#this is why i haven’t posted for a few days

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

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

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

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

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you ran away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I always want to see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was,” he says softly.

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

“But now I don’t want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

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

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

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

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

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

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

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

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

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

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

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

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

“You look funny.”

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

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

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

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

"I ran through the sprinklers."

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

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

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

He wasn’t alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

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

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

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

“Do you want anything to drink?”

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

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

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

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

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

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

“I remember."

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

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

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

"I really wanted kimchi."

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

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

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

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

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

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

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

He nods slowly. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could never hate you."

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

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

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

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

“You know it’s never going to work.”

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

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

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

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

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

"Oh I can name a few."

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

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

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

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

"You really think you can convince me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

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

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

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I kiss you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

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

"Maybe."

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

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

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you’ll have me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

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

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

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

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

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

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

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

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

“Even up to a thousand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait."

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

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

Shit. Neither did you.

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

“I was too focused with you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty sure?”

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

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

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

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

Tap. Tap. Tap.

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

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

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

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

Your walls squeeze around him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

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

And truthfully, neither can you.

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

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

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

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

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

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

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

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

You whine in approval.

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

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

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

He’s more than happy to oblige.

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

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

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You quickly turn over to the other side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now, maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t be mad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s what I want.”

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

“In a good way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

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

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

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

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

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

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what makes you so sure?”

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

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

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

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

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[winchesterwild78]

The Tutor part 4

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Warnings: mention of cheating, mention of phone sex, separation, fluff

A/N: Just a quick idea that popped in my head. A short series, maybe 2 or 3 chapters. I don’t know yet. No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction. Jensen has children in this, but I do not use their real names. 

Reader is a teacher and is asked to tutor Jensen’s child. Things develop between Jensen and the reader. I do not condone cheating, again, this is a work of fiction.

This chapter got a little long. Sorry not sorry. 😀 Please overlook any errors. I wrote this fast and edited it fast. 

Minors DNI 18+

Coming out of your room you were still smiling from the video call and the post Jensen made. You were completely in love with him. There was a glaring problem, you both were married to other people. You made the move to leave your husband, but he was still living with his wife. The fear of him never leaving her and you always being ‘the other woman’ was real and kept creeping into your mind. 

The next few days went pretty fast. Jensen called and video chatted with the kids every chance he could, and you would get a special, private video call after the kids were in bed. 

The night before he was due to fly in you were laying on your bed, earbuds in and having video phone sex with him. You were so into what was going on on your screen, you didn’t hear the front door. Jensen was close to his release, and you were right behind him when you heard a knock at your door. 

Your eyes shot open, grabbing your sheet, “Hello? Who’s there?” Jensen stopped and looked at the screen, sweat on his brow, panting. “Baby? What’s wrong?” “Someone’s knocking at my door.” 

“Hey, Y/N. I just wanted to let you know I’m home.” You swallowed hard, “Oh okay, Welcome home Mrs. Ackles.” You looked at the screen as you said it. Jensen’s eyes went wide. “Why is she home?” He questioned. “I’m not sure.” “Well, damn she just killed the mood, I’m sorry sweetheart.” “It’s okay baby. Once you get home we will have to continue this. When does your flight get in?” “I arrive back at 10am. God I can’t wait to see you.” “Me either baby. You better get some sleep. I love you.” “I love you too, Y/N. Sleep well and tomorrow I’ll be in your arms again.”

You smiled and nodded, “I can’t wait.” After you two hung up, you got dressed and laid down, thinking about Jensen and how the relationship would work when he got home. Especially with his wife back. You decided that would be a problem better solved when he got home. Besides, she has a lover, why can’t he? 

The next morning the house was buzzing with excitement. Jensen was due home in a few hours and the kids were so excited. His wife was less than excited. You heard her on the phone talking about his Instagram post, “No, it wasn’t about me honey. I promise. I don’t know who it was about, but it wasn’t about me. Remember I love you.” 

You scoffed as you walked away. You couldn’t understand how she could throw away such a good thing with Jensen. Sure he isn’t perfect, but there was nothing that could tear you away from him. 

She emerged from the office and greeted you with a big, fake smile. “Good morning, Y/N. How are you today? I surely hope I didn’t interrupt anything last night.” She smirked at you. She did hear you. Did you say Jensen’s name? “Oh, Good morning, no you didn’t, nothing that couldn’t be continued later.” 

She nodded, “So, I was hoping I could talk to you about something.” “Yeah sure, what’s up?” “Well, I saw a post on Jensen’s Instagram that took me by surprise. He mentioned finding the love of his life. As you know, he and I are not on the best of terms, so I know the post isn’t about me. Have you noticed any women around here when you’ve been here?” “No I haven’t, well just you and I, and the nanny.” “Hmm, maybe it’s someone he works with. I refuse to let him make me out to be a fool.” “I’m sure that’s not what he’s doing, maybe the post was about you. Why else would he profess his love publicly?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not about me. We haven’t had sex or even kissed in months. We don’t love each other anymore.” 

Of course you knew all this, but you had to play dumb. “Mrs. Ackles, I’m so sorry. That has to be hard.” “I appreciate it, but it’s not that hard anymore. I’m happy with Josh and I want to build a life with him.” 

Before you could say anything else you heard the front door open and saw Jensen walk in. Your heart leaped in your chest. The kids ran to him and threw their arms around him, “Daddy! You’re home!” “Hey my babies. I missed you three so much, were you good for Ms Y/N?” They smiled and shook their heads yes. 

Jensen saw you and his wife standing in the kitchen. He acknowledged her and you. “Welcome home, Jensen. The kids missed you so much.” “Thank you, Y/N, and thank you again for stepping in and watching them. I appreciate it.” You nodded.

“Y/N, would you please excuse Jensen and I, we have some things to discuss.” “Oh, yeah sure. Welcome home, again.”

With that you left to head to the guest house. You decided to start unpacking and get things cleaned and organized. About twenty minutes later there was a knock on your door. “Come in” you called. You looked up and saw Jensen standing there with a smile on his face. “Come here sweetheart.” He crossed the room and pulled you into a tight hug. “God I missed you.” He kissed the top of your head. You leaned back and he crashed his lips to yours. Moaning into each other’s mouths he led you backwards towards the bed. 

As you fell backwards you giggled. “I missed your laugh, sweetheart.” Jensen kissed your lips, “Now, where did we leave off last night?” “I don’t know about you, but I was so close, Jens.” “Me too, darlin’.” 

You and Jensen quickly shed your clothes. Laying under Jensen and feeling his hands on your body was beyond euphoric. He knew how to touch you and make you feel so completely alive. 

About 45 minutes and 3 orgasms later, you and Jensen were laying on your bed, breathing heavily and trying to cool down. Sweat covered the two of you. Jensen held you in his arms as you laid on his chest. “Baby, how is this going to work with your wife at home?” 

“I told her tonight I wanted a divorce.” You sat up and gasped, “What?” “Yeah, I told her I had found someone I wanted to build a life with, someone I was completely in love with, and I wanted a divorce. I don’t care what it does to my image. I want to be with you, completely and without having to sneak around. You deserve so much better than that.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. No one had ever put you first. Jensen choosing you over his marriage and his image was a true testament of his love and commitment to you. 

“Jens, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want you to lose your job.” Jensen cupped your face, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to lose my job, I promise.” “What did she say when you told her?” “She said she was fine with going through with it. That she and Josh were in love and she wanted to marry him. I told her I wished her the best. She’s moving in with Josh today, and the kids are staying with me.” 

