BATTLE SCARS

spreading the nonbinary/trans DCA agenda

this was so amazing and sweet and SAD in the best way. thank you so much for this amazing fuckin work, i have been thoroughly fed 💕

A Study in Anchored Souls

Pairing: ghost!Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: In which the ghost of Spencer Reid discovers that in order to unveil his unfinished business and finally lay at rest, he must somehow enlist the help of the woman who now inhabits his apartment. Category: MATURE (18+) Content: Strong language, mention of weed, ghost shenanigans (?), female masturbation, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), brief handjob, unprotected p in v sex, Spencer is invisible for all of that LMAO Word Count: 11.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: God, I love ghost smut. That was a goddamn blast to write! Like you don't even know how giddy it made me putting these words to the keys. I even put in extra effort and made a little photo banner, which I’ve never done for a one shot before, and I’m kinda obsessed with it ngl 😂 I hope you love this one as much as I do! <3 Written for @imagining-in-the-margins Autumn Air writing challenge!

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ACT I: Girls' Night

Spencer Reid always knew he would die.

It was a cold, hard fact of life that at one point, everyone would die. It was unsure when or how, but it happened. There was no escaping it. That thought alone was enough to squander most of his anxieties about death— even after a few near-death experiences and the constant danger his line of work tended to throw at him throughout his lifetime.

Still, the one thing he couldn't stand to think about was the "after". He wanted truly to believe that what happened after death was just nothingness, but after his encounter with Tobias, it stirred up all sorts of questions and unexplainable possibilities that were just too vast for even his brain to try and comprehend.

Then, of course, there was the fact that he was currently standing in his old apartment, watching somebody else live her life, completely invisible to her. He tried talking to her, too, but nothing. It was like he wasn't even there.

But why? It's not like he had unfinished business or anything. The unsub who shot him was shot down immediately afterwards. He watched him die before passing out himself. Why was he "awake" now, nearly 5 months after the fact, and not when his friends were grieving him? Where were his friends, and why has the afterlife chosen to tie Spencer to a place rather than the people that knew and loved him?

Logically it seemed reasonable but really, he just missed his friends. He missed his life.

He hated the afterlife, he decided then. There was no reason he needed to keep doing this when he couldn't even leave the confines of the apartment. He couldn't walk through walls or touch anything or sit down on the woman's gross floral couch. If he wanted to enter another room, the door needed to be opened, otherwise he was stuck right there in the living room, the kitchen, and the open dining space that connected the two. If he was allowed to live his afterlife with his mom, or playing Chess with Gideon, or travelling the world, free to go anywhere and see anything without hardship, it might have been different.

But no. He was stuck watching this woman struggle to move furniture by herself.

He didn't know her. Had never seen her before. She wasn't a student of his or a victim he'd saved or even a fling. She was a complete stranger. A complete stranger who unfortunately had terrible taste in decor and an even more unfortunately beautiful face.

Her name was Y/N. From what he could gather, she didn't have any family, at least not nearby. Her two best friends were the only other people in her circle that he'd seen in the apartment, and when they were all together it was... interesting. There was a lot of loud laughter and wine, and oh God, the sex talk...

It felt intrusive, but he couldn't leave. He could migrate to another room, maybe, but his ears still worked, even a little too well. His eyes, too, seemed to be as sharp as ever, any imperfections to his vision completely mended. He was simply over aware of everything, and yet hollow at the same time, and he hated everything about it.

But what could he do? He couldn't even touch anything or communicate to anyone, so how could he possibly figure out what was keeping him here and how he could get out of it? Did his new roommate hold some sort of knowledge or ability to help him solve this mystery, or was he destined to watch her live out her life in this place that he once called "home"? Was there any connection between them at all?

He didn't know.

Usually he liked puzzles, but this one was rather annoying.

He just wanted to rest.

Y/N had been moved in for just over a month (yes, there was a whole month of just standing there learning everything about a stranger because there was simply nothing else for Spencer to do) when finally, there was a small glimmer of hope.

Heavy on the small.

It was Girls' Night. Friday. It always consisted of too much wine and movies and snacks and discussions about whatever they were reading or watching. Despite the differences in the routine, the camaraderie made Spencer miss his friends. He wondered what they were all up to. Maybe, if this all worked out, he could actually find out.

But for now, he had to focus on the baby steps.

When the girls showed up with a Ouija board, he couldn't help the incredulous laughter that escaped him.

Y/N, it seemed, felt the same disbelief. "You guys, what the fuck is that?"

"What does it look like?" the first friend, Maya, retorted.

The other, Robin, added, "You were the one that said you felt like you weren't tooootally aloooone in this apartment..."

Her haunting inflection elicited a backhanded thump to the arm, Y/N groaning as she closed the door behind her. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I would want to know what or who it is! Besides, I'm probably just paranoid. It's just being in a new place and the anxieties that come with it, that's all. You guys are insane."

"Only one way to find out!"

Was Spencer really going to entertain this? A goddamn Ouija board? He enjoyed his fair share of spooky things and researching superstitions, but that was out of his realm of belief. On the other hand, one could technically consider him a ghost... He could look down and see himself, but nobody else could see or hear him... Y/N had obviously voiced a concern for feeling a presence to her friends, but how much of that feeling was accurate and how much of it was, in fact, 'new home anxieties'?

As the girls unboxed the board and set up their things, Spencer sighed, mumbling to himself, "Only one way to find out..."

Maya closed the curtains and turned all the lights off, meanwhile Y/N and Robin were collecting and lighting any candle they could find. They cleared off the low coffee table in front of the couch where the girls sat and set everything up there, Spencer taking a seat on the floor opposite the group. It was then that Y/N said something that made him laugh.

"Wait, shouldn't we give the couch to the ghost?"

"What?"

"Well, what if it's an angry ghost? And then we make it sit on the floor, and it decides to exact vengeance on us? Maybe we should... I don't know, be more hospitable?"

"Hmmm, maybe you're right," Robin said, standing up. "Do you hear that, Ghost? We're only being nice to you, so please don't kill us, m'kay?"

Spencer sighed. Little did they know, he couldn't actually sit on the couch. Or a chair. Or anything that wasn't the floor. It was like the ground was the only physical thing he was anchored to. Still, the girls had no way of knowing that, so they shuffled their way to the other end of the table, flipping the Ouija board so it would face the other way. Spencer got up and moved then. He'd have to stand uncomfortably in the small gap between the table and the couch, bending down at the waist to use the board, provided he could even touch it.

He had no idea how this was going to work, if at all.

It was all starting to sound and feel absolutely ridiculous.

The girls each put a finger on the planchette, nervous laughter emanating from them, and Spencer gave one last deep breath before reaching out to touch it himself, anticipating the moment of truth.

His hand hovered over the board, feeling a block just before he would make any contact. He couldn't touch it. His hand wouldn't even go through. He retreated and huffed, wondering if there was something he could do to communicate with them otherwise. He tried to blow out one of the candles, but with no luck. He could feel his breath against his own skin (could you even call it that at this stage?), but the objects in front of him were completely oblivious to his presence.

He was about to give up and call it a night, leaving the girls to have their fun, but then one of them gasped.

"Wait, don't we have to use two fingers? Is that how it works?"

"Shit, I think you're right."

They adjusted their positions and Spencer sighed, but indulged them just in case.

His hand lowered again, middle and pointer fingers approaching the planchette in anticipation. He half-expected there to be resistance again, but this time, a cool rush of wind gusted up in between them as his fingers made contact with the wood.

"Holy shit!" all four of them exclaimed in unison.

"Did you feel that?" Maya squealed excitedly. "Wicked..."

"No, not wicked!" Y/N whined. "We should stop!"

"Really? You know for sure now that there's a ghost living in your apartment, and you're just not going to ask it questions to make sure it's not harmful? Be smart about this, bitch," Robin countered playfully.

Spencer wanted to cut to the chase. He moved his hand, spelling out a word, and the girls collectively gasped before reciting each letter out loud hesitantly, like they couldn't believe what was happening.

"H-A-R-M-L-E-S-S"

"Oh my God! You have a Casper!"

Y/N shook her head furiously. "You guys, stop fucking with me, I mean it. This isn't funny."

"I didn't move it!" said Robin.

"Me either," said Maya. "Besides, you felt that wind right? How could either of us have done that?"

"I don't know, because you're a fucking wizard or something! Cut it out!"

"Hey, if you didn't want to do it that badly, you would have taken your hand off the planchette... Hey, Ghost, have you ever seen Y/N naked?"

"Robin!"

Maya cackled and Y/N went pale. If he wasn't already dead, Spencer would have probably gone pale as well.

The truth was, he had. Seen her naked, that is.

He wasn't proud of it. It happened by total accident. Sort of. He was following her around the apartment all day because he was bored, and he'd ended up locked in her bedroom with her. Either he was truly horrible at reading people (which seemed impossible considering his profession) or she had just gotten a random spurt of excitement, because the moment her door closed, she whipped her shirt off, exposing her bare torso to him, and he couldn't move. He was frozen, completely shocked at the sight before him. She reached down to take off her pants, and he turned around then, quickly becoming aware of the situation.

She rustled behind him and he tried desperately to walk through the door. Any time he got close, the barrier would stop him. He couldn't do anything but stand in the corner and pray to whatever that she was only changing.

She was, in fact, not changing.

Spencer swore in that moment at the table that he could still hear the low hum of her vibrator and every single sound that came from her body and mouth that night, and he was absolutely mortified.

He'd only dared to glance back when he heard the end, her breathing slow and the humming gone. It was silent for a while before he turned around entirely, only to find her asleep, sprawled completely bare over the covers. He wished he could have draped a blanket over her, but his hands were more or less tied.

Thankfully she was only asleep for about a half hour before she forced herself awake to clean up and actually go to bed.

Spencer never followed her around the apartment ever again. Just in case.

"Don't answer that, Ghost," Y/N rushed, "Robin's just fucking around. We promise to ask you serious questions from here on out."

Maya faked a snore. "Come on, Y/N, this is supposed to be fun. The ghost is harmless."

"No, the ghost said it was harmless. Doesn't mean it is."

Spencer thought for a moment as the girls went back and forth, and then he spelled out another word— or an acronym, rather.

"It's moving again!" Robin gasped, spelling out the letters.

"F-B-I"

"Holy shit did you work for the FBI, Ghost?" Maya inquired.

Spencer moved the planchette to the "YES" at the top of the board.

"Maybe... Maybe we should stop calling them Ghost..." Y/N took a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment before nodding. "Ummm... Spirit Who Resides Here..." Robin and Maya snorted. "What is your name?"

Spencer wished he could tell her she didn't need to be formal, but it was amusing watching her do it anyway. He spelled out his name, first and last, and the girls made a collective hum of acceptance. A normal name and not something concerning.

"We should Google him," Robin said matter-of-factly.

Maya hummed in agreement, but Y/N swallowed and asked another question. "Spencer, you're not... Going to hurt me, are you?"

He moved the planchette to "NO," and watched the relief take over her body, relaxing her muscles and her posture for just a brief moment. He could tell she was still wary, but it was a step in the right direction.

"See? Told you he was harmless."

"He still could be lying," Y/N mumbled. Then she sat up straight. "Not that I don't believe you, Spencer. I'm sorry. You just have to understand that I'm a woman living alone, and the thought of a man I can't see haunting my apartment is just... It's extremely terrifying."

He felt bad for her. As annoying as his situation was, he couldn't imagine being in hers. He almost wished he hadn't entertained the Ouija board at all and put her worries to rest, but since it was too late, all he could do was try and reassure her that he wasn't a threat.

His fingers moved again.

"U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D"

And then a pause, before: "S-O-R-R-Y"

Y/N's eyes dropped, and her friends made a collective "Awwwww," before a knock sounded at the door, jolting them all to move away from the Ouija board.

Spencer was knocked backwards, and he expected his newfound sense of touch to disappear once the connection had broken, but to his surprise, he found himself safely seated on the couch. His hands reached over the fabric, testing, and despite his distaste for the floral pattern on it, the cushions were suddenly the greatest thing he'd ever touched. He was grateful for this couch. And for the Ouija board, and for Y/N and her eccentric friends.

Speaking of which, Robin yelled out, "Pizza's here!" and got up with Maya to abandon the board. Pizza apparently seemed more interesting than a ghost, but for two women who Spencer could now tell (no thanks to his upgraded sense of smell) were a little high, that seemed reasonable.

As her friends happily greeted the pizza delivery man, Y/N reached out to touch the planchette again, just for a moment, and gently whispered, "Thank you, Spencer."

He returned it with an earnest, "You're welcome," but he wasn't sure if she'd hear or not. She looked around the area for a few seconds before turning around, and it wasn't clear whether she had.

