael’s wrist after the patient was settled, you pulled him into the hallway, moving towards the staff lounge.

“I’m never going to learn if you keep preventing me from every mildly combative or stressful case that wheels in.” You told him sternly in a hushed voice.

He blinked his eyes at you, before his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not trying—”

“No, you are.” You said. “I appreciate the concern, trust me. But I’ll never be a good doctor if I only see the easy stuff.”

He rolled his tongue over his front teeth, “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know, Robby,” you said, exasperated. “Dr. Long is already benching me from a lot going on back here.”

“He’s not benching you. You’re an asset in triage.”

You wanted to scream.

A code sounded, interrupting any thought you might have had, both of you turning and running into Central 1. You figured the conversation would be shelved for another time.

The woman was older, but had gone into asystole, and despite all the best efforts of yourself and those around you, her time of death was called a half hour after that. It had left you sweaty and in need of a cold drink, so you departed to do just that.

You had no idea what had come over you when you heard shouting back in East 3, but you beelined for it. A wide eyed Maya, a nurse, exited and was calling for security. You stepped behind the curtain to see the husband arguing with another man while the woman was sobbing, begging them to stop.

“Hey! Hey!” You shouted, moving between them. Your first mistake.

Your second? Getting in range to be hit — the man’s elbow coming back and hitting you in the nose as he moved to punch the husband. You tripped backwards, turning just in time to catch yourself with your hands. You quickly noted that you had not landed on your stomach, but your nose was bleeding, dripping blood onto the tile.

Security was in the room in the next second, moving the curtain and revealing you on the floor to the hallway. You felt Michael’s eyes almost immediately. Fuck.

He was next to you within moments, hands on you while you tried to move to stand, your name on his lips. “Are you okay? Fuck!”

“Peachy,” you replied, your hand absentmindedly moving to your belly.

“She got in the way! I wasn’t trying to hit her!”

“That’s enough!” Security moved the man out of the room.

You had never seen Michael so angry, and it rattled through you, his murderous gaze following the man until he disappeared at the end of the hall. You silently followed him into an empty room across the hall and he pulled the curtain shut.

Michael assessed you silently, still clearly fuming, but you were glad he had not moved to attack the man who had accidentally hit you. His hands were gentle, moving along your cheeks to your nose until you winced.

“I’m ordering you a head CT and an ultrasound.” He said, wiping a bit of the blood from your face.

“That’s not necessary, just give me a few minutes.”

“The fuck it’s not necessary, you’re pregnant with my child. Are you kidding me?” His gentle tone had disappeared.

You blinked owlishly at him, stunned by his anger now directed at you.

“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you get security?”

“Maya was already getting them, I wanted to see what was going on.” You said, already feeling stupid.

He let out a long, annoyed sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m going to go order those tests and get you some ice.”

You frowned as he disappeared, bringing your fingers to lightly touch your face. You moved your hand back to your belly and rubbed circles onto your skin. You had been reckless, you realized, and if you had done anything to threaten—you felt sick.

“You’re next for CT, I’m gonna do the ultrasound now. Probably smart to call your OB, so she can check you, too.” Michael said, coming back into the room with an ice pack in hand, voice switching to how he sounded with a patient.

“I’m sorry.” It was barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking. I—I—”

“Hey,” he was in front of you now, touching you tenderly, gently, like you would break. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

You did so, trying to calm your racing heart by breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“I just—you and Long are keeping me from some really good cases. I didn’t want to have to sit another one out…I thought I could handle it.”

His frown was still on his lips, but he grabbed your hand and kissed along your knuckles. “You scared the shit out of me. You were just—you were on the ground and you were bleeding. Nothing else mattered, I thought—fuck. I don’t mean to be overprotective. At the end of the day, this is still the ED and things are just going to happen, but you really have to think about the situations you’re putting yourself in. I’ll back off a bit if you promise me one thing.”

You nodded, grabbing his fingers.

“Just promise me you’ll be more mindful. You’ll get security first, ask questions second. You’ll get me, or Long or Rivera, or whoever’s on if you sense something going south.”

“I promise.” And you meant it.

He nodded, kissing your forehead — not even caring to cut back the PDA, like you both had agreed to within the walls of the hospital. You were thankful he had, assured by the gestures of affection.

The doppler sounded with a steady, normal heart rate which calmed every nerve you had. A long breath left you and relief was clear on Michael’s face.

The ultrasound revealed normal movement, your baby thankfully finding their time to shine, kicking against your womb much to Michael’s amusement. He moved the transducer to touch your belly to feel for himself, and a large grin lit up his features.

It was the first time he had been able to feel her, your baby girl. He left his hand on your belly for a long time, and you put one of your hands overtop of his.

His brown eyes met yours, “She’s moving.”

You returned his smile, “She’s saying hi to her daddy.”

He nearly cried.

—

Your first apartment had come with a decent amount of stress. Your roommate had been upset when you explained you would not be renewing your lease with her, but ultimately understood. It was unfortunate that since your lease had finished first, you had to crowd Michael’s apartment with the random odds and ends from your old apartment until his lease was up the following month.

You were thankful to find something in your price range, and even more grateful to find something nice. It was a simple two-bedroom place, with enough room to breathe in, and would suit both of your needs until your residency was over.

Michael insisted on moving most of it, with the help of one of the resident’s you knew from the hospital, who was sworn to secrecy before he even came over. Michael told you he considered him to be a friend. He put you on supervising duty, dictating where each piece of furniture should go. After all the furniture was in the apartment, all that was really left to do was furnish the baby’s room.

You wanted this place to be your home, and so there was a bit of weight on your shoulders to fill it. Make it cozy, make it yours.

The furniture for the baby’s room was a bit complicated. Your style clashing with Michael’s more simplistic one. You couldn’t help it! It was your first baby, of course you want to go a little overboard with the design.

You both eventually settled on lighter woods and pastels, not necessarily having the budget for frivolous. You did go a bit overboard on clothes, but hey, pick your battles.

Folding some of her clothes sitting cross-legged on the floor, Michael was trying to put together the crib behind you. It was a fairly simple sight, watching him screw together several pieces, but it still got you all hot and bothered.

“How about Jasmine?”

Michael made a small noise, indicating a simple no. “Patricia?”

You responded as he had. “Susan?”

“Marie?”

You thought about that one, before shaking your head. “Eleanor?”

He considered it. “Ellie’s cute. I like that one.”

You smiled in victory, moving some of her clean clothes into the hand-me-down dresser.

“Eleanor Robinavitch.” You said, testing it on your tongue.

“Eleanor Robinavitch.” Michael echoed, placing his tools down to give you a kiss.

—

Your due date came too quickly. You had thoroughly been enjoying Michael’s company, just the two of you, but by your thirty-eighth week, you would have done anything to get the baby out of you. Though, true to how she had been conceived, it came as a bit of a surprise.

Michael’s shift had not yet finished, though it was close enough that you did not want to call him at the hospital. You only had to wait two hours. Besides, statistically speaking, first-time pregnancies usually had a longer laboring period as opposed to subsequent labors.

The contractions were brutal. More than you had been expecting. Those breathing exercises you learned in those classes did very little to help with the pain, but it did help you get through them.

By the time Michael stepped through the front door, you were leaning over the coffee table, finding the position to be the most helpful. He was by your side in an instant.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Figured…I could wait…still about seven minutes apart.” You breathed out, the pain in your abdomen beginning to ease again, allowing you to take a big breath.

He kissed your forehead, “I’ll start getting everything to the car. Your bag still in the closet?”

You nodded, leaning back onto the couch and relaxing, hand on your belly.

Michael moved quickly, grabbing his bag, your bag and your baby’s bag and putting them into his car. His anxious energy made you want to stand, moving around the kitchen and bedroom like a tornado. You tried to close your eyes and rest, knowing it was not going to be much longer.

Nearly a half hour later, contractions at nearly six minutes apart but in short bursts, you wandered into the bathroom. You were overly thankful since as soon as you stepped foot onto the bathroom, your water broke. You stared down at the puddle you had made in shock, before glancing at yourself in the mirror.

This is really happening. You were about to have a baby.

After putting a towel down over top of it, you let yourself sit on the toilet. You called Michael to get you some new pants, with a sheepish smile.

“My water broke.” You explained.

He only glanced down at the towel and was off to do as you had asked.

It was not long after that that your contractions moved down to five minutes apart, lasting one minute for nearly an hour. For as level headed as Michael was around the ED, he was eager to get you to the hospital. During the drive, he had you breathe with him, in and out, even when the pain made you want to throttle him.

“Can we seahorse next time? Fuck.” You complained, leaning back in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle tighter.