You smiled and kissed his lips, “I love you, Jensen.” He leaned in more, laying you back on the bed, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“I better get dressed and back inside. We are telling the kids tonight before she leaves. It’s going to suck.” You touched his arm, “I know it is. Should I stay here or do you want me there, to help the kids?” “I’d love for you to be there, but I think it’s best if you stay here. Once she’s gone you can come in and we will help the kids together.”

You nodded, “Okay, Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. My priority is you and the kids.” “I love you for that too. I’m sure if you were in there it would cause questions to come up that I’m not ready to answer.” As he started to climb out of the bed he stopped and looked at you, “Thank you for making me believe in love again. When she’s gone I want you to come into the house.” You nodded and he got up to get dressed. 

After he was gone you laid in the bed thinking about everything that has happened in your life since you met Jensen. You couldn’t believe how fast your life had changed. When you married Jeff you thought you were marrying the love of your life, but you were wrong. Being with Jensen was easy, and you felt things with him you hadn’t felt with anyone, even Jeff. You loved Jensen deeply, and you cared and loved his kids too. He and the kids were home. 

A few hours later you saw his wife leave with a suitcase. You sent Jensen a text.

You: Hey, let me know when you want me to come inside. I don’t want to intrude.

Jensen: You can come in. The kids took it better than I thought they would. There were some tears, but I think they knew it was coming. 

You: I’m glad it went better than you thought it would, I hate they felt it was coming, though. 

Jensen: Me too, now get your cute butt in here. 😙

You smiled and you put your phone away. Walking inside the house you weren’t sure what to expect. Jensen and the kids were sitting on the floor in the living room playing. You smiled when you saw the four of them. Jensen’s green eyes looked up at you with so much love. You bit your lip as you looked at him, and you blushed. 

“Ms. Y/N, mommy left again, she’s moving in with Uncle Josh. We’re going to stay here with daddy and you.” Jensen Jr said to you. “I heard, sweetie, and how does that make you feel?” You asked him. “I guess okay. I love mommy, but I know I get to see her still.” “Yes you do buddy, whenever you want,” Jensen said. 

You looked over at the girls, taking a seat on the floor, you asked them, “How are you two doing?” Jessica looked at you and you snuggled to your side, “I’m okay. I get to live with daddy and you. I love you Ms. Y/N.” You pulled her in your arms, “I love you too sweetheart, I love all of you very much.” Her big green eyes were wide, “Even daddy?” You smiled and nodded, “Yes, even your daddy.” 

Annie sat quietly. You looked at her and then at Jensen. You saw the concern etched in his face. “Annie, sweetie, are you okay?” Jensen asked. Annie looked up and tears were in her eyes. Jensen’s heart broke. She looked over at you and back at Jensen, you noticed her lower lip quivering. 

“Annie, it’s okay, baby. We’re here for you. Talk to us, so we can help you.” Jensen pleaded. The words were caught in her throat. Jensen scooped up his little girl and held her in his arms, tightly. You ushered the other two to their playroom, giving Annie and Jensen some privacy. 

You grabbed the door handle, about to walk outside, and Annie spoke up, “Ms. Y/N, please don’t go too.” You froze in place, turned around and said, “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. I was just going outside so you and daddy could talk.” 

“I don’t want you to leave.” You walked over to her and Jensen and sat down, “Okay, sweetie, I’ll stay.” 

She gave you a slight smile. What she said next completely broke your’s and Jensen’s hearts. “Daddy, why doesn’t mommy love us anymore?” Jensen sat speechless for a minute, “Oh sweetie, mommy does love you and your brother and sister. Mommy and Daddy just don’t love each other enough anymore to stay married. That’s not going to change how either of us feel about you three. I promise you that.” 

She nodded and left the room. Jensen sat on the couch and let out a long sigh. “I guess I need to start telling family and friends, oh and my manager. This is going to go over so well,” Jensen said sarcastically. 

You rubbed his shoulder and took his hand, “Hey, I’m here for you, no matter what. I love you, remember?” He smiled, “Yeah, I remember, thank you baby.” He placed a soft kiss on your lips. 

Jensen stood and walked towards his office. He stopped and looked over at you and smiled. You gave him a soft smile back and nodded. He walked into his office and closed the door. 

Taking a deep breath you started to busy yourself around the house. Cleaning the kitchen and thinking about the future with Jensen and his kids. You knew you were in love with Jensen, and he was in love with you. Nothing else going on mattered, because you knew as long as the two of you had each other you could tackle the world. 

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[jeanystillbeany]

BillFord Fic

I haven’t gotten invited to ao3 yet so I’ll just post it here anyway. It doesn’t have a name so I’ll just post a teaser or whatever. Idfk. It’s a billford fic ig. As soon as I get ao3 I’ll post it on there. I do have more written. I’m just taking the first part for a test drive. Let me know ur thoughts! (Literally anything- name suggestions scene suggestions, if i should post it on ao3, explanations etc.)

Entry 167: Series 6

  Out of all the curiosities I’ve studied in my travels, this has to be one of the most shocking enigmas yet.  This timeline had the bottom story of the shack left with two gaping holes at the top.  In fact, it’s as though the shack grew legs and walked away.  Which is completely bizarre- even for a weirdness magnet such as Gravity Falls, Oregon.  The countless timelines I’ve visited so far were nowhere near this level of insanity.  This level of… intrigument.  The state of the timeline has this enrapturing effect on me.  

  Recently the timelines I’ve been traveling through have had a different variable.  Two in fact.  As it turns out, me and my brother have a great-grandniece and nephew.  Dipper and Mabel.  While I’ve been careful to not interact with any timelines I’ve found myself caught up in (especially after that incident with the Time Police), I still somehow find myself growing attached to the two.  For the past few months I’ve been observing them through the different timelines I’ve traveled to.  There has also been the reoccurring pattern of their other ‘Gruncle’ re-emerging from the same portal I find myself appearing from every few days.  I’ve been waiting… counting down the days til it’s my turn.  And yet, I still don’t understand why I continue to keep that false hope in my pocket.  The multiverse is infinite.  The chances of me ever finding my home universe is nearly pointless.  While I could always take the place of another Stanford… The Time Police would be on my case in a second.  I also understand that the multiverse I was sent to wasn’t the same one as the other Stanfords.  While I’m dealing with infinites of my brother, they were dealing with beasts beyond basic human comprehension… and yet I’d much rather that than to be cursed knowing I’d never get home.  To see Dipper and Mabel fail… over and over… with myself unable to assist… sometimes I thought it was driving me mad.  

  I’ve certainly spent more time reciting the last few entries than I should’ve.  So I shall continue with the present.  The shambles of my lab have made for an adequate shelter.  (Save for the 2 overgrown hairless mole rats I’ve needed to fight off for my rations).  The sky appears to be a blood red, many of the familiar surrounding trees were reduced to brambles, probably by some larger species I’d like to take the time to investigate at a later hour.  This area has been intensely modified compared to the other Gravity Falls I’ve been in.  I have a hunch this is due to the large vortex that ripped through the dimension.  (That was in fact sarcasm my dear reader).  So far I’ve studied and dissected one of those overgrown Eye-Bats that can turn a person to stone just by looking at them.  From memory; I will promise they were much smaller and could not turn one to stone in my own timeline.  Why would anyone feel the need to weirdify these anomalies?  Some sort of apocalypse has settled over this world.  Whether or not it was always like this is unknown.  I’m leaning towards the latter though.  I shortly ran out of things to do after examining my last two specimens and I itched for more information on these preternatural creatures. 