But she seemed relaxed now, and that was a start.

As the girls sat at the dining table and ate pizza, Spencer tested out his new senses just a few steps away. He found himself thankful to be in a familiar place, even if the decor was different. The walls were the same and the bookshelves still stood, now filled with bright Romance novels and trinkets and photos that laid out Y/N's personality quite perfectly. He smiled, running his fingers along the spines of the books, missing the feeling even if they weren't his own.

He wanted to see if he could read one, just for the sake of feeling a book in his hands again, but he figured he'd wait until Maya and Robin were gone and Y/N was asleep.

Until then, he continued to touch things without making them move, not wanting to raise anyone's eyebrows.

And then, a gasp sounded from the dining table.

"I found him! I have his obituary right here!"

"Holy shit, let me see!"

Spencer made his way to the table to observe.

The girls passed around Maya's phone, looking at his obituary photo. Robin made a low whistle, then called out into the air on her left. He was standing to her right, unable to help the dry laughter that escaped him at the irony of the situation.

"Spencer, you were hot!"

Maya shook her head and sighed. "Yeah. What a damn shame. Sorry, man."

Robin seemed more amused than anything, turning to Y/N, who was reading through the obituary. "Hey, at least you can rest easy knowing you've got a hot FBI ghost watching over you."

"Yeah, but... Why? Do you think he lived here? In this apartment?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should ask him."

Y/N sighed, handing Maya her phone back. "I'm sure he has more exciting ghost stuff to do on a Friday night than entertain us three. All I know is he promised not to hurt me, so I don't really care if he stays."

He was glad for her ease of anxiety, but he certainly cared if he stayed. However, she sounded exhausted, and it was fair. Finding out your new apartment was haunted by a ghost (even a harmless one) sounded like a reasonably stressful situation. He wanted desperately to figure out how to finally move on, but for now he could accept the simple fact that he could actually touch things now, and let Y/N rest easy.

Even if he couldn't yet.

ACT II: X's and Oh's

Every time she came home, Y/N would greet Spencer kindly. Probably out of precaution (you know, just in case he really was lying about being harmless), but brightly all the same.

"Spencer, I'm home! I... I don't know if you're haunting me or the apartment, but... I hope you had a good day, just in case it's me."

He smiled, wishing he could greet her back.

Eventually, he found small ways to do it.

He fogged up a spot on her bathroom mirror, that way the next time she showered before bed, the heat would reveal a message on the glass: "Good night. —S.R."

Y/N talked to him that night, dressed in her pajamas and walking around the apartment like she was deciding where to talk to him. Eventually she decided on standing in her bedroom doorway.

"Spencer? You said good night so you might not even be in here, but... I guess this is me saying good night back...Thanks for being a nice ghost, I really appreciate it. If... If there's anything I can do for you, let me know, okay? Okay... Goodnight."

If only there was a way she could hear him. Communicating in mirror-notes was hardly good for anything more than a simple "good night," and despite the fact that he could touch things, he couldn't grip them, so writing on paper was out. He'd kept trying to open a door with the handle, and with no luck. It was starting to get irritating, wondering what the next step was to evolving as a ghost.

He couldn't even believe he'd thought up the phrase. Ghost evolution sounded absolutely insane, but he supposed it was his current reality regardless of how it sounded...

Tonight Y/N was out rather late. For a brief moment Spencer started to worry, but then the key turned in the doorway and relief settled in when she finally stepped inside. She seemed rather tired, but greeted him with a gentle smile all the same.

"Hi, Spencer."

"Welcome home, Y/N."

She didn't hear him, obviously, but it still felt rude not to say it back. He wondered if he could try to touch her in greeting. Maybe a brief brushing of hands or a tap of acknowledgement on the shoulder. But he didn't want to scare her, so he'd have to figure that out.

Thankfully, she seemed to have felt his curiosity somehow.

Later that night, as she laid in bed, she called out, drawing his attention from the living room where he tried to open a cabinet. Still no luck there.

"Spencer? Are you there?"

He wandered over to the bedroom, glad to see she'd left the door cracked open so he could get in. He hesitated before moving, hoping she wouldn't freak out when she saw the door open.

When he did finally gather the courage to move the barrier and step inside, he heard her gasp as she sat up in bed.

"Spencer? Was that you? Um... Move the door again if it was..."

He obliged, swinging the door shut gently as he stepped inside the room. The second the door clicked, he realized his mistake.

Now he was trapped in here with her. Not that it was a bad thing necessarily, but the last time this happened, he'd accidentally intruded on a rather intimate moment. His essence warmed at the thought.

"Holy shit. Um... This is kind of weird... I've gotten your notes and talked to you through the Ouija board, but... seeing you move things in front of me is... only slightly terrifying."

Her nervous laughter endeared him but also made him want to comfort her.

He walked over to the side of the bed closest to her body, hoping she'd be willing to communicate more thoroughly somehow. The two of them together could surely come up with something.

Again, their brains seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"If I hold out my hand... Would you touch it? Just to... let me know that it's you?"

Her arm outstretched, and Spencer slowly brought his middle finger down to touch hers, ever so lightly.

The second there was contact, there was a shock. Spencer jolted and Y/N yelled and yanked her hand back, her whole body shuddering as she kicked her legs. "Oh my God, holy fuck!" And then she laughed, reaching out to search for his touch again. He felt... different somehow, but he was still invisible to her. Her fingers wiggled and Spencer helped her out, gently holding her hand to keep it steady, as if to convey, "I'm right here, and it's okay."

"Hi," she said through a smile, her breathing heavy. "It's... Nice to... finally meet you. Kind of. Kind of meet you, I mean... Not kind of nice. I'm sorry."

He rubbed his thumb gently over the top of hers in response.

"I'm still wrapping my head around this whole thing, I... I guess I just wanted some extra confirmation that you were really here. Can I ask you some questions, Spencer?"

He rubbed her thumb again, and she breathed out with a smile.

"Okay um... Maybe draw a circle on the back of my hand for yes and an X for no... That sound good?"

Spencer traced a circle against her skin, and she nodded. "Good! Okay, cool. This is cool. Um... Did you live here? In this apartment?"

A circle.

"Is... that why you're here now?"

An X, and then a question mark.

"No... You don't know why you're here then?"

A circle.

Y/N pondered for a moment. "Could there be something of yours that's holding you here? Something we have to find or a mystery we have to solve?"

Spencer drew another question mark, then sighed. As much as he liked Y/N, he was pretty sure she would not be able to answer any of those questions. But there had to be another way to... level up, so to speak. To make him visible or audible.

"I'm sorry," she said somberly. "From what I've read, you seem like you were a good person. I hope you figure it out, whatever it is. And... I meant it. If there's anything I can do to help you, I will."

He drew a circle on her skin, but kept going around a few times, his symbol of appreciation.

Y/N warmed at the sentiment, smiling and hanging her head to look down at the hand he was holding. He didn't know it, but her skin was tingling at his invisible touch.

"Spencer... I know this is probably going to be weird... But the night I first met you, when my friends were with me... Robin asked you if... you'd uh... If you'd seen me..."

She wouldn't look up, like she was afraid to look at him even though she still couldn't see him. She didn't finish her sentence, seeming to be embarrassed about the punchline, but Spencer didn't need it. He knew exactly what she meant. Before she had time to retreat or move on, he drew a slow circle on the back of her hand.

Her head lifted. "You did see me? Naked?"

Spencer let out a shaky breath. Hesitated. Then drew another circle, followed by S-O-R-R-Y.

"Oh, I'm not upset, I promise. You don't have to be sorry."

Something shifted in her eyes then and she paused, and Spencer realized that before when she'd asked, she wasn't embarrassed. She was simply feeling the water before diving in.

He swallowed hard.

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her voice was soft, but simultaneously hard with mischief. He looked at her then— truly looked at her with his overly-perfect Afterlife vision, and even in the dim light emanating from the open curtains and the streetlights beyond it, he could see her clear as day. Rather than the big tee-shirt she always wore to bed, tonight she was wearing something lacy and lavender.

And her door was closed. He couldn't leave this room.

Although, he had a feeling right then that it didn't matter anymore. Because his hand tightened over hers instinctively and he felt himself get hard beneath the suit pants he'd been buried in.

That's new, he thought through a sigh of excitement, quickly recalling that night he'd seen her. And heard her. Feeling was growing in his joints, and he found himself flexing his hands with a new strength he hadn't felt since being alive.

"Fuck," he hissed, shaking his head in disbelief.

I think she may be slowly bringing me back to life.

He drew a slow, sensual circle on the back of her hand, and she laughed through a grin. "I was hoping you'd say that. I was also hoping that maybe we could try something a little... unconventional. The truth is, I've always hated living alone. It's too lonely, and I hate it... Now that I have you to keep me company, though... It's not nearly as bad."

She shifted her fingers, grabbing his hand and slowly bringing it to her face. Spencer caressed her as he came closer, his knees now touching the edge of her mattress. She closed her eyes and reveled in his touch, goosebumps forming along her skin.

"Will you touch me, Spencer?"

His name falling suggestively from her lips was quite possibly the greatest thing he'd ever experienced, among life and death. The afterlife. Whatever. None of it mattered, nothing mattered right then except for Y/N and her needs.

He drew a circle on her cheek and she laughed, the sound dissolving into a rather wanton sigh when he traced his middle finger down her jaw and over her throat. Just the gentlest of touches, barely even a touch at all.

"You want this just as bad as I do, don't you?" she asked, lolling her head to the side as his finger traced her collarbone and then her shoulder.

"I do." He focused on the way her chest heaved, slowly up and down as she melted into his touch, and then traced the strap of her nightgown until he reached the front, just at the curve of her breasts.

Y/N arched her back and pulled the covers away from her body, revealing herself to him in full as she got comfortable. She scooted and leaned back against the headboard, pulling Spencer along the side of the bed. He gladly followed.

"I give you permission to touch me in any way you see fit, okay? I... I want you to do whatever feels good to you. How does that sound?"

At the invitation, he quickly let his mind wander to extremely filthy places and wondered if he had the ability to taste again...

The thought alone made him twitch beneath his pants, and suddenly there was no going back.

He let out a long breath and touched the bottom hem of her nightgown. It was already short to begin with, but since she'd moved around in bed and her feet were flat, knees pointed upward, the fabric rode up to the very tops of her thighs. He drew another continuous circle right there, just below where it ended, and Y/N instinctively started to spread her knees apart.

Spencer stopped her, gripping one knee and spelling out W-A-I-T before slipping his shoes and jacket off. She arched an eyebrow, confused at first, but then looked down to the floor when she heard his shoes being kicked back and his clothing falling there.

And then, when he was ready, she looked back to the bed in front of her as Spencer climbed and knelt, positioning himself in front of her. Her eyes watched the mattress move, and a flicker of excitement danced over her features, amusing him.

He placed his hands on her knees, and even though she'd given him permission, he asked anyway, drawing a question mark against her skin.

She nodded. "Please."

Slowly, his hands pulled her legs apart. He drew it out as long as he possibly could, curious to know how long he could test her anticipation threshold. He still planned to give her everything she wanted, of course, but there was something oddly erotic about being touched by somebody you couldn't see that she was obviously keen to explore. So he would take his time until she begged him otherwise.

Sure enough, her stare was laser-focused on her body as he moved it to his liking, her breath hitching once her legs were far enough apart for him to realize she wasn't wearing anything underneath her nightgown and he paused. Already she was glistening with arousal, a sight that nearly made Spencer go completely slack.

"How long have you wanted this..." he wondered aloud, overwhelmed and in awe as his hands traveled firmly down her inner thighs. She squirmed under his bold touch, and leaned her head back against the headboard with a soft thud.

"Please," she whimpered, her hands reaching out to grip whatever bunched up fabric she could find on the bed.

He had planned to test the waters a little longer, ever so the scientist at heart, but figured that was as good of a plea as any to give in and finally give her what she wanted.

And so, Spencer ran a gentle, steady hand down through her heat, dragging his middle finger along the seam until he barely entered her, then came back up.

The long, desperate moan that Y/N drew out was like Heaven to his ears, and he'd never been more grateful for his heightened senses than in that moment. Every breath she took, every gloriously wet sound her body made as he explored her, every rustle of her hands through the sheets... All of it was sharp and crisp, and no other symphony had ever sounded so beautiful.

He wanted more of it.

One finger became two, and Spencer looked up to watch her face as he fingered her slowly. Parted lips and focused eyes fighting to stay open despite the pleasure she was feeling made for quite the perfect view, he almost didn't want to look away. But there was so much to beauty see between her soft facial features and the curves of her body and the obvious arousing sight below him. It was overwhelming how hot he felt in that moment, he could have sworn he was glowing.

