Multi-Fanfic Writer!

The first thing I learned after the world ended was how to survive. The second thing I learned was that surviving didn’t magically erase what had hurt before. Walkers didn’t care who you loved. They didn’t care who you wanted to spend your life with. They didn’t care whether you wanted a relationship at all. They didn’t care whether you wanted a relationship at all. But people… People still did. Or at least, the ghosts of them did. 

I’ve been with the group for almost eight months. Long enough that Morgan trusted me to go on supply runs with Alicia. Long enough that June stopped asking if I was sleeping okay after every nightmare. Long enough that I didn’t feel like an outsider anymore. Most days, it felt… normal. Well, as normal as life during the apocalypse could be. 

We were camped outside an abandoned ranger station for the night. The fire crackled softly while Maddison stirred something that vaguely resembled stew. Morgan and Dwight were discussing tomorrow’s route. Nick was sharpening his knife. June was reorganizing medical supplies for what had to be the hundredth time. Alicia sat beside me on one of the fallen logs, quietly cleaning her rifle. Nobody was talking to me. Nobody expected me to entertain them. Nobody expected anything, really. That should’ve made me feel comfortable. Instead… it made me nervous, because every time people got close enough to know me… Eventually, they found out. And eventually, they look at me differently. Even if they didn’t mean to, they always did. I stared into the fire, barely listening to the conversation around me. 

“You okay?” 

I looked over. Alicia had set her rifle aside, she was watching me carefully. 

“Hmm?” 

“You’ve been staring at the fire for like ten minutes.” 

“I have not.” 

“You totally were.” 

“I was thinking.” 

“You were brooding.” 

“I don’t brood!” 

She raised an eyebrow. “I have literally seen you brood.” 

“I contemplate.” 

She laughed. “They’re the same thing.” 

“They’re not.” 

“They kind of are.” 

I rolled my eyes. “They’re definitely not.” 

She bumped my shoulder lightly. “Whatever helps you sleep.” 

I smiled despite myself. That was becoming a problem. Not the smiling, but feeling… safe. I’ve spent so many years leaning to keep parts of myself locked away that being accepted by this group almost felt suspicious. Like eventually they’ll realize I wasn’t worth keeping around. Like eventually I’d say the wrong thing. Like eventually… they’ll find out. 

The next morning, Alicia and I volunteered to check a small grocery store a few miles down the road. Most of the shelves had already been picked clean years ago. We still managed to find a few cans tucked behind fallen displays. 

“Jackpot!” Alicia said, holding up three cans of soup. I found a dusty box of crackers that hadn’t expired before everything fell apart. 

“I think these are edible.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

“You afraid?” 

“I’ve eaten Strand’s cooking.” 

“...Fair.” 

We both laughed. The sound echoed strangely through the empty building. It had become easy to laugh with Alicia; she was like the sister I never had. She was easy to talk to, to exist with… too easy. 

“You know…” She said after a minute. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t actually know much about your life before.” 

I froze. She noticed immediately. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” 

“No.” I forced myself to keep searching. “It’s okay.” 

She didn’t push. That was one of the things I appreciated most about her. She never forced conversations. She just… left the door open. 

“My parents weren’t great.” 

She looked over but stayed quiet. 

“They’re dead.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

I shrugged. “It happened early.” 

Another pause. 

“They weren’t exactly…” I searched for the word. “...Supportive.” 

“About?” 

“Um… I’m aromantic… and asexual.” 

The words hung between us. I couldn’t read her expression. She wasn’t frowning. She wasn’t smiling. She was just… listening. 

“I never really told my parents.” I laughed bitterly. “They would’ve hated it. My dad always talked about how LGBTQ+ people were ruining everything. My mom kept saying I’d change my mind. So…” 

I shrugged weakly. “I lied. I pretended to have celebrity crushes. I made up people I liked. I even let my friends try setting me up because it was easier than explaining why I never wanted to date.”

The memories made my chest ache. “I spent years pretending. So much pretending that…” 

I looked away. “I don’t even know when I stopped pretending for other people and started pretending for myself. I kept thinking maybe everyone was right. Maybe one day I’d wake up and suddenly want all those things…. But it never happened.” 

A tear slipped down my cheek before I realized I was crying. 

“I felt guilty… Guilty because my parent swanted grandkids. Because they wanted this future for me. Because I couldn’t give it to them…” 

I wiped my face quickly. 

“It sounds stupid.” 

“It doesn’t.” 

I looked at Alicia. 

“It really doesn’t.” 

I laughed once. “It does. The world literally ended, and somehow… I still worry about disappointing people who have been dead for years… I know they’re gone, but every time I think about actually saying who I am… I still hear them.” 

I stared at the ground. “I’ve never actually told anyone before.” 

“You…” I laughed weakly. “Congratulations, you’re the first person who’s ever met the real me.” 

Silence. Long enough that my stomach twisted. Long enough that regret started creeping in. Maybe this had been a mistake… Maybe… 

A warm hand rested gently over mine. I looked up, and Alicia was smiling. Not a forced smile, or an awkward one, just… Alicia. 

“You know what my first thought was?” 

I blinked. “What?” 

“I’m really glad you trusted me enough to tell me.” 

I stared. “That’s it?” 

She looked confused. “What do you mean?” 

“I just told you I’m aroace.” 

“Yeah?”

“And?” 

“And… thank you for trusting me.” 

I frowned. “You’re not…” 

“Not what?” 

“Confused?” 

“I know what aromantic and asexual mean.” 

“No, I mean…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. She understood anyway. 

“You thought I’d look at you differently?” 

I nodded. 

She squeezed my hand. “Y/N.” 

Her voice was gentle. “You don’t have to hide with me.” 

The words hit harder than I expected. 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re interested in dating. You don’t have to fake crushes. You don’t have to laugh along when people assume you’ll settle down with someone someday.” 

She smiled. “You don’t have to be anyone except yourself.” 

My vision blurred again. “I’ve spent so long pretending.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t really know how to stop.” 

“You already started.” 

I looked at her. 

“You told me.” She smiled. “That’s a pretty big first step.” 

I laughed through the tears. “I was honestly expecting this to be awkward.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it always was in my head.” 

She shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything awkward about someone telling me who they are.” 

She nudged my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, you know what I see when I look at you?” 

I shook my head. “I see the person who insists on carrying twice as much firewood as everyone else.” 

I snorted. 

“I see the person who somehow finds books in places that shouldn’t have books.” 

I smiled. 

“I see someone who makes Morgan laugh. Someone June trusts. Someone Al trusts to watch her back. I see my sibling.” 

She shrugged. “The fact that you’re aromantic and asexual doesn’t erase any of that. It just means I know you a little better now.” 

I laughed quietly. “That’s… really anticlimactic.” 

She grinned. “Were you expecting a dramatic speech?” 

“A little.” 

She pretended to think. “Okay.” 

She cleared her throat dramatically. “Hear ye, hear ye! Y/N had informed me they are aroace, and literally nothing about our relationship has changed!” 

I burst into laughter. The kind that made my stomach hurt. 

“There!” She smiled proudly. “Dramatic speech accomplished.” 

I wiped tears from my eyes. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

I didn’t, not even a little. For the first time since I figured out who I was years before the world ended, I realized something. Acceptance wasn’t supposed to feel like fireworks. It wasn’t supposed to be some huge, life-changing speech. Sometimes acceptance was just someone looking at you after you shared the part of yourself you’ve hidden for years, and treating you exactly the same as they had five minutes earlier.

The key turning in the lock was the best sound I’ve heard all day. I set down the file I’ve been reviewing, cold case notes from the BAU archives that Penelope had digitized, and pushed myself up from the couch. My bare feet made soft sounds on the hardwood as I crossed the living room. Outside, the November rain streaked the windows in silver lines, but inside, the apartment was warm. Golden light pooled from the reading lamp I left on. The air smelled like the chili I made for dinner and the vanilla candle I lit afterward. 

The door swung open. Spencer stood there, rain dripping off his hair and his clothes slightly rumpled, his messenger bag slung low on one shoulder. His hair was wet at the temples. His tie was loosened to the third button. The sight of him, tall, lean, and those dark eyes finding me immediately, sent a familiar flutter through my chest. A year of him coming home to me and still, that flutter. 

“Hey,” I started, my lips curving. “How was-” 

He dropped his bag. It hit the floor with a thud that cut off my sentence. Before I could process the movement, he was on me. Long fingers cupping my jaw, tilting my face up, his mouth pressing against mine with an urgency that stole my breath. This wasn’t a hello kiss, or a welcome-home kiss, this was a need kiss. 

His lips parted mine, tongue sliding against my tongue, and the sound he made, low, throaty, and almost desperate, vibrated through my whole body. His other hand found the small of my back and pulled me flush against him. The wool of his blazer was damp. Beneath it, I could feel the heat of his chest, the rapid thump of his heartbeat. 

“What’s gotten into you?” I managed, the words half lost against his mouth. His response came between kisses, each word punctuated by his lips trailing to the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive spot just below my ear. 

“I need you.” Two syllables, spoken like a confession. 

“Rough case?” I breathed. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. Raindrops clung to his lashes. His pupils were blown wide, the deep brown nearly eclipsed by black. 

“I don’t want to talk about the case.” 

Something flickered in his expression, something I couldn’t name. Then his mouth was on mine again, and I let the question go. We moved together in a clumsy, choreographed way of two people who’ve done this enough times to know the path by heart. His blazer hit the floor somewhere between the living room and the hallway. My fingers worked the buttons of his shirt while his hands slid under my sweater, palms warm and slightly rough from the cold outside. I registered the sensation in fragments, the cool metal of his belt buckle against my stomach, the way his breath hitched when I nipped at his lower lip, the soft thud of my back meeting the bedroom doorframe. 

We tumbled through the doorway. The bed caught us. His weight settled over me, familiar and anchoring, and for a moment, he just looked down at me. His hair fell forward, curtaining us both. In the dim light from the hallway, his face was all shadows and sharp angles. 

“Y/N…” He said. My name, just my name, but something in his voice made my throat tighten. 

“I’m here.” I whispered. “I’m right here.” 

He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper. His hand traced the curve of my hip, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of my leggings. I lifted my hips to help him, and the fabric slid away with a whisper. His shirt followed, then mine, then the rest. A trail of clothing left in the dark, leading from door to bed. Skin against skin. His chest pressed to mine, the sparse hair rough against my breast. 

His mouth left a hot trail down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. When his tongue circled my nipple, my back arched off the mattress. He spent time there, Spencer spent time there, cataloging my responses like he was memorizing data. The sharp inhale when he used teeth. The moan when he soothed the sting with his tongue. The way my fingers twisted in his hair and pulled. 

“Please…” I heard myself say. 

He shifted above me. One hand braced beside my shoulder, the other guided himself, and then… A sharp gasp. The slow, stretching fullness of him. He paused there, buried deep, his forehead dropping to mine. His eyes were squeezed shut. His breath came in short, uneven pulses against my lips. 

“Okay?” He asked. 

“Yes.” My voice was barely a whisper. 

He moved. Slow at first, almost reverent. Each thrust deliberate, deep, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. My legs wrapped around my waist. My nails traced lines down his back. The rain had picked up outside, drumming against the window in a steady rhythm that matched the movement of our bodies. This was the Spencer I knew. Attentive, present, the lover who watched my face with those impossibly dark eyes, cataloging every flinch of pleasure, adjusting his angle when my breath caught, murmuring my name against my skin like a prayer. 

“Y/N…” He breathed. “Y/N-” 

His rhythm stuttered. His eyes squeezed tighter. His jaw clenched. I could feel the tension coiling through his body. The rigid line of his shoulders, the way his fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave marks. He was close. I knew the signs. The way his breathing turned ragged. The way his pace quickened, deeper, more urgent. I was right there with him. That bright, building pressure behind my navel. The way the world narrowed to just this, his body, my body, the slick heat between us. My head pressed back into the pillow. My mouth opened on a sound that might have been his name. 

“Maeve.” 

The name left his lips like a breath. Soft. Unconscious. My eyes flew open. He didn’t notice. His face was buried in the curve of my neck, his hips still moving, his body still chasing its release. I felt him shudder. Felt the warmth of him spill inside me. Felt the way he sagged against me after, spent and trembling. 

Maeve

The name echoed in my skull. I stared at the ceiling. At the way the shadows from the rain-streaked window moved across the plaster. I stared at anything that wasn’t him. My body was still humming with unfinished pleasure, but it felt distant now. Like a radio playing in another room. 

Spencer’s breathing slowed. His weight settled more heavily on top of me. After a long moment, he pulled out gently and rolled to his side, one arm still draped across my waist. He nuzzled into my shoulder. 

“That was…” He let out a breath. “I needed that.” 

I didn’t answer. The silence stretched. Ten seconds. Twenty. 

“Y/N?” His voice was sleepy now, content. “You okay?” 

I made myself breathe. Made myself blink. Made my lips curve into something that might pass for a smile if he wasn’t looking too closely, and he wasn’t. His eyes were already half closed, his body already sinking into that post-orgasmic haze. 

“Yeah.” I said. The word came out steady. Steadier than I felt. 

“Fine.” 

His arm tightened around my waist. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. 

“Love you.” 

The words that I wanted to say lodged in my throat. I lay there for another minute. Maybe two. His breathing evened out, deepening toward sleep. His hand relaxed against my stomach. The rain kept falling. The vanilla candle had burned out.

Then I moved. I slid out from under his arm carefully, slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The air was cool against my bare skin. I could feel the mess between my thighs, evidence of what we’d just done. His release. Our last few moments together before everything tilted sideways. 

“Where are you going?” His voice was still sleepy, but there was a thread of slertness in it now. I didn’t turn around. 

“Just going to shower.” I said. “You know, clean up before bed.” 

“Don’t you want to cuddle first?” The question was so innocent, so him, my chest ached. 

“Of course.” I said, and I was proud of how normal my voice sounded. 

“But I also have to pee, so might as well just go shower too. We’ll cuddle after.” 

A pause. 

“Okay.” He yawned. “Hurry back.” 

I didn’t answer. My feet carried me across the bedroom, into the hallway, past the trail of discarded clothes. I didn’t pick them up. I didn’t look back. The bathroom door clicked shut behind me, and I stood there in the dark, naked and shaking, staring at my own reflection in the mirror above the sink. 

Maeve. 

His dead ex-girlfriend’s name. Spoken in our bed. While he was inside me. I pressed my palm flat against the cold porcelain of the sink. Breathed in. Breathed out. The shower would cover the sound if I cried. 

The shower ran for nearly forty minutes, not because I needed that long, but because I couldn’t bring myself to walk back into the bedroom. The water pounded against my shoulders, hot enough to turn my skin pink, and still I felt cold. 

Maeve.

The name replayed over and over. I know he loves me. I know that. A year together wasn’t nothing. Spencer wasn’t the type of person who stayed in a relationship halfway. He loves completely or not at all. But Maeve had been different. Maeve had been the great tragedy of his life. The woman he loved and lost. The woman who died in front of him. The woman whose name had fallen from his lips when he’d been at his most vulnerable. Most honest. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it meant everything… 

*Spencer’s POV*

I noticed something was wrong three days later. Y/N wasn’t avoiding me persay. She still kissed me goodbye. Still sat next to me if we were on a case. Still watched documentaries with me after work. Still fell asleep beside me every night. But there was distance now… Tiny things. The kind profilers noticed. The kind I definitely noticed. She stopped reaching for my hand automatically. Stopped resting her head on my shoulder while reading. Stopped stealing my sweaters. When I kissed her, she kissed me back. But sometimes she pulled away first. Sometimes she smiled without it reaching her eyes. And every single time, I noticed. 

“Are you okay?” I asked while we were washing dishes after dinner. 

She looked up from the sink. “Hmm?” 

“You seem…” I hesitated. “Distant.” 

She forced a laugh. “Distant?” 

“A little.” I studied her carefully. The same way I studied crime scenes, witnesses, and Unsubs. Looking for details everyone else missed. 

“Did something happen?” 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Spence.” 

She dried her hands. “I’m fine.” 

I didn’t believe her. 

A week later things hadn’t improved. If anything, they’d gotten worse. Not dramatically, just enough. Enough that I found myself staring at her across the conference table. Enough that I caught myself wondering whether she’s fallen out of love with me. Enough that I started replaying every conversation we’ve had over the last month, looking for something I missed. Something I’ve done. Some mistake. But I couldn’t find one… and that bothered me, because there was always a reason. People didn’t change behavior patterns without a catalyst, not usually. And Y/N was one of the most predictable people I’ve ever met. Not boring predictable, but consistent predictable. The kind of consistency I trusted. Which meant something had changed. I just didn’t know what. 

Three days later the team noticed. Profilers, worst possible coworkers to have relationship problems around. I was sitting at his desk pretending to read a file when Morgan appeared beside me. 

“You’re staring at the same page.” 

“I’m reading.” 

“No, you’re thinking.” 

I sighed. Morgan smriked. 

“Relationship trouble?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “That’s not at no.” 

Before I could answer, two more figures appeared. Emily and JJ, and neither looked subtle. Which was usually a bad sign. 

“What’s up with you two?” Emily asked immediately. 

I blinked. “What?” 

“You and Y/N.” 

JJ leaned against a nearby desk. “Something’s off.” 

I groaned. “Seriously?”

“You know we profile people for a living, right?” Emily asked. 

“You’re both acting weird.” 

“We’re not acting weird.” 

All three of them just stared at me. I lasted approximately four seconds, then sighed. 

“Okay, maybe she’s been a little distant lately.” 

“Aha.” Morgan said. 

“I knew it.” 

I rubbed my forehead. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“It sounds like a big deal.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“Spence.” 

I looked up. JJ’s expression softened. “Have you talked to her?” 

“Multiple times.” 

“And?” 

“Every time I ask, she says everything’s fine.” 

Emily snorted. “The classic answer.” 

“But she’s clearly lying.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. 

“Clearly?” Morgan asked. 

“Her behavior patterns changed.” I sat back in my chair. “Less physical contact.” 

Emily immediately winced. “Oh.” 

“Not like that.” 

“Still.” 