Ford sat in what was left of his desk chair and kicked his feet up.  He would kill for a mug of coffee right now.  

Ford ran a hand through his hair.  Since the portal incident, he’s grown it out. He’s grateful he didn’t cut it when he could.  It more than likely would’ve exaggerated the up and coming gray hair.  Though… he shouldn’t exactly care how he looks because he’s not supposed to be seen in other timelines according to the Time Police.  In the end, he still does get a fond satisfaction of knowing he’s at least well kept.  And mistakes happen.  He continues to have the same clothing pattern of turtle necks- though he only ever wears them underneath his long coat.  It proved to be very useful when traveling timelines.  The amount of pockets he had to keep so many samples in almost seemed like cheating.  He also always had his bag with him.  Most of his pockets aren’t big enough for his journal, and he’s filled up a couple while he was traveling timelines.  His love of pockets also extended to his lower half making sure to have maximum pockets on his cargo pants.  He even bothered with a hidden one in his shoe for an emergency lock pick.  If that wasn’t enough, his obsession with Sci-Fi led to him wanting to live it to its full extent, so naturally he put knives in both heels of his boots as well.  

  Normally he’d care that there were some contaminated combat boots being rubbed all over his desk.  But now?  He thought he might as well embrace the end of the world.  He loved his family to death, but if any of them saw him in a timeline other than his origin the whole universe would collapse in on itself, and they would be the ones dead.  Ford could always scramble back to his portal and go to the next timeline.  According to the Time Police that is.   Though there have been many instances where he has intervened in his earlier days with no consequence.  

  The man mindlessly fiddled with his gun on the inside pocket of his coat.  He wanted to study more.  Maybe the giant gash in the sky was the root of his greatest mystery!  He unhooked his heels from the edge of his desk and swung them around towards the bunker hatch.  He pushed himself off from the armrests of the chair.  Stanford climbed up the ladder and popped his head out of the bunker.  He supposed the first step would be to find a lookout point.  If he was lucky he might be able to stay in one place long enough to do a quick sketch of this timeline’s situation.  The first place Stanford’s mind drifted was his abandoned UFO- though it was identified and no longer flying, so he dubbed it the alien spacecraftt.  It gave a perfect view of the entire town and was rather close to his current position.  Ford gave a once over of everything in his satchel.  He plucked out his journal in order to sift through the small bit of food, water and any other trinkets he had before neatly replacing it and went on his way.  

  As Ford traveled he kept a hand on his gun.  Aside from the terrors the scientist was getting antsy to encounter, he was the only other sound he heard.  His boots trudged along the ground -making distinct squishing sounds- as though he were walking in his own wet socks.  The ground beneath him was unnaturally wet causing the uncomfortable feeling.  There was the occasional shuffle as he adjusted his jacket to the odd temperatures.  Ford made a mental note to journal about the seemingly miniature air masses that drastically changed the temperatures in as little as every few feet he walked.  The long coat was currently adjusted to be draped over his shoulders, as Ford found this to be a happy medium and made a constant grip on his gun easier.  

  A rumble struck the ground just as Ford’s own foot hit the earth.  The man felt a jitter course through him, crawling up his spine.  

  “Another weirdness wave!”  The man exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than anyone else trapped in this hell bubble ever would.  He licked the first two of his fingers and raised them up in the air, turning them at different angles until he found the direction that gave his moistened fingers the most chill.  After finding the wind direction he quickly hid behind a tree and scrambled through his bag.  His six-fingered hand reemerged with a sort of hand made device.  It was made from old lab parts created during his first few days in this timeline.  It allowed him to calculate the intensity of the weirdness wave and further study its properties.  He carefully placed the machine away from the cover of the tree and braced himself for things to get weird.  

  The wave passed over Stanford relatively easily and he observed no mutations to himself.  Stanford went to pick up his wave reader when- 

  “Oh.  How peculiar… Shit.”  The man’s handmade invention had grown to compete with the surrounding forest’s pine trees.  For a moment the Author thought that he would be unable to run.  For a moment the Author believed he was frozen in time.  For a moment he saw himself as a child.  For a moment he saw his brother.  For a moment he saw the twins.  

  Stanford found the right gears that made the joints in his legs move.  This was no longer his invention.  It had grown six legs of its own.  The calculator screen that was once used as a makeshift reader display was its mouth and the antenna was its tongue.  Ford was tempted to take a picture, though he doubted such would be worth his life.  He raced through the forest.  It was almost as if its size grew due to this oddity apocalypse.  The scientist didn’t have a chance.  Every time he heaved himself over a log, the creature could bash itself right through it after him.  He needed to think of something… he’d kill to meet his niece and nephew.  

  The Author took out his loaded gun as he ran through the brambles.  He took a sharp turn, causing the monster to slide in an effort to regain its balance.  Ford began to aim as the creature was tipped onto its side.  It landed with a loud thump, causing multiple mutated birds to fly away startled.  Stanford lowered his gun and stood stunned in front of his creation, as its legs flailed about, damaging the surrounding shrubbery.  

  “Intriguing!”  Ford quickly snapped a picture.  As much as he’d like to inspect the helpless thing more, he deemed it safer to continue with his original task.  He would’ve stayed longer if one of the monster’s legs didn’t reach out and claw at his coat, tearing it down its side.  A bit closer and the scientist would’ve been seriously injured.   He jumped back and continued with his task of sketching this new timeline.  He also made a mental note to log his encounter in the journal when he was in the clear.  

~

  He finally made it to the spacecraft.  Ford would definitely consider using this as a hideout in this world.  Contrary to Ford’s belief, the state of this timeline was only in Gravity Falls.  He remembers studying the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism as a younger man, but he never believed it could affect anything to this extent.  Ford sat down atop the spacecraft.  He snapped a picture of the surrounding scene.  

Entry 167 B. Series 6

  There seemed to be a large barrier encasing Gravity Falls.  More than likely the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism.  I’ve studied the topic before and have come up with a simple equation to break it.  The scene before me is both exhilarating and dread ensuing.  To even think about the situations my brother and the kids have gone through haunts me.  I want nothing more than to be able to talk with them.  Even if it’s not my universe.  I want to hear their stories and watch them grow up… I wish for my own universe.  I’ve traveled the timelines for much too long.  I’ve watched them.  But I want to see them.  To meet my Mabel, my Dipper, my Stanley.  I want to meet my family.  But where would I even start?  The time police?

  I looked off to the sunless horizon and noticed a large pink orb sitting dead center of the train tracks with Mabel’s zodiac on it.  My breathing sputtered.  Just what were these kids into this timeline?  I decided it’d be best to head back to the lab.  I’d like to be there when the portal reopens.  

   Maybe… maybe I can try one more time.  My sentence is already high enough as it is with the Time Police… I want to help my niece and nephew… no matter what universe they’re in.  There has to be a reason the Time Police aren’t on my tail by now… especially after that monster was created.  I’ll spend the night at the lab again and work on relocating to the spacecraft tomorrow.  Then I’ll find my brother.  

  Ford replaced his bookmark into his journal and brushed himself off.  He stood up on the roof of the dead spaceship and gave one last glance at the world he found himself in before beginning the few hour trek to where the Mystery Shack once stood.  Stanford was nearly to his hideout. About where he left the wave reading monster.  There was one problem that had unnerved the Author for more than one reason.  A question that bubbled out of his mouth as soon as he seen the large clearing in the trees where the monster had been discarded.  