His pace quickened, and Y/N had finally given into the temptation to close her yes, her head falling back again as she rolled her hips. He was getting impatient now.

With his other hand, against the inside of her thigh, Spencer spelled out "T-A-S-T-E-?"

"Oh, God, please. Yes."

Still hesitant to scare her even though his fingers were already deep inside her, rather than diving in as he so desperately wanted to, he slowly brought his head down to meet the area between her legs. He turned to press his cheek to the soft flesh of her thigh, and she gasped, the sound fading to a low laugh as she took in the feeling of his mouth and his hair caressing her skin. He kissed her then, tentatively darting his tongue out to taste her and sighing with relief once he realized he could actually taste again. Once he had that revelation, there was no going back. He was a man starved, his kisses growing more hungry as they traveled up and up and up...

Once his tongue made curious contact with the hood of her clit, Y/N gasped again, clutching her bed sheets and rolling her hips up to meet him. Spencer groaned, and a selfish part of him wished she could hear it. He wanted her to know just how crazy she was driving him, how much he wanted her. She could certainly feel it, her reaction to the vibrations causing her muscles to flex and her toes to curl, and he decided then that it would have to do. He was just going to have to make her feel his desire so deeply that it rattled in her bones and lingered there for the rest of eternity. He wanted to ruin everybody else for her, to stay with her until the end of time.

She reached and felt around for his head, fingers threading through invisible curls as she cried out.

"Spencer, you're so— so good..."

He hummed his approval at the praise and continued to work her, adding a third finger and sucking on her clit to feel her fingers tugging at his scalp. The sensation alone had him nearly lightheaded, and he wanted to stay there forever, lost in her taste and her touch and her noises.

God, her noises...

She sighed and whined, and stretched and squelched around his fingers, and he was convinced that had he not already been dead, he would have begged whoever was listening to keep him alive just to experience her forever.

The second she struggled to keep her legs open, trapping his head between them, he knew she was quickly approaching her orgasm, and he couldn't wait. He'd heard her climax before, but being right there as it was happening felt like a privilege he would always be grateful for. He wanted to replicate everything he'd heard that night and get to feel it, too— get to be the one to make her feel that way.

"Fuck, don't stop, I'm s— so close..."

Spencer groaned into her as if to say, "I know, I can feel you." Oh, how he wished he could talk her through it, to tease her with his words... Alas, he had no choice but to encourage her with his actions, so he used his free hand to search for one of hers. She gave up her hand to lace their fingers together, and his thumb continued to draw mindless circles into her skin as she clenched and released, over and over again until she was coming.

"Spencer!" she cried to the air, over and over again as if she could will him into existence again. It was a desperate plea, a manifestation, and the both of them secretly hoped that it would work.

She wanted to see him

He wanted her to see him, too.

He felt her climax subside, and then he slowly eased his fingers out of her and trailed his tongue down to keep tasting. A part of him was scared to realize he might not actually be visible like he hoped, but he pushed the potential disappointment aside and luxuriated in the way she tasted. He delved in and gripped the underside of her thighs to keep them steady, and with a delighted groan as he pushed his tongue inside, Y/N gasped.

"Fuck, I can hear you..."

The words excited him greatly.

"Thank God."

Spencer kissed her, tasted her until she was writhing and begging him to stop.

"Please, Spencer, kiss me."

He pulled away and looked up at her, smiling even though she still couldn't see him. "I am kissing you," he replied, pressing his lips to her thigh.

"You know what I mean. Come here..."

He laughed and obliged, kissing his way up her legs and crawling up her body. He slowly dragged his hands up her stomach, bunching up her nightgown and sliding it up her body the farther he got. Her eyes watched in allure as the fabric rode up and up and up, seemingly on its own. But she knew better, she knew who was undressing her and worshipping her, and it made her squirm.

She lifted her arms over her head and let him take the clothing off, revealing her chest to the chilly air. She watched as the fabric flew to the ground, and then felt Spencer's hands return to her skin, gentle fingers raising goosebumps all over. Her nipples pinched and hardened the closer he got to them, and soon enough he was palming her breasts as he pressed his forehead to hers, wedging his body between her legs.

"Kiss me," she breathed, feeling his nose touch hers. His breath was hot against her own, and her eyes fluttered shut. "Please..."

"Anything for you, sweet girl..."

She sighed as his mouth finally collided with her own, the heady and prominent taste of her arousal growing stronger the deeper he kissed her. Their bodies couldn't stop moving, wandering hands and urgent hips, and with his newfound ability to speak to her, Spencer spoke in gentle praises. He sighed out her name reverently, telling her how good and sweet and perfect she was, and she returned every word with a whimper, in awe that he was really there. He was becoming more and more present, and she couldn't get enough.

"I want to feel you," she said against his lips, dragging her hand down his invisible chest. She fingered through every button of his shirt until it was loose and open, and the cool hum of his skin as she explored his torso made her hands numb.

Spencer kissed her jaw and groaned, feeling himself throb at her words. "Let me help..."

He grabbed her hand and guided her to the bulge in his pants, even though she could have just as easily stumbled onto it herself. The intimacy of it all was almost overwhelming, so much so that when her grip tightened softly on his clothed erection, Spencer almost came undone right then and there.

"Fuck, Y/N... I'd say you're going to be the death of me, but..."

They laughed together until she kissed him again, deeply and with a sigh. "You're becoming more and more real, but... this feels like... it feels like a dream."

He understood what she meant, and it filled him with a tinge of sadness, but her hand slowly palming him was becoming harder and harder to ignore. He gripped her wrist and his breath hitched in her ear as he nipped at it.

"Trust me, sweetheart... I am very real."

She shuddered at his words and squeezed him tighter before fumbling for his belt.

"Spencer... Do you think..." Her hands successfully undid the confines of his pants and started to slide them down over his hips, trying not to mess up her words as he sucked marks into her neck. "Do you think that if you fuck me... I'll finally be able to see you?"

"Mmm, God, I hope so," he groaned earnestly, repositioning themselves so he could kick off his pants and rest her head on the pillow. She let him take the lead, her breath getting heavier with anticipation as he positioned himself between her legs and grabbed her wrist. Once again, he was guiding her hand to his cock, hard and, this time, bare. She cursed under her breath as she gripped him and he helped her languidly stroke himself in exploration. His fingers were strong over hers, and he applied just the right amount of pressure to draw out a groan from the both of them.

"Please," she sighed out desperately through shallow breaths. "Spencer, please, I need you..."

How could he resist?

He didn't even want to entertain the thought of trying.

"Then let me take care of you, sweet girl," he cooed, hiking her thighs to rest over his hips and slowly sinking into her with ease.

Once he was all the way in, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, comforting her through the low burn. He slowly rolled his hips forward as she cried out his name, her fingers coming up to grip his shoulders. "You feel that?" he whispered into her skin. "How perfectly I fit inside you? It's like you were made for me..."

"Uh-huh," she stuttered in agreement.

He stopped teasing her then, pulling back to start fucking her nice and slow as she adjusted to him. Her fingers curled and knotted into the loose material of his shirt. She would have slid it off of him, but the grip on something steady was nice as she let him focus on his ministrations. He seemed to be doing just fine with the shirt on, anyway, and it was hard to even think about anything other than how good he felt.

She wondered then, as he picked up momentum and started peppering kisses down her jawline, what she looked like to the night. If she were standing there, outside her own body, watching herself being thoroughly and beautifully wrecked by something invisible and obviously enjoying every second...

Her eyes rolled back at the image, just as Spencer started going harder. His hips snapped into hers with a strength and precision that felt like it was rattling worlds. It very well could have been, and neither of them had any mind to care; They were so intensively intertwined with each other that it was a different world entirely.

They started to burn hot, that familiar warm chill of impending pleasure creeping up through their bodies and setting them alight. Y/N snaked her arms up to Spencer's neck and brought him down for a searing kiss as she melted into him, and he returned it with a fervor that elicited the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He felt it all the way in his bones, felt the waves of pleasure start to drag him under as she squeezed him with her limbs and started to come undone herself.

The atmosphere around them was purely electrifying, bright snaps of skin and sharp whispers of mouth combining to brew a perfect storm that nothing would ever survive. It was wild and unconstrained, glimmering and grand, and in their wake, the two entities left their desire lingering in the air for the dead of night to stew in for as long as it would allow.

Spencer collapsed on top of her with a hefty sigh, and he was grateful to be able to finally share his voice with her. The mystery and simplicity of the X's and O's were fun to indulge in at first, but now that they'd grown closer and created something beautiful and memorable together, he had to tell her exactly how he felt— no symbols, no mysteries...

He kissed her softly and pulled back to look into her eyes, dragging a thumb over her cheekbone as he told her the truth.

"You're perfect."

Her eyes went wide, welling with tears as she reached up and ran a finger softly along the bridge of his nose.

"You're beautiful."

Relief and something else—something warm—stirred in Spencer's chest at the confirmation that she could finally see him, and that she was moved by what she saw. Who she saw...

He couldn't help the smile that adorned his face, and the soft joyous laughter that escaped him as she continued to explore his features with the pads of her fingertips, like she was trying to memorize him from touch alone in case he suddenly disappeared again.

"I mean it, Spencer, you're... even more beautiful than I imagined."

"You imagined me?" he inquired rather suggestively.

With a laugh, she brought him down for a slow, searing kiss. "Duh..."

Even though they were tired, they stayed like that for hours, kissing and exploring and sighing until the sweet lull of sleep took hold and carried them through the night.

For a solid few hours until he awoke, Spencer completely forgot that he wasn't alive.

ACT III: Unfinished Business

Y/N had never done so much research in her entire life. She liked Spencer, and she was more than happy to help him out, but man... Reading dozens of articles and textbooks and blogs about the different types of spirits and how to lay them to rest was a long, exhausting road that led pretty much nowhere. There was no way to know what type of ghost Spencer was or how to help him move on, not that she could see, anyway. She didn't know if he'd age with her, or be 'undead' long enough to become vicious and bitter like a lot of the spirits she read about, and Spencer's research was just about as inconclusive as her own.

A selfish part of her hoped she'd never find out, to keep him around forever... But she also knew that wasn't fair to him. No matter how lonely she was or how much fun they had and how they enjoyed each other's company, well... The fact of the matter was, he was dead.

And he deserved to rest.

In the meantime, in the hours between headache-inducing frustration at the lack of answers, Spencer told her about his life. His friends, mostly— the best people he'd ever known. The way he described them, she had a feeling that they might hold the key to his dilemma. If not directly, perhaps there was something about him that they knew, something that might give Y/N some insight into his ghostly purpose, so to speak. Not that she couldn't ask Spencer directly, but they'd already discussed a lot of back-and-forth on enemies and people that could have wanted to harm him, all of which were surefire impossibilities. Not to mention the fact that he seemed tied to this apartment and not anything else. Maybe that didn't have anything to do with it, but neither of them knew.

It was the only other option she had.

They laid next to each other in her bed, her head laying on his chest. Her ear warmed gently, and tried as she might to hear a heartbeat, all she could hear was a faint white noise, almost like he was merely a figure of tangible energy rather than a body. She supposed that was technically what he was, but as much as she'd grown to know and like Spencer, it was hard to think of him that way. It was... sad to think of him that way.

She frowned and nestled into him, trying to push away that petulant nagging in the depths of her soul that screamed "This isn't fair!" and she told him the most difficult thing she'd ever had the courage to push past her lips.

"I think I have an idea... You can say no if you think it's too weird, but... It might help you. Maybe."

"Mmm, what's that?" he responded, curious but not audibly hopeful. It made Y/N even more sad to think he probably figured he'd never find peace.

"What if I go talk to your friends? Do you think they might know something you don't?"

There was a beat of silence before she felt his chest heave with gentle laughter. "Derek Morgan definitely wouldn't think so..."

Recalling some of the funny stories he'd told her about him, she smiled. Still, she pressed. "I mean it. What other outlets do we have? Where else is there to look? If there's anyone who knows you better than anyone else, wouldn't it be them?"

Spencer sighed, giving it a thought. His fingers raked through her hair and massaged her scalp to the point of gentle, comforting numbness, another one of those domestic moments that had her feeling absolutely conflicted.

And then, he said, "Actually... I think I know exactly who you should talk to..."

———

There was a deep chill in her bones as she approached Penelope Garcia's apartment building, but not because of the lively, rustling October wind. In fact, she wanted to throw up at the thought of having this conversation. But not because she didn't want to help Spencer. She did, more than anything.

She was just afraid of being arrested.