“Less eye contact, less spontaneous affection, increased emotional withdrawal.” 

Morgan laughed. “You make it sound like a psychological evaluation.” 

“It is a psychological evaluation.” 

“Of your girlfriend.” 

I frowned. “That’s not the point.” 

JJ smiled sympathetically. “You don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“No.” 

“And that’s driving you crazy.” 

“Yes.”

The answer came instantly, because it was. I hated missing information, especially when it involved someone I love. When it felt like I was watching them slip away one inch at a time. JJ and Emily exchanged another look. One of those silent conversations, women somehow managed without speaking. I never understood how they did that. 

Emily straightened. “I think she’s in Garcia’s office.” 

JJ nodded. “We can talk to her.” 

“What?” 

“You know.” JJ smiled. “Girl-to-girl.” 

Emily grinned. “See if we can figure out what’s going on.” 

I immediately looked skeptical. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why?” 

“Because if she doesn’t want to tell me, why would she tell you?” 

Emily and JJ looked at each other, then back at me. 

“Because we’re women.” Emily said simply. 

“That’s not an explanation.” 

“It is to women.” 

Morgan burst out laughing. JJ shook her head. “Trust us.” 

I looked deeply unconvinced. But before I could argue further, Emily was already walking away. JJ following behind. 

“Hey!” I called. Neither stopped. Morgan clapped a hand on my shoulder. 

“Relax, Pretty Boy.” 

I watched them disappear down the hallway. My stomach twisting. 

“What if she gets mad?” 

Morgan laughed again. “If she gets mad, it’ll probably be at them.” 

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

*Y/N’s POV*

Penelope’s office was my safe place; it always has been. Bright colors, plush toys, the smell of expensive tea and vanilla creamer, music playing softly from one of Garcia’s speakers while she happily organized files only she could somehow understand. Today was no different. 

“...and then I told Kevin that if he touched my limited-edition Doctor Who mug again, I was reporting him to HR.” Garcia declared dramatically, cradling her oversized mug. I laughed, taking another sip of my chamomile tea. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“I absolutely would.” 

“You adore him.” 

“I can adore him and still threaten his existence.” 

Before I could answer, there was a knock on the open door. Emily poked her head inside. 

“There you are.” 

Garcia looked between the two women and grinned. “Oooh, that sounds serious.” 

JJ appeared behind Emily. “It kind of is.” 

My stomach sank. Emily walked inside while JJ closed the distance behind her. Garcia immediately looked at all three of us before slowly setting her mug down. 

“Should I leave?” 

“You can stay.” 

Garcia blinked. “Really?” 

JJ nodded. “It might actually help.” 

Garcia immediately scooted her chair closer to mine. Emily and JJ walked farther into the office. Neither of them sat. Emily folded her arms, JJ leaned casually against Garcia’s desk. The silence stretched just long enough for me to become suspicious. Finally, Emily spoke. 

“Okay, what’s up with you and Reid?” 

I looked between all three women. “What do you mean?” 

Garcia tilted her head. “Oh, sweetheart…” 

JJ gave me a sympathetic smile. “He can tell something’s wrong.” 

“And honestly? So can we.” Emily admitted. 

I frowned. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

Emily just looked at me. It was the exact same expression she gave suspects who insisted they had nothing to hide. 

“Y/N.” 

I sighed. “What?” 

“You’ve been acting different.” 

“I haven’t.” 

Garcia reached over and gently patted my knee. 

“Honey… you don’t have to pretend with us.” 

I looked away. JJ spoke softly. “Spencer’s worried. He says every time he asks what’s wrong, you tell him you’re fine.” 

Emily nods. “But he knows you’re lying.” 

The guilt hit immediately. I stared down into my mug. “He said that?” 

JJ nodded. “He doesn’t know what he did.” 

The words settled heavily in my chest. Emily waited another moment before speaking again. 

“So…” She softened her voice. “Talk to us.” 

I stayed quiet. My fingers traced the warm ceramic of my mug. I could feel all three of them waiting. Finally, I sighed. 

“Okay…but close the door.” 

JJ walked over and closed the door, locking it. 

I took a deep breath. “So…” 

I rubbed my forehead. “About two weeks ago…” 

The memory made my stomach twist. “Spencer came home really late.” 

Emily nodded once. 

“He was… needy.” 

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she stayed silent. 

“He kissed me deeply and we ended up having some… adult time.” 

Emily gave a tiny nod. JJ remained quiet, no judgment, just listening. I swallowed. 

“As he was…” I couldn’t finish the sentence at first. Garcia reached over and squeezed my hand. 

“It’s okay.” 

I nodded once. “As he was finishing…” My voice became barely audible. 

“He moaned someone else’s name.” 

Three pairs of eyes widened. Emily’s expression immediately became serious. JJ frowned. Garcia looked confused. 

“...Whoes?” 

I closed my eyes for a second. “...Maeve’s.” 

Silence. Utter silence. Garcia’s mouth actually fell open. Emily blinked twice. JJ looked like she had stopped breathing. Finally, Garcia whispered. 

“...Oh.” 

I nodded without looking up. “He didn’t even realize. He never reacted. He never corrected himself. He just…” 

I swallowed hard. “...kept going.” 

My throat tightened. “And afterward he told me he loves me.” 

The words hurt even saying them. “I don’t think he even remembers saying it.” 

Emily slowly sat down. JJ rubbed a hand across her forehead. Garcia still hadn’t let go of my hand. 

“I heard it.” I laughed weakly. 

“There wasn’t any mistaking it.” I looked down into my untouched tea. 

“I know he loved her. I know she was his first love. I know she died. I know the anniversary of her death had just happened, so logically…” I shrugged helplessly. 

“...I understand why she’d been on his mind.” 

Garcia’s eyes filled with tears. “But emotionally?” 

I finally looked at them. “I can’t stop hearing it.” 

My voice cracked. “He said her name while he was inside me…” 

The room feel silent again. “I’ve tried convincing myself it doesn’t mean anything.” 

I laughed bitterly. “But every time he kisses me…” 

Every word became harder. “...I hear it again.” 

Garcia’s free hand immediately came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, honey…” 

Emily’s expression softened completely. “And you haven’t told him?” 

I shook my head. “How could I? What am I supposed to say? Hey, remember two weeks ago when you accidentlly called me by your dead girlfriend’s name during sex? I can’t do that.” 

JJ frowned gently. “So instead you’ve been carrying this around by yourself?” 

“I didn’t want to hurt him.” 

Garcia immediately shook her head. “My sweet girl…” 

Her thumb rubbed comforting circles across the back of my head. “You’re protecting him so much that you’re breaking your own heart.” 

That was enough. My eyes burned. I blinked rapidly, refusing to cry. 

“I love him.” 

“I know you do.” Garcia whispered. 

“So much…” 

Emily leaned forward. “Y/N…” 

I looked up. “I’ve known Spencer for years.” 

“So have I.” JJ added. 

Emily continued. “I’ve seen how he loved Maeve, and I’ve seen how he loves you. They’re different. Not because one matters more than the other, but because grief and love aren’t opposites. They exist together.” 

JJ nodded. “And if Spence knew he hurt you like this, he’d be devastated.” 

Garcia agreed immediately. “He would never, ever intentionally make you feel like you were second to anyone.” 

I looked between the three of them. “But…” 

The question I’ve been avoiding finally came out. “What if he meant it?” 

None of them answered immediately. 

Finally, Emily spoke. “I don’t think he did.” 

“Neither do I.” JJ said quietly. 

Garcia squeezed my hand again. “And I would bet every colorful mug in this office that if you ask Spencer what happened that night…” 

She smiled sadly. “...he won’t even remember saying it.” 

I looked down again. “I just don’t know if I’ve ready to hear the answer…” 

*Spencer’s POV*

This was the longest fifteen minutes of my life. Morgan had gone back to pretending to work, though every few minutes I’d catch him glancing in my direction with a grin that made it obvious he knew I wasn’t reading a single word on the file in front of me. I looked toward Garcia’s office for what had to be the twentieth time. 

“They’re still talking.” I muttered. 

Morgan didn’t even look up. “Uh-huh.” 

“What if she’s upset that they asked.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“What if she thinks I sent them?” 

Uh-huh.” 

I sighed. “Morgan, are you even listening?” 

“Nope.” 

He finally looked over. “But I know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“Overthinking.” 

“I am no.” 

“You’ve looked toward Garcia’s office every thirty seconds for the last fifteen minutes.” 

“...It wasn’t every thirty seconds…” 

Morgan smirked. “Forty?” 

I frowned. “It varied.” 

“That’s the Reid I know.” 

Before I could respond, Emily and JJ were walking back into the bullpen. Neither of them looked amused anymore. My stomach dropped. They walked toward us without saying a word. Morgan noticed their expressions immediately. His smile faded. 

“...Okay.” He straightened in his chair. “Maybe this is serious.” 

They stopped beside my desk. I stood automatically. 

“So?” My voice came out much more anxious than I intended. 

“Did she say anything?” 

JJ looked at Emily. Emily looked back at JJ. Then JJ looked at me. 

“Spence…” Her vice was gentle. “Maybe sit down.” 

Every muscle in my body went cold. “What?” 

“Just…” She gestured toward my chair. “Please.” 

I sat, slowly. Morgan looked between all three of us. He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“It’s bad, huh?” 

Emily shot him a warning look. “Derek.” 

“What?” 

“Not helping.” 

I looked from one face to another. No one was smiling. No one looked relieved. My heartbeat sped up. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Neither woman answered immediately. JJ took a slow breath. 

“Spence…” She chose her words carefully. “Do you remember about two weeks ago…” 

I frowned. 

“When you and Y/N had some…” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “...you time?” 

Heat immediately rushed into my face. “Oh.” 

Morgan’s grin returned instantly. “My man!” 

I buried my face in one hand. Emily gave him another look. He held up both hands. 

“I’m done.” 

I looked back at JJ, confused. “Did I hurt her?” 

JJ shook her head immediately. “No, nothing like that.” 

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’ve been holding. “Then what happened?” 

JJ hesitated. Emily finally stepped in. 

“Reid…” She spoke softly. “Do you remember moaning Maeve’s name?” 

Everything stopped. The bullpen disappeared. The conversation around us faded into background noise. I just… stared. 

“What?” 

Emily’s expression told me everything. It wasn’t a joke. She wasn’t mistaken. My mind immediately flew back two weeks. The rain. Coming home exhausted. The anniversary. Wanting Y/N close because I couldn’t bare being alone with my thoughts. Her smile when she met me at the door. The way she held me. The bedroom. The warmth. THe feeling of finally breathing again after days of feeling like I was drowning. Then… darkness. My eyes squeezed shut. A name. Soft. Barely more than a whisper. Maeve. My eyes snapped opne. The blood drained from my face. 

“Oh…” I whispered. 

Another memory surfaced. Y/N going completely still beneath me. Her silence afterward. The shower. Forty minutes. She hadn’t said “I love you” back that night. My breathing became uneven. 

“Oh my God…” I looked at JJ. Then Emily. Then Morgan. Then back at JJ. 

“...I did…” It wasn’t a question. I stared at my desk. 

“Oh my God…” My voice cracked this time. “I…” 

I couldn’t even finish the sentence. I pressed both hands against my forehead. 

“No…” 

“No, no, no…” 

Morgan’s expression had completely changed. “Pretty Boy…” 

I looked up, horrified. “I didn’t even know. I swear… I didn’t know.” 

JJ crouched beside my chair. “We know.” 

“I would’ve never…” 

“I know.” 

“I love Y/N.” 

“I know.” 

“I would never compare them.” 

“I know.” 

My chest felt tight. “So why would I…” 

The answer came before anyone else could say it. “The anniversary.” 

Emily nodded. “It probably wasn’t conscious.” 

I laughed once. It sounded broken. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Three confused faces looked back at me. 

“It doesn’t matter if it was conscious.” I swallowed hard. “She heard it.” 

The realization hit me with full force. “She had to lie there thinking I was imagining someone else.” I closed my eyes. 

“And then I asked if she was okay…” I felt physically sick. 

“Oh God…” 

Morgan rested a hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t mean it.” 

“I know.” I looked up at him. “But intent doesn’t erase what happened.” 

“She said she didn’t want to hurt you.” Emily’s voice was quiet. 

I let out a shaky breath. “Of course she didn’t.” That sounded exactly like Y/N, putting everyone else before herself. Even when it broke her heart. I stood so abruptly my chair rolled backward. 

“I have to talk to her.” 

JJ gently caught my arm. “You should, but don’t go in there trying to profile her or explain it away.” 

I nodded immediately. “I won’t.” 

“Listen first.” 

“I will.” 

“And Spence…” I looked at her, her expression softened. 

“She’s not angry, she’s hurt.” 

The distinction hit me like another punch to the chest, because anger faded, but hurt lingered. And for the first time in two weeks, I finally understood exactly why the woman I love looked at me differently every time I kissed her. 

I don’t remember walking to Garcia’s office. One second I was standing beside my desk, the next, I was half way down the hallway, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. She’s been carrying this for two weeks because of me… because I hurt her so badly she started questioning everything between us. 

I reached Garcia’s door and froze. THe laughter that usually spilled out into the hallway was gone. Instead, I could hear quiet voices. I lifted my hand and knocked softly. Garcia opened the door and for a second, no one moved. Y/N looked… tired. Not physically, but emotionally, like she spent two weeks carrying something far heavier than anyone should have to. My chest tightened. Garcia was the first to speak. 

“Hi, Boy Wonder.” 

I swallowed. “Garcia…” My voice came out rough. 

“Could…” I looked at Y/N before looking back at Garcia. 

“...could I have a minute alone with Y/N?” 

Garcia didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at Y/N. Y/N held her gaze for a few long seconds. Then, after a small breath, she nodded. Garcia stood slowly. She leaned down and kissed the top of Y/N’s head. 

“You yell if he says anything stupid.” Normally I would’ve smiled. Today, I couldn’t. She squeezed my shoulder as she walked past. The soft click echoed through the room. Silence. Y/N looked down at her mug sitting in her hands. I stayed by the door for a moment. Unsure if I deserved to come any closer. 

“...Can I sit?” She gave a tiny nod without looking up. I pulled a chair over, leaving enough space that she wouldn’t feel cornered. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Finally… 

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out broken. Y/N’s fingers tightened around her mug. 

“I didn’t know.” I shook my head immediately. “I swear to you…” 

My throat tightened. “I didn’t know I said it.” 

She finally looked at me. There were tears in her eyes she hadn’t let fall. “I believe you.” 

That somehow made me feel even worse. “I’ve been replaying that night since Emily told me.” 

I laughed bitterly. “I remembered everything the second she said Maeve’s name.” 

I looked down at my hands. “I remember you going quiet. You taking that really long shower. You not saying ‘I love you’ back…” I closed my eyes. 

“And I didn’t understand any of it.” 

Silence. 

When I looked back up, she was watching me. “I am so, so sorry.” 

I shook my head. “I can’t even explain how sorry I am.” 

She stayed quiet. 

“I would never…” My voice cracked. 

“I would never compare you to Maeve… I know she was important to me. She always will be…” I swallowed hard. 

“But that doesn’t mean I love you any less. It doesn’t mean I was thinking about her instead of you.” I leaned forward slightly. 

“Y/N… I came home that night needing you. Just you. I needed your hug, your smile, the way you make me feel safe, the way you make our apartment feel like home.” My eyes burned. 

“I wanted you.” 

“Not a memory. Not a ghost. You.” 

She looked away. “Then why?” 

The question was barely above a whisper. I took a shaky breath. 

“I think…” I chose my words carefully. “I think I spent that entire week trying not to think about the anniversary. I buried myself in work. I kept pretending I was okay. I never actually… dealt with it.” 

She listened quietly. 

“And then I came home. I finally let myself feel something. You were holding me. You made me feel safe enough to stop holding everything together.” I looked down. 

“I didn’t remember saying her name. I didn’t remember even thinking about her. But grief…” I shook my head. 

“It just… appears.” 

Another long silence. 

“I know that’s not an excuse.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“It doesn’t erase what happened. I know hearing that…” My voice broke completely. 

“...must’ve been devastating.” 

Y/N finally spoke. 

“I thought…” She stopped. I waited. 

“I thought maybe…” Her eyes filled again. 

“...for a second…” 

“...you wished I was her.” 

The sentence shattered something inside me. “What?” 

She looked embarrassed she admitted it. “I know it sounds irrational.” 

“It doesn’t. It makes perfect sense.” I answered so quickly she looked surprised. 

“If I heard you say another man’s name…” I swallowed. 

“I would’ve been destroyed.” 

She stared at me. 

“I would’ve questioned everything. I would’ve done exactly what you did.” 

A tear finally escaped down her cheek. “I didn’t want to tell you.” 

“I know.” 

“I just…” She laughed weakly. “I kept hearing it.” 

“Every time you kissed me… I heard it again.” 

Without thinking, I reached for her hand. Then stopped halfway. 

“May I?” She looked at my hand for several seconds. Then slowly placed hers into it. I held it carefully, like something precious. 

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered. 

“I know saying that doesn’t agically fix this. I know I can’t take it back. If I could erase that moment for you… I would, in a heartbeat.” 

She sqeezed my hand just a little. 

“I love you.” The words came out quietly. “So much.” 

I felt my own eyes sting. “I love you too. There has never been a moment, not one, where I wished you were someone else.” 

I lifted our joined hands slightly. “I don’t love you because you’re replacing Maeve. I love you because you’re Y/N. The woman who challenges me. The woman who beats me at chess half the time.” 

She sniffled. “It’s more than half.” 

Despite everything, a tiny smile tugged at my lips. “I was trying to protect my ego.” 

A small laugh escaped her. The first real one I’ve heard in two weeks. 

“I know.” 

“I love the woman who drinks tea with Garcia every Thursday. The woman who steals my sweaters and leaves books open all over our apartment.” I squeezed her hand gently. 

“I love you. And I am so incredibly sorry that my grief hurt the person I love most.” 

Y/N wiped her eyes. “I don’t think this is something I’ll get over overnight.” 

“I don’t expect you to.” 

She looked at me carefully. “I just need time.” 