“Had I the parts, absolutely.”

“I’m still blaming you.” You said through clenched teeth.

You could tell he tried not to laugh, but you were glad he wasn’t taking it to heart.

“What did we cheers to on our first date? Happy accidents?”

You did your best not to curse at him.

After eight long, excruciating hours, you were ready to push. Despite how much you had wanted to throttle him, Michael really was a trooper — he breathed with you, helped you walk around when a nurse suggested it would help, and held you upright while you leaned on him. All things considered, he was a perfect birthing partner, if not a little anxious.

He had read every book about pregnancy, wandered up to L&D at Big Charity to ask random questions, and brushed up on all the latest studies. You knew he knew what was going on and he still asked stupid questions despite it.

If you weren’t in the throes of labor, you might have laughed.

After getting your go ahead, Dr. Lyons let Michael “help”, mostly just to catch the baby. She was on your chest the next second, crying her little lungs out, which you found quite relieving.

Your eyes were blurry when they met Michael’s gaze, looking down at your daughter and whispering to her. Michael kissed your forehead.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He told you, and you could tell he was being earnest.

“I did just push out a baby.”

He smirked back at you, before glancing down at your daughter. He brushed a gentle finger against her cheek, smiling with an expression you had not seen before — but it was something you were experiencing, too.

When she was cleaned, you could tell some obvious features were all you, but you could pinpoint several of Michael’s features. And her eyes? In both shape and color, they were all Michael.

—

In the months that followed Eleanor’s birth, there were still so many things to still figure out. You dreaded returning to work and being away from her, but you also wanted to complete your residency more than anything.

Michael was an excellent father. Handling night feedings, while also trying to take care of you in the first few weeks, and also working. He was compartmentalizing well, but you could see it weighing on him.

You tried to pick up the slack, but postpartum was no joke. Your hormones returning to normal and the sleepless nights really took most of the wind out of your sails most days. You were grateful when Michael would get off shift to give you just a tiny break before you each went to bed, but the dynamic shifted when you returned to work.

The daycare at the hospital was truly a dream come true, with a reduced rate and easy access that made you less anxious whenever you were working. As it stood, the plan was to stay at Big Charity until your residency was done, Michael hoping for an attending position after his fourth year was completed.

You both had vaguely discussed moving out of Louisiana eventually. Perhaps closer to your parents, or to his, or somewhere different entirely. Pennsylvania or New York, perhaps. It was too far into the future to be able to focus on it.

In a rare day off for each of you, Michael convinced you to head to the park, have a picnic and enjoy the weather. Eleanor was more engaged, and was making her biggest effort to crawl. She could sit up on her own without much assistance, and your heart constricted whenever she hit a milestone. She was growing up much too fast for your liking.

The breeze felt nice on your skin, sitting on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree. Eleanor was talking nonsense to Michael, bringing one of her toys to her mouth.

In her babbling, she said something awfully close to dada, which made your eyes go right to Michael, who was beaming.

“Was that—”

“She does not get to say dada first,” You said in a huff, but your tone was light.

He laughed, “Can you say that again, Ellie? Dada, come on, da-da.”

It warmed your heart, even if you were a bit jealous.

Lunch was simple sandwiches, and some baby food Eleanor had been more and more interested in lately. After, Eleanor settled down for a much needed nap, and you enjoyed the quiet with Michael.

“I’ve really enjoyed this last year and a half with you — it’s been some of the best moments of life.” He grabbed your hand, stealing your attention from your sleeping baby. “It has been such a privilege to raise Ellie with you, and I really could not imagine life without either of you. You mean so much to me, I love you so much.”

Your face warmed, a fuzzy feeling in your chest. “I love you, too. So much. You’re a wonderful father to Ellie, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Your heart halted when he moved from beside you to rest on one knee.

“I know we’ve been doing things a bit backwards, but you said shotgun weddings were cliche. So would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

There was a ring box in his hand, but you did not even look at it before throwing yourself into his arms, “Yes, oh my god. Yes.”

You kissed him, holding him to your body. You knew you would not have picked any other path, knowing this was the one for you.

Michael Robinavitch was the one for you, wholly, undoubtedly, unconditionally.

[ continuation ]

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator

Did I pick Dr. John Carter’s mother’s name? Yes, yes I did.

I feel like I could’ve kept going, but I ended up liking the stopping point. Might take these characters forward into the Pitt timeline!

[earthtooz]

x : TO LOVE, TO CHANGE: *+ﾟ

in which: you tell veritas you love him. he gets upset with you.

warnings: contrary to what the synopsis implies, it's fluff, i promise. 1k words, first time saying ily, slightly cranky reader, no mentions of reader's gender, dr. ratio being so in love he becomes so soppy and lovestruck. confessions.

a/n: there's a phenomenon that happens whenever i write for dr. ratio, and it's that my heart literally lunges out of my chest and begins typing at the keyboard for me. i should get it checked out. anyways, this is to preemptively celebrate his release!!

“Why- why are you mad?” You exclaim, watching the way Veritas crosses his arms and pouts with the petulance of a child. His gaze has strayed away from your eyes, and all you can do is sit in his lap with your arms hanging at your sides, brain tirelessly racking for all the reasons that you could have angered him.

He doesn’t give you any clues, displeasure brewing in his eyes instead.

“Is it because I said ‘I love you’?”

The purple haired scoffs and sticks up his nose, hair bouncing with his actions whilst you jostle slightly on his legs from the quick action. As much as you love his side profile, you’d love it even more if he spoke to you about what is bothering him.

During this moment, the world stills. You think he’s genuinely mad, and Dr. Ratio’s fury-driven state is not something you should take lightly. Really, you’ve seen it multiple times, and though it has never been directed at you, you hope it never will be. Which is why you sit on his lap now, tensely anticipating his response, and for the answer as to what you did wrong. 

“I was meant to say it first,” he grumbles, losing the arrogance that fills his tone whenever he speaks, air filling with sincerity. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I was meant to be the one to say ‘I love you’ first.”

Your confusion is tangible at this point. Audible, if you will, because it rings like cicada sing. “Are you being serious?”

“Deadly.”

“You- why, then couldn’t you just have said it?” You sputter, slapping his defined deltoid, concern slowly melting into frustration. “Need I remind you that it was me who confessed to you first as well?”

“Yes, and it was positively the best day of my life.” He says that like it’s a simple fact. No sentiment, no heartfelt declaration, just another logical statement straight from a textbook of his life.

They say to be loved is to be changed, but no matter how much you love Veritas, all he knows is how to be an astronomical pain in your ass. Does he know how scared you were for his answer? You thought you did something unforgivable, or that he didn’t love you enough to respond in kind, or worst of all, that he wanted nothing to do with you anymore?

However, he's acting petty because he was not the first one to say those three words? You frankly don’t know why your heart beats for him as strongly as it does. In fact, you want to whack him over the head with his own codex.  

Placing your hands firmly on his shoulders, you shuffle out of your position from his lap, planting your feet onto the ground. “Oh, you are so infuriating! Pretend I never said anything, I’m going back to my office until you-”

Not even two steps away from him and a hand clasps around your wrist to drag you back to where you started: on Dr. Ratio’s lap. His arms come to wrap around you like chains, leaving no room to wrestle him out.

“I never said you could leave. Especially not after telling me you love me,” he grumbles lowly into your collarbone, breath tickling your skin.

“I’m starting to regret it.” 

“Can’t you at least say it again?”

“I don’t want to,” you grumble, arms snaking up to rest around his shoulders. “You don’t deserve it.” 

“Well, that’s a little harsh. Is this how you treat the ones you love?”

“You haven’t even said anything back,” you pinch his skin. “Talk about harsh.”

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asks with a fond chuckle, not missing the opportunity to leave kisses in a trail along your skin, making his way up your neck. Then, when his eyes meet yours, you almost crumble in embarrassment at the memory he’s injected into your mind. 

You push him away and raise a hand to shield your eyes from him, clearly reliving a haunting memory. “Please don’t remind me.” 

“Y’know, it’s not everyday someone gets to scold me and be right. If you weren’t so beautiful, I wouldn’t have let it slide, but it’s not everyday a gorgeous genius falls into my lap with guts to challenge me.”

“I was… agitated that day, so stop talking about it, please. In fact, for my sake, please just forget that moment. Completely.”

“Forget about it? Completely?” The scholar asks with genuine shock lacing his tone. “I fell in love with you in that very moment, how can you expect me to stop talking about it? You rendered me a fool in love and expect me to not think about the very moment it happened? Sweetheart, it was a pivotal moment of my life!” 

“Not pivotal enough if you can’t even say ‘I love you, too’.”