Spencer assured her that it would be fine and that Penelope was harmless, and while the latter she could believe, it still nerved her to wander up to a woman's door and announce that she lived in the apartment of her beloved dead co-worker and needed to help him fulfill his destiny as a spirit. It sounded like a cruel joke.

"If anyone would believe you, it would be Penelope," he'd said, comforting her with a pat on the shoulder.

Maybe it was true, but she didn't want to find out if it wasn't. It was one thing to have the door slammed in your face by a grief-stricken loved one, but a grief-stricken loved one who worked for the fucking FBI was ten times worse; There were a lot more horrifying outcomes that came with that combination.

Still, she trusted Spencer on a level she'd barely trusted anyone else, and he wasn't even alive for God's sake... So she strapped on her boots, threw on her most comfortable jacket, and braced the wind and whatever fate blew with it.

For Spencer.

"For Spencer," she muttered under her breath as she rapped on the door. Three times. Third time's the charm, three's a crowd, three clicks of the heel and you're home... Three seemed like a lucky number. Three was inviting, friendly, not intended to inflict emotional damage.

Please, God, don't let her hate me, Y/N prayed to whoever was listening. Don't let this go horribly wrong.

A bright voice was yelling beyond the door, and with every millisecond that it got louder and closer, her heart started to beat faster. Blood thrummed in her ears, and she kept repeating, "For Spencer, for Spencer, for Spencer," on a loop to remind her why she was going through all this anxiety.

The voice got closer, but still muffled, until the door swung open. Then it stopped altogether. Y/N blinked and stood there with a stiff back and sweaty palms, in front of Penelope Garcia. The woman was obviously expecting somebody else to be at the door, but she didn't look disappointed, just confused.

"Oh. You're not Luke. How can I help you?"

"Um... My name is Y/N. I... Before I tell you why I'm here, I need you to know that I'm not trying to play a trick on you, and I don't want to make you sad or upset, and if there's anything you need or want to know about me in order to trust me, then I'll gladly give you that information, but this is really important and I need you to know that I'm not crazy or harmful, I just want to help him."

Penelope's eyes went wide as she reached out and grabbed her hand. The thrumming in her ears got louder as she took a deep breath and waited for the yelling to start, her body to be thrown to the ground, or a sharp piercing sting of a backhand.

The only thing she felt, however, was a tug at her heart and the gentle dissipation of nerves as Penelope spoke one simple word.

"Spencer."

"How... How did you know?"

"Ever since he... Since he's been... I just knew something didn't feel right. Everyone told me that it was just grief, and for a while that's also what I told myself, but... That feeling was just too... Wait, who did you say you were again?"

Y/N stuttered her name and gripped Penelope's hand tighter, hoping to create some rapport. "I live in his apartment. He's been... Visiting me."

Something in her eyes softened and then saddened at the confirmation that her friend was somehow still among the living. "A visitor in his own home... Poor Boy Genius..."

She couldn't help but smile at the nickname. "He said you called him that often..."

Wide eyes welling with tears, Penelope nodded and tugged at her visitor's hand. "He was the smartest person I ever knew. Kindest, too. Here, come on inside, I'll make you some tea. Do you like tea? Maybe some hot chocolate?"

Her hospitality as she ushered her inside was both comforting and saddening to Y/N. It was in her nature to be that way to guests, even strangers, sure, but it also acted as a shield from the somber feelings she'd been rushed with at a moment's notice, no thanks to said stranger.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Penelope," Y/N rushed as she shrugged her coat off. "You don't have to make me anything."

"Oh, I know I don't have to, but would you like something warm to drink?"

She was practically begging for the distraction, something to do with her hands as she had time to process and prepare for what was about to happen.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

"Perfect, I'll get it started. Make yourself comfortable, Sweets."

She carried her coat over her arms, holding it to her chest like a tether to reality. None of this felt real, even though she could still feel the warm glow of Spencer's energy all around her, like it had burrowed into the pores of her skin and made a home there.

As she looked around at Penelope's bright and colorful space, she thought about him... How often had he been here? What did they do together, and where did they hang out? She imagined the laughter and the stories and the cooking... She wished she would have known him then, been a part of his life. As scary as he told her it was at times, she knew there were also plenty of bright spots, and she knew Penelope was definitely one of the brightest.

Y/N smiled, hugging her coat tighter.

"I like your apartment," she complimented, sitting down at a small dining table in the corner.

"Thank you! I always told Spencer he should get some more color, but... What can I say, he really loved his neutrals."

The familiar detail brought a smile to her face. "That doesn't surprise me. He told me that even though he likes me, he really hates my floral couch and that it looked weird in his apartment. I told him he was boring." And, that technically, it was her apartment now. In fact, her exact words after the fact were, "What are you going to do, haunt me?" before they both laughed and continued making out on said couch.

But she didn't need to remind Penelope of the fact that he was gone. Or to inform her that she was intimately involved with his ghost.

Just the thought alone was enough to make the low, ever-present hum of his imprinted memory on her skin even more intense, and she smiled.

"Oh... I know that look."

Y/N looked up at Penelope, who was grinning with the most mischievous gleam in her eye.

"What look?"

"You think he's cute, don't you?"

"I... I don't..."

"Well, I suppose even if you can't see him, I'm sure he's charmed you anyway. And you probably Googled him."

"How did you—"

"It's what I would have done... So?" she prompted, still waiting for an answer of some kind.

Y/N sighed, defeated and impressed by Penelope's skills at quickly retrieving information. But she also didn't want to lie to her, so she had no choice but to answer her questions with the truth anyway. "Well, I can see him. But I couldn't at first. My um... My friends came over one night, and they brought a Ouija board. We used it for shits and giggles because I'd joked to them after I moved in that I didn't feel totally alone, and well..."

"It wasn't a joke?"

Penelope brought over the tea, steaming and aromatic. Y/N took it with a nod of thanks and sighed as she sat down across from her.

"No. But I didn't actually think I was living with a ghost, I mean... I didn't believe in that stuff. But I also wasn't going to risk pissing him off, so I tried to be nice to him. I only knew his name, and then my friends looked him up and we read his obituary, and... I don't know, I guess I just thought he seemed like a good person, so he deserved some kindness in the afterlife. I said hello to the air every time I came home from work, I yelled out a good night before going to bed... And then he started leaving me notes on my bathroom mirror, and I guess... I don't know, the more he and I got to know each other, the easier things became. Eventually he could touch things, and then soon after he was audible, then visible..."

She conveniently left out the details of that journey, though her skin warmed again at the memory.

"And now that we can communicate, it's become clear to me that he doesn't know where he's going— Why he's not at rest... I feel bad for him. He deserves..." Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard before looking down at the mug in her hand. "He deserves to move on."

Penelope was quiet for a moment as Y/N sipped her tea. Her hand reached out to grab hers, and the gesture almost had her in tears.

"You sound... Sad about that."

She couldn't help the pressure that pulsed behind her eyes, stabbing at her throat... Still, she made herself speak, barely above a whisper to prevent that inevitable cracking of the voice that would surely break the dam she was trying so hard to keep still and strong. "I... I know it sounds absolutely crazy..."

"You're falling in love with him."

Though the words didn't come from her own mouth, they came flying at her like a sucker punch to the gut. The wind was knocked out of her for a moment, until all she could do was exhale and let the tears fall silently as she nodded.

Penelope let her cry for a minute or two without a word while holding her hand, until she was ready to elaborate. "But I can't... I can't keep him here, it's not right. If he doesn't have any unfinished business, then he should be put to rest. And I... I don't know how to help him. I thought maybe, if I could talk to the people who knew him the best... I could get an idea."

"Oh, Honey, I... I'm sorry, but I don't know any more than you do." She was talking through tears herself, and Y/N squeezed her hand back. "His mother's been gone for years now, and there's no other family that he was close enough with to even consider, other than us, but... Truthfully I don't know if we really count in the grand scheme of things... I'd like to think that we do..."

"You might not be blood-related, but you were his family. He loved you so much, I could tell by the way he spoke about all of you. He... He misses you a lot. I just wish he didn't have to feel that loss anymore."

Penelope frowned. "I wish I could give you an answer... When you go back to him... Will you at least tell him that we love him?"

"He already knows. But yes. I will."

"And I'll keep on thinking. Whatever you need, you got it. I have access to pretty much everything so if there's information to be had, I will get my paws on it, and you will know. Thank you for coming to see me. And for telling me that Spencer's okay... He is okay, right?"

Y/N hesitated. She wasn't entirely sure how to answer without giving away their extra-curricular activities. "I think so. He's tired, I can tell. But I do my best to keep him happy. The last thing I need is to have him angrily haunting me."

Penelope laughed, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I think that means you better get rid of that glorious couch, then."

The laughter was a welcome break from the tears, which had already started to dry on her skin, leaving her cheeks itchy. "I really appreciate you being so kind, Penelope... Losing Spencer must have been absolutely impossible, and having a complete stranger show up at your door and pour salt in the wound... I couldn't imagine..."

"Y/N... If there was any person on this planet who could have moved into his apartment and helped him through this... I think I speak for the whole BAU when I say that he's lucky it's you."

The sentiment made her chest tight, and an involuntary pout tugged at her mouth. "You... You really mean that?"

Penelope laughed and squeezed her hand again. "Oh, Darling, you even pout like him... You're kind of perfect for each other."

"I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that," she replied through a fit of hysterics, and Penelope joined her.

It was clear then that these two women were meant to bond seamlessly over the loss of someone dear, one in life and the other in death. They were two sides of the same coin, a best friend and an anchor to the other side. It was a solace that neither of them had expected, but welcomed with open arms and warm understanding.

They exchanged stories and laughs and phone numbers and hugs, and joked about exchanging addresses, and a while later, just as Y/N was about to go home, fastening her coat, Penelope stopped her.

"Wait... I don't mean to make you sad or anything, and maybe this isn't the answer that either of you were looking for... But after today? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Spencer's unfinished business is you."

The thought froze her entirely. It would stand to reason that they were meant to find each other, only to let each other go. Because, of course. Nobody was ever that lucky, especially neither Spencer nor his new roommate.

Sensing her overthinking, Penelope continued. "I know it's unfortunate given the circumstances, but... You did say that the more you got to know him, the more... alive he became. At least as alive as he can be. And I've only known you for about an hour, but I can confidently say that you are about as perfect for Spencer as somebody could be for anybody. And..."

She shifted on her feet, unsure of whether she should actually say what she was about to tell her, but obviously needing to make her point with as much context as possible. "You know, he's tried. He watched many of us find love and have families of our own, and he's always wanted that, but... He never got to have it. I think... that was the one thing that he always truly and completely wanted, especially after his mom passed and he had no one left but us... Somebody to go home to, somebody who understood him and cared about him and wanted to spend the rest of their lives with him... A soulmate. And... Y/N, I think it might be you."

Her head was swimming and tears were blurring her vision again. As much as she wanted to believe it, ever the lover of grand romantic endings, it didn't make sense. She didn't really believe in soulmates, did she? Then again, she didn't believe in ghosts, either, until recently...

"How could you possibly know that?" she whispered to Penelope, hoping for a switch in her brain to flip. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to dash home and confidently confess to the ghost living in her apartment that they were made for each other and that she could finally set him free.

And... Then what?

There had to be another explanation.

"I wish I could tell you how, definitively," Penelope answered sadly, "and like I said, I don't want to upset you... But it's just a feeling. And my feelings are hardly ever wrong. Hey, I mean I had a feeling that Spencer was still out there somehow, and that turned out to be true, right?"

"I... I guess," she sniffled.

"Just... Do me a favor, okay? Think about it. Spend tonight with him, like you normally do, and really really think about it. And tell me you don't feel it."

It almost sounded like a playful challenge rather than a request. Y/N wiped at her eyes and sighed. "You're really sure?"

"Positive."

Y/N wasn't really sure if she believed it still, but there was a conviction in Penelope's voice that was too sincere to ignore. And Spencer trusted her, which obviously meant a lot.

So, she promised that she would think about it anyway, bade her new friend farewell, and made her way outside, where the wind had died and left the streets lifeless and quiet.

———

Something was different about Y/N when she came home.

Spencer tried to let her go about the night and refrain from saying anything, but after regretfully informing him that Penelope had no wisdom to offer her about their situation but would get back to her if anything did come to mind, she was... odd. Perhaps she was just as tired as he was in trying to solve this mystery, or just tired in general. But he didn't want to push her if she didn't want to open up, so he did what he could and offered his company.

Still, she didn't seem right.

He thought maybe a flurry of warm, tender kisses along her skin would put her in high spirits, but the longer she let him worship her skin without so much as a sigh in return, it started to sink in that something was deeply wrong.