I nodded immediately. “You can have all the time you need. I’ll earn your trust back however long it takes.” 

She searched my face over for a long moment before quietly asking. “Can we start with a hug?” 

I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around her gently, carefully, holding her like she might break. She buried her face against my shoulder. I rested my cheek against her hair, and for the first time in two weeks, we weren’t pretending everything was fine. We were finally beginning the much harder work of healing it together. 

The bunker was quiet, which, for the Men of Letters bunker, was weird. Usually, there was something happening, Dean blasting classic rock, Sam researching a case, an argument over whose turn it was to use the T.V., a monster hunt, a near-death experience, Normal Winchester stuff. Tonight, it was quiet, and I hated every second of it. 

I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at my phone. I wasn’t actually looking at anything, though. My thumb kept scrolling through social media without processing any of it. All I could think about was the conversation I was dying to have. A conversation I’ve been trying to have for months. My stomach twisted. Maybe I should wait. Maybe another day. Maybe another week. Maybe never. I groaned and flopped backward onto my mattress. 

“Pathetic.” I muttered to myself. 

Sixteen years old. I’ve fought vampires, helped salt and burn ghosts, patched up Sam and Dean after hunts, literally stared down a werewolf once, but somehow, telling my brothers I was bisexual felt infinitely more terrifying. Which was ridiculous. Logically, I knew it was ridiculous. Sam and Dean weren’t exactly judgmental people. We’ve met angels, demons, witches, prophets, gods, and every other weird thing the universe could throw at us. And yet… Fear wasn’t logical. Fear never was. 

I stared at the ceiling. What if they looked at me differently? What if things changed? What if Dean made it weird? Actually, Dean would definitely make it weird, that wasn’t even a question. I loved my oldest brother, but Dean Winchester’s solution to emotional situations was usually one of three things: 1. Make a joke, 2. Make a worse joke, and 3. Pretend emotions didn’t exist. Sam was better. Sam understood feelings. Dean understood beer and pie. Still, I couldn’t shake the anxiety sitting heavily in my chest. For sixteen years, Sam and Dean had been my entire world. Our parents were gone. Our lives were complicated, messy, and dangerous. But through everything, we’ve had each other. And I couldn’t stand the thought of something changing that. A knock sounded on my door. I jumped. 

“Yeah?” 

The door opened. Sam was standing there, six foot four of giant brother concern. He smiled softly. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“You okay?” 

I immediately rolled my eyes. “Why does everyone ask me that?” 

“Because you spent dinner last night staring into space and almost poured orange juice into your mashed potatoes.” 

I grimaced. “Okay, maybe that happened.” 

Sam leaned against the doorframe. “You wanna talk about it?” 

“Nope.” 

“Okay.” 

“You don’t have to do the Sam thing.” 

“The Sam thing?” 

“The concerned giant thing.” 

He laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re literally doing it right now.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are.” 

Sam smiled. I hated how easy it was for him to read people sometimes. Sometimes I wondered how he managed to survive around Dean for so long. 

“Well,” Sam said gently. “if you change your mind, I’m around.” 

He disappeared back into the hallway. God, why was this so hard? 

Half an hour later, I walked into the kitchen. Dean was standing at the stove, music blasting from a speaker. 

“Hey, squirt.” 

“I’m not a squirt.” 

“You’re short.” 

“And you’re old.” 

Dean pointed a spatula at me. “Careful.” 

“Or what?” 

“I’ll tell embarrassing stories.” 

“You tell embarrassing stories anyway.” 

“Okay, true.” 

Sam looked up from his laptop. “Dean almost set off the smoke alarm.” 

Dean immediately pointed toward him. “Traitor.” 

“You literally burned the first batch.” 

“It was one burger, and I forgot about it.” 

“It was charcoal.” 

Dean gasped dramatically. I laughed despite myself. The tension in my chest eased a little. This was what scared me. Losing this. The easy banter, the comfort, the family I fought so hard to keep. 

Dinner passed normally. Dean complained about research, Sam complained about Dean, Dean complained about Sam complaining, it was familiar. Safe. And every minute that passed made me more certain. I couldn’t keep hiding forever. I was tired. Tired of rehearsing conversations in the mirror. Tired of stopping myself whenever I almost said something. Tired of feeling scared. 

After dinner, Sam stared cleaning up. Dean grabbed a beer. I sat frozen at the table, heart hammering against my chest. Now. Do it now. Before you lose your nerve.

“Hey.” 

Both brothers looked up. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

I immediately forgot how words worked. “Um…” 

Sam’s expression softened. Dean noticed and instantly looked worried. Which somehow made everything worse. 

“What happened?” Dean asked. 

“What?” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re doing the thing.” 

“The thing?” 

“The nervous thing.” 

“I don’t have a nervous thing.” 

“You absolutely have a nervous thing.” 

Sam nodded. “You do. You pick your fingers.” 

I looked down and sure enough he was right. I quickly stopped and put my hands under the table. Dean sat down across from me. 

“Okay.” His voice immediately shifted to serious and protective. 

“What happened?” 

I swallowed. “Nothing happened…” 

“Did somebody hurt you?” 

“No.” 

“Some guy?” 

“No.” 

“Because if it’s some guy-” 

“Dean.” 

“What?” 

I looked at Sam helplessly. Sam sat down beside me. 

“Take your time.” 

That almost broke me. Because that was Sam, always patient, always kind, always making spake for people. I stared down at my hands. I could feel tears threatening to spill, which was annoying. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to be cool. Confident. Normal. Instead, I felt like I might throw up. 

“I…” I started. Then stopped. Dean and Sam waited. Neither interrupting, neither pushing, just waiting. I took a shaky breath. 

“I need to tell you guys something.” 

Immediately both brothers looked alarmed. Dean looked ready to grab a shotgun. Sam looked ready to start a therapy session. 

“Okay.” Same said softly. 

“It’s not bad!” 

Dean frowned. “You sure?” 

“Yeah.” My hands shook. God… Why was this so hard?” 

“It’s just…” I swallowed. 

“I’ve been trying to tell you for months…” 

Sam’s eyes softened. Dean looked confused. I took another breath. Then another. Then finally forced the words out. 

“I’m bisexual.” 

Silence. Complete silence. My heart dropped. Oh God… That was it. I ruined everything. I shouldn’t have- 

Dean blinked. Once. Twice. Then frowned. “That’s it?” 

I stared. “What?” 

Dean looked genuinely confused. “You’re bisexual.” 

“...yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

I waited. Dean waited. Sam waited. Nobody said anything. Finally I threw my hands up. 

“Okay!?” 

Dean jumped. “Yeah?” 

“‘Okay’ is your response?” 

Dean looked at Sam Sam looked back Both appeared equally confused. Dean turned back toward me. 

“Uh… yeah?” 

I stared. “You really don’t care?” 

Dean barked out a laugh. “Kid, you really think we’d care if you’re into girls too?” 

I blinked. The tension I carried for months didn’t disappear, not yet, but it cracked. Just a little. Dean shook his head. 

“You had me thinking somebody seriously hurt you.” 

“Dean.” 

“What?” 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. I couldn’t help but laugh through the tears forming in my eyes. Of course Dean’s response would be that. 

“Dean, maybe don’t phrase it like that.” Sam said. 

“I’m being supportive.” 

“You’re being Dean.” 

“That’s the same thing.” 

“It’s really not.” 

Dean looked offended. I laughed harder. Then I stopped because tears were actually falling now. And once they started, I couldn’t stop them. 

“Oh no.” Dean said immediately. 

“She’s crying now.” 

“Very observant, Dean.” 

Dean pointed at Sam. “Fix it!” 

“Fix it?” 

“You’re the feelings guy.” 

I covered my face, mortified. Sam moved his chair closer. 

“Hey.” 

I shook my head. 

“It’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.” 

“I didn’t wanna cry.” 

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

Dean awkwardly patted my shoulder, like he was handling a bomb. I almost laughed again. Almost. Instead, I wiped my eyes. 

“I was scared.” 

Neither brother spoke. I looked down. 

“I know it sounds stupid…” 

“It doesn’t.” Sam said immediately. 

“I knew you guys probably wouldn’t care but…” I laughed shakily. 

“What if you did?” 

Dean’s face immediately softened. The joking disappeared. 

“What?” 

I shrugged helplessly. “What if things changed?” 

The silence that followed felt different, heavier. Dean leaned back in his chair, looking unexpectedly hurt. 

“Y/N…” 

I looked up. 

“When have we ever stopped loving you for anything?” 

My throat tightened. Dean continued. 

“You could tell me tomorrow you wanna dye your hair purple.” 

Sam snorted. “She already did that.” 

“Exactly.” 

I smiled weakly. A tear slipped down my cheek. Dean’s expression softened further. 

“You know what changes?” 

“What?” 

“Now I have twice as many people to threaten.” 

“Dean!” 

“What? Boys. Girls. Doesn’t matter. Equal opportunity intimidation.” 

Sam groaned. “Oh my God…” 

“I’m progressive.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

I laughed through another tear. Dean looked pleased with himself, mission accomplished. Typical. Sam smiled before turning back toward me. 

“Y/N.” 

I looked at him. 

“Thank you for telling us.” 

Something about his voice made my chest ache, because he understood. He always understood. Sam leaned forward slightly. 

“I know that wasn’t easy.” 

I nodded. “I kept trying.” 

“I know.” 

“No, like…” I laughed shakily. 

“I literally practiced speeches.” 

Dean immediately perked up. 

“Wait, you had speeches?” 

“No…” 

“You absolutely had speeches.” 

I groaned. Sam laughed. Dean pointed dramatically. 

“I wanna hear the speeches.” 

“You are never hearing the speeches.” 

“They were definitely terrible.” 

“They were not!” 

“They were.” 

“They weren’t!” 

Dean grinned. “Terrible.” 

I threw a napkin at him. He caught it, still grinning. For a moment everything felt normal again. Safe. Then my smile faded. 

“I just…” I looked down. “I didn’t want you guys to think differently about me.” 

The room went quiet. Dean stood, walked around the table, then crouched beside my chair. It wasn’t something he did often. Dean wasn’t usually the emotional one. But when it mattered, when it really mattered… he showed up. Every time. He looked me directly in the eye. 

“Listen to me.” 

I swallowed. Dean’s voice was gentle. 

“Nothing changes.” 

My throat tightened. “Nothing?” 

“Not a damn thing.” 

Dean poked my forehead. “You’re still a pain in my ass.” 

“Dean.” 

“You’ll still steal my food.” 

“I do not!” 

“You absolutely do.” Sam said. 

“Traitor.” 

Dean ignored me. “You’re still our little sister.” 

My eyes burned. 

“And we’re still gonna love you.” 

The words hit harder than I expected, because a part of me had spent months preparing for every possible reaction. Anger. Confusion. Disappointment. Distance. I prepared for everything except unconditional acceptance. Dean smiled softly. 

“You got that?” 

I nodded, tears slipping free again. 

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” 

“And for the record?” 

“What?” 

“Your taste in women is probably still better than Sammy’s.” 

“Dean!” 

“What?” 

Sam looked horrified. I burst out laughing again. 

Later that night, after Dean finally wandered off toward his room, I found myself sitting in the library with Sam. The bunker was quieter now, comfortable. I sat curled into one of the oversized chairs. Sam sat across from me with a book he wasn’t actually reading. He glanced up. 

“You feeling better?” 

I nodded. “Yeah.” 

A pause. 

“Mostly.” 

Sam closed the book. “Mostly?” 

I hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

Sam waited. I stared at the table. “I think I built it up so much in my head.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I kept imagining worst-case scenarios.” 

Sam smiled sadly. “We’re good at that.” 

I laughed. “Guess I learned from the best.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

Silence settled. Not awkward, just comfortable. I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. 

“You really don’t think differently about me?” 

Sam’s expression immediately softened. “Y/N.” 

“I know, I know.” 

He shook his head. “No.” 

The answer came instantly. “No.” 

Emotion tightened in my chest again. Sam leaned back. 

“You know what I see when I look at you?” 

“What?” 

“My little sister.” 

I smiled weakly. 

“I see the kid who used to steal Dean’s leather jacket because she thought it made her look cool.” 

“It did make me look cool.” 

“It absolutely did not.” 

“Rude.” 

“I see the kid who used to hide in my bed during thunderstorms.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I was six.” 

“You still hate thunder.” 

“...maybe.” 

Sam smiled. “I see the kid who somehow convinced Dean to watch Frozen six times.” 

“He cried.” 

“He did cry.” 

“He’ll deny it to his grave.” 

“He absolutely will.” 

I laughed. Sam’s smile softened. “That’s who you are.” 

The laughter faded. 

“Being bisexual is part of you.” 

I listened quietly. 

“But it’s not going to erase everything else.” 

My eyes stung. 

“You know?” Sam continued. “You’re still Y/N.” 

The words settled somewhere deep inside me. A place fear had occupied for months. And for the first time.. The fear wasn’t winning. 

Near midnight, I finally headed toward bed. The bunker halls were mostly dark. I felt lighter than I had in months. Tired, emotionally exhausted, but lighter. As I passed Dean’s room, his door opened. He looked out. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.”

Dean studied me for a second, then jerked his head. “Come here.” 

I frowned. “What?” 

“Just get in here.” 

Very suspicious. But I stepped inside. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, which was immediately concerning. 

“Okay…” 

I blinked. “Okay?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. Which somehow made me more nervous. Dean finally sighed. 

“I suck at this.” 

I immediately smiled. 

“At what?” 

“The emotional crap.” 

“Oh.” 

“That’s Sam’s department.” 

“Fair.” 

Dean pointed at her. “But I wanted to say something.” 

My chest tightened. Dean looked away briefly, gathering his thoughts, then looked back. 

“You know I mean what I said earlier, right?” 

I nodded. “I know.” 

“No.” 

Dean shook his head. “I really mean it.” 

Emotions caught in my throat again. Dean continued. 

“I don’t care who you’re attracted to. I care if they treat you right.” 

I smiled. 

“And if they don’t-” 

“You’ll threaten them.” 

“Damn right.” 

I laughed. Dean smiled. Then his expression softened. 

“You’ve had enough people in your life make you feel like you gotta hide who you are.” 

The words hit harder than I expected, because he was right. Dean’s voice was quiet. 

“You don’t gotta do that with us.” 

I felt tears threatening again. Seriously? Could I go a few hours without crying? Apparently not. Dean sighed dramatically. 

“Oh great.” 

“What?” 

“You’re doing the crying thing again.” 

I laughed through tears. “Shut up.” 

Dean opened his arms. “Get over here.” 

I immediately stepped forward. Dean wrapped me in a tight hug. The kind that felt safe. The kind that felt like home. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then Dean rested his chin on my head. 

“You know what your problem is?” 

“What?” 

“You think too much.” 

“That’s rich coming from a Winchester.” 

“Fair.” 

I smiled. Dean squeezed me tighter. “No matter what, okay?” 

My throat tightened. “Okay…” 

“You got me?” 

“I got you.” 

“You got Sam?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dean nodded. “Then you’re good.” 

I closed my eyes. For the first time in months, I believed it. I was good, because I had them. My brothers. My family. The people who had chosen me every day of my life. Nothing had changed. Not really. Dean was still Dean. Sam was still Sam. And I was still Y/N Winchester. Loved. Accepted. Safe. Exactly as I was. And for the first time since I started carrying this secret, that felt like enough. 

*Aaron’s POV* 

If there was one thing I hated, it was feeling powerless. Serial killers, kidnappers, terrorists, those were things I could fight. I could profile them. Track them. Stop them. But fear? Fear was different. Because fear settled in your chest and stayed there long after the danger was gone. And lately, I couldn’t shake it. 

“Hotch.” I looked up from the case file spread across my desk. Emily was standing in the doorway. 

“You coming?” 

The team was gathering in the conference room. Another body. Another victim. Another unsub. I rubbed my eyes. 

“Yes.” 

I stood, and the second I stepped into the bullpen my phone vibrated. My entire body relaxed when I saw the name, Y/N. A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. Two years together, and she still had that effect on me. I answered immediately. 

“Hello.” 

“Hey.” Her voice was warm, comforting, and sounded like home. 

“Did I catch you at work?” 

“You always catch me at work.” 

She laughed, the sound eased some tension from my shoulders. 

“Fair point.”

“What are you doing?” 

“Grocery shopping.” 

I smiled. “You called me from the grocery store?” 

“You should feel honored.” 

“I do.” 

“Good.” 

I could hear a shopping cart rattling. “Jack wants dinosaur nuggets.” 

“Of course he does.” 

“And apparently they’re different from normal chicken nuggets.” 

“They are.” 

Y/N sighed dramatically. “I knew I should’ve called a profiler.” 

I chuckled. For a few seconds, everything felt normal. Then she spoke again. 

“You’re tired.” 

My smile faded slightly. “What?” 

“You’re tired.” 

“Y/N-” 

“You have your work voice.” 

I glanced toward the conference room, the team was waiting. She figured out his moods far faster than anyone ever should have. She knew every shift in my tone, every tension in my shoulders, every sleepless night. Sometimes it was unsettling. Mostly it was conforting. 

“I’ll be home tonight.” 

A pause. 

“I know.” And just like that she let it go. Because she trusted me. She never pushed when I couldn’t talk, she just understood. 

“Tell Jack I’ll bring dinner.” 

“I’ll tell him.” 

“I love you.” 

Another pause, then softer. “We love you too.” 

The line disconnected. I stared at the phone for a second before slipping it back into my pocket. Then I headed toward the conference room. Completely unaware that somebody else had been listening. 

The first sign came three days later, Garcia found it. That was probably why I knew it was bad, because Garcia rarely looked this shaken. 

“Sir.” 

I turned, she was standing beside her desk, pale. 

“Yes?” 

Garcia swallowed. “I found something.” 

My stomach tightened. “What?” 

Garcia turned her monitor, and my blood turned cold. Photos. Doxens of them. Y/N, walking out of a bookstore, leaving Jack’s school, standing outside our house, getting coffee, buying groceries, getting gas, normal moments taken from a distance… without her knowledge. Without her consent. Without protection. I felt every muscle in my body lock. 