“On the contrary, I have loved you longer. I yearned for you in wakefulness and in my dreams. I wished for you to look my way, and when you did, I never wanted your eyes to stray from me. How heartbreaking it was when they did.” His hand has snuck under your shirt now to rub circles on your skin. If he detached from you, he fears you’d slip away from him, and the worst thing you can give him is space. “Do you know how it felt chasing after you because you were the only one out of my reach? For three years, the only thing I wanted was to be yours. You made me an idiot.”

Stunned by his confession and the weight of it, you let him continue, sharp tongue softening. The only motivation you offer is a hand coming to cup his cheek, tucking aside his bangs so you can see his expression in its entirety. 

His gold eyes shine when they look back up at you. For the first time, you feel like you’re seeing the parts of him that Veritas hides from everyone else. 

“I love you.” He continues with heart wrenching devotion. “I’ll continue loving you until the streams stop, the rivers freeze, and the oceans dry. With three hundred thousand, eighty-three thousand, five hundred and seventy-one discovered planets in the cosmos, that phenomenon will approximately take-”

You seal his lips with yours in a gentle kiss, cradling his jaw and swallowing his words. Like wax to fire, Veritas sinks into you, completely helpless against your affections. 

But, oh, you love him, and nothing else in the entire universe matters.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[bullet-prooflove]

Fifty Shades of Robby: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby has a shitty day, he just wants to be whereever you are and usually that's the pool.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

It’s Mateo that finds your Instagram. It’s under the username BaywatchBitch and the profile picture is you and Robby dressed in tiny red shorts and a blue top just like the ones from the 2017 movie. You’re both even wearing the same pair of aviators that Zac Efron is on the marketing posters.

It’s from a New Year’s Eve costume party the caption reads when he locates the picture on your feed. One you both attended with the Abbots.

“It’s like they both have this secret life that nobody knows about.” He tells Cassie as they flick through the pictures studying them with an intensity they usually reserve for their work.

Your Instagram feed it’s fifty shades of Robby.

Him sleeping on a couch they don’t recognise, his headphones on, a blanket draped over him. The caption reads ‘My heart’.

Robby wearing an old white t-shirt with Baby written in blocky, slashed writing across the front of it. An ode to Robert Bradley's Blackwater Surprise, a group he’s loved since the 90s. He’s in the midst of cooking lemon cake for your mother’s birthday, a dab of flour smeared across his cheek.

A reel of him out on the water at an undisclosed beach, standing on a paddle board silhouetted by the sunset.

There’s dozen’s of them all depicting a different version of Robby, one that none of them of them have seen before. A happier, healthier one.

Topless Robby hoisting himself out of a pool, Robby pulling a face because he’s gotten brain freeze from eating ice cream, Robby driving with the hint of a smile on his face somewhere up the coast.

“This is why you’re going to lose the bet.” Dana says gesturing at the phone when she catches wind of it. “It doesn’t take a neurosurgeon to see that they’re in love.”

It’s three days later that Robby comes into work with a smile on his face and a little sun burn on his nose. He has ‘Baby’ playing in his ears because he’s still riding high from the weekend the two of you have spent at Geneva-on-the-Lake.

Sun, sea and sex, there’s nothing like it.

He swings into the security office, taking his time to review the betting board. The stakes are torn between you robbing him blind and killing him mid coitus. There’s still some debate as to whether it’ll be intentional or not.

He takes the polaroid picture out of his top pocket, using one of the magnets to fix it to the board amongst the post-its.

It’s one from two days ago of you both on the beach in Ohio. You’re wearing a white lace dress with an orchid woven in your hair and he’s looking into your eyes, his lips curved up into a smile as he says I do.

Married, he writes on the bottom, his wedding ring glinting in the light from the fluorescent. March 29th 2025

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[reidmarieprentiss]

Don't Get In Your Own Way

Summary: You and Spencer have always been close - everyone else can see it's more than just friendship. When will you two be ready to see it as well?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, light smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, suggestive content, friends to lovers, minimal BAU case talk, mild public indecency

Word count: 10.3k

a/n: this was an olddd draft ,,, i came back to give it the ol' razzle dazzle

main masterlist

Every afternoon, like clockwork, you and Spencer retreat to the stairs outside the FBI offices, your little quiet corner away from the noise of the bullpen. The team is usually scattered—some opting for takeout at their desks, others heading out for a bite—but you and Spencer? You prefer the fresh air, the slight reprieve from case files and fluorescent lights, just the two of you.

Spencer talks—a lot. And you let him. You never interrupt when he goes off on a tangent, whether about a book he’s been reading, some obscure historical event, or even the latest behavioral theory he’s been mulling over. He’s learned, over time, that you listen—that you don’t just humor him but engage, ask questions, challenge him. It’s one of the reasons he feels safest around you, why he lets the mask slip, why he doesn’t feel the need to filter himself. Around you, he’s just Spencer. Not Dr. Reid, not the genius of the BAU. He's just a guy who loves sharing the things that make his brain light up.

Lately, he’s been growing his hair, letting the waves fall into his face while he works. He never noticed how often he pushed it back, but you did. One afternoon, after watching him shove it out of his eyes for the hundredth time while struggling through paperwork, you wordlessly slid a hair tie onto his wrist.

“For when you finally give up,” you’d said with a small smile.

Spencer had looked at the simple black band like it was some kind of sacred object before slipping it on. He never did tie his hair up, but the band stayed. Now, when he’s anxious, when his thoughts spiral too fast for even him to keep up, he rolls it between his fingers, snaps it lightly against his skin, and uses it as an anchor. He wonders if you even realize what you’ve given him and how something so small makes him feel grounded.

You are completely unaware of how much Spencer sees you and how much he feels for you. You like him—more than you should, more than is probably appropriate for two people who are just friends—but you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. Spencer is brilliant and kind and so effortlessly attractive, and you? You convince yourself he’d never see you that way. It’s not self-deprecating, not really—just… reality.

Meanwhile, Spencer sits beside you every day, wondering how you don’t notice how his eyes linger, how his heart jumps every time you laugh, and how he holds onto your hair tie like a lifeline. How he wonders if you feel the same way.

—

Derek doesn’t let up. Not now, not ever.

Spencer’s been subjected to his relentless teasing for years, but ever since he started growing his hair out—and ever since you gave him that hair tie—Derek has been on a mission.

“Pretty Boy, you’re pathetic,” Derek says one afternoon, leaning against Spencer’s desk with his arms crossed, watching him roll the hair tie between his fingers like it’s some kind of lifeline.

Spencer, who has been deep in thought, barely looks up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Derek scoffs. “The hair tie? The way you light up every time she talks to you? The fact that you, the man who hates all forms of physical contact, don’t even flinch when she gets in your space? Do you even hear yourself when you talk about her?”

Spencer blinks at him, feigning ignorance. “I talk about her the same way I talk about all of my friends.”

Derek lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “That’s funny. Real funny. Because I don’t remember you getting all flustered and dreamy-eyed when you talk about me.”

Spencer’s brows furrow. “I don’t get flustered.”

Derek raises a brow and mimics Spencer in a high-pitched, breathy voice. “Oh, she listens to me ramble. She actually engages with me. She’s so perceptive.” He drops the act, shaking his head. “Man, you are down bad.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and turns back to his book, a weak defense mechanism. “I really don’t think—”

“No, you don’t think,” Derek interrupts. “That’s the problem. Because if you were thinking, you’d realize that she looks at you the same way you look at her.”

That makes Spencer freeze, a book halfway in his hands.

Derek smirks, knowing he’s struck something deep. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to protest and argue some logical counterpoint, but nothing comes out. He can’t explain away the way his heart clenches at the mere possibility that you might feel the same.

Derek slaps a hand on his shoulder, grin widening. “Any day now, Pretty Boy. Any day now.” Then he walks off, leaving Spencer to stare blankly at his book, brain absolutely wrecked.

He glances down at the hair tie around his wrist, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it sits against his skin.

Rossi is just as relentless with you as Derek is with Spencer—except he’s a little more subtle about it. He doesn’t tease in the same playful, in-your-face way that Derek does with Spencer. No, Rossi prefers to plant little seeds, make small comments, and give you just enough to get your mind churning.

He’s been keeping a close eye on you ever since you joined the team. Maybe it’s the way you love to talk about home or how you light up when someone treats you like family. So, naturally, Rossi steps in. A guiding hand, an occasional piece of advice, a warm presence when you need one.

And right now? Right now, you need someone to tell you that you’re being blind as hell.

“You know, bella, I’ve been around a long time,” Rossi says one afternoon, leaning back in his chair, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand. “I’ve seen a lot of things. A lot of things. And I’d like to think I have a pretty good read on people.”