  “Where is it?” His question was shortly answered as a screech was heard not too far behind him.  

  “Fuck!  Are you Serious?!”  The scientist grumbled and quickened his pace.  It was following him.  Either it had extremely sensitive hearing or it was tracking him by scent.  Whatever the case was, his hands itched to jot it down in his journal.  He didn’t have much time for that as he found himself being chased by the beast once again.  Ford continued to race to the lab and attempted to slide into the underground space.  The mechanical creature’s claw lurched out and nicked his back, sending him flying forward and creating another large hole in the roof.  He landed ungraciously on the floor of his lab with a groan.  As a last resort Ford turned over on his back and began shooting wildly through the crack.  The mechanical anomaly screeched as it was shot at, retreating immediately.  Ford felt the back of his coat begin to soak and his vision blur.  The tips of his finger began to numb as his arm fell to the ground. 

   With one last screech, a fourth hole was punctured into the top of the lab, right over the portal, leaving Ford’s escape in shambles.  He would’ve screamed, or yelped with his hand held out dramatically as any Author such as himself would, but that was the last sight seen before he passed out completely.  

~

  “Do you think it’s dead?”  

  “I say we eat it”

  “Dudes.  Is it just me?  Or does it kinda look like Mr. Pines.” 

  “Soos.  It has SIX FINGERS!  SIX!  It had to be some sort of clone… or- or… imposter.”  Pages began to flip in the background of the following commotion.  Quiet muttering was also heard following each turn of paper- though it was mostly blocked out by the pounding in Ford’s head.  

  “Mr. Pines… do you… know anything about this?”  Ford was becoming conscious enough to pick out voices.  This seemed to be the only female among the group.  

  “Stanford…?” This was a new voice.  Much older than the others.  It wavered as it said his name- effectively snapping him out of the painful slumber he was in.  

  Ford started with a groan and his eyes squinted shut, adjusting to the abnormal light- even for the living world.  In this universe that is.  

  “Dudes.  It’s waking up.”  Ford mumbled and rubbed his head.  Thankfully the wound on his back didn’t go that deep into his back.  Though the semi-dried blood latching the fabric of his coat to himself was very uncomfortable.  

  “Sixer!”  Stanford opened his eyes just in time to see the back of a tacky red hat by the side of his head.  Arms enveloped his shoulders partially helping Ford keep himself up.  

  “Stanley…”  The scientist just barely breathed out.  

  “STANLEY?!”  Ford couldn’t be bothered to look up from his brother’s shoulder at the other’s exclaimation

  “Is anyone else confused right now?  Cause I’m confused.” Soos commented.  Stanley sighed before releasing his disoriented brother.  

  “Kids, Soos, I want you to meet… the author of the journals.”  Stan was hesitant to let go of his brother, as though if he let go of his brother’s shoulder he’d disappear back into the fabrics of existence.  Dipper did an excited squeal and almost ran up to properly greet his practical obsession, but Wendy put a calm hand on his shoulder to stop him from ruining the two brothers' moment.  She decided she needed more context with her boss’ secret twin before Dipper butted in.  

  “Stanley.  I need- I need to tell you something.”  Stanford’s voice wavered with guilt.  As multiple scenarios ran through his head.  More than likely this wasn’t his universe.  He doesn’t know what happened to his own timeline, or this one… though it’s not like he can continue traveling timelines with the portal busted.  Ford opened his mouth to speak- but no sound came out as a thought surfaced to his head.  

  ‘…what if this is my timeline?  What if the portal busted for a reason?  Maybe… I can stay a while.  They need my help…’

  “Yeah?”  Stanley asked- a small smile almost suppressed on his face.  

  “…I missed you.” Ford sighed out.  He pulled Stan back into him.  The other man slapped his back playfully with a goofy grin.  Ford winced and let out a small yelp.  

  “Oh… forgot about that.  Welp.  I smiled too little in the past 3 weeks to smile this much now.  Let’s get back to the shack.”  As if on queue, an ominous roar shook the ground under them. 

  “Agreed.” Wendy said.  

  “Yup, yup, yup, let’s go!”  Soos hauled Dipper over his shoulder and sprinted out of the Lab and everyone else followed.  Ford found himself lingering for a moment- his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the remains of his portal.  It’s gone.  It’s all gone.  

  “Hey, bro.  Let’s get out of here, ‘k?”  Stanley put his hand on Ford’s shoulder, offering a hopefully comforting smile.  

  “We have a lot to talk about Stanley…” Similar to any other earth tremble, the earth shook following the signs of a beast approaching.  

  “Yeah, yeah.  Can we do that later?”  Stanley tugged his brother along by the back of his coat leading him out of the lab.  Stanford followed behind- occasionally wincing from the pulling on his jacket.  

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 10 thoughts

(muffled crying) (sniffing) (conspicuous wiping of eyes) hey guys, welcome back to my liveblog

little did i know! little did past me know what i was getting into when i typed my opening lines below. but presumably YOU, the reader of this post, knew what i was signing up for, so i shall spare my words and just share that i thought it was a VERY VERY good episode, even if it was darker than my usual preference. i tend to like some bantering, but i don't see how bantering could have fit into this one. so let us begin.

i haven’t seen an episode in a few days, which probably explains why this week has been awful. i would wax poetic about how i have missed our agents, but i honestly cannot wait any longer and Need to watch this episode right now. which i think is an emotional one???

(author's note: yeah <3)

i need to TEAR into this, bro. like a bear in a trash can or something.

reading the episode description and this sounds evilllll!!! i still assume everything about samantha is a lie!! it saves time!!

mulder is sleeping… on a BED?? a proper bed?? i can’t tell. it’s so dark. if it is a bed, this is IMMENSE character development.

he sees a red light in the sky :0 and on his walls!! it says “follow” WHAT!!! what does that mean!??

it’s leading him to a car?? wait, he’s at a park? was he camping and that’s why he had a bed? why was he camping? who lured him out here with a laser like a cat… what does “mad hat” mean in this context?

and he is full on chasing this light. i love that for him. the music is super whimsical.

WHAT IS LESS WHIMSICAL is the body of a child sitting in this forest. what the HELL????

okay, tone change, i see you!

but the child sinks into the leaves??

oh girl. they really got me with the whole “it was all a dream" thing, and I FELL FOR THAT!!!

he is actually just sleeping on his COUCH, which i knew had to be the case, because he would NOT use a bed in his apartment. beds are a luxury you only get to experience in motels if your name is fox mulder.

damn, maybe that's why he likes to travel so much... cozy hotel bed... really makes you think

nooo he had a nightmare :( this is sad. he never seems to actually sleep.

he’s gonna find that park he dreamed of and drive there even if it is the middle of the night. in his leather jacket. yes. he means business!!

and he is going to the spot where he saw a body of a child… where now he sees…. dirt 

so the next morning, he’s directing people who are digging stuff up. they look like police

ENTER SCULLY!!!! YAYYYYY :D i cheered!!! she wants to know what’s going on 

“you called for forensic excavation at 5 am on a sunday, what are you looking for?” (he grabs her arm, looking delirious) <- ohhhh i knew after seeing this moment that this episode was gonna wreck me

he asks her to give him a minute, and when she’s all “you’re out here because of something you saw in a dream?” he gives her this look of “it’s not that simple and you KNOW that”. funny how you can say that with just a look.