“When?” My voice was dangerous. 

“They were uploaded to a private server.” 

I kept staring at the screen. Y/N smiling while talking to Jack. Y/N carrying groceries. Y/N walking toward her car. The photos got progressively closer. Progressively more personal. Like whoever was taking them was becoming more confident. More comfortable. More obsessed… 

“How long?” 

Garcia hesitated. I looked at her. 

“How long?” 

“Six weeks…” 

The room went silent. Six weeks. Six. Weeks. Somebody had been following the woman I love for over a month… and I hadn’t known. 

The profile came together quickly, too quickly. The unsub wasn’t after Y/N, not really. She was simply the path. The means to an end. The target was the BAU. More specifically, me. The photographs proved it. There were messages attached to the uploads that referenced cases, victims, decisions we had made. The unsub blamed us. Blamed me, and Y/N had become the easiest vulnerability. 

“We need surveillance.” 

Morgan nodded. “Already started.” 

“We should tell her.” JJ said. 

“No.” 

The room went quiet. JJ frowned. 

“Hotch.” 

“No.” 

Emily stared at me. “Hotch.” 

“No.” 

Because the second Y/N knew she’d panic. Not for herself, but for Jack, for me, for everyone but herself… and I needed time. Time to find the unsub. Time to stop him. Time to make sure she never knew how close danger had gotten. 

Two weeks later and I still hadn’t told her, and the lie was becoming harder. 

“You’ve been weird.” 

I looked up from dinner. Jack immediately focused on his macaroni. Smart kid. Very smart kid. Y/N crossed her arms, I sighed. 

“Weird how?” 

“Secretive.” 

My stomach tightened. “Work.” 

“You always say that.” 

Because it was true. But it wasn’t enough, she deserved more… 

“Y/N-” 

“Aaron.” 

Her voice softened. “Talk to me.” 

God, I hated this. Because she was looking at me with concern, not anger, concern. And that somehow made it worse. 

“I’m fine.” 

A lie. 

“I’m okay.” 

Another lie. 

She stared at me, clearly unconvinced, but eventually she nodded. 

“Okay.” 

I hated myself a little for how relieved I felt. 

Three days later, everything exploded. The team had just finished reviewing surveillance footage when Garcia’s voice cut through. 

“Guys?” 

I froze, Garcia sounded terrified. 

“What?” 

“Sir…” The tone made every alarm bell in my head ring. 

“What happened?” 

“A package arrived.” 

The room went silent. 

Ten minutes later, we were staring at the contents. A photo album filled entirely with pictures of Y/N. Recent ones, close ones, inside her office building, inside the grocery store, at Jack’s soccer game. The unsub wasn’t just watching, he was escalating. And then I made the mistake that would destroy everything. I took the phot album home, to study it. 

I got home after midnight. The house was dark, quiet. Or so I thought. I placed the album on my desk, went upstairs, took a shower, changed, and forgot about it. Until the next morning. 

“Aaron?” 

My eyes opened, Y/N’s voice. Sharp. Confused. Dangerous. I sat up immediately. The second I stepped into the hallway I knew. Because she was standing in my office. Holding the album. Shit… 

“Aaron.” The single word carried enough hurt to stop me in my tracks. I moved carefully. 

“Y/N-” 

“What is this?” 

She opened the album and pictures spilled across the desk, the floor, across everything. There was no hiding it anymore. No excuses. No explanations. Only the truth. 

“Answer me.” 

I stayed silent. Wrong choice. Very wrong choice. Now she looked furious. 

“What is this?” 

“A case.” 

The second the words left my mouth I regretted them. Her expression hardened. 

“A case?” 

“Y/N-” 

“A case?” She held up a photograph, one taken outside Jack’s school. One I had stared at so many times I could practically see it when he closed my eyes. 

“A case?” 

“A man-” 

“A man has been taking pictures of me?” 

I didn’t answer, because answering meant admitting everything… And she already knew. The silence told her enough. Her face drained of color. 

“How long?” 

I looked away. Big mistake. Because now she knew that answer was bad, very bad. 

“How long?” 

“Y/N.” 

“How long?” 

My jaw tightened. “Eight weeks.” 

She stared at me like she’d been slapped. “Eight weeks?” 

I nodded. The room felt impossibly small. Then came the question I’ve been dreading. 

“How long were you planning to keep this from me?” 

I closed my eyes. “As long as I had to.” 

The second I said it I knew it was wrong. Her expression shattered. 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“Y/N-” 

“That’s not an answer.” Her voice cracked, and somehow that hurt more than if she screamed. I stepped forward. She stepped back. The movement hit me like a punch. 

“I was protecting you.” 

“No.” She shook her head. 

“I was.” 

“You were making decisions for me.” 

“He’s targeting you.” 

“I know that now.” 

Her eyes filled with tears. “Because apparently everyone knew except me.” 

I flinched, she was wrong. The entire team knew. Everyone except her. 

“Tell me the truth.” 

I froze. Y/N stared directly at me. 

“Tell me the truth.” 

“I am telling you the truth.” 

“No, you’re telling me what you think I can handle.” Her voice shook. 

I was silent, because she was right. God help me, she was right. I had spent weeks filtering information. Protecting her from details. Protecting her from fear. Protecting her from reality. And somewhere along the way I had forgotten that she deserved the truth. 

“You don’t trust me.” The words were quiet. 

“Y/N-” 

“You don’t.” 

“I do.” 

“No.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. 

“If you trusted me you would’ve told me.” 

I had no defense. None. Because every argument sounded weak. Every justification sounded selfish. Every explanation sounded hollow. 

“I was scared.” The words escaped before I could stop them. Y/N blinked. I rarely admitted fear. Almost never. 

“I was scared.” My voice was rough. Raw. Honest. 

“The photos keep getting closer.” 

She stared at me. 

“He knows where Jack goes to school.” 

Her expression changed immediately. I continued. 

“He knows your schedule.” 

Another step. 

“He knows our house.” 

Another. 

“And everyday I thought if I could just find him first-” My voice cracked, just slightly, enough. 

“I thought if I found him first, then maybe you never had to know.” 

For the first time since she found the album, her anger wavered. Because she could hear it… the fear, the desperation, the helplessness. I wasn’t afraid of much, but losing people? That was different. 

“I lost Haley.” The words came quietly. Painfully. 

“I couldn’t save her.” 

Y/N’s eyes filled again. “Aaron-” 

“I’m not going to let that happen to you.” 

The room went silent. Because not the truth was free. Not the sanitized version, not the professional explanation, but the real truth. I was terrified. Terrified of history repeating itself. Terrified of another phone call. Another funeral. Another person I love dying because someone wanted to hurt me. And for the first time all morning, Y/N stepped toward me. No away, toward. 

“Aaron…” 

I looked at her. She reached for my hand. 

“I understand why you did it.” 

My chest tightened. 

“But you don’t get to decide what I can handle.” 

I swallowed, because she was right. Again. 

“You should’ve told me.” 

“I know…” 

“You should’ve trusted me.” 

“I know…” 

“You should’ve let me choose.” 

I nodded. “I know.” 

A tear slid down her cheek. I brushed it away. 

“I was trying to protect you.” 

“I know.” 

Another silence.

Long. 

Heavy. 

“Are we safe?” The question nearly broke me. It was the question I had been asking myself for eight weeks. 

“I don’t know…” 

The honesty hurt, but she deserved it. 

Then my phone rang. 

Garcia. 

My stomach dropped. I answered immediately. 

“Garcia.” 

“Sir.” Her voice sounded terrified, and I knew something had happened. 

“What is it?” 

“We found a camera.” My blood turned cold. The room spun. 

“Where?” 

Garcia hesitated. 

“Your house…” 

Suddenly I realized the unsub had been closer than any of us had ever imagined. For a second, I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t speak. Y/N was still standing in front of me, her hand wrapped around mine. My own pulse hammered in my ears. 

“Where exactly?” I asked. 

Garcia’s keyboard clattered frantically. 

“The backyard.” 

My stomach dropped. 

“The camera is hidden inside a birdhouse near the fence.” 

I closed my eyes briefly. The birdhouse. Jack had painted it last summer. I remember helping him hand it. I remember Y/N laughing because the paint was more on Jack than the wood. The unsub had been standing in my yard. In my family’s yard. Close enough to touch things we’ve touched. Close enough to watch… 

“Aaron?” Y/N’s voice sounded small. I hated that. I hated that fear had entered her voice. I hated that I put it there. I squeezed her hand. 

“I’m going to handle it.” The second the words left my mouth, I saw her expression. Disbelief, frustration, hurt, because that was exactly what I’ve been doing for eight weeks. Trying to handle it alone. 

“Aaron.” 

I looked at her. 

“You’re not leaving me here.” She wasn’t asking. She was telling me. And honestly? After everything that had happened, she had every right. 

“Pack a bag.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed. 

“What?” 

“Pack a bag for you and Jack.” 

“Aaron-” 

“Now.” 

The profiler in me was scream. The Father in me was screaming louder. The boyfriend in me was barely functioning. Twenty minutes later, we were in my car. Jack sat in the backseat clutching a backpack and looking confused. 

“Are we going on a trip?” 

Y/N looked at me. I looked at the road. Neither of us knew how to answer that. Finally, Y/N turned around. 

“Something happened, buddy.” 

Jack frowned. “What kind of something?” 

The question nearly made me laugh, only Jack could ask that. 

“The kind where Aunt Penelope and Uncle Derek want to hand out with us for a little while.” 

Jack’s face lit up immediately. “Awesome!” 

I heard Y/N snort beside me. For the first time all day, a tiny laugh. A tiny piece of normal. I held onto it desperately. 

The bullpen went completely silent when we walked in. Every single person stopped what they were doing. Morgan, Emily, JJ, Rossi, Garcia, Reid, everyone. Because now the threat wasn’t theoretical anymore. Now the people they cared about were standing right in front of them. Garcia was moving before we even fully stepped inside. 

“Oh, honey.” She wrapped Y/N in a hug so quickly it made Y/N stumble. Garcia held on like she never intended to let go. 

“I’m okay.” 

Garcia immediately pulled back. “No, you’re not.” 

Y/N opened her mouth. Garcia pointed a finger. 

“Don’t even try that with me.” 

For the first time since she learned the truth, Y/N smiled. A real smile. Small and tired, but real. Jack immediately launched himself toward Morgan. 

“Can I have candy?” 

Morgan looked offended. “Kid.” 

Jack grinned. “You always have candy.” 

Morgan sighed dramatically. “I’ve created a monster…” 

“Can I have candy too?” Emily asked. 

Morgan pointed. “You are a federal agent.” 

“And?” 

Somehow, despite everything, the tension eased slightly. Enough for everyone to breathe. I watched Y/N carefully. She was trying to act normal. Trying to be brave. Trying not to show how scared she was. But I knew her. I saw the way her eyes tracked every doorway, every unfamiliar face, every movement. She was afraid. And she had every reason to be. 

“Hotch.” 

I turned. Rossi was standing near the conference room. His expression was grim. That meant he had something. Or worse, nothing. I squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

She nodded, but her fingers caught my sleeve. Just a second, like she needed to make sure I was still there. The gesture nearly broke me. Inside the conference room, the atmosphere was different. No jokes. No casual conversion. No teasing. Just determination. Rossi closed the door. 

“We have a problem.” 

Morgan leaned against the table. “What kind?” 

“The unsub knows we found the camera.” 

My stomach dropped. “What?” 

Rossi slid photographs onto the table. Pictures of the birdhouse. Pictures of the backyard. Pictures taken after Garcia found the device. 

“He was watching us find it.” 

Silence. 

“How?” JJ asked. 

“He has more cameras.” 

The room went still. More cameras. Meaning, he was still watching. Still close. Still ahead of us. I felt anger settle into my chest. Cold, controlled, and dangerous anger. 

“He wants us chasing him.” 

Emily nodded. “He wants the game.” 

“No.” I looked around the table. 

“He wants me distracted.” 

This wasn’t about winning. This wasn’t about murder. This wasn’t even about revenge. It was personal. The unsub wanted me exhausted, afraid, and desperate. Because desperate people make mistakes. And if I made a mistake, Y/N paid the price. Possibly even Jack. I wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“We work around the clock.” 

Morgan nodded immediately. “I’m in.” 

“Already here.” Emily said. 

JJ looked exhausted. “I’m not leaving.”

“Me either.” Reid said.  

Garcia raised both hands. “I have enough caffeine in my system to legally qualify as a supervillain.” 

Rossi sighed. “That’s concerning.” 

“But useful.” Garcia grinned. 

I almost smiled. 

The next fourty-eight hours blurred together. Nobody went home, nobody stopped, nobody quit. Morgan and Emily ran down every lead, every witness, every possible connection. JJ and Reid reconstructed timelines, victimology, case overlaps. Rossi rebuilt the profile from scratch, looking for something we missed. Anything. Garcia practically moved into her office. The amount of coffee cups accumulating around her desk was becoming a safety hazard. And through it all, Y/N and Jack stayed at the BAU. 

The entire team quietly fell into protective mode. Garcia brought blankets, Emily ordered food, JJ found coloring books, and Reid did his science magic. Jack thought this was great, but it was clear he was a little suspicious. 

“Is it always like this at the FBI?” 

“Sure bud.” Morgan said. 

“Can I stay at the FBI forever?” 

Morgan laughed. “Ask your Dad.” 

“No.” I answered immediately. Jack looked offended. Everyone laughed, even myself. And for one second, one tiny second, it felt normal. 

Then Garcia screamed. Every profiler in the room was moving before she finished the sound. I reached her office first. 

“What happened?” 

Garcia was staring at her monitor, completely pale. 

“I found him.” 

My heart stopped. “What?” 

Garcia swallowed, then slowly turned the screen. A name. A photograph. A file. And suddenly every piece clicked into place. Every case reference. Every message. Every obsession. The unsub wasn’t a stranger. He was somebody we put away. Someone who spent years planning this. Years blaming us. Years waiting. And now, finally, we knew who we were hunting. Back in the bullpen, Y/N sat with Jack completely unaware. 

The conference room had never been quieter. Now we had a name. A face. A target. And every single person in the room knew exactly what was at stake. Garcia looked up at me from her laptop. 

“I tracked a purchase made three days ago.” 

My attention snapped back to her. “What kind of purchase?” 

“A burner phone, and he previously bought cameras.” 

Morgan moved closer. “Can we trace it?” 

Garcia’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Already did.” 

A few seconds passed, then her eyes widened. 

“Oh my God.” 

“What?” 

Garcia pointed at the screen. “He used it this morning.” 

The room exploded into motion.

Twenty minutes later we were loading into SUVs. Emily and Morgan were with me. JJ, Reid, and Rossi were in the other SUV, they were taking the perimeter. Garcia stayed behind with Y/N and Jack, surrounded by federal agents. The safest place I could put them. The unsub’s location turned out to be an abandoned warehouse nearly forty minutes away. The kind of place nobody would look twice at. The kind of place that blended into the background. Exactly what a stalker would choose. We surrounded the building, weapons drawn, FBI vests on, and everyone in position. 

“Perimeter secure.” JJ said. 

“Rear entrance covered.” Rossi said. 

“East side clear.” Reid’s voice came through. 

I looked at Morgan, he nodded. 

“Let’s go.” 

We breached the building. 

“FBI!” 

Silence. 

Then running footsteps. 

“Damn it!” Morgan took off first, I followed. The unsub burst through a side door. Sprinting, desperation, and panic. He knew the game was over. 

“Stop!” 

He didn’t, of course he didn’t. He ran across the building floor. Jumped over equipment, knocked over shelving, tried everything to escape. Then he made a mistake. He looked back. Only for a second, but it was enough. His foot caught on something, his balance shifted, and Morgan hit him like a freight train. The two men crashed into the concrete. 

“FBI! Don’t move!” The unsub struggled, Morgan pinned him instantly. I was there seconds later. Handcuffs clicked shut. And suddenly… it was over. Just like that, ten weeks of fear, ten weeks of watching, ten weeks of wondering if every strange car was him. Every unknown face. Every unexpected sound. Gone. The unsub, Arin Hail, glared up at me. Hatred burning in his eyes. 

“You think you won?” 

I stared down at him, cold and expressionless. 

“No.” My voice was calm, controlled. “I know I did.” 

Arin was transported back to Quantico, and for the first time in weeks, I could breathe. Not completely, not yet, but enough. The elevator doors opened onto the BAU floor. The bullpen was crowded, Agents moving everywhere. Y/N saw me. She stood so quickly her chair nearly tipped over. Jack looked up from where he was sitting with Garcia. 

“Dad!” 

The second I saw them, something inside me finally cracked. Not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that I crossed the bullpen without caring who was watching. Jack launched himself at me. I caught him automatically, lifting him into my arms, and holding him tightly against my chest. Then my free arm wrapped around Y/N, pulling her against me too. For a moment I just stood there, holding both of them. Listening to their breathing. Feeling their heartbeats. Making sure they were real. Safe. Here. Y/N buried her face against my shoulder. Her hands gripped the back of my jacket.

“Is it over?” The question came out small and fragile, like she was afraid to hope. 

I nodded. “It’s over.” 

Relief washed across her face so suddenly it nearly hurt to look at. I kissed the top of her head, then Jack’s. 

“We got him.” 

Jack immediately pulled back, his eyes huge. “You got the bad guy?” 

Despite everything, I smiled. A real smile. The first one in weeks. 

“Yeah, buddy.” I brushed his hair back. 

“We got the bad guy.” 

Jack threw both arms around my neck. “Awesome.” 

A laugh escaped Y/N. Half laugh, half sob. And before I knew it, she was crying. Not from fear. Not from panic. But relief. The fear finally breaking. I pulled her close. 

“It’s okay.” 

She shook her head, laughing through tears. “I know.” 