"Are you okay?" he asked sweetly, stroking her jaw with the back of his hand as he looked her in the eye. She looked at him for only a few seconds before averting her gaze, like if she allowed him to meet her eyes for any longer, he'd pull something from her that she'd rather not share. It sent a small wave of panic through him. "Y/N, talk to me, please... What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No," she said unconvincingly.

"You don't... have to talk about it if you don't want to... But you're upset about something, and I want to help you. I'll do whatever you need me to. I'll listen, I'll leave you alone, I'll kiss it better... Whatever you want. It's yours."

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, defeated. "God, you FBI people are too good at getting information out of people, it's annoying."

Spencer laughed. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel interrogated. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just... I'm..."

She couldn't seem to get out the words, like there was a frustrating lack of understanding how to convey them. He drew continuous circles gently into her palm and waited patiently for her to open up, silently promising that he would be there for her when she finally found the right words.

It was a question that she finally settled on. "Have you ever been in love? Like... Really in love?"

Something inside him jolted at the thought of where this conversation might lead. If he had a heartbeat, it would have raced and thrummed so heavily that the organ might have failed. In truth, he'd been thinking about it for a week or two now. Ever since the night he realized that his interactions with her were the key to becoming more sentient, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was the thing he was tethered to.

He didn't dare say it out loud, or to her face, because... Well, it was too soon, wasn't it? And it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because once he was lain to rest, they could never be together.

It was complicated.

"I think I was, a few times," he finally answered in earnest. "And to be fair, just because things didn't work out with them, it doesn't mean I didn't really love them. I did. But... I think deep down I knew they weren't really The One... Does that make sense?"

"I think so... I don't think I've ever been in love before. Even with long-term partners, we said the words, and I felt something that was happy and I thought was love, but..." She paused, avoiding his eye again before rapidly blinking back tears. "Now I feel this... this anchor to you that I can't let go of... I want to be around you all the time and I know it's not fair because you deserve to rest, but I can't help it. Spencer, I... You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'm afraid that once I really admit it out loud, you'll be gone forever."

He knew, then, that this was it. Listening intently as she confessed, absorbing every word and allowing himself to feel and admit what he knew to be true for a while now, his body began to tingle. It was so dull at first, he almost mistook the feeling for 'butterflies'. It felt cruel not to tell her that he was starting to fade, but he didn't want to ruin the moment or panic her. He didn't want to tell her that she was running out of time. That they were running out of time.

So, instead, to try and ease the blow, he told her something sweet.

He told her, "I love you."

Her eyes glossed over at the confession. She reached urgently for his hands, her grip strong and willing like she knew what was going to happen. And maybe she did. Still, she sat there and listened to him, her eyes taking in every inch of his presence and committing him to memory.

He aimed to make it a memory she would never forget.

"I don't know when we'll see each other again, but I don't doubt that we will. Not for a second. And until then, my only wish is that you keep allowing yourself to fall in love. Don't be afraid of it. You shouldn't deny yourself just because I'm gone. Can you promise me that you'll try?"

Y/N blinked away tears and tugged at his hands. "What if I can't?"

"You will, my sweet girl. And I promise, I won't be mad at you."

She laughed despite herself, then almost cried again when she felt his presence start to fizzle and break in front of her eyes. She was desperate to hold on to him, clutching his hands for dear life and breathlessly whispering, "I love you, Spencer Reid," as if the conviction alone would be enough to keep him here. As if whatever cruel deity was putting them through this would see how much she needed him and decided to spare her the misery.

"I wish I could have known you when I was alive," he told her, leaning in closer. "Maybe we could have been neighbors."

She smiled through tears and pressed her forehead to his, the contact making her skin go numb. Silently she hoped that wherever he was going, she would be sucked in with him. "Then I would have invited you over for dinner."

He squeezed her hands, already feeling his grip fading, his essence nearly numbing him. Still, he willed himself to stay long enough to paint this life for the two of them—one they would never get to have, except only in dreams and perhaps in another life entirely. Anything was possible, after all.

"And I still would have made fun of your ugly couch."

"And I would have pushed you onto it and made you take it back."

"And I would have refused."

"And I would have kissed you ."

"And I would have kissed you back."

"And I would have fallen in love with you immediately."

"And I would have sworn that I'd fall in love with you in every universe."

She closed her eyes, feeling the very last remnants of his presence as she whispered, "I think it's safe to assume that you already have."

"And I think I'm inclined to agree."

THE END

GOD THIS IS ACURATE!!! i have literal stacks of dozens of books to read, but im more interesting in this reid rn <3

I have the entire twilight saga and 3 bridgerton books that are untouched but i have read every spencer reid fan fic i can find on here

a way with words this person has

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Day 14: fantasy AU

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

This is a bit (too) long, but I honestly loved writing it. I hope you like it as much as I do, it's my favorite so far!

Living as a magical creature was undoubtedly difficult. But being born a witch was practically a death sentence.

You couldn’t boast that your kind had ever been fully accepted by society, but at least you could live in peace with others, and perhaps, out of fear, they wouldn’t dare harm you. But now, everything was different with the institution of a new system that aimed to completely exterminate you.

There were no longer safe places, and you were forced to retreat into the forest, stay united in covens, or the boldest among you faced the enemy. Treating you as a threat only turned you into one, sparking an unprecedented war where the king’s men used all sorts of devices to hunt, torture, and kill witches. On your side, you practiced every spell you knew, cursing them sometimes and even causing entire towns to suffer the consequences.

It was so sad to witness the feud and know that someday you could be the one standing on that stake that had taken so many lives or hanging with your feet floating above the ground as a demonstration of what they were capable of doing: a warning.

You doubted that you could ever kill someone out of spite. Your work had always been about healing, and up until that moment, you hadn’t allowed dark magic to corrupt you in any way, adhering to your principle that magic should only be used for altruistic purposes or, at worst, in self-defense.

However, that didn’t exempt you from fearing the men tasked with hunting you. You used to travel between towns to sell your healing potions, always careful not to be spotted by anyone who might turn you in. Sometimes, you worked for free for families too poor to afford other services. After all, magic was more effective. It was always more effective, both for good and for evil.

The fireplace burned softly inside your cabin, just enough to warm you but not enough to attract the attention of those who passed through the forest. Honestly, being there sometimes felt like living in a cave. You had covered the few windows to avoid being seen, and to counteract the lack of light, you had placed candles throughout the space.

You were preparing a stew for dinner with vegetables you had bought that afternoon in a neighboring town when a knock at the door startled you. The knocks weren’t aggressive but not timid either, and you quickly ran to extinguish most of the candles, hoping whoever was behind the door would go away. No one found your place by accident, so it had to be an intruder. If it were another witch, you would have felt it.

"I know you're in there," said a voice behind the wood. It was deep, and fortunately, not unfamiliar to you. "Let me in, I don’t want anyone else noticing I’m here."

Fearful but determined, you walked to the door to do as he asked. Suddenly, you remembered how the man always complained that your footsteps made no sound, something you found useful all the time.

Before opening, you discreetly peeked through a crack in the wood to make sure no one else was with him. Having a witch hunter at your door was bad enough; more of them would be catastrophic.

You pulled the handle of the old wood to reveal your guest, and he silently walked inside.

You had never met a man as strange as Reid, the witch hunter. You first saw each other during a skirmish you hadn’t planned to be part of but unfortunately ended up involved in. Your role wasn’t to attack anyone; instead, you helped your injured companions. At some point during the altercation, the man managed to catch you, and, scared but determined not to let him discover who you were, you tried to escape. He attempted to put a pair of shackles on you, but you fought back with all your strength. Although you tried to cast a spell, the man was intelligent. His hands strategically held you to prevent any of your movements, and he was strong enough that you couldn’t overpower him.

“Witch, it’ll be worse if you resist…”

You didn’t know if he said that to convince you or out of frustration from the struggle you were giving him, but you didn’t want to find out either. You bit the hand within your reach, and though he groaned, he didn’t release you entirely. When one of your feet touched the ground, giving you more stability, you kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to let you go.

You tried to run, but the man was an expert. He quickly reached for his sword, still sheathed at his waist. You looked him in the eye and regretted being in this situation. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it was kill or be killed.

Suddenly, you noticed hesitation in him, as if he didn’t want to do anything but capture you. His long hair was tangled, and his face was smeared with blood: you didn’t want to know if it was his or one of the women’s.

A crash echoed, and in a split second, a flash of blue light shot through the air, hitting the hunter’s shoulder in front of you. A few inches to the side, and it probably would have killed him instantly.

He collapsed to the ground, dropping his sword to use his hand to try to stop the blood pouring out in torrents. You stood in shock, watching him for a few seconds, stunned by the deep pain on his face. However, there was something else: it looked like hate, but if you looked closely, it was fear. No one wants to die, and in that gaze, there was fear of passing to the other life.

What could you do in that case? The wisest thing would have been to run away and leave him to his fate, but you hesitated for a second. Was that really the right thing to do? He had tried to capture you, but after all, he was a man, a soul.

Cautiously but without wasting time, you stumbled to his side, kneeling, and extended your hands over his body, covered by a leather jacket, pressing on the wound.

“Leave me alone!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to save your life,” you scolded him.

You began to recite a spell, and although he tried to move, the pain wouldn’t let him. Little by little, he felt the burning sensation diminishing, along with the feeling of his blood gushing out.

Reid was an expert at remembering faces. Thanks to that, his team of hunters often managed to catch witches, even if they moved from place to place. While you worked, he focused on observing you. Your face was smudged with soot, and you had a small cut at the hairline, but other than that, you were fairly easy to recognize. Your brows were furrowed with concern, and he wondered what kind of crazy person you were to be helping him, even though he had been about to condemn you minutes earlier.

When the pain was completely gone, leaving only a red stain, you knew you were vulnerable again, so you quickly got up to move away from the man. You didn’t know how long you ran, but the memory of the tears streaming down your face, thinking about abandoning your own kind, was etched in your memory.

The second time you saw each other was a complete accident. You had gone to town to stock up on some materials you needed, carefully buying from different vendors so that no one could accuse you of practicing witchcraft, when you bumped into someone. Before you could apologize, you saw that golden insignia worn by the most prestigious hunters, and as soon as you looked up, you both recognized each other instantly.

You didn’t hesitate to turn and run in the opposite direction, knocking into some people along the way. A few meters ahead, he caught up to you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into a secluded alley.

“Don’t kill me,” was the first thing you said, looking at him with an involuntary pleading expression.

Thanks to the daylight, you could observe him better and noticed the hardness in his features. He was intimidating, no doubt, and you understood why there were enough reasons to consider him dangerous.

“Why did you help me?”

There was a gruffness in his question that made it sound as if he were angry. Was he offended that he had been saved by the enemy? Or did he want to know your reasons before sending you to die?

He still held one of your hands tightly, fully aware that most spells required both your hands. There was silence for a moment as you stared at each other until you dared to speak.

“I don’t know.”

“I tried to capture you.”

“I know,” you replied just as seriously. He still hadn’t let you go. “But it’s my job. I help others. And I didn’t want the guilt of having left you lying there, although now that I think about it, it probably would’ve been the smarter thing to do.”

“You could’ve let me die, but you didn’t,” he murmured, almost as if talking to himself rather than to you “You didn’t.”

He sounded incredulous, as if the idea of an act of kindness from you was unimaginable. You remained very still, waiting for him to do something, and after a few seconds, he released your wrist.

“Go,” he said again. “It’s a life for a life.”

Without thinking too much about what he was offering you, you fled once more, and you didn’t stop until you reached the forest, completely forgetting the reason you had gone there in the first place. You would buy the ingredients elsewhere, what mattered most now was getting as far away from that hunter as possible.

As if by fate, you continued to run into each other, and each time your panicked glances were ignored by him, as if by not looking directly at you, he was giving you a chance to escape. Months passed this way, and at some point, you found him at your cabin door when you returned from the town.

You thought this would be your end and cursed yourself for not letting him die, sealing your tragic fate. However, he wasn’t there to capture you but to make a deal. You couldn’t believe it. After all, since when did hunters negotiate with witches?

“You’re something like a healer, aren’t you?” he asked once he had forced you inside the cabin so you wouldn’t be discovered.

“I am.”

“And do you know how to treat head troubles?” he asked curiously “You know, things doctors can’t?”

You didn’t understand what he wanted, and once again, you felt afraid. The enemy knew where you lived; he was standing in your home, not pinning you against a wall to immobilize you. He was seeking your help, which you had every right to refuse if you wished.

“You’re a witch hunter,” you muttered aloud, your tone bordering on disgust “What does it matter if I can do that?”

If you were going to die, you wanted to do it with integrity.