but someone calls him over!!! NO! there is the skull of a child in there!!!

omfggggg

wait, we literally haven’t even gotten past the intro yet, and i’m already sat at the edge of my seat…………

we are sooooo back, baby!!!

hey, that intro was different from the standard too, i think. but whatever.

scully is deeply confused, asking to hear about his dream. the forensic investigators are digging, but he is implying they aren’t going fast enough… so he’s digging with HIS HANDS!!!! 

oh, he is gonna mess some evidence up this way…

but he insists he knows what happened. 

he describes the murder in great detail, and scully asks, you learned all of this from your dream? and he says no, i have this murderer’s MO memorized; it’s a guy named john lee roche.

so it is the power of careful study AND prophetic dreams at work that make mulder such a good investigator

it seems deeply wrong to see mulder in their office with only a t shirt on and not his fancy suits, but it is the weekend, and desperate times. this serial killer- roche- was very hard to catch back in the day. at the FBI, he was nicknamed “paper hearts” because of the heart trophies he took from the victims… oh… i see where this is going. the title is making sense now.

mulder was brought onto the case because he was thought to be able to get into the victim’s head……. omg… his reputation…. and he concluded the killer had to be someone ordinary who traveled a lot, like a salesman. and he was!!! roche was a vacuum salesman!! 

(do we still even have those?)

scully points out that it was his profile that caught the bastard, and he just shrugs his shoulders. i would expect him to normally be more “yeah, i did that!!”, but it seems this one is very personal to him. not much to celebrate if you only caught the guy after the horrific murders happened.

he says they never found the hearts cut from the cloth, and he always wanted to count them and see if they really added up to 13. after this, he realizes that there were more than 13. this is really sad.

scully says maybe she can explain his dream!!! and maybe he solved it in his sleep when his subconscious took over! oh, she is a good friend

“you said it yourself once… you said a dream is an answer to a question we haven’t learned how to ask” <- YES he said that in 2x12, right? i always thought it was so poetic, and the fact that it was never mentioned again bothered me a little- BUT SHE REMEMBERED!!!

she’s telling him that he did good work, and they can identify the girl and put her to rest, and what if i cry about the way she leaned in to reassure him?? hey. what if i cry?

it’s time to look at some bones. scully seems to have found an identity pretty quick; her name was addie, and she went missing in 1975. 

but mulder pushes back, saying that if that were true, it would mean roche started way before they thought he did. scully points out that the clothes and height match.

oh my god…. the way he’s looking at the bones, and she asks if he’s gonna be okay if they verify it… he shakes his head yes, but it seems hollow. she is trying to be so careful around him. it's making me emotional.

so, they go off to pennsylvania to try and make an ID with addie's relatives. scully does the talking, presumably because mulder is going through a Lot Of Feelings, and the minute they say they’re with the FBI, the dude who answered the door asked “you found addie?” ohhhhh :( 

he immediately identifies the fabric pouch they found with the bones as made for addie... he used to slip quarters in it from the tooth fairy

bro, this episode is sad as hell.

“i used to think that missing was worse than dead because you never knew what happened” (cut to mulder) (cut to him looking at the portrait of addie on the wall) i’m gonna scream re: the implications about samantha

addie’s father asks if there were other victims they didn’t know about, and mulder looks very very very sad. i can sense him feeling that he needs to solve this, and that he’s gonna think he failed for not finding the others before. yes, i know where this is going 

all of a sudden, he remembers from his dream that the killer drove a white el camino, and he probably kept the hearts in there. the car was sold in 1992. that was a while ago. i am feeling some doubts in terms of them still being in there.

“don’t you think the car might have been searched at least once already?” “not by me” <- DAMN!!! oh my god. his sense of duty. that ancient and primal Guilt in him. yeah yeah, i’m eating this up 

they go to visit the car, where a young gentleman has been putting flames on the side. he seems giddy to hear a serial killer once owned his car. which i feel is valuable commentary on the commodification of the true crime industry and how it dehumanizes the suffering of the victims through sensationalism. but mulder is not gonna listen to him blabber, he is gonna get to WORK.

(man, i wonder how these two feel about the rise of true crime as an entertainment industry... i want to hear their thoughts)

they are sleuthing together. mulder takes a knife and cuts right into the seat!!!! he says something is wrong…. and remembers the “mad hat” clue…. he thinks this means it’s in the camper shell??? i fail to see the connection but that is okay, it wasn't my dream

mulder’s acting like a madman, ripping into the fabric of the camper shell, where he finds a copy of alice in wonderland…. WITH A HEART IN IT.

they are leaned in together, counting the hearts, and it would be an incredibly touching moment if it weren’t in such a sad context.

they find 16 hearts :( and he sadly says that means he had two more victims they didn't know about :(

they’re going to go visit roche. or not? someone is playing basketball. 

OH. they’re letting this serial killer, who casually addresses him with a "hey mulder", play basketball?? by himself? that can’t even be fun…

they ask roche why he only claimed there were 13 victims. he said 13 sounded more magical. why is this dude at once so Normal seeming and viscerally scary?

oh… “i understand you take this very personally, mulder” oh no. oh no oh no oh no.

“sink one from there and i’ll tell you” (very high pressure basketball shot that mulder makes on the first try) well okay!!! an athlete!

roche says that if he brings the hearts back, he’ll tell him everything, which was not part of the deal. i am of the opinion that he should not get to see the hearts again, and that if he does, it will be very inappropriate.

oh my god. mulder’s at his desk with the hearts, all organized by name, falling asleep with his glasses on as he holds the last two. he can't even stay awake, he's working so hard to figure this out.

another red light moment!! it is guiding him places…. a dream??

NO!!! NO. it’s leading him to the news of watergate. oh no. i know where this is going.

he sees samantha, and he’s quoting what he said back then when The Incident went down, line for line, because he must have rewatched it a thousand times

we relive the scene, including the flashes of lights. he grabs the gun. this time, and opens the door…. and it’s… roche…?

(well, if it is really him behind the crime, how did he do the whole shaking everything and making stuff float bit? really makes you wonder. because i recall samantha's body floating horizontally for a bit)

but back to real world, where mulder wakes up screaming “samantha!” and again. i WILL cry. oh my god…. there’s a terrible realization in his face as he holds the hearts up.

no, no, no, stop making him suffer.

back to the prison. mulder is without scully this time, but with roche, who asks if he has the hearts. 

mulder is questioning him about the weird comments yesterday, the whole "it's personal to you thing", then jumps right into “where were you in 1973?” and holy FUCK it’s tense.

“what, the whole year?” “november. the 27th of november. do you know what i’m getting at?” oh my god….

roche claims to have sold a vacuum cleaner in martha’s vineyard to mr. mulder at that time…. 

he’s going on and on about his father choosing the vacuum. and mulder’s face is so steely. but when he asks “what do you know about my sister?”, his voice is wavering.

again, roche insists that he brings him the hearts before he learns anything. which causes mulder to punch the shit out of him.

when the guards come in and roche snitches on mulder for punching him, the guard is like “i didn’t see it” which is deserved. more than deserved, actually.

but scully saw it go down!!! i thought he went on his own… guess she was outside watching

she is trying to talk sense into him post-prisoner punching, which has happened a few times now and makes me worry about mulder's employability if anyone knew he had a tendency to get physical with these villains, but i digress.

scully is explaining that roche can use the computer to look up anything he likes and find out where mulder’s from (it’s true! be careful what you post, guys!) and she thinks that he is using emotional blackmail. she thinks roche saw mulder’s heart on his sleeve and took advantage of that.

it would make sense that if he knows that he will spend the rest of his life in prison, he would torture mulder for funsies...