You barely look up from your case file. “Are you about to say something wise or just something annoying?”

He smirks. “Oh, I can do both.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue.

Rossi takes a sip of his drink, watching you with that knowing look that makes you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. “You like him, you know.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, but you don’t react. Not outwardly, at least. “Who?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re smarter than that.”

You exhale sharply, still keeping your eyes on your paperwork. “I don’t like Spencer.”

Rossi chuckles, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “That’s cute. Now say it again like you mean it.”

You finally glance up at him, narrowing your eyes. “I mean it.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rossi hums, clearly unconvinced. He leans forward, resting his arms on his desk. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? You had a thing for Spencer, too?”

Rossi lets out a full-bodied laugh. “No, but I was stubborn. And I was good at convincing myself that things weren’t what they obviously were.” He tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me ask you something. If I told you that Spencer thinks the world of you, that he practically glows when you’re around, what would you say?”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat. “I’d say you’re exaggerating.”

Rossi shakes his head. “No, bella, I’m not. Derek sees it. I see it. Hell, even Garcia sees it, and she’s usually too busy matchmaking herself to notice when something’s right under her nose.” He leans back again, watching you carefully. “But the real question is—why don’t you see it?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. The truth? Because the idea that Spencer could feel that way about you is terrifying. You’ve convinced yourself he wouldn’t, couldn’t, not in the way you secretly hope.

So you deflect. “Spencer’s just… Spencer. He’s sweet to everyone.”

Rossi sighs, shaking his head with something like fond exasperation. “You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.”

You scoff lightly. “What, you want me to march over there and declare my undying love?”

Rossi grins. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

You shake your head, muttering something about meddling old men as you shove your paperwork into a neat stack, trying to ignore the way your hands feel slightly unsteady.

Rossi just watches you, amusement still lingering on his face.

Because he knows.

And one day, you’ll know, too.

—

The precinct is buzzing with too much movement and too much noise. Officers shuffling papers, detectives arguing over case details, coffee machines gurgling, the fluorescent lights humming like an irritating static in the back of your head. It’s a small station, cramped, and the team has been forced into an even smaller conference room, shoulder to shoulder with local law enforcement.

Spencer has been quiet all morning, his fingers twitching slightly, his blinking a little too frequently. You’ve been with him long enough to notice when the world is becoming too much for him, and right now, it’s clear that the rapid-fire conversations, the overlapping voices, the smell of burnt coffee and cheap air freshener—it's all pushing him to the edge of his tolerance.

So, as usual, he attaches himself to you.

It’s something he’s done for years, seeking you out when things get overwhelming. You’ve never minded. In fact, you never even thought much of it—until now.

Right now, his head is slumped against your shoulder, a deep sigh escaping him, his breath warm where it ghosts over the fabric of your shirt. His long fingers loosely clutch your jacket sleeve, not in an obvious way, but just enough that you know he’s anchoring himself with your presence. His entire frame is pressed slightly against your side, fitting into your space in a way that should feel intrusive—but it doesn’t. It never does.

But today? Today, it does feel different. Not bad, not at all, just... noticeable.

The warmth of his body against yours. The way his hair brushes your cheek when he shifts. The way you can feel the weight of him, trusting, unguarded.

You should say something—acknowledge it, maybe even tease him like Derek would—but your throat feels tight. Instead, you sit perfectly still, let him rest, let him take what he needs from you.

Across the room, Rossi is watching. He doesn’t say a word, just gives you a knowing look, an almost smirk, before turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

You swallow hard, your mind racing with thoughts you don’t have time to entertain. Not right now. Not with a case on the line.

Spencer exhales again, a deep, exhausted sound. Without thinking, you lift your hand and gently brush it over his arm, a quiet reassurance. He hums in response—barely audible, but enough to let you know he appreciates it.

And you?

You pretend your pulse isn’t hammering; pretend this is just like every other time.

Even though, for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way anymore.

—

The room is already cold and sterile, the air thick with the lingering scent of antiseptic and something darker, something that clings to the walls of places like these—death, decay, the remnants of lives cut short. The mortuary is dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs casting a bluish hue over the metal slabs, the bodies covered with crisp white sheets.

Spencer and Emily step inside, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them away from the world of the living for just a little while.

Emily exhales, rubbing her hands together despite the temperature-controlled environment. “I don’t know what Hotch thinks we’re going to find that we didn’t already see,” she murmurs, but there’s no real complaint in her tone—just exhaustion.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He’s already moving, scanning the room with sharp, restless eyes. He doesn’t like being back here. Too quiet, too still. Too much time to think. And he’s already spent the morning overstimulated, barely hanging onto himself. If it weren’t for you—your presence, your steadying warmth—he might have lost his grip entirely.

But you’re not here now.

Emily watches him for a moment, sees the way his fingers twitch slightly, how he pushes his hair back only to drop his hand to his wrist, rolling the familiar hair tie between his fingers. A grounding mechanism. She’d seen him do it before.

“Spencer,” she calls gently.

He blinks and looks at her.

“You okay?”

He hesitates, then nods.

Back in the SUV, Emily watches Spencer out of the corner of her eye as he flips through the case file, his knee bouncing slightly, his fingers twitching against the edge of the folder. He’s rattling off statistics about the likelihood of unsub behavior escalating post-mortem examinations, but there’s a certain absentmindedness to the way he’s speaking—like he’s not entirely here.

And Emily Prentiss? She’s no fool.

So, as she turns onto the road leading toward the mortuary, she decides to go for it.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she starts, keeping her tone casual. “In fact, I haven’t for the past few years.” She glances at him and watches as his fingers tighten slightly on the folder. “But today felt different. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Spencer stills, his knee stopping mid-bounce before he forces it back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emily snorts. “Oh, come on. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

Spencer purses his lips, shifting in his seat like he’s trying to physically move away from this conversation. “We have more important things to focus on right now.”

“Uh-huh,” Emily hums. “And yet, back at the station, you looked about one deep sigh away from crawling into her lap.”

Spencer stiffens. “That’s an exaggeration.”

Emily shrugs, smirking slightly. “Is it? Because from where I was standing, you were practically molded to her side.”

Spencer stays silent, glaring down at the folder like it’s personally offended him.

Emily softens, tilting her head. “Look, I’m not teasing you. I’m just asking—are you okay? Because I’ve seen you cling to her before when things get overwhelming, but today… it was different.” She hesitates. “You were different. She was different.”

Spencer swallows, pressing his lips together. He could brush it off. He could easily throw out some logical, cold dismissal. I was overstimulated, and she provided a familiar presence. There is nothing unusual about that, but the problem is, it is unusual.

Because for the first time, he noticed it.

Noticed how natural it felt, how good it felt, to be pressed against you. Noticed the way your touch lingered, how your fingers brushed his arm with a softness that made his skin buzz. Noticed how he felt safe, not just because you were familiar, but because he wanted to be close to you. Because he liked it.

And that? That realization is unraveling something in him he isn’t sure he’s ready for.

“I—” He hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

Emily watches him for a moment before nodding, letting the conversation settle for a few beats before she speaks again.

“You know,” she says, keeping her tone light. “You could always ask her.”

Spencer’s head snaps toward her, eyes wide, panicked. “Ask her what?”

Emily grins, eyes twinkling as she pulls into the mortuary parking lot.

“Oh, you know. On a date.”

Spencer makes a strangled noise of protest, but Emily is already unbuckling her seatbelt, pretending she doesn’t hear it.

She lets him stew in his thoughts and sit there with that panicked expression because honestly?

He needs to figure it out for himself.

—

Tuesday nights were for Star Trek, and Friday nights were for pizza and movies. It had started as something casual, a way to unwind after long days at work, but over time, it became an unspoken rule—a part of your week as consistent as waking up in the morning.

Tuesday nights meant curling up on your couch, debating over which Star Trek series to watch that week. Spencer always had his preferences—he loved The Original Series for its groundbreaking storytelling and The Next Generation for its philosophical depth—but he never protested when you picked Voyager because he knew how much you liked Captain Janeway. You didn’t always pay attention to the episodes the way he did, but you loved listening to him ramble, watching his eyes light up as he dissected the scientific inaccuracies or argued about the moral dilemmas presented in each episode.

And then there was Friday night—pizza and movie night.

Unlike Star Trek night, where Spencer usually held the reins, movie night was a battle. You had vastly different tastes—Spencer leaned toward old classics, noir films, and things with intricate plots that required full intellectual engagement. On the other hand, you sometimes just wanted to watch an over-the-top action flick, something fun and ridiculous.