Across the bullpen, I caught the team watching. Morgan and Emily standing there, JJ smiling softly, Garcia openly crying, Reid awkwardly pretending he wasn’t emotional, and Rossi looking suspiciously pleased with himself. My family, all of them. For the first time in ten weeks, there was no threat. No cameras. No stalker. No danger hiding around the corner. Just Y/N in my arms, Jack clinging to my neck, and the overwhelming realization that this time… this time I hadn’t lost anyone. As Y/N tucked herself against my side and Jack kept talking excitedly about how his Dad caught the bad guy, I silently promised myself something. No more secrets. No more deciding what Y/N could handle. No more trying to carry everything alone. Because standing there with the two people I love most in the world, I finally understood something. Protecting them didn’t mean shutting them out. It meant letting them stand beside me. And somehow… that felt a lot less terrifying than losing them. 

*Charlie’s POV*

If there was one thing I’ve learned from hanging around the Winchesters, it was that there was always something weirder around the corner. Ghosts? Sure. Demons? Unfortunately. Leviathans? Still traumatized. Dean trying to flirt during an active murder investigation? Basically guaranteed. Which was exactly what was happening right now. 

“So,” Dean said casually as we walked through the parking lot of a tiny sheriff’s station in rural Montana. 

“Three bodies. Hearts ripped out. Sounds like a werewolf.” 

Sam sighed. I sighed. Dean ignored us. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You’ve said that six times.” Sam replied. 

“Because I’m right.” 

“You also said it was a werewolf in Nebraska.” 

“I was close.” 

“It was a ghost.” 

I snorted. 

We arrived in a town called Cedar Ridge after reports of three bizarre murders in two weeks. Victims found in wooded areas, with massive claw marks, and hearts missing. Classic hunter case. The sheriff’s been cooperative enough, mostly because Dean flashed an FBI badge and smiled. Dean could get away with murder when he smiled. After getting the copies of the reports, we headed back toward the Impala. 

Dean stopped suddenly. “Huh…” 

I looked up, and there was a black motorcycle parked next to Baby. A really nice motorcycle. And leaning against it was a woman. She couldn’t have been much older than thirty. Her Y/H/C pulled into a ponytail, black leather jacket, combat boots, a knife strapped to one thigh, a gun holster visible under her jacket, and the expression on her face suggested she could kill every person in the parking lot without raising her heart rate. Dean looked delighted. Sam looked concerned. I was impressed. The woman crossed her arms. 

“You the fake FBI agents?” 

Dean grinned. “Depends who’s asking.” 

The woman rolled her eyes. Definitely not impressed. 

“Y/N.” She held up a badge. Also fake FBI. She was a hunter. 

I blinked. Dean stepped forward. 

“Dean Winchester.” 

“I know.” 

“Sam Winchester.” 

“I know.” 

Dean pointed at me. “And this is Charlie.” 

The woman’s eyes landed on me. I offered a small wave. 

“Hi.” 

She looked at me for a moment, then shrugged. 

“Don’t know you.” 

I blinked. 

“You don’t know Charlie?” 

“No.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Should I?” 

Okay, rude… Not actually rude, just unexpectedly blunt. I pointed at myself. 

“The Charlie? Queen of Oz? Slayer of evil? Professional nerd?” 

Nothing. The woman stared at me with absolutely no recognition. Dean looked offended on my behalf. 

“She’s kind of a big deal.” 

The woman shrugged again. “Good for her.” 

Then she looked at Dean. “You done?” 

I immediately liked her. Dean looked personally attacked. 

“Wow.” 

“I’m on a case.” 

“So are we.” 

“Then let’s stop wasting time.” 

Sam snorted. Dean shot him a glare. Y/N pushed herself off the motorcycle. 

“I’ve been working this case for five days.” 

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Five days?” 

“Found the first body before the sheriff did.” 

Okay, that was impressive. The kind of impression that made me immediately want to know everything about her. Dean crossed his arms. 

“Then why haven’t we heard about you?” 

Y/N smirked. “Because I didn’t tell anybody.” 

An hour later, we were sitting in a diner comparing notes, and wow, Y/N was good. Like really good. Scarily good. The kind of hunter who clearly knew exactly what she was doing. While Sam and Dean had been interviewing witnesses, she had already mapped every attack location. While we were researching local lore, she had already checked every abandoned property within twenty miles. And while Dean had spent half the morning trying to charm a waitress, Y/N had actually solved part of the case. I was trying very hard not to stare… and failing spectacularly. She was sitting across from me, flipping through case files while drinking coffee. Black coffee, no sugar, no cream. Which somehow made her even cooler. How was that possible? 

Dean suddenly leaned forward. “So.” 

Y/N didn’t look up. “No.” 

Dean blinked. “I haven’t said anything yet.” 

“You were about to flirt.” 

Sam immediately started laughing. I nearly choked on my milkshake. 

Dean looked offended. “You can’t know that.” 

“I absolutely can.” 

Dean pointed at her. “That’s profiling.” 

“We’re hunters.” 

“Still profiling.” 

She finally looked up. “Do you have information about the case?” 

Dean paused. “No.” 

“Then stop talking.” 

I had to look away because I was smiling too hard. 

Over the next two days, we worked together. The case turned out to be a rugaru. Which Dean insisted couldn’t be right. Until Y/N literally showed him evidence. Twice. 

“You know, I usually like being right.” Dean said as we walked through the woods one afternoon. 

Y/N looked at him. “That must be difficult for you.” 

Sam laughed so hard he nearly walked into a tree. 

Dean pointed accusingly. “Nobody appreciated me.” 

I did a little. Mostly because he kept getting shut down, and it was hilarious. The more time we spent with Y/N, the worse my crush got. She was smart, funny, confident, completely fearless, and somehow managed to look cool doing literally everything. At one point, she jumped down from a second-story fire escape. Just jumped, landed perfectly, like she was in an action movie. Meanwhile, I nearly twisted my ankle stepping off a curb. Life wasn’t fair. 

The hunt finally came to a head on the third night. The rugaru had holed up in an abandoned sawmill outside town. The fight was brutal. Dean got thrown through a stack of lumber, Sam got punched in the face, I got chased through half the building, and Y/N? Y/N was terrifying. The rugaru charged her, she sidestepped and swept its legs out. Drove a knife into its shoulder, then shot it. Twice. I think I fell a little bit in love. Not a lot, just enough to be embarrassing. 

The next morning, the hunt was over, the town was safe, and everyone was getting ready to head their separate ways. Dean leaned against Baby. 

“Well.” 

Y/N was strapping a duffel bag onto her motorcycle. 

“Well what?” 

“You ever find yourself in Kansas-” 

“No.” 

Dean sighed. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.” 

“I know exactly what you were gonna say.” 

I laughed. Sam laughed. Dean looked betrayed, again. 

A few minutes later, Y/N finished packing. Guess this was it… A weird disappointment settled in my chest. We’ve only known each other for a few days, but still… She was awesome. And now, she would probably disappear into the hunter network forever. Y/N turned toward us, she shook Sam’s hand first. 

“Stay safe.” 

“You too.” 

Then Dean. He grinned. “Sure you don’t want my number?” 

“No.” 

“Your loss.” 

“Definitely not.” 

I laughed. Dean looked wounded. Then Y/N turned toward me, and suddenly I forgot how words worked. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Excellent. Incredible conversion. Ten out of ten. Y/N smiled, not one of her tiny smirks, an actual smile. The kind that made my brain short-circuit. Then she pulled a pen from her jacket. My heart immediately started beating faster. Wait… Was she? No. No way! She gently grabbed my hand and started writing across my palm. I stared. Then stared some more. Then looked up. Y/N capped the pen. 

“Call me sometime.” 

My brain stopped functioning entirely. “Uh…” 

Wow. Great response, Charlie. Y/N laughed softly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

I was pretty sure my face was bright red. She stepped back toward her motorcycle. Then paused. 

“See you around, Charlie.” 

And then she was gone. Engine roaring, motorcycle disappearing down the road. Just like that. I stood there staring at the number on my hand. Completely frozen. Behind me, there was silence. 

“Oh.” 

I turned, and Dean was staring after the motorcycle. Then at me. Then at the number on my hand. Then back at me. 

“No wonder.” Dean pointed dramatically. 

“What?” 

“No wonder my moves weren’t working on her!” 

I immediately started laughing. Sam groaned. 

“Oh my God.” 

Dean ignored him. “She wasn’t interested in me.” 

Sam deadpanned. “Your moves shouldn’t work on anyone.” 

Dean gasped. “Excuse me?” 

“They’re terrible.” 

“They’re not.” 

“They absolutely are.” 

Dean pointed at me. “Charlie.” 

I looked up from the phone number I’ve already memorized. “Hm?” 

“My moves work, right?” 

I exchanged a look with Sam. Sam exchanged a look with me. Then we both burst out laughing. Dean looked horrified. 

“Hey!” 

“They’re awful.” Sam said. 

“Objectively awful.” I agreed. 

Dean threw his hands up. “You know what? Fine.” 

“Believe whatever you want.” 

“We will.” 

Dean pointed at both of us. “Chicks dig my moves.” 

Sam climbed into the passenger seat. “Sure, Dean.” 

“They do!” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Dean huffed. I climbed into the backseat, still grinning. Then looked down at the number written across my palm. A huge smile spread across my face. The hunt had started with monsters, but it ended with a badass hunter giving me her number! Honestly? That was a much better ending than other hunts I’ve been on.

*Spencer’s POV*

I’ve faced serial killers. I’ve been held at gunpoint. I’ve been kidnapped, tortured, framed for murder, sent to prison, and survived things that should have broken me. Yet somehow, none of those things compared to the sheer terror currently sitting in my stomach as I stared at my reflection in the apartment mirror. 

“Spencer.” 

I jumped. Y/N laughed from the couch. 

“Sorry.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” 

“You almost fell over.” 

“I was thinking.” 

“You were panicking.” 

I sighed, maybe he had a point. Y/N stood and crossed the apartment toward me. He looked unfairly calm. Dressed in dark jeans, gray sweater, soft smile, and completely relaxed. Meanwhile, I felt like my heart was attempting to escape through my ribcage. His hands settled on my shoulders. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Thinking.” 

“I always think.” 

“Okay, overthinking then.” 

I looked away. He tilted his head. 

“Spence.” 

“They don’t know…” 

“I know.” 

“They don’t know about us…” 

“I know.” 

“They don’t even know I’m bisexual.” 

“So? You like me, right?” 

“I do.” 

“Then that’s the important part.” 

I couldn’t help but smile. He always made everything sound simple. Unfortunately, it wasn’t simple, not to me. The BAU wasn’t just my team, they were my family. For years, they’ve known everything about me…or at least, I thought they did. But somehow, this part of myself had remained hidden. It wasn’t intentional, at least, not completely. There was just never a reason to talk about it. Then Y/N had walked into my life, and suddenly, there had been every reason. We met eight months ago at a bookstore, which was probably the most stereotypically me thing imaginable. I had been reaching for a rare first-edition psychology text, he had been reaching for the exact same book, neither of us let go. An argument followed. Then a conversation. Then coffee. Then dinner. Then somehow eight months had passed, and I fell hopelessly in love. The team knew I was dating someone, that much wasn’t a secret. I didn’t lie about it. Whenever Luke asked questions, I answered them carefully. I used very neutral pronouns, but unfortunately, Garcia had noticed. Garcia noticed everything. Which is why she spent the last three months trying to figure out who I was dating. Today, she’s finally getting her answer… and that answer was currently standing in front of me trying not to laugh. 

“You’re staring.” 

“I know.” 

“You know they won’t care, right?” 

“I think they’ll care.” 

“About me being a guy?” 

I hesitated. Y/N’s expression softened. 

“Spencer.” 

“I know what statistics say.” 

“Statistics don’t matter.” 

“They do.” 

“No.” He squeezed my hands. 

“Not here.” 

I swallowed. The truth was, I knew the team wasn’t prejudiced, I knew that. Objectively. Emily wouldn’t care. JJ wouldn’t care. Tara definitely wouldn’t care. Matt wouldn’t care. Garcia would probably cry. Rossi would pretend to be surprised while secretly already knowing. Luke would make fun of me for hiding it. Logically, I understood all that. Emotionally? Different story. Emotionally, I was terrified. Because what if things changed? What if they looked at me differently? What if-

A finger poked my forehead. I blinked, Y/N smiled. 

“Earth to Spencer.” 

“I’m here.” 

“Barely.” 

I exhaled. “You really think they’ll be okay?” 

“I think from everything you’ve told me, they’re going to be offended that you thought they wouldn’t be.” 

I groaned. “That’s actually worse.” 

“It kind of is.” 

He laughed. I couldn’t help laughing too. The tension loosened slightly, only slightly. Then my phone buzzed. Luke. I opened my message. 

Where are you, Reid? Garcia has looked out the window twelve times in the last five mintues. 

I groaned. Y/N immediately knew that wasn’t a good sign. 

“What?” 

I turned my phone toward him. He read the text and laughed. 

“Only twelve?” 

“That’s what concerns me.” 

My phone buzzed again, another message. 

Correction. Fourteen times. 

A third appeared before I could even respond. 

If you don’t get here soon, she’s going to start tracking your location.

Y/N snorted. “He’s kidding, right?” 

“No.” 

“Spencer.”

“He’s absolutely not kidding.” 

His laughter filled the apartment. For a moment, I just watched him. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he looked completely unbothered by the back that in less than thirty minutes, he was about to meet the people who meant the most to me. He caught me staring again. 

“There you go again.” 

“What?” 

“The staring.” 

I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound creepy.” 

“It is creepy.” 

“It’s not creepy!” 

“It is when you stop responding mid-conversation because you’re busy staring.” 

“I wasn’t staring.” 

“You absolutely were.” 

I sighed dramatically. “This relationship had become hostile.” 

Y/N grinned. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.” 

“I’m thirty-nine years old.” 

“And adorable.” 

“I have three PhDs.” 

“Adorable.” 

“I’ve solved hundreds of cases.” 

“Still adorable.” 

I pointed at him. He pointed right back. Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Then we both burst out laughing. The knot in my chest loosened another fraction, not gone, just smaller. More manageable. My phone buzzed again, I didn’t even need to look. 

“Garcia?” 

“Garcia.” 

“How many texts?” 

“Seven.” 

Y/N winced. 

“Yeah, we should probably go.” 

“Probably.” 

Neither of us moved. 

“Spencer.” 

“I know.” 

“You’re stalling.” 

“I’m gathering my thoughts.” 

“You’re stalling.” 

“Maybe a little…” 

His expression softened. The teasing faded. He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, close enough that my heart immediately decided to become useless. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“You know what I think?” 

“What?” 

“I think you’re forgetting something.” 

I frowned. “What?” 

“They already love you.” 

My chest tightened. “Y/N-” 

“No, listen.” 

His hands found mine. “They’ve stood by you through everything.” 

I swallowed. 

“They’ve seen you at your worst.” 

I looked down. He squeezed my fingers. 

“They’ve seen you scared, angry, grieving…” 

A lump formed in my throat. 

“And they still love you.” 

I couldn’t look away from him. 

“So why would this change anything?” 

Because this was different. This was personal. Because serial killers and profiling and cases were easy compared to this. This was me. Not Agent Reid. Not Doctor Ried. Just Spencer. The part of myself I kept hidden for years. Maybe because I never thought it mattered. Maybe because I wasn’t ready. Maybe because admitting it out loud made it real. 

“I know you’re right…” I admitted quietly. 

His smile was gentle. “But?” 

“But knowing and believing aren’t always the same thing.” 

“That’s true.” 

I laughed softly. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“For understanding.” 

“Always.” 

The word settled warmly in my chest. Always. God, I love him so much. I love him so much it sometimes feels impossible to fit all of it inside my ribcage. His expression shifted, a mischievous smile appearing. Which immediately made me suspicious. 

“What?” 

“Hmm?” 

“That look.” 

“What look?” 

“The look that means you’re about to say something annoying.” 

“I wasn’t going to asy anything annoying.” 

“Y/N.” 

He grinned. “I was just thinking that if this goes badly-” 

“It’s not going to go badly.” 

“-we could move to another country.” 

I stared at him. “Another country?” 

“Yep.” 

“That’s your plan?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’ve thought about this?” 

“Several times.” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s not reassuring.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

Before I could respond, he stepped forward and kissed me. It was soft and quick, just enough to steal every coherent thought from my brain. When he pulled away, he looked entirely too pleased with himself. 

“There.” 

I blinked. “There what?” 

“You were spiraling.” 

“I was not.” 

“You absolutely were.” 

“I was engaging in rational risk assessment.” 

“That’s the most Spencer Reid sentence ever spoken.” 

I couldn’t argue with that, because unfortunately, he was right. Again. A talent he possessed with alarming frequency. 

“Come on.” He grabbed his keys from the counter. 

“Your team is waiting.” 

I took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Y/N raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re profiling your own breathing.”

“I’m regulating my heart rate.” 

“Same thing.” 

I pointed at the door. “Let’s go.” 

“Whatever you say, Doctor Reid.” 

The drive to Rossi’s house felt simultaneously too short and impossibly long. One minute, we were leaving the apartment, the next, we were turning into Rossi’s neighborhood. Every mile made my pulse climb higher. Y/N noticed, of course he did. 

“You okay?” 

“No.” 

“Good.” 

I looked at him. “Good?” 

“I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous.” 

“That’s not helpful.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

I groaned, he laughed. Then he reached across the center console and grabbed my hand. The simple gesture grounded me instantly. No complicated speech, no reassurance, just his hand in mine. A reminder that whatever happened, I wasn’t walking into that house alone. 

By the time we pulled into Rossi’s driveway, my stomach felt like it was full of bees. Actual bees. Thousands of them. Y/N looked out the windshield. 

“Nice house.” 

“It’s Rossi.” 

“Fair.” 

Several cars were already parked outside. Luke’s truck, Emily’s car, Tara’s, Will’s, everyone was already there. Waiting. My heart hammered. Y/N shut the engine off. Neither of us moved. The silence stretched. Y/N glanced over. 

“Last chance to fake our deaths.” 

I laughed despite myself. “Still not a reasonable solution.” 

“Worth offering.” 

I shook my head, then finally opened the car door. The evening air hit my face immediately, cool and comforting. Y/N walked around to meet me on the sidewalk. For a moment, we simply stood there looking at the house. Looking at the lights glowing through the windows, looking at the people inside. My family. Y/N nudged my shoulder. 