“scully, do you believe that my sister samantha was abducted by aliens?” oh my god we’re going there. i never thought we would go there.

“have you ever believed that?” she doesn’t answer, but she hangs her head… because what do you even say to that?

“no. so what do you think happened to her?” 

he doesn’t know what he believes, but he has to find out… and that shot of scully’s face…… please kill me, it would be easier for all involved :(

in connecticut, mulder is at… his mom’s house? looking in the basement. did he just show up?

he apologizes twice for waking her up and asks how she is doing :( awww :( he was so worried :( oh this grown man… he is a baby to me….

so he pulls out the fabric hearts and asks if she recognizes them. and when she gets confused and tries to explain her memory isn’t as good after the stroke, he smiles, and hugs her, pats her back, says it’s alright.

OHHHHHH THE WAY HE HUGGED HER AND SMILED................. I WILL YELL. I AM YELLING NOW. AHHHH.

anyway. he falls back on a different line of thinking to try and get answers out of his mother: did dad ever buy you a vacuum cleaner? the answer: yes, he did, a long time ago, and it’s down here. he’s tearing through old decorations to find it, and it is the brand that roche claimed it was. he slams his fist down.

now hold on. i’m willing to bet he just named the most popular vacuum of the early 1970’s. because they’ve put too much work into this whole “samantha was taken by aliens or the government” storyline to debunk it entirely. what about her files in the west virginia archive? what about his father choosing which child he liked better? what about the whole “they took her as insurance so mr. mulder wouldn’t snitch on the cataloguing of humans and planning for alien colonization” thing? too much has been invested in this…. i think it can’t be true, but rather we’re exploring mulder’s emotional state with this sick and twisted excuse 

skinner has summoned mulder!!! he is no longer allowed to work on the roche case because he punched tf out of him!!! mulder turns to scully with suspicion and skinner clarifies that she wasn’t the one who reported it (although she should have) but rather the whole thing was videotaped!!!

if i've said it once i've said it a million times: she's real as hell

skinner says that he should have mulder’s ass in a sling (okay, elaborate on that), but he tries to explain that roche might have information on his sister. scully says that it looks possible- he spent most of 1973 in boston, took a trip to martha’s vineyard in october… and it’s adding up.

she loves to do her research. i know she was an academic weapon in college.

skinner says this is even MORE of a reason to get someone else on this case, but scully says that no one knows roche better than mulder, it’s still his case, and we have to find the victims!!!

(angry skinner voice) (forcefully pointed finger at groveling mulder) "you tread very lightly" (forcefully pointed finger at scully) "you see that he does"

he basically said “watch your man, scully, or ELSE”

back to roche. they present to him the hearts, and he has a sick smile. i do not like this

“name them” “well, i think you know one of them already” oh that is evil

(said with the most fury that has ever been concentrated into scully’s voice per word) “prove it” <- she is not gonna let him do this alone, nor will she let him be manipulated!!! she is the best friend out there!!

roche is smiling, talking about watergate, how mulder and his sister were playing a board game that night. he says he was watching from the window. why does he know all of this?

he has this weird fixation on playing games, and says to pick out a piece of fabric, and he’ll give the location of the body it came from. fifty-fifty chance it’s samantha, and either way he gets a victim’s location.

what is up with this dude? why is he so casual about all of this? he does seem so… normal, despite the things he is saying.

at the location roche gives them, they find the words “mad hatter” carved into the rock. uh oh. that is showing up again. he starts digging with his hands.

scully is trying to talk sense into him, saying they need to get an excavation team, but his voice is strained as he tells her to “just help me, scully”. so she joins in, and they find something. he looks like a wild animal.

in the autopsy room, he’s approaching the bones, taking a deep breath as he goes over the case information, trying to prepare himself to see his sister.

there are visible tears in his eyes as he runs his hands over the fabric, then announces (in form of a question) that “it’s not her, is it scully?” there is a sense of relief involved, but still, pain from lack of answers.

samantha broke her collarbone when she was 6 on a rope swing in their backyard, and as he realizes this little girl's collarbone is intact, he’s crying and he’s sighing with relief.

“it’s not her”, she says; “it’s somebody though” is his reply. ohhhh my god. ohhhhhh my god. oh my goooooooood. it's somebody's grief that they have carried with them for decades just as he has. it isn't that much of a relief to know it isn't her if someone else has felt like he has since the 70's.

back to roche. he gives the name of the girl who they did find, with incredible detail on where she lived. scully’s voice is forced as she asks what year this happened, and he’s going on and on about the vacuum he almost sold the victim’s mother.

so mulder presents roche with the last heart, saying that is belonged to his sister. he’s making a big game of this, saying “you need me to lead you through”, to bring him to the place where his sister is buried. to which i think, no tf you don't.

he said he can’t wait to see mulder’s face, and you can hear scully exhale and say “oh god”, and that is how you know things are going to go DOWN.

she says he will see the inside of his cell instead; “you’re going to rot there” (holds the door for mulder) (all things considered, she showed excellent restraint)

she looks incredibly furious at these shenanigans, but softens up to ask if mulder is okay. she says that if they give roche what he wants, he could string them along forever. and it makes sense. there has to be another way to figure out if he is telling the truth.

back at home on his couch, mulder is pondering. he has a few fish in his tank. you need a bigger tank, i think, but idk if people cared about that in the 90's.

NO! he picks up the phone and calls for A REMOVAL ORDER OF A FEDERAL PRISONER!!!!!!!!

he gets on the plane with a handcuffed roche.

what the fuck, i thought we were NOT going to go down this route? what is he thinking?

roche asks to use the bathroom on the plane, but instead starts talking to a little girl, and mulder has to get there NOW, but there’s a stewardess in the way. oh no, what has he done...

scully is forced to tell skinner that mulder did, in fact, let the serial killer out. OH!!! skinner says “you let me down” to her…… oh my god……. that really hurts

she says that she had left mulder to his own devices for one day to get some sleep… do we believe her? honestly, yeah i do. especially because of how furious she became when roche brought up the idea that he could be let out.

she’s trying to advocate for mulder in his absence, talking about the “uniqueness” of the situation with a level voice, and skinner says yeah i know, i said that this situation was really unique the last time we talked, now let’s go and clean up this mess.

oooo skinner is MAD and i don't really blame his anger at mulder, but it's rude af to blame scully for the things mulder did... skinner confirmed anti-feminist, blaming a woman for a man's actions

(i jest. mostly. skinner and i still have beef and we probably always will. every time i think we're past it, he does something else that pisses me off, so we are constantly on uncertain ground. which is very father coded, all things considered)

cut to mulder cam, who is bringing roche to his old house?? roche is unsettlingly tall. he says he sat on the couch when his dad bought the vacuum… and then walks through what he claims happened the night of the murder. mulder’s thoroughly quizzing him, and he’s answering them correctly, even where his parents went once they left. or is he guessing at it all??

he claims to have cut the power, that the door was unlocked, and he walked in…. 

and mulder tried to get the gun, but he claims he froze… 

OH! GAG!!!!!! MULDER BROUGHT HIM TO THE WRONG HOUSE!!!!!!!!!

he says his father bought this house AFTER the divorce… dude, how many properties did this guy own??????

but still. the point is made clear. roche is a fake.

so how did he know these things? perhaps, mulder proposes, that when he got into his head investigating the case, maybe that link goes both ways. that's a terrifying prospect

“and you’re in the wrong house, you stupid son of a bitch” <- this is a powerful line, but you can really hear the massachusetts come out when he says it. i think that’s really cool. i mean, is DD actually from there? i think he is, right? because he went to school with jfk jr. famous boston blood there.

if it’s not a purposeful detail or a inadvertent thing that slips into an actor’s performance when a scene is Emotional, then maybe i need verification: did y’all hear the massachusetts when he said that, too….

roche is scrambling to cover his tracks, saying it was just geography that he messed up, not the actual details, but he has now been exposed as a FAKE and a FRAUD

mulder doesn’t buy it, despite his claims he’s telling the god’s honest truth. hmm. perhaps leave the lord out of this.

then he’s sitting and holding that cloth heart. we hear his sister’s voice in the car, which is pulling away. and he grabs her, holds her close. 