“I don’t understand why we can’t watch Casablanca,” Spencer had complained one Friday, frowning at your choice of Die Hard.

“Because Casablanca is depressing, and I just want to watch Bruce Willis blow things up,” you’d argued, plopping onto the couch.

Spencer had grumbled but ultimately stayed, reluctantly eating his pizza while you enjoyed Die Hard a little too much.

But despite the friendly bickering, you both always showed up for each other. No matter how draining the week was or how heavy the cases got, Tuesday and Friday nights were yours. If one of you was too tired, the other brought food. If Spencer needed to visit his mom, he’d make you promise not to watch Star Trek without him. If you had a bad day, he let you pick the movie without a single complaint (except for that one time you picked Twilight, which he still refuses to acknowledge).

For years, it was just routine, something comfortable, something easy.

The case had finally wrapped up late Wednesday afternoon, and while you should have been relieved—grateful that everything ended as cleanly as possible—you were distracted. Off-kilter. Your mind wasn’t on the debriefing, the flight back to Quantico, or even the pile of paperwork waiting for you tomorrow.

No, your mind was stuck on him.

Spencer.

More specifically, the way you couldn’t seem to shake the lingering warmth of his body from when he had leaned against you, or the quiet, vulnerable way he had sighed into your shoulder, or the way Rossi’s words had wormed their way into your brain and stuck.

"You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time."

Damn him.

You were usually so good at compartmentalizing, at keeping your feelings neatly boxed up and shoved into the farthest corner of your mind where they couldn’t betray you. But now? Now, every little thing Spencer did had you spiraling.

Like right now.

Friday afternoon rolls around, and you’re already on edge.

When Spencer casually walks up to your desk, his messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, and his hands are tucked into his pockets, you already know you’re in trouble.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

You blink at him.

Wait. What?

Is he confirming plans? He hasn’t done that since the first month you started doing this—since he was still unsure if the ritual was set in stone. But now, after all this time, he’s asking?

Your heart starts hammering, palms go clammy.

“Yeah—yes,” you blurt out, nodding a little too fast. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

Spencer watches you carefully, clearly picking up on something being off. His brow furrows slightly, and he studies you with that damn profiler gaze, the one that makes you feel like he’s reading every single thought you’re desperately trying to bury.

“You okay?” he asks slowly.

You force a laugh. It comes out weird. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

His frown deepens.

Okay. You need to fix this before you combust.

You grab your phone off your desk and clear your throat. “So! What are we watching tonight?” you ask, trying to force the conversation forward before you completely unravel.

Spencer tilts his head slightly, still watching you with suspicion, but he lets it go.

“For our movie night? Or are you asking if we’re switching to a Star Trek episode lineup for some reason?”

You roll your eyes, grateful for the distraction. “Movie night, obviously.”

He hums, his lips quirking slightly. “I figured it was my turn to pick.”

You groan dramatically. “Ugh. If this is another silent foreign film that you claim is ‘captivating,’ I’m kicking you out before the pizza even gets here.”

Spencer smirks. “It’s not silent.”

You narrow your eyes. “But it is foreign.”

Spencer just shrugs.

You groan again, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, I’m blaming you.”

He grins, and for a moment, just a moment, everything feels normal again.

Except it’s not.

Because now you’re noticing everything. The way he’s smiling at you, like he genuinely likes looking at you. The way he’s still standing a little too close, the scent of cologne you’ve never noticed mixing with the faint smell of old books and coffee. Your heart is pounding, not from panic anymore but from something else.

And Rossi’s voice echoes in your head—You’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to push the thought away.

Spencer is still looking at you, waiting, expectant.

You clear your throat. “So… my place at seven?”

He nods. “Your place at seven.”

And with that, he walks away, leaving you gripping your desk, trying to convince yourself that your entire world hasn’t just shifted on its axis.

—

The knock at the door makes your stomach drop.

You weren’t expecting it. Not from him.

Spencer never knocks. Not anymore. Not when he’s been coming here for years, slipping inside without hesitation, using the key you gave him so long ago that neither of you even remembers when it stopped being your apartment and started feeling like his, too.

But tonight, he knocks.

And for a moment, you just stare at the door, pulse pounding in your ears, a strange, unsettling panic twisting in your chest.

Why?

Why would he knock?

Did something happen? Did you do something? Did he?

You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over the corner of the rug in your rush to reach the door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob for half a second too long before you finally pull it open.

And there he is.

Standing in the dim glow of the hallway light, looking just as nervous as you feel.

He’s holding the pizza in both hands, gripping the box like it’s the only thing anchoring him. His lips are parted slightly as if he’s mid-thought, mid-explanation for why he’s standing here like a stranger instead of walking in like he always does.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is careful, deliberate. Like he’s testing the temperature of the air between you.

You swallow. “Why’d you knock?”

Spencer shifts, his fingers flexing against the cardboard. “I—” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wasn’t sure if I should just—if you wanted me to just come in.”

Your stomach twists. “You always just come in.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I just—” He stops, swallows, tries again. Spencer takes a breath, shifting his grip on the pizza box. “Can I come in?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the doorknob as you nod and step aside.

The warm glow of your living room wraps around Spencer like a familiar embrace. The scent of old books and candle wax lingers in the air, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh pizza. He’s holding the box carefully as if it were fragile or important. His fingers clutch the edges a little too tightly.

Something is different.

You feel it the moment he walks through the door, the way he hesitates on the threshold before closing it behind him. His usual easy presence is replaced with something unsure, something heavy that neither of you can quite name.

It’s never been awkward before.

But tonight, it is.

Maybe it’s the way he swallows before speaking or the way you feel hyper-aware of the space between you—space that’s usually nonexistent when you’re tangled up on the couch, watching whatever movie you finally agreed on after bickering for twenty minutes.

Maybe it’s the way his fingers brush against his wrist absentmindedly, rolling the hair tie between them, a habit you know means he’s feeling too much.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because something unspoken has been hanging in the air between you for a while now, something neither of you have dared to name.

Spencer sits down beside you, a little closer than usual but still not quite enough. His knee brushes against yours, and you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

“Movie?” you ask, trying to sound normal. Trying to push through the tension.

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t reach for the remote. Instead, he glances at you, searching your face, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something.

And for the first time in all the years of Friday pizza-and-movie nights, for the first time in all the comfortable silences and easy laughter, you think—

He might actually say what you’re both thinking.

But when Spencer finally does speak, it’s not what you expect. You blink at him, your brain short-circuiting.

"Do you want to watch 10 Things I Hate About You?"

It takes you a second to process the words because that is not what you were expecting.

For a moment, your grip tightens on the edge of the couch, your knuckles going white, and your heart still hammering from the sheer weight of what you thought he was about to say.

“What?” you finally spit out, voice higher than you’d like.

Spencer shifts awkwardly in his seat, clearing his throat as if he’s just realized how strange the moment is. “It’s… isn’t it your favorite rom-com?”

You stare at him. “Yeah… but I didn’t think you liked it.”

“I don’t dislike it,” he hedges, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “And, statistically speaking, if we’re ranking romantic comedies based on their adherence to Shakespearean influence, it’s arguably one of the better adaptations of Taming of the Shrew—”

You cut him off with a squint. “You’re rambling.”

He presses his lips together, a nervous habit, his fingers twitching slightly. “Right. Sorry.”

The air between you feels charged, like an unsaid truth is pressing against the walls, threatening to break them down. But instead of confronting it and saying whatever it is that’s clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue, Spencer is talking about rom-coms.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “Okay, but… why? Why that movie? Why now?”

His eyes flicker up to yours then, just for a second, and there’s something raw, vulnerable, and uncertain.

And then, before you can decipher it, he shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Your heart clenches painfully because God, he’s so Spencer. Always thinking of you, noticing the smallest details, and looking out for you even when you don’t expect it.

And yet… there’s still something unspoken lingering between you, something simmering beneath the surface, something that almost came out before he took a sharp left turn into the world of 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Do you want to watch?” Spencer asks again in that vulnerable tone, lifting the movie case from his bag.

You exhale, rubbing your hands on your pants to wipe off the nervous sweat. “Yeah,” you sigh.

Spencer nods, but it’s almost hesitant, almost like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. He lingers for a second with the 10 Things I Hate About You DVD case in his hands, gripping it just as tightly as he had the pizza box moments ago.

You swallow, rubbing your palms against your pants again before reaching for the remote. “Uh, you can put it in.”

He moves toward the DVD player slowly, methodically, like he’s focusing on the action so he doesn’t have to focus on you. You watch him as he kneels down, sliding the disc into the tray, his fingers steady even though you know he isn’t.