“You ready?” 

No… Not even remotely. But I reached for his hand anyway. Our fingers intertwined and somehow, that made everything feel a little less terrifying. I squeezed one. He squeezed back. Then together, we walked toward the front door. 

The walk to the front door felt far longer than it should have. Every step made my stomach twist tighter. Beside me, Y/N looked completely calm. I hated that… not really, but a little. 

“How are you not nervous?” I asked. 

He glanced over. “Because I’m not the one introducing my boyfriend to his family.” 

That stopped me. Family. Not team, family. The word settled somewhere warm in my chest. Before I could respond, the front door flew open. I physically jumped, Y/N laughed. And standing in the doorway was exactly who I expected. Garcia. 

“SPENCER REID!” 

I winced. “Hi, Garcia.” 

She pointed dramatically at me. “Three minutes is an eternity.” 

Then her eyes shifted to Y/N, and she froze. Completely silent. One second. Two. Three. I watched the realization hit. The pieces clicking together. The months of speculation, the neutral pronouns, the secret relationship, everything. Her eyes widened. 

“Oh…” 

Oh no. I knew that tone. Y/N looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us had time to react. Garcia’s hands flew to her mouth. 

“Oh my God!” 

“Penelope-” 

“OH MY GOD!!” 

“Penelope…” 

“YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND!” 

The entire house immediately went silent. From somewhere inside, I heard Emily laugh. Y/N was trying not to laugh. Trying and failing. Garcia looked moments away from tears. 

“YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND!” 

“Yes.” 

“A BOYFRIEND!” 

“That is generally what that means.” 

“Oh my God!” Then she burst into tears. Actual tears. 

“Penelope-” 

“He’s adorable!” 

Y/N blinked. “Uh…” 

She immediately grabbed his hands. 

“Oh sweetheart, thank you!” 

Y/N looked confused. “For what?” 

“For existing.” 

I covered my face. Of course this was happening. Y/N’s shoulders started shaking. The traitor was laughing. Garcia wiped her eyes dramatically. 

“I knew it!” 

“You did not.” 

“I absolutely did!” 

“You guessed sixteen different possibilities.” 

“One of them was correct eventually!” 

“That’s not how guessing works.” 

She ignored me, naturally. Then she wrapped Y/N in a hug, a very enthusiastic hug. The kind nobody escaped from. Y/N looked at me over her shoulder Help… I shrugged. You’re on your own. 

The commotion had apparently attracted everyone else because suddenly people started appearing behind Garcia. Emily first, then Luke, then Tara, then Rossi, then JJ, and behind JJ stood Will with Henry and Micheal. Every single one of them staring toward the front door. Toward us. Toward Y/N. My stomach immediately remembered how to panic. Emily looked between me and Y/N, then smiled. A slow, knowing smile. 

“Oh.” 

I groaned. “Don’t.” 

“Oh no, I’m absolutely going to.” 

“Emily…” 

“You’ve been hiding this for eight months?” 

I blinked. “How do you know it’s been eight months?” 

Emily looked smug. “Profiler.” 

Right… I hated when they used my own arguments against me. Like stepped forward, his eyebrows raised. Then he looked at me, then Y/N, then back to me, then he started laughing. 

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” 

“What?” 

“You.” 

“What about me?” 

“You spent months avoiding pronouns.” 

Tara laughed. “He really did.” 

“Painfully obvious.” JJ said with a smile. 

I looked offended. “I was subtle.” 

Everyone immediately started laughing. Apparently my suffering was amusing. Good to know. 

Y/N finally escaped Garcia… barely. He straightened his sweater. Then offered a hand. 

“Hi.” 

Emily immediately ignored the hand and hugged him instead. 

“Welcome to the chaos.” 

Y/N laughed. “Thanks.” 

“I’m Emily.” 

“I know.” 

“Oh?” 

“Spencer talks about all of you.” 

Emily’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Does he?” 

“No.” 

“Y/N.” 

“He absolutely does.” 

Traitor… 

Luke was next. He shook Y/N’s hand, firm and friendly. Then pointed at me. 

“Just so we’re clear, we’ve all been trying to figure out who he was dating for months.” 

“Really?” 

“Garcia made a chart.” 

“A chart?” 

“A whole conspiracy board.” 

Garcia looked proud. “It had color coding.” 

Y/N burst out laughing. I considered leaving. Possibly forever. 

Tara stepped forward next. “Nice to finally meet the mystery person.” 

“Mystery person?” 

“You had a nickname.” 

I groaned. Y/N immediately looked interested. 

“Oh?” 

“Don’t tell him.” 

“The Secret Significant Other.” 

Y/N laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. I hated everyone. 

Then came Rossi, who somehow looked entirely unsurprised. Suspiciously unsurprised. He smiled warmly. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” 

Rossi looked at me. “I was wondering when he’d finally bring you around.” 

My eyes narrowed. “You knew?” 

Rossi smirked. 

“Kid, we all knew.” 

That was annoying because it was probably true. 

Then JJ appeared, smiling. She was warm and welcoming, exactly as I expected. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“I’m JJ.” 

“I know.” 

She hugged him immediately, because apparently everyone was ignoring normal introductions. 

“We’re happy you’re here.” 

Something softened in Y/N’s expression. “Thank you.” 

And for a second, I saw exactly why I love him… because he looked genuinely touched, like he had been worrying too. Maybe not as much as me, but enough. Then JJ stepped aside, revealing Will and the boys. Henry looked delighted. Micheal looked curious. And suddenly I remembered that children had absolutely no filter. None. Zero. Dangerous creatures. 

“Hey guys.” JJ said. “This is Y/N.” 

Henry immediately pointed at me. “You’re Uncle Spencer’s boyfriend?” 

No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just straight to the point. 

Y/N smiled. “I am.” 

Henry nodded seriously. “Cool.” 

That was it. That was his entire reaction. I stared. He stared back, then shrugged. 

“Mom said Uncle Spencer was bringing someone special.” 

I looked at JJ. She looked innocent. She was in fact not innocent. Not even slightly. Micheal stepped closer. Only seven years old and already terrifyingly observant. 

“You’re really tall.” 

Y/N laughed. “Thanks?” 

“And Uncle Spencer likes you?” 

My soul left my body. “Micheal-” 

“What?” 

Y/N grinned. “I think he does.” 

Micheal nodded. “Good.” 

Then he grabbed Y/N’s hand, like they’ve known each other forever. 

“Come on.” 

Y/N blinked. “Where?” 

“Dessert table.” 

Obviously. The most important thing. Y/N looked back at me helplessly. I was already laughing. 

“You’re being adopted.” 

“I can see that.” 

Henry grabbed his other hand. “Come on.” 

And just like that, both boys dragged him into the house. 

The entire team watched him go, then looked at me. I immediately became suspicious, very suspicious. Emily crossed her arms, smiling. Luke looked amused. Tara also looked amused. Garcia was crying again. Rossi was hiding a smile. JJ looked proud. 

“What?” I asked. 

Emily pointed toward the living room where Y/N was already laughing with Henry and Micheal. 

“He fits.” 

The knot in my chest loosened, just a little. I looked through the doorway, Y/N was laughing with JJ’s sons. Garcia was hovering nearby and Will was talking with him like they’ve known each other for years. Somehow the fear I’ve been carrying all day started disappearing, because they weren’t looking at me differently. They weren’t uncomfortable. In fact, nothing changed, except now they knew. And judging by the way Garcia had already wrapped an arm around Y/N and started talking a mile a minute, I had a feeling he was about five minutes away from becoming part of the family too. 

“See?” JJ said softly. 

I looked at her. “What?” 

She smiled gently. “Told you we’d love him.” 

For the first time all day, I felt myself fully relax, because she was right. My family already loved him and this was only the beginning. 

*Jude’s POV*

I never planned on falling in love. At least, not when I was fourteen and still figuring out who I am. But when Y/N Y/L/N transferred into my English class at the beginning of the school year, everything changed. Y/N wasn’t loud or outgoing. He wasn’t the kind of guy who walked into a room and immediately became the center of attention. He was quiet, funny when he wanted to be, smart, and had the kind of smile that made me forget what I was saying halfway through a sentence. 

It started with group projects. Then sitting together at lunch. Then texting… hours and hours of texting. Eventually, one night after they had spent nearly an hour talking outside Y/N’s house because neither of us wanted to say goodbye, Y/N had kissed me. A nervous, shaky kiss, and I kissed him back. 

That had been six months ago. Now, we were officially boyfriends… Sort of. Because while I was openly gay and had the support of my family, Y/N wasn’t. Not even close. His family attended church every Sunday. His Father made comments whenever gay people appeared on television. His older brother laughed at jokes that made Y/N visibly uncomfortable. His Mother never said much, but she never disagreed with any of it either. So Y/N stayed in the closet, only I knew. And I respected that, because coming out wasn’t something anyone else got to decide. Even if it hurt sometimes. Even if it meant we couldn’t hold hands at school. Even if it meant pretending we were just friends. I understood. I loved Y/N. And I would wait. 

Friday afternoon, the school parking lot was mostly empty. Football practice had started, the buses had already left, and Y/N and I sat behind the bleachers where nobody usually went. Y/N leaned against the mental supports. I sat beside him. 

“So…” I said. 

“So?” 

“You still haven’t admitted I beat you.” 

Y/N snorted. “In Mario Kart?” 

“Yes.” 

“You absolutely cheated.” 

“I didn’t cheat.” 

“You did.” 

“I won fair and square.” 

Y/N rolled his eyes. “You drove off the track seventeen times.” 

“That’s strategy.” 

“That’s stupidity.” 

I laughed, Y/N laughed too. 

God… I love hearing that laugh. 

For a moment, Y/N just looked at me. His expression softened. The noise of the football team echoed faintly in the distance. Nobody came near the bleachers, nobody ever did. Y/N reached over and laced our fingers together. I smiled, then Y/N leaned forward and kissed me. Slow, gentle, perfect. I kissed him back immediately. For a few seconds, the rest of the world disappeared. Neither of us noticed the figure standing at the corner of the field. Or the phone being raised. Or the camera snapping a picture. 

*Y/N’s POV*

I didn’t know anything was wrong until dinner. My phone buzzed, a text from my older brother. 

Get downstairs. Now.

I frowned. I walked into the kitchen, and the moment I stepped inside, I froze. My Father sat at the table, my Mother stood beside the counter, my brother leaned against the wall, and all three looked furious. And lying on the table was a printed photograph. My stomach dropped. 

No. 

No. 

No! 

My Father shoved the picture toward me. The image stared back. Me. Jude. Kissing. I felt the blood drain from my face. 

“Who is he?” My Father asked. 

I couldn’t breathe. 

“Answer me.” 

Silence. 

My Father slammed his hands onto the table. 

“WHO IS HE!?” 

I flinched. 

“It’s-” My voice cracked. 

“It’s my friend.” 

My brother barked out a laugh. “Friends don’t kiss.” 

I looked down. My Father stood, the chair scraped across the floor. 

“You lied to us.” 

“Dad-” 

“You lied.” 

“It’s not-” 

The slap came so fast I never saw it. Pain exploded across my face. My head snapped sideways. My Mother gasped, but she didn’t stop it. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. I stared at the floor. My cheek burned. My Father towered over me. 

“You disgust me.” The words hurt worse than the slap. 

“You are not seeing him again.” 

“Dad-” 

“I said NO!” 

I swallowed hard. Tears blurred my vision. My Father pointed toward the stairs. 

“Go to your room.” 

I didn’t move. The second hit was a punch, straight to the eye. Everything went black for a second. My knees buckled. My brother looked away. My Mother covered her mouth. And still nobody stopped him. 

“Go.” 

I stumbled upstairs. Shut the door. Locked it. Then slid down the wall and cried. 

*Jude’s POV*

Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Y/N never answered any of my texts. Not a single one. I sent dozens. Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Please talk to me… 

Nothing. No response. By Monday morning, I felt sick. Something was wrong. Something happened, I just knew it. The moment I saw Y/N walking into school my stomach dropped. Y/N wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t meet my eyes. Wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t even sit near me. And there was a dark bruise forming around his left eye. I stared. 

The final bell rang, and students flooded out of classrooms. I spotted Y/N heading toward the parking lot. I hurried after him. 

“Y/N!” 

No response. 

“Y/N!” 

He kept walking. I grabbed his arm. 

“Hey.” 

Y/N stopped, slowly, reluctantly. When he turned around, I got a full look at the bruise. A black eye. The split skin near his eyebrow. I felt cold. 

“What happened?” 

Y/N looked away. “Nothing.” 

“That’s not nothing.” 

Silence. 

“Y/N.” 

Still nothing. 

“Who did this to you?” 

Y/N’s jaw tightened. 

“I can’t talk to you anymore.” The words hit me like a punch. 

“What?” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why?” 

Y/N laughed bitterly. “Because someone told my family.” 

I froze. 

“What?” 

“They know.” His voice cracked. 

“They know I’m gay.” 

I stared. The pieces clicked together instantly. The bruise. The silence. The fear…. Oh God… 

“Oh my God…” 

Y/N looked away. “They found out Friday.” 

I couldn’t breathe. “Your Dad did this?” 

Y/N didn’t answer. That was answer enough. I felt sick, furious, ans heartbroken all at once. 

“Y/N-” 

“I have to go.” 

“No.” 

“Jude-” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“My Dad said if he sees me talking to you again-” His voice broke. I realized Y/N was shaking. Actually shaking. 

“He’ll make it worse.” 

My heart shattered. Y/N stepped backward. 

“I’m sorry…” 

“Y/N-” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Then he turned and walked away. I stood there watching him leave. Unable to stop him. 

The entire way home felt like a blur. My chest hurt, my eyes burned, and by the time I reached the house, I barely held myself together. I opened the front door, and voices echoed from the kitchen. It was normal, happy, and safe. Everything Y/N didn’t have. I dropped my backpack by the door. Mariana immediately looked up. 

“Whoa.” 

Jesus looked over. “What’s wrong?” 

I shook my head. “Nothing.” 

“Liar.” Mariana said instantly. 

I started toward the stairs. 

“Jude.” It was Mama. She just came into the room, and one look at me told her everything. 

“Come here.” That was all it took. The tears started immediately. 

Ten minutes later I sat at the kitchen table. Mama beside me, Mom across from me. Mariana and Jesus were nearby. Callie and Brandon came downstairs too. Everyone looked worried. I stared at my hands, trying not to cry again. Mama rubbed my shoulder. 

“Talk to us.” 

I swallowed. “My boyfriend.” 

The room went quiet, because I rarely talked about relationships. 

“He didn’t answer me all weekend.” 

Mom frowned. “Okay.” 

“And today I found out why.” My voice cracked. 

“He wasn’t out to his family.” 

Mama’s expression immediately changed. Understanding, concern, and fear. I continued. 

“Someone got a picture of us.” 

Nobody interrupted. 

“Someone showed his parents…” 

Mom muttered something under her breath, probably a curse. 

“He had a black eye.” 

The entire room froze. 

“A black eye?” 

I nodded and my eyes filled again. 

“He said his family found out he’s gay.” 

Another nod. 

“And now they’re hurting him.” 

The kitchen became completely silent. Even Mariana stopped talking. Jesus looked horrified. Callie covered her mouth. Brandon looked sick. Mom looked furious, the kind of furious that made people run. Mama looked heartbroken. I wiped at my eyes. 

“He said he can’t talk to me anymore…” My voice broke. 

“He said his Dad will make it worse.” 

Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Mama reached for my hand. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

I started crying because hearing someone say it outloud made it real. Y/N was being hurt because of me, because of a picture, because somebody decided to expose something that wasn’t theirs to expose. Mom looked ready to explode. 

“Do you know his last name?” 

I blinked. “What?” 

“His last name.” 

“Y/L/N.” 

Mom exchanged a glance with Mama. The look only married couples understood. I noticed immediately. 

“What?” 

Mom leaned forward. “Did he tell you his Father hit him?” 

“He didn’t have to.” 

The room fell silent again. Mom nodded once, slowly. Then she stood and reached for her phone. 

“What are you doing?” 

Mom looked at me. “The same thing I’d do for any kid being abused.” 

I stared. Hope flickered for the first time all day. Maybe, just maybe, Y/N wouldn’t have to face this alone. And neither would I. 

The rain was soft and persistently drumming against the windowpane, which made my bedroom feel less like a room and more like a cocoon. Mama and Daddy had taken the truck up to Port Angeles for the weekend, some antique auction Daddy swore would be “worth the drive, sugar,” and I had the house to myself since Friday afternoon. Three days of quiet. Well, mostly quiet. 

Jasper’s leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that unhurried, knowing expression he wore like a second skin. He came through the window twenty minutes ago, the same way he always did when my parents weren’t home: silent, graceful, smelling of pine, rain, and something cold that clung to his skin no matter the season. I was sprawled across my bed, homework abandoned in a heap on the floor, my old quilt bunched up under my elbows. The lamp on my nightstand cast everything in a warm glow, painting shadows across his sharp cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw. And I was staring, couldn’t help it. 

He was wearing that grey Henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and the way the fabric pulled across his shoulders did things to my concentration that should’ve been illegal. His hair was tousled from the wind outside, a few honey-blond strands falling across his forehead, and his eyes, that liquid gold that shifted in low light, were fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse flutter at the base of my throat. I bit my bottom lip. Jasper’s smile tugged crookedly. 

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” He drawled, his accent curling around the words slower than usual, deliberate and warm like molasses. 

“and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’.” The way he said it, low, teasing, edged with something darker underneath, sent a shiver down my spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the chill coming through the open window. 

I should’ve blushed. Maybe ducked my head and laughed it off the way a proper Southern girl might’ve. But we’ve been doing this dance for a year now, Jasper and me, and I learned a thing or two about what happened when I stopped pretending I didn’t know exactly what I was asking for. So I lifted my chin and met his gaze straight on. 

“Maybe I do.” 

The words hung in the air between us, soft but steady. Jasper’s expression changed instantly. The amusement didn’t vanish, it sharpened. His smile faded into something leaner, hungrier, and his posture shifted by degrees: shoulders squaring, hands uncrossing, finger curling loose at his sides. The air in the room thickened, pressing against my skin, and I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. He didn’t move from the doorway, but suddenly he seemed closer. 