“Listen, I can offer you something in exchange for your help. I can protect you. If I hadn’t kept quiet, my companions would have already found and killed you because no detail escapes me. If I figure it out, my whole team knows, but on their own, they won’t be able to decipher it. I’m the one standing between them and you. If I say nothing, you’ll be safe.”

Could you trust his word? What if it was all a trap? A million questions crossed your mind at that moment, and you tried to consider whether the risk was worth the reward. Probably no hunter in history had ever sought help from a witch, and you were sure your kind couldn’t trust ordinary humans.

But despite knowing this, you accepted. After all, your secret was already exposed, and if you refused, you would only hasten the inevitable result. At least by accepting his deal, you bought time. You could live until he decided you were no longer useful, or when his team of hunters wanted to eliminate more witches.

Months had passed since then. That’s how he told you what he was suffering from, and you helped him treat it, giving him various infusions, ointments, and occasionally using some magic directly on him.

“Have you gotten better or worse?”

“I’ve improved. On a scale from one to ten, maybe a seven.”

“Have you followed the instructions I gave you? The therapeutic baths, drinking the drops I gave you, all of that…”

“Yes. Sometimes I don’t have time, but I try.”

Whenever he visited you, neither of you made eye contact. You pretended to be busy preparing things, while he kept analyzing the wood of your table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Alright. Give me a moment, and I’ll prepare what you need.”

Reid hummed in response, and he stayed calm, drumming his fingers on the surface in front of him. While you mixed ingredients, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing that he was wearing his characteristic black clothes, but this time he looked more relaxed. No sword or visible weapons. He was only wearing a linen shirt and pants, which made you wonder if the night’s chill would affect him.

Your cabin was exceedingly warm, and although he wouldn’t admit it, there was a comforting feeling upon entering.

“I heard you caught the Green Witch.”

“We did, yes. Just yesterday. By the afternoon, her sentence had already been passed.”

“May the gods receive her with joy, and may she become magical strength for her coven,” you recited, making a gesture similar to crossing yourself.

Reid assumed that this was what you witches said every time one of your kind died.

“Did you know her?”

“Yes. We met a couple of times. She was a bit mad, but not so much that I’d wish her dead.”

“She did a lot of bad things.”

“I know. But years ago, she lived in peace with us.” You fell silent for a moment, waiting for a response. None came. “What you people do to my sisters is completely inhumane. Did you know that?”

“We’re just trying to protect people.”

“Yes, from something that wasn’t dangerous until you decided it was. If you keep telling someone they’re evil long enough, I think you’ll eventually push them into becoming that.”

Admitting it out loud would be a betrayal of the principles on which he worked, but Reid had thought many times about what you had just told him. The first encounter he had with you caused a complete ideological conflict in his mind. The lingering question had started to take shape: What if not all witches were evil?

He had joined the hunters to help achieve a greater good for his people. During those months, he had enjoyed the effects of your remedies, you had taken care of him, and despite who he was, you treated him with respect. He wondered if your behavior was out of fear that he might expose you to the other hunters or if your actions were genuine.

“If I refused to keep helping you…” you began, breaking the silence. He was deep in thought, and your voice brought him back to reality “Would you send me to the stake?”

As you said this, you still didn’t look at him. Focused on your work table, you gave him your back, somehow hoping his response would come directly to that place. You were sure of what he would say, that it would reach you like a stab.

“Are you planning to stop helping me?”

“Would you do it?” you insisted.

Reid thought about it for a moment and decided to answer your question with another.

“Would you be capable of killing me?” When you heard that, you turned with a confused expression. “You have all the means, to be honest. I drink those things you give me without question. Who’s to say you couldn’t be poisoning me?”

“I would never do that.”

“I can’t know that, just as you have doubts, so do I. It’s a matter of trust. Helping me is your choice, I’m just offering the benefit of protection in return. But if one day that agreement breaks, it won’t be me accusing you. If you decide to act wrongly, that’s your responsibility.”

You fell silent, observing him seriously. He was such a strange man.

“So, it’s our fault that we’re sent to die? Without being given the chance to prove we can help you?”

“Don’t think I’m a fool. I know you travel through the villages selling your potions and healing the poor. You’re proving your worth by keeping yourself alive, and that’s why you’re still here. You might live a long life as long as you don’t draw attention.”

“But I’m still a witch in the end. And you’re a hunter. The outcome for that combination is logical and inevitable.”

“And do you think all hunters are monsters?”

“I don’t know. Do you think all of us are evil?”

The two of you fell silent. Neither of you would dare say what you really thought. But there was something in the look you shared that felt hopeful.

Sensing the lack of response, you turned back to your work, and the conversation was over. A few minutes later, you placed three jars, a wooden container with ointment, and a plate of hot stew on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Food. No poison. If you don’t want to join me, then take your remedies, and the door is open.”

You had never invited him to stay longer than necessary, and the proposal felt strange to both of you.

Reid’s silence and his remaining in your home seemed to indicate a positive response, and still without saying anything, you served yourself a plate to join him for dinner. The sound of the fireplace was all that could be heard around you, along with the occasional noises of nature.

Whenever you weren’t paying attention, Reid would look up to observe you, as if you were a puzzle he needed to solve. Similarly, you analyzed his behavior, wondering if this man was worth the risks you were taking. Once, your gazes crossed, but as soon as your eyes met, both of you looked away.

“I should go,” he announced after finishing his meal. He wanted to compliment your cooking skills but couldn’t find the words. “Should I take the medicine the usual way?”

“Yes. The ointment is only if you have a fever.”

“Alright,” he muttered, nodding his head. He needed to leave, but it was as if his feet weren’t responding. “Thanks. For everything.”

For perhaps the first time, Reid saw a smile on your lips, and he took it as a sign of trust.

“Be careful on your way back.”

You didn’t speak of the matter any further, and you tried with all your might not to think about it. But the weeks passed, and you heard no news of Reid. It wasn’t as if you wanted to run into him everywhere, of course, but not knowing anything about him left you feeling strangely uneasy this time.

During one of your visits to town, you overheard rumors and couldn’t help but get curious. Several people were saying the same thing, both villagers and hunters.

"The hunter Reid is sick."

The women recited prayers, and the men expressed their sympathy for him. Apparently, he was a well-liked figure among the villagers, which made you wonder why and, secondly, why he hadn’t come to you for help.

Through whispers, a few questions, and your own deductions, you managed to find out where the man lived, and, trembling, you decided to search for him. Night had already fallen, and you hoped that under the cover of darkness, your identity would remain hidden.

Once you arrived, it wasn’t difficult to open the door, but your main fear was that he might have company, which would ruin everything. You noticed that the place was modest, with just a small hallway, a little room with shelves full of books, and a tiny space for preparing and eating meals. In the back, visible from the entrance, was a room dimly lit by a nearly extinguished candle.

How angry would he be if he found you in his home? In his territory, violating the place he likely considered sacred and safe? A witch in the house of a witch hunter.

He was alone in the room, lying on a small bed pushed against the wall, barely fitting his frame. He looked peaceful, but also visibly worn out, and his cheeks were flushed. You had heard of an illness affecting humans, killing them in large numbers: the plague.

Gently, almost maternally, you brushed his hair away from his forehead to check his temperature. He was burning up with fever.

“Who is it?” he asked hoarsely, barely having the strength to speak. When he cracked his eyes open and saw you, you noticed his transition from drowsiness to alarm.

“It’s me. I’m here. Calm down, you’re not hallucinating,” you murmured. Without wasting time, you searched among his belongings for the ointment you had made for him weeks ago, and without questioning it, you began to apply a layer to his forehead.

“What are you doing here?”

“The whole town is talking about you. I couldn’t help but hear, so I thought I’d come to check if my protection from the gallows was still in place,” you teased lightly.

You were lying. You wanted to see him, and you were worried about him. But you weren’t going to admit that.

“I’m just a little sore. Everyone’s exaggerating.”

“Has anyone given you anything? Food, medicine?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, so you want to go out like a real martyr? Suffering helps you reach heaven, or that’s what you people say, right?”

“Why did you come to see me? How… how did you know where I live?”

He spoke with difficulty, struggling to string his thoughts together, likely because of the illness. He was completely vulnerable before you.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked first. “Because I can.”

“No offense,” he whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open. “It was just a question”

“Then, do you want me to stay?”

“If you want to, then yes.”

Neither of you would back down. Resigned, you found a chair to sit beside the bed and rummaged through your bag for something that could help him. You had a loaf of bread meant for your cabin and some tea, still warm, that you had bought from a farmer. Despite the hardship you'd face, your will allowed you to offer both to the hunter.

“You need to eat and drink something. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll prepare a potion that will help lessen the symptoms. With that and a little magic, you’ll be well by tomorrow or the day after you won’t even remember being sick.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?”

“Of course I am. But I trust you’re not so treacherous as to betray me after I’ve risked coming here to help you.”

In that, you were right. And Reid knew it.

Without saying anything, you placed the food and the steaming tea on a little table beside the bed, then went to another area to start your work. Even though you didn’t have all your ingredients with you, you could prepare something decent with the supplies in your bag.

When you returned to the room, he had already devoured half of the bread and nearly finished the tea. You noticed that he was struggling to stay seated, so you encouraged him to lie down again, ready to begin your work.

Reid watched closely as you moved your hands and the faint sparks that appeared each time you twitched your fingers. It seemed as if you were pulling something from within him, and the man’s curious nature emerged.

“What exactly are you doing with that?”

“I’m pulling the illness from your system. Your soul is infected, so I have to cleanse it.”

“And the illness? Where does it go?”

“I absorb it,” you explained. Seeing his disbelief, you continued, “Magic always requires you to give something. That’s why so many witches who use dark magic end up corrupting themselves. Committing evildoings requires absorbing that pain.”

“Have you ever used dark magic?”

Suddenly, the conversation felt kind, intimate, almost like that of a pair of friends... or even lovers. You were terrified but didn’t let him notice.

“No. I practice Wicca: nature grants me power, and I am at peace with it. Without harming others.”

“It’s fascinating to hear someone talk about it. We know how to capture, contain, and kill your kind... I mean, witches. But I never really thought about what you all practice or believe.”

His voice was soft, tired, while you continued your work.

“Do all of you have the same mark?”

His hand reached up to touch your forearm, and you felt a shiver run through your body. His finger rested lightly on your birthmark, a reddish spot.

“Witches who are born with magic do. Well, most of them. For those who turn evil, the mark darkens, and often their fingers start to turn black, as if they have soot on their hands. It’s part of the transformation.”

“And is it true that you’re daughters of the devil?”

You let out a scoff, incredulous, wondering how many more lies had been told to tarnish your people’s image and turn you into monsters.

“We are daughters of Mother Nature, descendants of the oldest magical lineages. We have nothing to do with Lucifer.”

“And how is a witch born? Do you need... to be intimate with someone of your kind?”

“I think that’s a bit too personal of a question,” you murmured disapprovingly. With one final movement, you eliminated the sickness from his soul, and you felt that even his appearance had changed. “Better?”

“A little.”

“You need to drink this all day tomorrow and if possible, the day after. Dissolve it in enough water, and as the hours pass, you’ll notice improvement. But the most important thing now is for you to rest.”

“And where are you going?”

“To my cabin. You don’t expect me to stay in town, do you?”

“The night is dangerous,” he tried to warn, but you responded with a laugh.

“So what? Afraid I’ll run into a witch?”

Reid didn’t miss the teasing tone in your voice, and for a moment, he felt the same connection, that sense of familiarity you had felt before.

“You’ll be fine. Just follow the instructions and find me when you’re better,” you murmured, hoping that would suffice as a farewell.

However, the man stretched out his hand to stop you from leaving, gently taking your fingers. You correctly assumed that no witch had ever received such a soft touch from a hunter, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Why do you insist on proving you’re good?” he asked, reflecting aloud. You looked puzzled by his statement. “You saved my life even though I sought to take yours. You help me stay sane with your herbs, and now you come here and assist me even though no one asked you to.”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

“I’m confused. How am I supposed to capture more witches, knowing they could be like you? That they could be kind, sweet… that they could be so human?”

His monologue seemed more like he was trying to understand things himself, rather than asking you. But if he was recognizing you as human, was he suggesting he saw you as an equal?

You were walking on very thin ice. Ice that could easily crack under the heat of emotions... of passion, and something strange that was brewing inside both of you.

“Just don’t do it,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. Without waiting any longer, afraid that his touch would overwhelm you, you pulled your hand away and walked toward the door. “Keep me updated. If you die, my protection dies too.”

You tried to make your words sound indifferent, but the truth was, they came out with a mixture of concern and plea. Reid felt a sense of pride, thinking that you were implying you needed him. That for one reason or another, you wanted him to stay alive.