The air between you is thick with something unspoken, a weight pressing on both of you, but neither of you acknowledges it. Instead, you wait as the movie boots up, the familiar menu music filling the quiet space between you.

Spencer hesitates before sitting, but it’s closer than usual when he does.

Not overly close—not close enough to make it obvious—but close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, close enough that his knee brushes yours again.

You pretend not to notice.

He pretends not to, either.

The movie starts, and for the first time, neither of you is watching it.

You’re too aware of him—the way he shifts slightly when you do, his fingers twitch against his knee like he’s trying not to reach out, and the way his breath catches ever so slightly when your arm brushes his.

Spencer doesn’t usually do this. He’s tactile when he’s overwhelmed, yes, but this? This is different. This is hesitation; this is awareness; this is something tiptoeing dangerously close to the edge of something neither of you has dared to touch before.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

So you try to focus on the movie, try to push through the nervous energy coiling in your stomach.

But then—

Then Spencer shifts, leans back against the couch, exhales softly—

And his arm drops, just slightly, around your shoulders.

Your heart stops.

You stare at the screen, unblinking, unsure if he even realizes what he’s done.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

The room feels different now. Warmer, heavier, charged with something neither of you have spoken aloud. You can’t tell if it’s the candlelight flickering in the dim space or if it’s just him, just this, whatever this is, settling around you like a second skin.

Spencer’s arm—his arm—is resting along the back of the couch, not quite on you, but close enough that you can feel its weight, close enough that if you shifted even the slightest bit, it would be.

You try to focus on the movie. Try to act like nothing’s changed.

But your body betrays you.

Your shoulders stiffen at first, instinctively, not because you don’t want this—God, you do—but because you don’t understand it. Because Spencer Reid does not do things like this. He does not reach out in this way, not unless he’s overwhelmed, and even then, it’s different. This is intentional, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

You inhale slowly, carefully, keeping your eyes trained on the screen as Kat Stratford delivers another sharp-witted insult. But you’re not really listening. You’re waiting. Waiting for Spencer to shift, realize what he’s done, pull back, laugh nervously, and pretend like nothing happened.

Except—

He doesn’t.

If anything, he seems more relaxed than before. His breathing is even, his body settling into the couch like he belongs there. Like you belong there.

And then, before you can stop yourself before you can overthink it like you always do, you shift. Just slightly. Just enough that your shoulder leans into his arm.

The movement is so small and insignificant that if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t notice. But this is Spencer. And Spencer notices everything.

You hear the sharp inhale of breath and feel the way his body tenses just for a moment—just long enough to make your pulse hammer against your ribs—before he exhales slowly, deliberately.

And then—

Then his fingers brush against your shoulder.

A whisper of a touch, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So, he stays.

And for the rest of the movie, neither of you moves. Neither of you speak.

But everything, everything, has changed.

The credits roll. The music swells softly through the speakers. The dim glow of the screencasts flickering shadows across the room, but neither of you move.

Not even a little.

Your body is still pressed into his side, your shoulder tucked against him, his arm draped so loosely yet so deliberately around you that you can’t tell if it’s keeping you close or if it’s keeping him grounded.

Maybe both.

Maybe that’s what this has always been.

You don’t know how long you sit there, frozen in the moment. You don’t know if he’s thinking the same thing, if he’s waiting for you to speak, to move, to acknowledge that something unspoken has settled between you like a weighted silence.

But then—

“Y/N,” Spencer murmurs.

Just your name.

Soft. Almost careful.

You inhale sharply, blinking yourself back into the moment. Your head turns toward him slowly, cautiously, like moving too fast might shatter whatever fragile balance is hanging between you.

And then—

Spencer shocks you.

Because the second your eyes meet his, the moment your lips part in silent question—he leans in.

And he kisses you.

It’s not hesitant.

It’s not unsure.

It’s not like the Spencer Reid you thought you knew—the one who second-guesses, who overthinks, who analyzes every possibility before making a move.

No.

This is something else entirely.

This is Spencer moving without logic, without calculation, without fear.

This is Spencer wanting.

And for a split second, your brain short-circuits, unable to process what’s happening or understand how the man who had just spent two hours analyzing 10 Things I Hate About You is now kissing you like he means it.

But then—

Then you kiss him back.

And it’s over.

Whatever line had existed between you—whatever barrier had kept you from stepping over the edge—it's gone.

Spencer exhales against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years. His fingers tighten against your shoulder, just slightly, pulling you in closer, pressing against you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

Not now.

Not after this.

—

Dating Spencer is like stepping into something timeless, warm, and constant. It’s not rushed or overwhelming. It’s not dramatic or chaotic. It’s just Spencer. And that, in itself, is everything.

He doesn’t love convention. He doesn’t do big grand gestures unless they mean something. But he does the little things, the things that matter. The things that show how deeply and irrevocably he feels for you.

Like reading to you before bed.

It starts without much thought, just a quiet habit that becomes part of your nights. You never ask him to do it, and he never makes a point of it, but it happens—night after night, in the soft, dark quiet of your bedroom when the world slows, and nothing exists but the warmth of his arms and the soothing rhythm of his voice.

Some nights, it’s The Picture of Dorian Gray or a few pages from Pride and Prejudice. Other nights, it’s something entirely different—a passage about an old poet, a historical retelling of an artist’s life, something obscure and worn, a book he’s read a hundred times before. It doesn’t matter. You don’t even remember the contents most nights.

What you remember is the sound of Spencer’s voice, the way it lulls you into a hazy, comfortable state within minutes. The way his fingers draw lazy circles on your arm as he reads, absentmindedly tracing patterns like he can’t not be touching you. The way his lips brush the top of your head in soft, feather-light kisses like he’s saying goodnight without ever actually stopping the words on the page.

You never make it past a few minutes.

That’s how long it takes for his voice to pull you under, for the warmth of his chest to turn into a lullaby, for his steady breathing and gentle presence to quiet every thought in your mind.

And Spencer?

Spencer never minds.

Even when you fall asleep on him mid-sentence, even when his voice trails off and he realizes you’re gone, lost to dreams, he just smiles to himself, presses one last kiss to your temple, and quietly closes the book.

Because he loves this.

Loves you.

Even if he hasn’t said it yet.

—

You knew Spencer was good with kids—he had an innate gentleness, a patience that most adults didn’t possess. You had seen him with Jack before, seen the way he could calm a crying toddler with a few soft words and a fascinating fact about dinosaurs. But this? Watching him take care of a baby?

This is a whole different level.

JJ and Will had been desperate for a night out—just a few hours, nothing crazy—and with Garcia tied up at some tech conference, JJ hesitantly asked you and Spencer to watch Henry. She had barely finished asking before Spencer nodded, assuring her that he had plenty of experience with child development and cognitive growth.

Now, an hour into babysitting, you sit on the couch in quiet awe as Spencer moves around the living room, cradling Henry against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Statistically speaking, infants exposed to language early on are more likely to develop higher literacy skills in adolescence," Spencer muses softly, bouncing Henry gently in his arms as the baby babbles against his sweater. "So even though you might not understand this now, Henry, I think you'd really enjoy learning about the Fibonacci sequence when you’re older."

You stare, biting your lip to contain the ridiculous grin threatening to take over your face. "Spencer, are you seriously lecturing a one-year-old on mathematical sequences?"

Spencer glances at you, unfazed. "He seems interested."

Henry lets out a delighted squeal, gripping a fistful of Spencer’s cardigan and yanking with surprising strength.

"Ah—Henry, no, that's my—" Spencer stops mid-sentence as Henry starts giggling, his tiny fingers still tangled in the fabric. Instead of pulling away, Spencer just sighs in resignation, adjusting his hold so Henry can comfortably rest his cheek against his shoulder.

And oh, no.

Your heart is gone.

Your ovaries? Destroyed.

Because Spencer—sweet, brilliant, slightly awkward Spencer—is standing there in JJ’s living room, holding a baby like he was made for it, rubbing gentle circles on Henry’s back as he hums absentmindedly.

And you are not okay.

"You’re good at this," you murmur before you can stop yourself, watching how he instinctively shifts to sway Henry slightly, lulling him between sleep and contentment.

Spencer shrugs, but there’s a soft pink dusting his cheeks. "It’s just… knowing how to respond to their needs. Babies need security and reassurance. If they feel safe, they thrive." He glances at you then, his voice quieter. "It's not complicated."

But it is.

Because suddenly, your brain is not thinking about just this night. It’s not just thinking about babysitting Henry. It’s thinking about Spencer as a father, Spencer with his own baby in his arms, rocking them just like this, whispering facts to lull them to sleep, pressing soft kisses to their tiny forehead.