“Careful now, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, rougher than before, the Texas in his accent bleeding through stronger. 

“Don’t tease unless you’re ready for me to do somethin’ about it.” 

My heart kicked hard against my ribs. The old floorboards creaked as I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I was wearing cutoff shorts and one of his shirts, a faded flannel he left behind weeks ago that I claimed and never gave back. It hung loose off one shoulder, and his gaze tracked the exposed skin like a physical touch. 

“Who says I’m teasin’?” I asked, and my voice came out steadier than I felt. 

“You’ve been standin’ in that doorway for five minutes, Jasper Hale, lookin’ at me like you’re fixin’ to devour me whole. So quit actin’ like I’m the only one who wants somethin’.” 

A sound rumbled low in his chest, not quite a laugh. Then he moved. One moment, he was across the room, the next he was in front of me, close enough that I could feel the cold radiating off his skin, smell the rain still clinging to his hair. His hands settled on either side of my hips on the mattress, caging me in, and he leaned down until his lips hovered just above my ear. 

“Been wantin’ you since I walked through that window.” He murmured, each word a brush of cool breath against my skin. 

“Can feel it comin’ off you, too. That heat. That ache.” His nose traced the curve of my jaw, feather-light. 

“You think I can’t taste it in the air, darlin’? Every time your heart skips, every time you bite that pretty lip of yours, I know.” 

My hands came up without thinking, fisting the front of his Henley, and the fabric was cold and damp beneath my fingers. 

“Then do somethin’ about it.” I whispered. 

He kissed me. Not gently, not tentative. Jasper kissed like he’s been holding himself back for hours, days, maybe longer, and the restraint had finally snapped. His mouth covered mine hard, his cool lips parting, and when his tongue swept against my bottom lip I made a sound I didn’t recognize. My fingers twisted tighter in his shirt. His hand slid up my spine, palm flat and cold through the flannel, pressing me closer until my chest was flush against his. The shock of temperature, his body cool through the fabric, mine burning, drew a gasp from my throat that he swallowed whole. He pulled back just enough to drag the flannel off my shoulder, baring skin, and his mouth followed the newly exposed path. Lips trailing down my neck. Tongue tracing my collarbone. Teeth grazing the curve where my shoulder met my throat, not hard enough to hurt but enough to draw another sharp, desperate sound. 

“Jasper-” 

“Shh.” His breath fanned cool against the damp spot his mouth had left. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

His hands found the hem of the shirt and pulled. I lifted my arms, let him strip it over my head, and the air hit my bare skin in a rush. I wasn’t wearing a bra. His gaze dropped, and the sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a growl. 

“God, Y/N.” 

He lowered me back onto the quilt slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every inch of the journey. The old fabric was soft and worn beneath my back. Jasper braced himself above me, one hand beside my head, the other tracing down my sternum with excruciating gentleness. His fingers circled my left breast, and when his thumb brushed my nipple, I arched off the mattress. 

“So responsive.” The words were barely audible, more breath than sound, and his eyes had gone dark, the gold swallowed up by something deeper. 

“Been dreamin’ about havin’ you like this. Spread out under me. Just us. No one comin’ home for hours.” 

He bent his head and took my nipple into his mouth. Cold. Hot. The contrast was dizzying, his tongue working slow circles while his hand slid lower, palm skimming my stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my cutoff. I bucked against him, and he hummed against my breast, the vibration shooting straight down between my legs. He moved to the other side, giving it the same unhurried attention, and my fingers tangled in his thick, silk hair, catching on the ends that curled slightly from the damp. 

“Please…” I heard myself say. 

Jasper lifted his head. “Please what, darlin’?”

“Touch me.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted, lazy and wicked. “I am touchin’ you.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

His hand slid fully into my shorts, fingers pressing against me through the thin cotton of my underwear. I was soaked through, had been since the moment he stepped through the window, and the pressure of his touch made my hips roll automatically, seeking more friction. 

“This what you wanted?” He asked, voice rough as gravel, and his fingers traced the outline of me through the fabric with agonizing precision. 

“Been standin’ in that doorway thinkin’ about how wet you’d be for me. How warm. How soft.” 

I couldn’t form words anymore. My head pressed back into the quilt, my breath coming in short, ragged pulls, and he hadn’t even… His fingers hooked the waistband of my underwear and tugged. I lifted my hips, letting him peel them down my legs alongside my shorts, and then I was bare beneath him, nothing but the quilt, the lamplight, and his body hovering over mine. He sat back on his heels, still fully clothed, and looked at me. Just… looked. The way he stared made my skin prickle, made my thighs twitch with the urge to close, but his hands caught my knees and held them apart. 

“Don’t.” He said, and it wasn’t a request. “I wanna see you.” 

His thumb traced the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate, and when his gaze met mine again, it was almost reverent. 

“Beautiful…” He murmured. “So damn beautiful, Y/N.” 

Then his thumb slid higher, found my clit, and pressed. The sound I made wasn’t polite. Wasn’t ladylike. It was raw and broken and his name all tangled together, and Jasper’s smile sharpened into something predatory. 

“Let me hear you, sweetheart. Just like that.” He breathed. 

His thumb circled, slow and steady, and I was already trembling, already wound so tight from all the anticipation that even that small touch felt like too much and not enough all at once. He watched my face, reading every reaction, every flutter of my lashes, every gasp. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did. A finger pressed inside me, then two, curling upward, and my vision went white at the edges. 

“Look at you.” His voice was strained now, the control he wore like armor starting to crack. 

“So warm. So tight around my fingers. You have no idea what you do to me.” 

My hips moved against his hand, desperate and unashamed, chasing the pressure building low in my belly. His thumb kept circling, and his fingers kept stroking that spot inside me that made my whole body clench, and I was right there, right on the edge… 

He stopped. 

I made a noise of pure frustration, my eyes flying open. Jasper was looking down at me with an expression that made my breath catch. 

“Not yet.” He said, and his voice was dark as thunder. 

“When you come for me, darlin’, I wanna be inside you.” 

He pulled his shirt over his head, and I watched the muscles in his stomach flex, watched the lamplight trace the hard planes of his chest, his arms, the trail of pale hair that disappeared beneath his jeans. His hand found the button of his jeans, and he paused. 

“Tell me you want this.” 

“I want this.” I said, and the words came fast and sure. “I want you. Jasper, please…”

He lowered himself over me, skin to skin, and the shock of his cool body against my flushed one made us both groan. His forehead pressed to mine, and for a moment, we just breathed together. Then he shifted, and I felt him, hard and ready, pressing against my entrance. 

“Hold on to me.” He whispered. 

My arms wrapped around his shoulders. He pushed inside, slow and deep, filling me inch by inch until there was nothing left between us, no space, no air, just Jasper and the stretch and the perfect, aching fullness of him. He stayed buried inside me, his weight braced on his forearms, and I could feel every inch of him. The cool, smooth, and stretching me in a way that blurred the line between pleasure and ache. My body was still adjusting, still fluttering around him in small, involuntary pulses that made his jaw tighten, and his breath come shallower. 

Jasper’s forehead pressed to mine. His eyes were closed. I’ve never seen him like this. Usually, he was so controlled, so deliberate, every movement calculated like he was solving a puzzle only he could see. But right now his shoulders were trembling under my palms, and the muscles in his back were corded tight beneath my fingers, and his lips were parted just enough that I could hear the faint, ragged pull of air he didn’t technically need.

“Y/N…” My name came out hoarse, broken at the edges. 

“Give me a second, darlin’. Just… just a second.” 

My legs were wrapped around his hips, my heels pressed into the small of his back, and every tiny shift of my body made him shudder. I could feel it, the way his restraint was fraying, the way his control was held together by threads. So I did what any sensible girl would do. I clenched around him. Deliberately. His eyes flew open, and the gold was nearly gone, swallowed by black. 

“Did you just-” 

“Maybe.” 

The growl that rumbled through his chest vibrated straight into me. His hips jerked, pressing deeper, and the sudden movement dragged a cry from my throat that I muffled against his shoulder. 

“You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.” His voice had dropped to something barely recognizable, rough as gravel, thick as honey, all Texas and hunger and barely leashed want. 

“Thought I told you not to tease.” 

“Thought you said you were gonna do somethin’ about it.” I dragged my nail down his back, and his whole body tensed. 

“So do somethin’ Jazz.” 

He pulled out, slow, so slow I could feel every ridge and vein dragging against my inner walls, and then he thrust back in, hard enough that the headboard knocked against the wall. I gasped. He did it again. And again. Each thrust deliberate, measured, like he was relearning the shape of me from the inside. My hands fisted in the quilt beneath me, my back arching off the mattress, and he caught my hips with one hand, holding me steady while he set a rhythm that was slow, deep, and devastating. 

“You feel-” He broke off, his head dropping to the curve of my neck. 

“God, Y/N. You’re so warm. So tight around me. I can feel every heartbeat. Every flutter.” 

His mouth found my throat, cool lips pressing against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel it, the way my blood was racing, the way my heart was hammering against my ribs like a wild thing trying to escape. He groaned against my skin, and the vibration traveled down my spine, settled somewhere low and electric. 

“Jasper, please-” 

“Please what?” His hips kept moving, that relentless rhythm, and his thumb found my clit again, circling with maddening precision. 

“Please faster? Please harder? Or do you want me to keep you right here, on the edge, for an hour?” The thought made my inner muscles clench violently around him. He hissed. 

“Faster.” I managed, the word barely coherent. “Please, faster.” 

He obliged. The headboard hammered against the wall in a steady, urgent beat, and the sound of it, the creak of the bedframe, the slap of skin against skin, my breathless cries tangled with his low groans, filled the room until there was nothing else. No rain. No wind. No world outside this bed. Just Jasper. 

Just the way he moved inside me, the way his hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, the way his eyes stayed fixed on my face like he was memorizing every expression, every sound, every second. 

“Look at you.” His voice cracked. “Falling apart on my cock. So pretty, Y/N. So goddamn pretty.” 

The words did something to me. Something that made my vision tunnel, my thighs shake, and my nails dig into his shoulders as the pressure inside me coiled tighter and tighter, winding like a spring. 

“I’m close.” The warning came out as a sob. “Jazz, I’m… don’t stop, please don’t stop-” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His thumb pressed harder against my clit, his thrusts turning rougher, losing their careful rhythm. 

“Wanna feel you come around me. Want to feel you squeeze me so tight I can’t think. Can you do that for me, darlin’? Can you let go?” His mouth moved to my ear, his breath cold against the shell of it. 

“Cum for me, Y/N. Now.” The command shattered something inside me. 

My climax hit like a thunderclap, sudden, violent, and all-consuming. My back bowed off the mattress, my mouth opened on a scream I couldn’t hear, and my body clenched around him in waves that didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just kept rolling through me, one after another, until I was nothing but sensation, heat, and the sound of Jasper’s name breaking from my lips. 

Through the haze, I felt him stiffen above me. Heard his groan, low, rough, and utterly wrecked, as my climax triggered his own. His hips drove deep, holding still, and the cool rush of his release flooded inside me, marking me, filling me. 

For a long, suspended moment, we stayed like that. Locked together. Breathless. Trembling. Then Jasper collapsed, his weight settling on top of me in a way that should’ve been crushing but wasn’t, it was grounding, steadying, a cold anchor in the storm of sensation still rippling through my body. His face pressed into the hollow of my throat, and I could feel his lips moving against my skin, murmuring words I was too dazed to catch. 

My fingers found his hair. Stroked through the tangled strands. Somewhere outside, the rain kept falling. I don’t know how long we lay there before he stirred. Before he lifted his head and looked at me with eyes that had softened back to gold, warm, lazy, and satisfied. 

“You alright?” The drawl was back, slow and easy. One corner of his mouth curved up. 

“Didn’t break you, did I?” 

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest, breathless, giddy, and completely unleadylike. 

“M’not that fragile, Jasper Hale.” 

“No.” His thumb traced my cheekbone, feather-light. 

“No, you’re not. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than you look, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

Before I could answer, he eased out of me, careful, gentle, and the sudden emptiness made me wince. Made me ache. He noticed, of course. He noticed everything. His expression flicked with something almost like guilt. 

“Stay here.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

He moved off the bed with that unsettling vampire grace, all lean muscle and pale skin in the lamplight, and disappeared through my bedroom door. A few seconds later, I heard the bathroom faucet run. When he returned, he was carrying a warm, damp washcloth. 

I should’ve been embarrassed. A proper Southern girl would’ve blushed, stammered, and tried to do it herself. But the tenderness in his expression, the careful way he cleaned between my thighs, the reverent brush of his knuckles against my oversensitive skin, stole the breath from my lungs and the protest from my tongue. He tossed the washcloth into the hamper, then climbed back onto the bed, pulling me against his chest. He tucked the quilt around us both. 

“You’re stayin’?” The question came out smaller than I meant it to. 

His arms tightened around my waist. “Try makin’ me leave.” 

I pressed my smile into his collarbone. The cold of his skin had stopped feeling strange months ago. Now it just felt like home. 

“Besides,” He added, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “your parents ain’t back ‘til Sunday. We’ve got time.” 

The ballroom of the Thronwood estate glittered with a thousand candles, their amber flames casting dancing shadows across vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of ancient witchcraft. I stood at the edge of it all, my emerald gown trailing across marble floors worn smooth by generations of my family’s footsteps. Everywhere I looked, warlocks in tailored suits and witches in gowns that cost more than most mortals made in a year laughed, schemed, and made the kind of small talk that could end bloodlines. 

I should have been mingling. My Mother had reminded me three times this evening alone that the Alder coven had a son visiting from New Orleans, that the Blackwood heir had been asking about me, that I needed to be seen. Instead, I slipped away to the balcony, letting the cool night air wash over my bare shoulders. 

“You’re missing your own party.” 

That voice. Deep, rough, and unfairly attractive. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. 

“Caliban.” I kept my gaze fixed on the garden below, where moonlight turned the hedge maze into silvery shadows. 

“Don’t you have some other poor soul to torment?” 

His footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. 

“I’m not interested in other souls tonight.” The warmth of him settled at my side, close enough that I could feel it through the thin silk of my dress. 

“Only yours.” 

“I don’t belong to you.” 

“Not yet.” He said it like a promise, like a threat. 

I finally turned, ready to deliver with withering retort, and found him watching me with eyes that held all the heat I’ve been trying to ignore. The Prince of Hell, dressed in a black suit that hugged his bread shoulders and narrowed waist. His hair fell across his forehead in that effortlessly disheveled way that made me want to run my fingers through it. Which was exactly the kind of thought I refused to acknowledge. 

“Why are you here?” I demanded. “My family may have invited you, but that doesn’t mean-” 

“Your family didn’t invite me.” His lips curved. “I invited myself. Consider it… a perk of being royalty.” 

“Self-invited royalty, how fitting for the Prince of Hell.” 

He leaned closer, and the scent of him, smoke, amber, and something darker, filled my lungs. 

“Still trying to act like you hate me?” Caliban murmured, that smug grin I wanted to kiss right off his face spreading slowly. 

“Darling, if that were true, you wouldn’t be trembling every time I touch you.” 

My pulse spiked. “You’re insufferable.” 

“And yet here you are, alone with me after midnight.” His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, tracing the plunging neckling of my gown with agnizing slowness. 

“Tell me to leave. Mean it. I’ll walk away and never bother you again.” 

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. 

“That’s what I thought.” His hand came up, fingers brushing my bare arm, leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

“You’ve been watching me all night, Y/N. Every time I caught your eye, you looked away. Every time I moved closer, you found somewhere else to be. But you never left.” 

“I was being polite.” 

“You were running.” He stepped closer still, eliminating the last pretense of distance between us. 

“From me. From this. From how badly you want me to bend you over this balcony railing and making you forget every reason you think you should stay away.” 

My breath caught. “We’re at my family’s estate. Anyone could-” 

“Let them watch.” His hand slid up, fingers threading into my hair, gripping just tight enough to make me gasp. 

“Let them see their precious daughter writhing on the cock of Hell’s Prince. Let them understand that no matter how many suitable warlocks they parade before you, you’ll always come back to me.” 

“You’re arrogant.” 

“I’m honest.” He tugged, tilting my head back, exposing the calumn of my throat. His breath ghosted across my skin as he lowered his mouth to that sensitive spot just below my ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

“Caliban-” 

“Tell me you don’t want this.” His other hand found my hip, fingers digging into the silk, pulling me against him until I could feel exactly how much he wanted this too. Hard and thick against my stomach. 

“Tell me, and I’ll stop.” 

I should. Every logical part of my brain screamed that this was reckless, dangerous, that my family would never accept him, that nothing good could come from falling into bed with a demon Prince. But his lips found my pulse point, tongue tracing the rapid beat, and coherent thought scattered. 

“I hate you.” I breathed, even as my hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer. 

He laughed against my throat. “I know.” 

Then his mouth was on mine, consuming and claiming, all teeth and tongue and the kind of desperate hunger that made her knees weak. She kissed me back with equal fervor, months of pent-up wanting pouring out of me in waves. His grip tightened in my hair. 

“Inside. Now. Before I take you right here and scandalize your entire bloodline.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, dragging me through the balcony doors and into a shadowed corridor that led away from the ballroom’s light. I knew this house, every hidden passage, every forgotten corner, but I let him lead, let him push me against the nearest wall and hike my skirt up with impatient hands. 

“Caliba, someone could-” 

His fingers found my center, pressing against my slick heat through the thin barrier of my underwear. 

“Someone could.” He agreed, dragging one finger along my entrance, gathering my arousal. 

“And you’re soaked for me. The insufferable Prince of Hell you hate so very much.” 

I clawed at his shoulders as he pushed the fabric aside and sank one finger into my clentching channel. 

“More.” 

“Greedy little witch.” He added a second finger, pumping slowly, curling them to find that spot that made her vision blur. 

“So tight. I’m going to enjoy splitting you open on my cock.” 