“Thank you,” he murmured, delirious. In your heart, you hoped for his recovery, or you would never forgive yourself.

You waved goodbye and then made your way to the door of the house. Luck was on your side, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Cautiously, using those silent steps the hunter often complained about, you walked into the forest and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Throughout the night, perhaps due to fever or perhaps due to desire, Reid dreamed of you.

The months passed. Everyone was amazed at the sudden recovery of the hunter, and most attributed it to a miracle, not knowing that the magic they so despised had actually saved him.

Apparently, that second act of compassion on your part had softened his heart, and his visits became more frequent, almost always lacking any real purpose. He excused himself by saying that he wanted to learn more about witches, to see if there was a less violent way to deal with those who were evil. You had basically become the subject of his research.

Part of you was terrified at the thought that someone might discover your meetings or that he might dare to use against you all the information you were giving him. However, over time, the trust between you both grew considerably.

Titles had been lost somewhere along the way. Suddenly, you were no longer a witch, and he was no longer a hunter. You were simply two people, curious about discovering the secrets of the other's nature, beginning to learn that perhaps the beliefs you both had grown up with could be wrong.

Reid took it upon himself to warn you every time a hunt was going to start, making sure you didn’t leave your place until it was safe, trying desperately to keep the hunters away from the section of the forest where you lived.

Time was the only culprit for you growing fond of him. You didn’t want to; you never planned for it, but gradually, the feeling crept under your skin, and you couldn’t avoid it. It was terrifying just to think about it.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it?”

Reid was mesmerized by the view in front of him. Your curious friend had asked if it was true that fairies existed since he had never seen one, and you promised to take him to meet them. So, one afternoon, you ended up at a stunning crystal-clear lagoon surrounded by trees, with colorful lights flitting from one side to the other.

“We’ve explored this forest so many times. How come I’ve never seen this?”

“Sometimes, you humans only see what you need to see. The fairies are very protective of their territory, so not just anyone finds them,” you said, smiling slightly.

The idea of him being so excited to meet the fairies surprised you a lot. You had spent so much time with him that your perception of humans had inevitably changed too. Maybe not all of them were destined to hate magical beings… perhaps some could even grow to admire you.

But sometimes, you had mixed feelings about it. He visited you, protected you, trusted you… but he was still a hunter, wasn’t he? He still helped send witches like you to their deaths.

Only the evil ones, he always justified.

“Those little lights… Are they them?”

You hummed in agreement and carefully extended your palms, hoping one of them would approach. When one finally did, Reid was able to see it.

Fairies, contrary to what many humans believed, weren’t tiny, beautiful versions of a person with transparent wings. In reality, fairies were brown-colored creatures with moth-like wings and hair that looked like a bird’s nest.

“Aren’t they curious?”

“Very fascinating,” he admitted, a smile forming on his face. Lately, watching him smile had become one of your favorite activities.

He observed the scenery for a while, trying to register as many details as possible, while you gathered some plants that you would use to prepare potions or infusions.

Seeing you amid nature awakened a strange feeling in Reid. Kneeling, dressed in a white gown that gave you a certain aura of purity, your hair fell like a curtain over your face.

What was that feeling? Why did he feel this way, watching you so peacefully?

You said something, but honestly, Reid didn’t hear you. He was too distracted by the glow of your face and wondering where the little flowers in your hair had come from. It was probably the fairies, he thought, during the time he hadn’t been watching you.

“I asked if you know how to swim,” you repeated with a small smile “There are some who say this lagoon has healing properties. There are nymphs, too, but I haven’t seen any lately. They’re a bit possessive, to be honest.”

“Nymphs?” he asked, astonished, which only made you laugh.

Without saying another word, you set your basket aside, and Reid was shocked to see you start taking off your dress, leaving yourself in nothing but a very thin undergarment that was too indecent to be considered proper. But he couldn’t expect modesty from someone like you; after all, you had already shown that you didn’t follow conventional rules.

You gracefully dove into the lagoon, and Reid watched you disappear into the water, only to resurface a few seconds later.

“Come on!”

Reid hesitated for a minute, but eventually, he gave in and joined you in the water under the same conditions as you: in his underwear.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” you spoke again, floating on your back in the clear water.

You had your eyes closed, as the sun was shining directly on your face, and Reid tried to avert his gaze from the curves of your body, which were now visible through your soaked clothes. He felt slightly embarrassed by the improper thoughts that crossed his mind, thoughts he couldn’t control.

“Swimming?”

“The nature. The village is so gray and sad… everything here is better.”

The man hummed, as if to say that he agreed with you. Suddenly, he felt a couple of fairies fluttering around him, and the movement of their wings tickled him, making him laugh.

“Do mermaids exist?”

“They do, but only in the open sea. You should be careful with the sirens.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Mermaids can be benevolent if they wish. But sirens’ sole task is to seduce sailors and lure them to the bottom of the sea; they attract them with their song and beauty.”

“I didn’t know there were so many creatures I had to worry about, not just witches. No offense.”

“Oh, Reid. You humans are missing out on a whole world,” you teased, swimming right up to him “The difference is that witches don’t try to seduce you. We’re a bit more practical.”

“That would be a good strategy.”

“Do you want a witch to seduce you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly to one side to look at him.

“No! I mean… using beauty to attract people with reason might be effective. I suppose.”

“Unfortunately, there aren’t too many candidates who interest us. Most of them are grouchy, horrible old men. Although, well… there are always exceptions to the rule.”

Were you flirting with him? From the way you were looking at him, he thought it was entirely possible.

“Anyway, all it would take to make a man fall for us is putting a bit of love potion in his tea. It wouldn’t be hard.”

“Now I understand why my tea tastes weird lately.”

There was something unspoken in your teasing, something suggestive, even sinful. Yes, because the idea that a witch and a witch hunter could have that kind of tension was ridiculous. Unthinkable.

You both stared at each other for a second, waiting for the other to say something, but that didn’t happen.

“Are our things still where we left them? There are goblins in this forest too, and they tend to be quite mischievous.”

“They are,” he quickly answered.

You smiled and, with a nod of your head, invited him to follow you, then began swimming in an unknown direction.

You chatted for a while as you swam, and little by little, the sky turned orange, signaling that sunset was approaching. You were in an area surrounded by grass, where more fairies sparkled around than Reid had ever seen before, making the atmosphere visually stunning.

“We should head back. They might wonder where you are,” you suggested, glancing at the sky “Tonight is a full moon. A perfect occasion for a human sacrifice, and I don’t want any speculation.”

Your tone was playful, and just as he was about to respond, everything suddenly seemed to slow down. Behind you, there was a whirlpool in the water, and by the time he tried to warn you, it was too late. The natural phenomenon swallowed you up immediately, almost as if your body were in free fall.

Reid was seized by panic. His area of expertise didn’t involve bodies of water, but he knew how dangerous a whirlpool could be, as it could cause you to drown.

Without wasting time, he dove underwater and spent almost a painful minute trying to grab one of your limbs to pull you toward him. When he finally succeeded, your body was heavy and limp, making him fear the worst.

When he managed to resurface, he swam with you to the shore, carefully laying you down. While lying next to you, he called your name several times, moving your head to get you to respond, but nothing happened.

“Come on! Wake up!” he urged, his voice filled with evident desperation.

Suddenly, he remembered some of his knowledge of the human body and, albeit fearfully, began pressing on your chest to try to expel the water from your lungs. Every few compressions, he leaned in to give you mouth-to-mouth, hoping it would be enough to revive you.

When he finally heard you gasp and saw you roll onto your side to vomit all the water, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?” you asked, disoriented.

Reid was nearly hovering over you, holding your cheeks with both hands as if to assess your condition, his honey-colored eyes locked onto yours.

“A whirlpool. I tried to warn you, but it already had you.”

“Oh…” you exhaled, still coughing a bit. It took you a second to process it “And you saved me?”

“Of course. Who else would it be?” he muttered, almost in a reproachful tone.

A small smile crossed your lips.

“So, is this going to become a habit? Saving each other’s lives?”

It wasn’t until that moment that you both became aware of how close you were. His wet body was pressed against yours, and Reid could feel your chest firmly against his. He was still holding your cheeks.

You stared at each other. His eyes, his beautiful and gentle eyes, were fixed on yours. Just breathing a little heavier would have allowed you to feel each other’s breath, your noses practically brushing.

Once again, you faced a dilemma. You could have gotten rid of him a long time ago. Not once, but many times. And he could have done the same without consequences. But that was never your intention; it was useless to keep pretending.

And then, it just happened. It felt natural for both of you to lean in and close the distance, sealing your lips together without any need for explanation.

Your kisses said it all. They said: I care about you. They said: I was afraid I was going to lose you. They said: I know you’re not evil like the others. And they said: I know you’re not ruthless like them.

Suddenly, the contact didn’t seem to be enough, and Reid positioned himself over you to continue kissing you, with no protest from your side. You could feel the heat beneath you, and he undoubtedly felt the same. His free hand firmly gripped your side, almost massaging the soft parts of your torso. You held him tightly, your fingers tangled in the wet curls of his hair.

And so, within a matter of minutes, you both gave in to the unrestrained passion that had been growing inside you for the past few months.

He was good to you, careful. You reciprocated, caressing him gracefully and whispering sweet words in his ear.

The thin ice you had both been walking on didn’t even exist anymore. It had shattered at that moment, and all that remained was an intense fire engulfing the both of you.

You just had to be careful that a heat like that didn’t turn into a pyre.

bowtie birds

thoma! finally finished yayy 🙈🙈

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑳

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: You are worker in the brothel who had recently gotten attached to your client, Sevika, after countless nights of more passionate sessions. Until they suddenly stopped, leaving you with an aching heart.

A/N: Honestly forgot I had this in my documents, but thought I should post it (since we all love Sevika).

The first time she came to you, she was all easy smirks and smooth charm, her prosthetic hand cool against your waist as she pulled you onto her lap. Sevika had the kind of presence that demanded attention, the kind that made others shrink in her shadow or lean in closer just for a taste of her heat. You had been the latter.

She paid well. That was all that mattered at first. A client with deep pockets and a reputation that ensured no one would bother you when you left her room, skin flushed and legs weak. It was a simple arrangement: pleasure given, coin exchanged. Nothing more.

But then she kept coming back.

And you let her.

At first, it was nothing but indulgence—nights filled with laughter and the scrape of her teeth against your throat, her hand gripping your thigh in a way that made your stomach coil with something dangerous. She made you laugh, too, in a way few did. There was something intoxicating about her presence, the roughness of her voice, the heat of her gaze when she dragged it over your body like she was memorizing you.

Then something shifted.

One night, she stayed after. No rush to pull on her coat, no tossing coins onto the nightstand with a smirk before disappearing into the Undercity’s streets. She lingered, arm draped over her stomach, watching the ceiling like it held answers she wasn’t ready to share. You didn’t ask. But when she turned her head and found you watching her, something in her expression softened.

"What?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

She exhaled, long and slow. "Nothing. Just... comfortable."

The next time, she brought you a drink, one she swore you’d like. You sipped it from her fingers, let the burn of it settle behind your ribs, and tried to ignore the warmth curling beneath your skin at the way she watched you. She stayed again that night, but this time, she talked. Stories about fights she had won, men she had bested, but also things she shouldn’t have shared—memories from before she was who she was now. You shouldn’t have asked, but you did. And she answered.

It got harder to pretend you weren’t waiting for her. Harder to ignore the way your heart stumbled when she walked through the door, or the way your body leaned into her touch like it was instinct rather than necessity, like it had been there since your first breath.

And then came the night she kissed you slow. Not the usual rough, greedy clash of lips and teeth, but something deliberate, something aching. Something that made your fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt, made you press closer, desperate to chase whatever this was before it slipped through your fingers.

"This ain't what you do," she muttered against your lips, almost like she was warning you. "Ain't what I do either."

You knew that. You should have let it go, let her leave before the line between transaction and intimacy blurred any further. But instead, you whispered, "Then what is this?"

Sevika didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled you back in, and for the first time, she made love to you rather than just taking. Slow hands, lingering kisses, eyes that held something more than want. It was terrifying. It was thrilling.

When it was over, she didn’t leave. She laid beside you, arm draped over her stomach, staring at the ceiling again. The silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid things. You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, and ran your fingers through the short strands of her hair.

"Are you staying?" you finally asked.

Her eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. "Do you want me to?"

You swallowed, throat dry. "Yeah."

She let out a soft breath, something close to a chuckle but not quite. "Then I’ll stay."

You knew this had become something dangerous. Because you had let yourself believe, even just for a moment, that she might stay for good.