BUT HE WAKES UP AND ROCHE IS GONE AND HE IS HANDCUFFED!!! scully and skinner are at the door!!! roche must have manipulated him in his sleep?

omg…….. 

skinner is letting him have it, saying there’s a predator loose because of him, and how can he explain himself, and. while i agree. if i were in his shoes and there were any chance of getting an answer to the one question that has kept me up at night almost my whole life, i’m not sure if i wouldn't have fallen for roche’s lies as well. it is hard to imagine. i'd like to think i wouldn't, but how can you ever know?

it is a dark and ugly thing that mulder did, letting him out.

but we at least seem to get confirmation that the dream connection theory is accurate?

he asks for skinner’s phone, saying there was a child on the plane, and roche is probably going after her

NO! someone called ten minutes ago with the same name requesting the same information from the airline!!!! 

it seems that the girl’s babysitter believed roche’s lies that her mother was in an accident and he needed to pick her up, and she blames herself for letting her go with roche. but mulder says it isn’t her fault, and it’s his fault instead. 

oh my god…. he tells scully she was right, and when she asks if he no longer thinks roche took samantha, he says it doesn’t matter anymore………. because that grief that has ruled him forever has now been put onto someone else............. how terrible he must feel...

he thinks that roche will be somewhere nearby, and scully is pulling up his old address. he lived on alice road, and mulder says that has to be it, because he got the idea from alice in wonderland!

(i have never read the actual alice in wonderland book. did the mad hatter kill people and take hearts from their clothing? i thought he just. made tea and said weird stuff???)

skinner is in disbelief, but acquiesces to mulder’s knowledge, rounding up his men.

at the apartment, they can’t find anything. mulder is running in a field, climbing into a huge lot of busses??? old run down busses??? i'm confused at why this exists, but following along in terms of plot

he pulls out a tiny gun hidden in his sock (slay) and sprints towards the sound of a girl screaming, but with so many identical busses, where is she???

he hears some movement in one of them…. and finds roche and her in there together. 

and roche is saying that he does think they share that nexus like he claimed. everything is very very tense. 

mulder announces that he is going to take this girl home, and when roche points out that he has a gun, he asks the child to do a favor: count to twenty out loud, quietly and slowly. he has a way of talking to kids like they’re equals and i’ve always found it endearing, but now i’m wondering where tf he is going with this.

roche has the gun pointed at the girl… and we know he is capable of pulling it

roche is trying to say anything he can to get mulder to not kill him, asking how sure he is it isn’t samantha who was the last victim. but i don't think that is gonna work anymore.

and when the kid hits twenty, mulder pulls the trigger

JEEZ, we really saw some blood action go on there!

so the poor girl runs away screaming to scully, who is saying that it is okay, and that she has her (and i am emotional when ever they work with kids okay? especially after that convo in home where they talk about wanting families. whatever.)

and i’m left paused at roche’s dead head, which i feel in real life would have a lot more blood and gore, but for the sake of this being TV, it still is kinda shocking!

mulder’s holding the gun out, staring at roche’s body.

wait. we’re back at his office now. i am going to use this time to analyze the articles on his wall.

“strange activity down under” “are UFOs flying in colorado?” “ranchers shaking their heads over mysterious cow deaths” “US reports visits of UFOs to bases” (picture of crop circles, creepy creatures, a list of planets i think? and the famous poster)

pan to a very very sad mulder. scully knocks and comes in. she is staring at him. they are not saying anything for a few seconds that feel very very long.

oh my god. she comes in with the fabric analysis of the heart. all they can say is that it was made between 1969 and 1974.

she assures him it’s not samantha, and that they’ll find who the little girl really is. 

“how?” “i don’t know. but i do know you.” (he looks up at her while fighting back tears) <- i am going to bite something. her unwavering belief in him will be the death of me.

“why don’t you go on home and get some sleep?” she asks, so gently (at this, he breaks into laughter, which gets a smile out of her)

and he wraps his hand around her waist, leaning his head into her, while she strokes his hair

then he puts the last heart in his desk drawer.

oh my gosh………

where to even begin....?

first thought: he must be laughing at her saying that because she knows damn well that he will not be able to rest, but also because it is comforting to hear how she believes in him. that, or “go on home and get some rest” is their code for “i’m letting you do what you want and not asking questions”, but i doubt that, because she claims to have said that to him earlier, and i feel scully would never EVER have let him release roche if she had known he was even sort of thinking about it.

second: yowch. this one hurted!

it took me an hour and 51 minutes to get through the 45-ish minute episode because i was SO glued to noting every moment. 

i tend to prefer the episodes that are more lighthearted, so i did feel that absence here. that being said, i don’t think it would be possible to explore this side of mulder with there being humor in the plot or script, especially after we have seen how he uses it as a defense mechanism. when he can’t joke about something is when you know he’s hurting terribly. 

it was dark. very dark. but i still enjoyed it for the character analysis. i love a character analysis episode, i love diving into what makes someone who they are. there was this sick relationship between roche and mulder where you knew he was going to do anything to get the answers, no matter what the risks were or who was placed in danger. and i think that shows the scary and dark side of mulder that can get overlooked; how his bloodhound-like need to sniff out an answer can and will endanger himself and others. but he is aware of this fact, and seems regretful, especially when he says it doesn’t matter anymore if he finds samantha, because he inadvertently put another child in danger to do so. and he is aware that the suffering he has felt is now going to be passed onto someone else if he does not fix it Right Away. which he does.

getting to see the good parts of a character driven to such an extreme where they become terrible traits is a rare treat. still, it can be hard to see your blorbo do bad things.

i do often wonder about his slapping of criminals and why he hasn’t gotten fired for some of these many rule-breaking sessions, but. shrugs. it’s not real, so we can’t entirely place real world logic on this stuff, i guess.

honestly, we also saw a lot of scully and learned about her character here, too. how she tries to draw the line between her own beliefs and the very real pain that mulder is suffering, and how his pain breaks her heart; how defensive she is of him, in front of roche and skinner or even the whole world, i’d imagine. her courage to look her boss in the eye and ask for mercy on his behalf as he goes out and breaks every rule known to mankind because he wants to bend the earth to his will. that bone-deep righteous conviction she carries with her that i love so much.