And the thought wrecks you.

JJ has no idea what she’s done by asking you to babysit.

Because now?

Now, you are painfully aware that Spencer Reid would be the best dad in the world.

And you really need to go splash cold water on your face before you say something insane.

The drive is quiet at first, a comfortable kind of silence, filled only with the hum of the engine and the faint rustling of Spencer shifting beside you. The weight of the night still lingers, the softness of it, the warmth—Spencer holding Henry, the easy way he’d cared for him, the way it had done things to you that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to name yet.

"Are you dropping me off," Spencer asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness, "or am I coming over?"

Your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

The question is simple. Straightforward. But there’s something deeper beneath it, something unspoken. Because this isn’t the first time Spencer has stayed over. But tonight, with the way you’re feeling, with the way you want him—really want him—the meaning feels different.

Your pulse picks up.

You don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know what you want, but because you do.

Because you want him to come over. Because you want him in your bed for more than just resting. Because you’ve wanted it for a while now, but neither of you have crossed that line yet.

And suddenly, it feels like Spencer knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s watching you, quiet, observant, his fingers resting lightly against his knee as he waits for your response. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry—he just waits.

You swallow, exhaling slowly before finally speaking. "Come over."

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his lips are pressed together, his fingers twitching slightly—nervous energy, anticipation, something else.

"Okay," he says finally, voice quiet but firm.

And that’s all.

You don’t talk for the rest of the drive.

But you feel everything.

The way his hand rests between you is so close to yours but not quite touching. The way your breaths sync up is slow but uneven, charged with something you both know is coming.

When you finally pull into your parking spot, turn off the car, and steal one last glance at him, Spencer doesn’t hesitate.

He just unbuckles his seatbelt, pushes open the door, and follows you inside.

Spencer follows without hesitation but doesn’t move past the doorway immediately. He lingers, standing just inside your apartment, watching as you set your keys down on the counter, as you exhale slowly, as you try to steady yourself against the weight of what this night is turning into.

You turn back to him then, and the sight of him standing there—hands tucked into his pockets, shifting slightly on his feet, looking at you like he’s trying so hard to figure out what happens next—makes your stomach flip.

He’s waiting for you.

Waiting for permission.

You take a step forward, closing some of the space between you. Spencer watches you carefully, his breath hitching just slightly, his fingers twitching where they rest at his sides.

Spencer nods. Swallows. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Are we just sleeping?”

The question hangs between you, thick with implication, and that’s when it happens—the shift from nervous anticipation to something else.

You step closer again, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that if either of you moved just slightly, you’d be touching.

And then, softly, hesitantly, you reach for his wrist, fingers brushing against the skin just above the hair tie he still wears, the one you gave him so long ago.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to just sleep?”

Spencer’s breath catches. His eyes flicker to your lips, then back up again.

“No,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

And that’s all it takes.

Because suddenly, you’re kissing him.

Or maybe he kisses you—you don’t know who moves first, don’t care, because all that matters is the way his hands are suddenly on your waist, pulling you closer, the way his lips part against yours, slow and deep and wanting.

It’s different from the previous kisses you have shared. And as his hands slide up your back, as you press yourself into him like you’ve been waiting forever for this, as he exhales sharply against your mouth because he’s finally getting to have you—

You know neither of you will be getting much sleep tonight.

The first time you and Spencer had sex was nothing short of mind-blowing—at least for him.

You hadn’t known just how little experience he had until later when he mumbled something against your skin about only having done this once before, his voice laced with disbelief and something like awe.

But it wouldn't have changed anything even if you had known beforehand. It had started so slow, like neither of you wanted to rush like you were both trying to memorize each other in ways you hadn’t been able to before.

Spencer had been nervous at first—not clumsy, not hesitant in a way that made you think he didn’t want this, but careful, intentional, like he wanted to make sure he was doing everything right. Like he was terrified of messing up, of not being enough.

But God, was he more than enough.

Because once he got past the nerves, once he stopped thinking and started feeling—

It was everything.

He touched you like he was discovering something new like he was learning you in real time. His fingers mapped the soft curves of your body, memorizing the way your breath hitched when he kissed your neck and how you sighed when his hands gripped your waist.

And when you guided him, when you whispered what you liked against his lips when you told him exactly how to move—

That was when he really fell apart.

Because Spencer thrives on knowledge, learning, on understanding. And now, he was learning you—learning what made you shiver, what made you moan, what made you clutch at his shoulders and gasp his name in a way that sent a shudder through him so deep he thought he might break apart completely.

By the time you were actually together, when he finally slid inside you with a deep, shaky moan, his hands gripping your hips like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—he knew.

He knew he was ruined for anything else.

Because nothing—not the one experience he had before, not the books he had read, not the theories or statistics—could have ever prepared him for this.

For you.

And when he came undone, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and ragged, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—

It was the closest thing to heaven he had ever known.

You pulled Spencer on top of you without hesitation, letting his exhausted body flop onto yours, his full weight pressing you into the mattress in the best possible way. He didn’t resist or try to roll away or give you space—he just let himself be and melt into you like he belonged there.

You traced slow, lazy shapes on his bare, sweat-slicked back, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against yours in a steady rhythm. His damp curls tickled your skin where his face was buried against your neck, but you didn’t dare move. You liked having him close like this.

Then you felt it—Spencer taking a deep breath like he was about to say something important.

His voice was muffled, soft, still laced with lingering wonder as he exhaled against your skin.

“Did… was that good for you?”

You smiled at the ceiling, your fingers still tracing mindless patterns along his spine. He was too cute. Too him.

“It was amazing, Spencer.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt him tense slightly, his arms tightening around your waist as he let out a small, almost sheepish exhale.

“I’m sorry it was over so quickly.”

You laughed, tilting your head so you could press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Spencer, you have nothing to apologize for.”

He huffed, shifting slightly so his face was visible again, his flushed cheeks still pressed against your skin. “But I—”

“Nope.” You cut him off before he could finish whatever self-deprecating thought was about to leave his mouth. “I loved it. And besides…” You trailed your fingers down his spine, feeling the shiver it sent through him. “Now that the nerves are out of the way, we’ve got all night to take our time.”

Spencer froze for half a second before lifting his head just enough to look at you properly, his eyes wide, dark, needy.

“All night?” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

You smirked, fingers tightening ever so slightly on his back. “Mmmhmm.”

And just like that—

Spencer wasn’t exhausted anymore.

The night stretched long and slow, turning into early morning, and in those quiet, intimate hours, you discovered things—things that made you grin, things that made Spencer writhe, things that neither of you had ever put words to before but suddenly felt so obvious now.

Like hickeys.

Spencer really liked hickeys.

You hadn’t meant to leave one, not at first. But the moment your lips latched onto the sensitive skin of his neck, the second your teeth scraped lightly against his pulse point, Spencer let out a sound that was almost embarrassing—a sharp, gasping whine that had his fingers digging into your waist, his hips bucking up against you without thought.

And just like that, you knew.

“You like that?” you murmured against his skin, already smirking, already marking another spot just below his jaw.

Spencer shivered violently, his breath stuttering, his grip on you tightening. “I—” He cut himself off with a choked noise, arching into you again.

Yeah. He definitely liked it.

And then there was the other discovery that made your entire night.

Spencer was a certified bottom.

He liked giving up control, liked you taking the lead, liked it when you moved on top of him, guiding him, making him fall apart underneath you.

And oh, he thrived in it.

Especially when your hands threaded into his hair, whispered things to him, and praised him in that sweet, teasing tone that made him whimper.

And God, the way his hands roamed when you were on top—

Which led to the third discovery of the night.

Spencer was a tits guy.

Sure, he loved all of you—he worshipped every inch of you with those big, eager hands, his lips, his tongue, taking his time, savoring you like he had all the time in the world.

But your boobs?

Those really got him going.

Maybe it was because of the angle, the way they bounced when you moved, or maybe it was the way they fit so perfectly in his hands, how he could squeeze, cup, and knead them just the way he liked.

Maybe it was the fact that he could bury his face in them, groaning as he nuzzled into your chest, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your skin, mumbling about how perfect you were, how soft, how he never wanted to stop.

And when you realized?

When you teased him about it?

He turned a deep shade of red, sputtering something about biological instincts and aesthetic appeal, but the second you rolled your hips and dragged his hands back to your chest, his words died completely.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, his head thudding back against the pillow, his fingers squeezing you almost desperately.

And yeah—

You really liked that discovery, too.

—

Spencer had barely stepped into the bullpen when Derek’s booming voice rang through the air like a damn foghorn.

"Pretty boy!"

Spencer flinched. He knew that tone. That taunting, giddy, Derek-is-about-to-ruin-your-life tone.