As attachments grew, you slowly stopped giving much passion to your job with other clients. You knew you needed the money, but the feeling no longer sat right in your chest. It only felt right when she came every night, when her hands traced over you in a way that no longer felt like a simple transaction.

But then, the visits slowly stopped.

At first, they became shorter. A hurried touch, a quick drink shared between you before she left, murmuring something about business. Then entire nights passed without her at all. The ache in your chest started as a whisper, then grew, a quiet panic every time the door opened and it wasn’t her.

One night, you waited longer than usual, fingers curled in your lap, stomach twisted in knots. The creak of the door had you looking up, heart leaping—only for disappointment to crush it just as quickly when you saw it was just another client. You forced a smile, but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

She was gone.

You told yourself you shouldn’t have expected anything else. That this was inevitable. That she was never yours to keep.

But it didn’t stop the tightness in your chest, the sting behind your eyes as you sat in an empty bed, wondering if she had ever truly meant to stay at all.

As you dwelled on it further, the confusion gnawed at you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You sought out Babette, the woman who ran the brothel—the woman who had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. She was the closest thing to family you had, and if anyone knew what was going on, it would be her.

"She’s still coming around," Babette said, her gaze softening in concern. "Just not to you, sweetheart.”

The words hit like a gut punch. You blinked, feeling the air leave your lungs. "What?"

"She’s been with the others," Babette continued gently. "Sometimes just one. Sometimes more than one. But not you."

Your stomach twisted into something sharp, something ugly. You willed yourself not to cry, not to let the tremor in your hands show. But Babette saw it anyway. Her brows knit together as she reached out, fingertips grazing your arm in silent comfort.

"Maybe it’s better this way," she murmured, her voice almost hesitant. "You know how she is, sweetheart. She doesn’t—"

"It’s fine," you interrupted, your voice too quiet, too fragile. You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "I was just curious. That’s all."

Babette sighed, her hand fully resting over yours now, warm and grounding. "You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what she meant to you."

You swallowed, hard, but the lump in your throat didn’t go away. "She didn’t mean anything to me. She was just a client."

The lie sat bitter on your tongue. Babette didn’t call you out on it, only squeezed your hand and nodded, her expression unreadable. But her silence told you she didn’t believe it any more than you did.

Whatever you thought you had with Sevika—it had only ever been a game to her. You were nothing more than a warm body, a convenient distraction. And when things started feeling too real, she had sought out others, made sure to remind you of exactly what you were: an option, not a priority.

The belief that you could be loved for more than your body had been foolish. And now, the ache in your heart was proof of just how deeply you had let yourself hope.

Days passed, each one bleeding into the next in a haze of exhaustion and quiet heartache. You went through the motions, welcoming clients with hollow smiles and empty touches, but the passion, the illusion, was gone. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like anything at all.

You tried not to linger on the thought of her, but it was impossible when every shadow in the brothel seemed to whisper her name, when every quiet moment left space for memories you wished you could carve out of your mind.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Babette,” you said one night, standing in the doorway of her office. She looked up from her desk, her sharp eyes softening the moment she saw you.

“Come in, sweetheart,” she murmured, setting down her pen. You hesitated, shifting on your feet, trying to find the right words. She noticed. Of course, she noticed. “What is it?”

You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “I need a few days,” you finally said. “Just some time.”

Babette leaned back in her chair, studying you the way a mother does when she already knows the answer but waits for you to say it anyway.

“You haven’t been yourself,” she said simply. “Not since—” She didn’t say her name. She didn’t have to.

You dropped your gaze to the floor. “I just need a few days,” you repeated, quieter this time.

She sighed, then stood, walking around the desk until she was in front of you. A warm hand cupped your cheek, gentle but firm. “You take all the time you need, baby,” she said, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. “But don’t let this break you. You hear me?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed it.

That night, you left the brothel and retreated to the small apartment Babette had helped you get years ago. The space felt both foreign and suffocating all at once, too quiet, too empty. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor, willing yourself not to cry.

This was supposed to be temporary. A few days to pull yourself together, to forget.

Because you had to forget.

Sevika was just a client.

She was never supposed to be anything more.

And yet, the ache in your chest told you that she had been.

And that she still was.

Sevika stepped through the familiar doors of the brothel, the heavy scent of perfume and liquor thick in the air. It was the same as always—soft laughter spilling from plush lounges, the low murmur of conversation, the occasional moan slipping past velvet curtains.

But it didn’t feel the same.

She had been here almost every night, distracting herself with fleeting warmth, with lips that weren’t yours, with the burn of whiskey numbing the gnawing in her chest. She convinced herself it was working.

Until now.

Her feet carried her straight to the bar where Babette stood, drying a glass with slow, practiced movements. The moment she saw Sevika approach, something flickered behind her sharp eyes—something knowing. Something unreadable.

Sevika didn’t care to decipher it. She exhaled sharply, leaning one forearm against the counter.

“Is she available tonight?” she asked, the words coming out rougher than she meant.

Babette didn’t answer right away. Instead, she set the glass down and folded the rag over her shoulder. Only then did she meet Sevika’s gaze, her expression unreadable.

“She’s not here,” Babette finally said, voice even.

Sevika’s brow furrowed. “She got a client already?”

“No.” A pause. “She’s been taking time off.”

Something in Sevika’s chest tightened.

“Time off?” She frowned. “Since when?”

“A few days now.”

Sevika’s fingers drummed against the counter, a growing unease curling in her gut. You never took time off. You needed the money, just like everyone else here.

“Why?” she asked.

Babette just looked at her. A slow, knowing look, one that made Sevika shift under the weight of it. And then, to her surprise, Babette let out a dry, humorless chuckle and shook her head.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Funny, you askin’ that,” Babette mused, picking up her rag again, wiping at a spot on the counter that wasn’t even there.

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “Just tell me.”

Babette stopped wiping, meeting her gaze dead-on. The look in her eyes was almost pitying. Almost.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she said, voice blunt.

Sevika stayed silent, waiting.

Babette sighed through her nose before finally giving her the truth—the one Sevika hadn’t let herself consider.

“She got too attached,” Babette said, folding her arms across her chest. “And now she’s trying to wear that off.”

The words hit Sevika like a punch to the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.

Too attached.

Trying to wear that off.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring, unable to process what she had just heard. Because that meant—

That meant you had felt it too.

The thing she had been running from, numbing herself against, drowning in booze and other women just to avoid facing.

You had felt it too.

And instead of dealing with it like she had, you had done the opposite. You had left.

Sevika’s fingers curled into a fist against the counter. The guilt, the frustration, the regret—it all slammed into her at once, a crashing tide she wasn’t prepared for.

Babette watched her, eyes sharp, knowing.

“You asked,” she said simply.

Sevika swallowed, her throat dry. She pushed off the counter, turning toward the door without another word.

She needed air. She needed a drink. She needed—

She didn’t know what she needed.

All she knew was that she should have never asked.

Because now, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Now, she knew the truth.

And there was no running from it.

Sevika stood outside your apartment door, exhaling a slow breath. The hallway smelled of damp wood and old cigarette smoke, the dim lighting flickering overhead. She had stood in front of many doors before—some with intent, some without—but this one felt different. This one made her hesitate.

She had spent days, weeks, running from this, burying herself in distractions. But Babette’s words echoed in her head, stubborn and unrelenting.

“She got too attached.”

Sevika clenched her jaw and lifted her hand, knocking twice.

A long pause.

For a moment, she thought you wouldn’t answer. Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you’d left. Maybe you wouldn’t want to see her at all.

But then, the door creaked open.

And fuck—

You looked wrecked.

Your hair was undone, tangled from nights of restless tossing. The clothes you wore were loose and rumpled, as if they had been thrown on days ago and never changed. And your eyes—puffy, red-rimmed, still glossy with the remains of sleepless nights and silent tears.

Sevika had seen you in every state imaginable—laughing, breathless, flushed from pleasure. But never like this. Never broken.

Her stomach twisted.

For a second, you just stared at her, like you weren’t sure if she was real or just some cruel figment of your exhausted mind. Then, slowly, your expression hardened, and you began to push the door closed.

Sevika’s hand shot out, gripping the edge before it could fully shut. “Wait.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want, Sevika?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet, so unlike the teasing lilt she had grown used to hearing.

She swallowed, forcing herself to meet your gaze. “I just need to talk.”

A humorless chuckle escaped you, void of warmth. “Talk?” you repeated. “Like how you suddenly stopped coming to me? Like how you’ve been fucking around with everyone else?”

Sevika flinched at the bitterness in your voice. She had earned that.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to close the door again. “No. I can’t do this, Sevika. Just—just leave.”

Panic shot through her.

Her hand pressed harder against the door, a crack of desperation in her tone. “Please.”

You froze.

Sevika never begged. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

But she wasn’t too proud to now.

“Please,” she repeated, softer this time. “Just let me explain.”

Your fingers trembled slightly where they gripped the doorframe. You didn’t move for a long moment, weighing your choices, weighing her.

Then, with a quiet exhale, you stepped aside.

Sevika took a slow breath and walked in.

She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know if she even could.

But she hoped that she could at least try to.

The silence stretched between you as you both settled into the living room. You sat on the couch, curling your legs under yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your torso like you were trying to hold yourself together. Sevika hesitated before lowering herself into the chair across from you, elbows resting on her knees.

For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at you, at the exhaustion on your face, at the way your fingers picked idly at the hem of your sleeve, at the hurt she had put there.

She exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down her face before finally speaking.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she muttered, voice rough, tired. “That—that was never my intent.”

You scoffed quietly, shaking your head. “Really?”

Sevika winced but didn’t argue.

She let out another breath, staring at her hands as she tried to put words to the mess in her head. “I—this isn’t something I know how to do,” she admitted. “Feelings, love—any of that shit. It’s never been something I was meant for. The things I’ve done, the life I live… it doesn’t make me the kind of person who gets this. Who deserves it.”

Your brow furrowed, but you stayed quiet.

Sevika clenched her jaw. “I was scared,” she admitted, the words almost foreign on her tongue. “Scared of what it meant. Scared of how easy it was with you. How much I wanted it to be real.”

She finally looked up, and the weight of her gaze settled heavy between you.

“I thought if I put distance between us, it’d go away. That I could just bury it, move on.” A humorless chuckle left her. “Guess I fucked that up too, huh?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly on the couch. “You could’ve just talked to me,” you murmured, voice quieter now, the sharp edges dulling.

Sevika nodded, dragging a hand down her face. “Yeah. I should’ve. But I was so caught up in running from it, I didn’t stop to think about what it was doing to you.” She let out a slow breath. “I didn’t realize—”

She stopped herself short, like saying it out loud would make it too real.

But then, she forced herself to look at you again.

“You liked me back.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, looking away, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting.

“Of course I did,” you muttered, voice thick. “I still do.”

Sevika’s chest tightened.

She had spent weeks drowning herself in anything that could distract her—other women, alcohol, fights that left her knuckles bruised—anything to push away the feeling she didn’t want to face.

But now, sitting here, watching you—

She realized she had made a mistake.

A huge one.

Sevika took a deep breath, steadying herself before she stood, crossing the short distance between you. Her movements were slow, hesitant, like she thought you might flinch away. And at first, you nearly did—your body tensed, your fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves as she approached.

But she didn’t force anything.

Instead, she reached out, calloused fingers brushing against your jaw before cupping your face with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. Her thumb traced over your cheek, hesitant, almost reverent.

“Let me fix this,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering up to hers, searching.

“Let me love you back.”

Her words cracked something open in you, something raw and aching. The weeks of confusion, of longing, of heartache—all of it threatened to overwhelm you. You could see the desperation in her eyes, the regret, the unspoken plea for another chance.

Slowly, your body relaxed.

Your hands moved on their own, fingers brushing over the cool metal of her prosthetic before gripping the front of her vest, pulling her closer.

Sevika exhaled shakily, her forehead resting against yours for a moment before she tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the ones before.

It wasn’t rushed or hungry.

It was soft. Careful. Like she was afraid you might shatter beneath her touch.

You melted into it, arms looping around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer. The kiss deepened, her other hand splaying against your back, holding you as if you might slip away if she let go.

When she finally pulled back, her lips hovered just over yours, breaths mingling.

“I won’t run again,” she promised, voice rough with emotion. “Not from you.”

You searched her face, the sincerity in her expression, before nodding slightly.

“Then don’t.”

And when she kissed you again, you knew—this time, she wouldn’t.

A/N: Kinda noticed the amount of repeating phrases in this but I didn’t proofread and wrote it when I was sick so ignore that and hope you enjoyed it (and again, sorry for being gone for so long)!