and more on how she’s always touching him- they skirt around the emotional issues at hand, asking if he’s okay to make an ID or to see the autopsy and not really touching the sore spot with words unless they absolutely have to. but while they only brush it verbally, she is physically reaching out to him, leaning in, stroking his head, touching his arm… god, the way they communicate kills me. it's like they find it far easier to let their bodies express emotion, which probably comes from the constant need to Be Strong both of them feel in their line of work, but it is really compelling. it's fascinating. as someone who is always going to tell you how i feel at all times, i find it very intriguing. are they afraid to say what they mean? or do they have this connection that words aren't needed for? please let me know what you think. am i alone in this? do you think they are good at talking about their feelings? or am i voicing a popular sentiment that they are mostly pretty Bad at it. because i'm thinking of other times where they are Honest and Truthful, and they tend to keep it very succinct. maybe that's what makes it more impactful.

how he laughed at her after she said she believed in him, and how she smiled back, how he leaned into her????? can i bottle that and drink it when i feel like suffering?

god, i’ve felt that when i read dialogue prompts, they don’t seem to work for writing msr as easily as you would think, because so much of what they say isn’t even said. it’s in glances and touches and leans, and the words tend to be sparse but truthful when they matter and witty and prolonged when it’s nothing of importance. what a strange balance they have. shoutout to people who write msr, because it seems very hard to do when you want to write a genuine tale of them getting up to emotional activities.

overall, i liked this episode, but it was still a bummer. s4 is full of bummers, so far. i have not giggled in a while. i would like to giggle at some point in the future. perhaps that is something we can work toward. i once again request a fic where they go to an apple orchard. perhaps i shall end all of my posts with that, at least until we get some levity back to the game. that being SAID, it was still excellent.

let me know what you think- does everyone agree that this is a good episode? did you feel sad? did you think it was Too Dark? any criticism? any high praise? and the big one that is nagging at me now: how tf do you understand the way they communicate? can it be conceptualized?? please share with me all of your thoughts in as much detail as you can spare.

[greensagephase]

Just realized how much I love the way you write your Miguel. Like instead of oversexualizing, making him animalistic or just straight up a dick (even tho he kindof is sometimes, let's be honest-)

I just love how you dive in his current trauma (not too long ago his mom got zombified like marvel give bro a break plz), include trust issues and his mental problems, while not breaking his character. You made him stubborn, a little proud, but still show slight vulnerability, and so many unsaid words. Hell, you might be one of the best Miguel writers I've ever seen on here!

I love the slow burn in NC, it makes Miguel seem more like a real person, with unbearable trauma and trust issues, who's main way to 'cope' is "by leading a society of Peter Parkers who can't pay their rent on time" (from the ATSV artbook), and as someone with a mental health too similar to Miguel's I can see myself in him (THAT'S A COMPLIMENT) with a slow build of trust

While I sometimes do enjoy a bit of smut, most of the time, it's too fast. Too quick, like- CALM DOWN LADIES (and gents), I DON'T THINK MIGUEL'S GONNA EAT YOU OUT ON THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN LIKE EMPANADAS

ALSO DID U KNO HE'S BI???

Hiii, Dino!!! Thank you for the ask, pookie!! 🥰 Also, I'm sorry for taking a few days to answer your ask. I took a few days off tumblr due to life :))

But omg, thank you!! I appreciate the kind words so much, and I’m happy that you love NC!Miguel and the slow burn! 🥹 Also, I’m glad you appreciate the acknowledgement of Miguel’s issues, traumas, and mental state within the fic. I’m no expert; no psychologist nor professional writer, but as the story expanded, I decided that I’d like to dive into Miguel’s story a little more, this being a Spider-Man Miguel fic after all, and one that’s attempting to portray Miguel as realistic as possible (or at least the way I see him and think he’d be like), so that entails including his issues, traumas, and mental state, too.

I know this has led to some chapters being a little delicate, overwhelming, and/or sad (and I’m sorry to anyone who has ever felt down or cried reading NC because they resonated with this content, or the emotions got a little too much. This has never been my intention ):), but I believe it’s important to address, especially because his issues, traumas, and mental state overall are big contributors to his behaviour and mindset in ATSV. As I said, I’m no expert, but just from what I learned in college and have learned throughout the years with personal experiences (seen close people dealing with similar issues like those Miguel has faced and is facing), I know healing from such traumas is important to move forward with life. I also know it takes time, which is a big reason why this fic is a slow burn.

I want Miguel to find himself in a healthy and positive mindset, learn to trust others, and know that he is worthy of love and friendships before he finds himself in a romantic relationship. I’ve yapped too much, but I’m glad that you appreciate that, even though these can be sensitive themes/discussions. Thank you! Also, I’m touched that you can see yourself in NC!Miguel and how he slowly begins to allow himself to trust someone. I hope that as the story progresses, you can continue to see yourself in him in a non-harmful way (I never wish to portray mental health negatively nor disrespect/offend someone)! 💖

And hehehe, your comment about the smut and empanadas has me laughing! 🤣 But I hope you can find more fics with a slower pace regarding that aspect though! I know there’s awesome and talented writers who continue to write for Miguel on here that feed my delusions about this man and post very regularly (thank you Miguel writers - ily 🥰), so keep your eyes open and support what you enjoy reading!!

ALSO, yes, but also no?? I saw a tweet a very long time ago of Oscar Isaac apparently saying Miguel was bi, but idk if it’s canon because I haven’t read any of the comics 😞 (all the plot lines within NC that align with the comics have been researched from other sources). Is it confirmed in the comics? :))

Thank you so much for the ask!! I hope you’re having a great day/night, Dino!! Pls take care!! 🫶🏼💖

Alondra❤️

[emilyartstudio-s]

Sketch Book Clutter 👹

More sketchbook pages and never before seen art on patreon <3!

[littler0b1n]

Some Submas pen doodles I did of questionable quality

[mc-tummy-blur]

Do I have any canonical proof that they were friends? No.

Am I going to believe that they were friends? Yes.

He’s showing her plants and she’s telling him the Latin name for them

Click for better quality

Check my pinned post to see links on how you can help the people of Palestine

[conflictofthemind]

I'm confused. Do you also no longer believe in spoilers about filming in the church and filming the flashback?

Noooo not really, it’s more about a different saga of events that’s been going down on Twitter for like ten days now. We have multiple different people saying different things about the same supposed leak? It’s gotten ridiculous

[alexturner2005]

.

[deus-ex-mona]

yurusanta: the ✨gift✨ that keeps on ✨giving✨

[kinokoshoujoart]

heads up probably no daily drawing today due to being so sososo sleepy eepy

[lazzarella]

Not sure if tumblr is the least embarrassing social media to essentially be talking to one’s self or the most 🤔

[zeebreezin]

Missed opportunities of canon aside, I’ve been considering putting together a text based ES-esque fan game, mostly because I feel like the only real way to tell B & Officer Beverley’s story in a way that’s accurate is to have essentially two conflicting accounts of it, and to have you (the player) as well as whatever characters are involved decide who’s right. Also because I need to bone up on coding again.

[0zzysaurus]

Lays my wing over you. What's got you anxious, hermanito?

Assignments, finances, future plans, etc. it’s all just compounding — not to mention my actual physical health has been really weird and not good lately??? I haven’t been able to sleep properly and I’m not quite sure what’s going on with that in particular. I’m hoping that once I get these last few assignments out of the way I’ll start to perk up again, but jeez I’m tired

[milkstoner]

I don't have an insta 😔

I do have to respect that honestly.