And then—before Spencer could so much as blink—Derek was grinning at him, full teeth, eyes sparkling with absolute mischief as he pointed directly at Spencer’s neck.

“Oh no,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, instinctively reaching up as if he could somehow erase the evidence.

But it was too late. Because Derek had seen it. The hickey.

The hickey.

The one you had left on him Saturday night. Or was it Sunday morning? Honestly, it didn’t even matter—what mattered was that he had forgotten to cover it up, and now? Now, Derek was never going to let him live this down.

“Damn, kid,” Derek laughed, sauntering over with the confidence of a man who lived for this kind of teasing. “So you are gettin’ some.”

Spencer groaned, his entire face going up in flames. “Derek—”

“Nah, nah, don’t even try to deny it,” Derek interrupted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That is a grade-A hickey, man. I’m talkin’ official, stamped, certified ‘this man is gettin’ wrecked’ level.”

“Derek, please,” Spencer hissed, glancing around desperately as if he could somehow stop this from escalating.

Too bad the damage was already done. Because JJ and Penelope were already staring. And then laughing. Loudly.

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, practically shrieking with delight. “Spencer! Look at you! Our boy is all grown up and getting marked up like a romance novel protagonist!”

“Okay, stop,” Spencer pleaded, feeling absolutely doomed.

JJ just smirked, sipping her coffee like this was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. “So, how was your weekend?”

Spencer exhaled sharply, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and making a beeline for his desk, determined to escape. “I hate all of you.”

Derek just grinned, following after him with his arms crossed. “Nah, Pretty Boy, you love us. Just not as much as you love your girl—who, by the way, did some damage on you, man. She got territorial.”

Spencer slammed his forehead onto his desk with a loud thud. JJ and Penelope cackled. Derek patted him on the back like he had just won something. And Spencer?

Spencer knew damn well that this was never going away.

—

Spencer was always composed. Always Spencer. Polite, intelligent, articulate. The type of man who didn’t act impulsively, who thought through everything before making a move.

Except, apparently, when it came to you.

Because when it came to you, Spencer had no self-control.

And nowhere was that more apparent than tonight—right now—when he had you pressed up against the bar in the middle of a crowded room, his lips hot against your neck, his hands resting just a little too low on your waist, and his very obvious boner grinding against your ass.

This was not the Spencer the team knew. This was not the awkward, hesitant genius who stumbled over his words and overanalyzed his every move.

No, this Spencer was different.

This Spencer wanted you, and he didn’t care who saw.

This Spencer also happened to be a few glasses of champagne deep in his birthday celebration with the team.

“Spencer,” you hissed, gripping the edge of the bar for support as another firm roll of his hips had heat coiling low in your stomach.

He hummed against your neck, his lips still moving, still marking you in the same way he had been since he discovered how much he loved leaving hickeys on you.

“Hmm?” he murmured, voice low, dragging his tongue lightly over the fresh mark before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against it.

Your grip tightened on the bar. “We’re in public,” you reminded him, but your voice was breathy, weak, barely convincing.

Spencer chuckled—actually chuckled—against your skin, his fingers flexing against your hips. “And?”

And?

And?

You blinked, stunned by his sheer audacity, by the fact that Spencer Reid was grinding up against you in a public bar like he had every right to.

Like he owned you.

And maybe he did.

You hated to stop him. God, you hated it.

But Spencer was too drunk.

It wasn’t that he was wasted—Spencer didn’t drink often, and when he did, he rarely overindulged—but tonight, between rounds of celebratory drinks with the team and the way he had relaxed into your presence, he was just tipsy enough that his usual inhibitions were gone.

And normally, you wouldn’t mind. Normally, you’d love seeing him like this, out of his shell, more bold in his affections. But Spencer was intoxicated, and you were sober, and you refused—refused—to take advantage of that. 

So, with a deep breath, you gently pried his hands off your waist, turning around to face him fully.

“Spencer,” you murmured, voice soft but firm.

He blinked, slow and dazed, his lips swollen from where he had been so intent on marking you up. “Huh?”

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing against his flushed cheeks. “We need to get you home, okay?”

His brows furrowed. “But—”

“No ‘buts,’” you interrupted, kissing his cheek quickly before pulling away completely. “Come on, before Derek starts making bets about whether you’ll take shots with him.”

Spencer groaned, looking devastated—like a scolded puppy who had just been denied his favorite treat. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to pull you back, but even in his inebriated state, he listened.

With one last longing look at you, he sighed. “Fine.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him back to the group. The second you announced, “I’m taking Spencer home,” a chorus of hoots and hollers erupted from your friends.

Derek practically howled with laughter. “Damn, Pretty Boy, she’s gotta put you to bed already?”

“I hate all of you,” Spencer grumbled as Penelope cackled.

JJ smirked into her drink. “Don’t forget to hydrate him.”

“Oh, I will,” you assured her, rolling your eyes as you steered Spencer toward the door.

After a few more teasing remarks and one last dramatic wolf whistle from Derek, you managed to load Spencer into the passenger seat of your car.

As soon as you pulled out of the parking lot, you reached for the stereo and turned on classical music—something calming that would hopefully settle the restless energy still buzzing under Spencer’s skin.

And sure enough, within minutes, he was already melting into the seat, head lolling to the side as the soft notes of Debussy filled the quiet space.

You smiled to yourself, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Almost home, Spence,” you murmured.

He sighed deeply, squeezing back. “You’re the best,” he mumbled, voice slurred with exhaustion.

The rest of the night had been easy enough—getting Spencer home, guiding his sleepy, clingy self into bed, listening to him mumble drunken nonsense as you pulled the covers over him. He had curled around you the second you lay down beside him, burying his face in your neck, sighing deeply as if you were the cure to whatever hangover awaited him in the morning.

Before you had drifted off, you had set up a glass of water and some painkillers on his bedside table, making sure everything he needed would be right there when he woke up.

Now, in the golden light of morning, you were sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, reading while Spencer slowly resurfaced from his alcohol-induced slumber.

He stirred first, shifting slightly under the sheets, letting out a sleepy little grunt before blinking blearily up at you.

For a moment, he just stared.

His hair was a complete mess, curls sticking up in every direction, and his face was still warm and soft from sleep. His lips parted slightly, his eyes unfocused as he tried to piece together where he was, why he felt like this, and why the hell you looked so perfectly content beside him while he felt like his brain was swimming in molasses.

“…Morning,” he croaked, voice raw from sleep.

You glanced down at him, smiling over the top of your book. “Morning, baby.”

He blinked slowly, still processing. Then, realization dawned—the bar, the teasing, you dragging him home like an overgrown toddler.

He groaned, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “I was drunk.”

You laughed softly, closing your book and setting it aside. “Yep.”

He peeked out from under his arm, his lips twitching slightly. “Did I…?”

“You were very affectionate in public,” you teased, shifting to face him. “Like, very affectionate.”

Spencer made a noise between a groan and a laugh, rubbing his face. “Derek’s never going to let me live this down, is he?”

“I didn’t let anybody see, Spence.”

He sighed dramatically before turning his head to look at you again, his expression softening. His eyes flickered to the bedside table, taking in the water and painkillers, the small gesture that made something warm and fond settle in his chest.

“You took care of me,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course I did.”

Spencer didn’t say anything momentarily, just looking at you like he was trying to memorize you in the morning light. Then, without warning, he reached for you, pulling you down into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin, voice still thick with sleep.

Your heart stopped.

Completely.

Frozen in time, in this moment, in him.

Spencer had said it. So casually, so effortlessly, like it had always been there, sitting just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to slip out. Like it wasn’t something earth-shattering, something that made your breath catch and your entire world tilt.

You barely breathed as you whispered, "You love me?"

You felt his lips curve slightly against your skin—soft, sleepy, so sure.

"I love you," he repeated, voice muffled but certain, like it wasn’t even a question in his mind. Like it never had been.

The warmth of his words settled over you, seeping into every inch of your skin, curling around your heart like the softest, safest thing you’d ever known.

Suddenly, you were moving, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands and tilt his head so that his eyes met yours—still drowsy, still heavy with sleep, but so incredibly full. You smiled, soft and disbelieving like you couldn’t believe you had gotten this lucky. Like you couldn’t believe he was yours.

"I love you, too."

Spencer blinked, like it was his turn to freeze like his still-sleepy brain was trying to process that you had said it back. Then he smiled—wide and beautiful, the kind of smile that made his dimples show, the kind of smile that made your chest ache in the best possible way.

And without another word, he kissed you.

Slow, deep, certain.

Like he had just decided—right here, right now—that he was never letting you go.

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