My head fell back against the wall. “Then stop teasing and-” 

He withdrew his fingers without warning, leaving me empty and aching. Before I could protest, he lifted me, urging my legs around his waist as he freed himself from his trousers. The broad head of him pressed against my entrance, and he paused, eyes blazing. 

“Last chance to be sensible, witch.” 

I rolled my hips, taking him inside me in one smooth motion, and we groaned together as he filled me completely. His jaw tightened, control visibly fraying. 

“I’m going to ruin you.” He promised, and then he began to move.

He moved with a deliberateness that drove me mad. Each thrust was measured, controled, as if he had all the time in the world to take me apart piece by piece when anyone could stumble upon us at any moment. My back pressed into the wall, the cold stone a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body against mine. 

“Caliban…” I gasped, fingernails biting into his shoulders through the fine fabric of his suit jacket. 

“Faster…” 

His laugh was dark velvet against my ear. “Patience, Y/N. I’ve been waiting months for this. I intend to savor every second.” 

“I hate you.” 

“You’ve mentioned.” He rolled his hips, hitting that spot inside me that made white sparks dance across my vision. 

“And yet your body tells a different story. So wet. So tight. Practically begging for my cock.” 

I wanted to argue. Wanted to bite back with something sharp that would wipe that insufferable smirk from his face. But then he shifted angle, driving deeper, and the only sound that escaped my throat was a broken moan that echoed too loudly in the empty corridor. Caliban’s hand came up to cover my mouth. His eyes blazed with triumph. 

“Shhh, wouldn’t want your precious family to hear their daughter being fucked like a common whore by Hell’s Prince.” 

The words should have insulted me. Instead, heat pooled low in my belly, my inner walls clenching around him. His grin sharpened, feeling me respond. 

“Oh, you like that.” His thumb brushed across my lower lip, pressing inside. 

“Filthy little witch. All that proper breeding, all those rules and traditions, and what really makes you wet is being reminded what you are when I’m inside you.” 

I bit down on his thumb, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to show I still had teeth. He rewarded me with a brutal thrust that slammed me against the wall. 

“Again.” I demanded, wrapping my legs tighter around his wasit. 

“Harder.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

He stopped holding back. Each stroke was punishing now, driving the air from my lungs, the wet sound of our bodies meeting obscenely loud in the silence. I clung to him, desperate, my carefully constructed walls crumbling with every snap of his hips. This was why I fought so hard. Not because my family would disapprove, though that was true. I fought because I knew, from the first moment he looked at me with those burning eyes, that he would consume me. That he would peel away every layer of control I wrapped around myself until there was nothing left but raw need. And I would let him. 

“Getting close.” He growled against my throat, his pace turning erratic. 

“Come for me, Y/N. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.” 

His fingers found my clit, circling in tight, ruthless strokes. The dual sensation was too much. My orgasm crashed through me without warning, every muscle in my body seizing as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me. I bit down on his shoulder to muffle my scream, tasting the expensive fabric and the Earth of his skin. He followed me over the edge three thrusts later, burying himself deep as he spilled inside me with a groan I felt more than heard. His forehead pressed against mine, both of us breathing hard, bodies still joined. 

For a long moment, neither moved. The distant sounds of the party, laughter, music, the clink of champagne glasses, filtered through the walls, a reminder that a hundred witches and warlocks celebrated mere yards away, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired. 

Then Caliban pulled back, and I felt the loss of him kneely. He set me down gently, steadying me when my knees threatened to buckle. His eyes swept over me, hair ruined, gown wrinkled, lips swollen, with unmistakable satisfaction. 

“Look at you, wrecked, beautiful, and all mine.” He murmured. 

I forced strength into my legs, smoothing down my skirt with hands that trembled. 

“I should return to the party.” 

“You should.” He made no move to release me. “Your family will be looking for their dutiful daughter.” 

“My thoughts exactly.” I tried to step around him, but he caught my wrist. 

“This isn’t over, Y/N.” His voice dropped, all teasing vanished. “One taste of you isn’t nearly enough. It will never be enough.” 

Something in my chest tightened. “I never promised you more.” 

“You didn’t have to.” He lifed my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm that felt dangerously like a vow. 

“Your body already did. The way you say my name when you come apart.” 

I snatched my hand back. “You’re insufferable.” 

“And you’re running again.” He stepped aside, gestureing dramatically toward the corridor’s end. 

“Go. Mingle with your suitable warlocks. Pretend you didn’t just let the Prince of Hell claim you against a wall.” 

“I didn’t let you do anything.” 

“Denial doesn’t suit you, darling.” 

I walked away before he could see how badly my hands shook. The corridor twisted twice before opening onto a small antechamber, and I paused there, catching my breath. A mirror hung on the wall, and I stared at my reflection, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair escaping its careful arrangement. Nothing a few charms couldn’t fix. I whispered the incantaion, watched the evidence of my indiscretion fade away. When I emerged into the ballroom, I was perfectly composed, emerald gown swirling elegantly around me ankles, not a hair out of place. 

“There you are!” My Mother descended, diamonds glittering at her throat. 

“The Alder boy has been asking for you. Such a promishing family, excellent connections in New Orleans. Come, I’ll introduce you properly.” 

I followed without protest, falling into the role I played my entire life. But across the room, past hundreds of laughing guests, I caught a glimpse of him. Caliban leaned against a marble pillar, watching me. He raised his champagne flute in a silent toast, lips curving. My pulse jumped traitorously. I turned away, focusing on my Mother’s chatter about bloodlines and betrothal contracts, but the heat of his gaze followed me. Later, when the Alder heir asked me to dance, I accepted with a perfect smile… and counted the minutes until I could slip away again. 

*Seth’s POV*

The bonfire smelled like saltwater, smoke, and wet cedar. It clung to everything, my hoodie, the sand beneath my sneakers, the cold night air rolling in from First Beach. I liked it. Most people from Forks avoided La Push after dark unless they were heading to the beach party, but I always loved nights like this. Loud laughter, crashing waves, embers floating into the sky like tiny stars. 

Emily stood near the fire pit, passing paper plates around while Quil and Embry argued over music choices. Jared was trying to steal food directly off the grill despite Kim slapping his hand away every five seconds. It was normal. Well, as normal as things ever got when you’re secretly a giant wolf. 

I leaned back against the driftwood log, grinning while Brady lost spectacularly at trying to toss bottle caps into an empty soda can. Then the familiar roar of a motorcycle echoed down the road. Jacob. I looked up automatically. The old rabbit-red truck following behind the bike made me blink. Bella Swan. That wasn’t surprising anymore. Bella came around pretty often now. The surprising part was the second girl climbing out of the truck. I frowned slightly. She looked younger than Bella, smaller too. Dark brown hair whipping around her face in the ocean wind. Oversized green hoodie swallowing her frame whole. Converse half-covered in sand, the second she stepped onto the beach. She glanced around uncertainly, staying close to Bella. 

“Bella brought company?” Embry muttered. 

Jacob parked the bike and pulled his helmet off. “Don’t start.” 

“I wasn’t starting anything.” 

“You were literally starting something.” 

I barely heard them, because the second the girl laughed softly at something Bella said, the entire world stopped. Not metaphorically, actually stopped. The sound of waves disappeared. The fire vanished. The pack voices in my head cut into static. And suddenly there was only her. 

The girl looked up. Brown eyes. Warm, curious, nervous, beautiful. I forgot how to breathe. My heart slammed once against my ribs so hard it physically hurt. Then again. Again. Oh. Oh. No way… No freaking way… The realization hit like a truck. Imprinting. I heard the stories my whole life. Sam and Emily. Jared and Kim. Quil and Claire. The instant certainty. The complete inability to look away. The horrifying, Earth-shattering understanding that your entire life had just changed forever. I had always secretly thought it sounded exaggerated. It wasn’t. Because suddenly every molecule in my body oriented toward one thing. Her. Protect her. Stay near her. Make her smile. Make sure she never looks sad again.

My wolf exploded awake inside me so violently I nearly staggered. Across the beach, every member of the pack froze because they heard it. Every single horrifying thought. 

“Oh my God…” Embry choked aloud. 

“NO WAY!” Quil shouted. 

Jared burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell over. Jacob’s head whipped toward me instantly. I could practically feel the collective psychic whiplash slam through the bond. SETH IMPRINTED! HOLY CRAP! She’s tiny. Dude, he looks like he’s gonna pass out. I wanted to die. I was still staring. I couldn’t stop staring. 

The girl shifted awkwardly under the attention. “Um…” 

Bella looked between us in confusion. Jacob swore quietly under his breath. The girl looked at me again, eyebrows pulling together slightly. 

“Is he okay?” 

Bella turned toward Jacob immediately. “Jake?” 

Jacob rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, he’s fine, uh…” He pointed vaguely toward the trees. 

“Give us a second.” 

I still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t move. Her face scrunched slightly in concern. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen in my entire existence. 

Dude, stop staring before you scare her. Embry thought hysterically. 

I CAN’T! 

That only made Jared laugh harder. 

“Okay…” Bella said slowly, clearly confused. 

Jacob marched straight toward me, grabbed my shoulder, and turned me around. The second the girl, Y/N, that was her name apparently, left my line of sight, the rest of the world crashed violently back into place. Noise, wind, cold, my heartbeat. 

“Breathe, you idiot.” Jacob hissed. 

“I am breathing.” 

“You are absolutely not.” Leah said. 

I inhaled so sharply it almost became a wheeze. Quil was openly crying-laughing now. 

“Shut up!” I snapped automatically. 

“You imprinted!” Quil yelled. 

“I know!” 

“On Bella Swan’s baby sister!” 

Embry looked delighted. “Awww, Seth’s in loooove.” 

“I will literally kill you.” 

“You can’t.” Jared said smugly. “Imprinters are legally prohibited from murder.” 

“That’s not a thing!” 

“It should be…” 

I dragged both hands down my face. My entire body felt electric, like every nerve ending had been set on fire. I could still smell her perfume in the air, something soft and floral mixed with rain. I was doomed. Sam, Jacob, and Leah looked far less amused than the others. Sam folded his arms across his chest, expression somewhere between exhausted and sympathetic. 

“Okay. Everybody, calm down before you scare the poor girl off.” 

“I’m calm.” I argued automatically. 

“You’re vibrating.” Leah deadpanned. 

I looked down, my leg was bounding so aggressively the sand around my sneaker was shifting. 

“Oh…” 

Embry snorted. Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Can we maybe not make this worse?” 

“Too late.” Jared said cheerfully. 

Quil grinned at me. “So when’s the wedding?” 

I lunged at him. He yelped and darted backward while the other laughed. 

“Seth!” 

“I’m gonna kill him!” 

Sam stepped between us before I could tackle Quil. “Enough!” 

The Alpha voice slid into his tone just enough to make everybody straighten automatically, even me. Sam sighed heavily once we were quiet again. 

“Seth, breathe. Focus.” 

“I am focused.” 

The pack snickered. I galred at all of them. Sam ignored the chaos and looked at me more carefully. Unlike the others, he wasn’t teasing anymore. 

“You know what this means, right?” 

My chest tightened instantly. Yeah, I knew. Imprinting wasn’t just some crush. It wasn’t temporary. It wasn’t optional. It was forever, and somehow that didn’t scare me nearly as much as it probably should have. Because the idea of never seeing Y/N again already felt impossible. Sam’s expression softened slightly like he could read the panic written all over my face. 

“First thing, stop acting like she’s made of glass.” 

“I’m not-” 

“You are.” 

I opened my mouth. Closed it again, because maybe I was. Okay, definitely. 

“She’s still a person.” Sam continued. “She’s gonna get nervous if you stare at her like she personally controls the moon.” 

Embry wheezed laughing behind me. I ignored him, mostly because Sam was right. I probably looked insane. Sam leaned back against one of the rocks. 

“Imprinting doesn’t erase who she is. Doesn’t mean she loses choices. It just means your wolf decided she’s the center of your universe now.” 

That… sounded horrifyingly accurate, actually. 

“And before your brain melts completely.” Leah added dryly. “No, you don’t have to immediately become some creepy obsessed stalker.” 

“Leah.” Jacob warned. 

“What? I’m helping.” She rolled her eyes. 

I rubbed my hands over my face again. “Okay, but what do I actually do?” 

“Nothing.” Sam answered immediately. 

I blinked. “What?” 

“You let her set the pace.” 

That shut me up. Sam’s voice got more serious. 

“Listen carefully, Seth. Imprinting feels overwhelming for us, not them. She didn’t ask for this. She doesn’t even know what imprinting really means yet.” 

Guilt twisted in my stomach immediately, because yeah, from Y/N’s perspective, some random guy on a beach had basically blue-screened staring at her. Fantastic first impression. Sam must’ve noticed my expression because his tone softened again. 

“Relax. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Yet.” Leah muttered. 

“Leah!” 

She shrugged unapologetically. Jacob finally pushed off the tree beside us. 

“Bella kinda already told her about us anyway, so at least we don’t have to explain the wolf thing.” 

Sam’s head snapped toward him so fast it almost blurred. “She what?” 

Jacob immediately looked like he regretted speaking. 

“Bella told Y/N about us.” He repeated cautiously. 

Sam stared at him. “Bella isn’t supposed to tell anyone.” 

Jacob lifted both hands defensively. “It’s okay, Y/N’s chill. Like Bella.” 

Leah barked out a laugh. “Bella is not chill.” 

Jacob pointed at her dramatically. “You know what I mean.” 

“No, I really don’t.” Leah said. 

Jacob sighed. “Okay, she’s not chill in the same sense Bella is.” 

Bella’s version of chill mostly involved willingly hanging around vampires and jumping off cliffs, apparently. 

Leah crossed her arms. “Then what does that even mean?” 

Jacob glanced toward the bonfire where Y/N sat perched on a driftwood log near Emily, quietly listening while Kim talked to her. And my stupid imprinting brain immediately focused on her again. God… even from here she looked beautiful with firelight flickering across her face. I was hopeless. 

Jacob snorted softly. “She’s kinda got the same energy as Seth, just not as puppy-like.” 

“Hey!” I protested. The entire pack burst into laughter. 

Embry clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh my God, that’s the perfect description!” 

“You literally got excited over toaster waffles.” Leah added. 

“That happened one time!” 

“It happened yesterday.” Jared corrected. 

I glared at all of them while they laughed harder. 

Jacob shook his head. “You know what I mean. She’s energetic, loud once she gets comfortable, kind of sarcastic.” 

That made me pause. Sarcastic? For some reason, that immediately made me like her even more. Fantastic. I was doomed in every possible direction. My attention snapped back toward the bonfire when Bella started walking toward us. Y/N stayed behind, sitting on the leg, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands while Emily talked to her softly. Every instinct in me screamed to go sit beside her. Instead, I stayed rooted exactly where I was because Sam’s warning echoed in my head. Let her set the pace. Bella stopped in front of Jacob, arms crossed tightly. 

“Jake, what’s going on?” 

Jacob visibly braced himself. “Uh…” 

Bella narrowed her eyes immediately. “Jacob.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Remember how I told you about imprinting a few months ago?” 

Bella blinked once. “Yeah?” 

Jacob pointed directly at me. “Well… Seth kind of imprinted on your sister.” 

Bella stared at him. Then at me. Then slowly back toward Y/N, sitting by the fire. 

“Oh my God.” 

My stomach stopped straight into the sand. Bella looked utterly horrified for half a second before her expression shifted into disbelief. 

“Wait, seriously?” 

Jake nodded cautiously. 

Embry stage-whispered. “He stared at her so hard I thought he was gonna pass away.” 

“I hate you.” I muttered. 

Bella ignored us entirely, still staring at me. “You imprinted on Y/N?” 

“Yeah…” There was no point denying it. 

To my complete shock, Bella didn’t freak out. Instead, she looked weirdly fascinated. 

“That’s why everyone froze?” 

“Yeah.” Jake said tiredly. 

Bella looked back at me slowly. And then, to my horror, she started laughing. Not in a mean way, more like shocked laughter. 

“Oh my God!” She wheezed. “Y/N is never gonna let you live this down.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked cautiously. 

Bella grinned suddenly. “She’s gonna tease you so bad once she realized you’re nervous around her.” 

The back immediately erupted again. 

“He is nervous!” Jared yelled. 

“I am not!” 

“You almost inhaled your own tongue!” 

“That didn’t happen!” 

Bella was still laughing now, shaking her head. “Poor Seth.” 

Poor Seth!? I was being attacked! Emotionally attacked! Sam looked mildly relieved Bella wasn’t panicking. 

“You’re okay with this?” 

Bella’s laughter faded into something more thoughtful as she glanced back toward her sister. Y/N was smiling faintly at something Emily said now, shoulders now relaxed than before. Bella softened immediately. 

“She liked you guys already.” 

My heart nearly exploded. “What?” 

Bella looked back at me. “She’s shy around new people. If she didn’t like you, she’d be hiding behind me right now.” 

The amount of hope that slammed into my chest should’ve been illegal. Bella smirked slightly before looking back toward Y/N again. Then her expression shifted into protective older-sister mode. 

“But if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” She said calmly. 

Jake immediately barked out laughing. 

“Bella.” Sam warned. 

“What? I’m serious.” 

“I won’t hurt her.” I said quietly, and I meant it so fiercely it physically hurt. Bella studied me for a long moment, then finally nodded once. 

“Okay.” 

For a second no one moved. Then Embry clapped his hands together loudly. 

“Alright! Emotional trauma over. Back to the bonfire!” 

“Thank God…” Leah muttered. 

Jared slung an arm around my shoulders as everybody started heading back toward the fire. “So, you gonna actually talk to her now or just stare at her until she gets a restraining order?” 

“I hate this pack.” 

“No you don’t.” 

The closer we got to the bonfire, the harder my heart pounded. Y/N was still sitting on the driftwood log beside Emily, one sneaker absently kicking against the sand while Kim talked animatedly beside her. The firelight flickered across her face. God. Every time I looked at her it felt like getting hit by a truck. Emily noticed us approaching first. Her eyes flicked between me and Y/N knowingly before she smiled softly. 

“Everything sorted out?” 

“Debatable.” Jacob muttered. 

Bella immediately walked over to her sister while the rest of us awkwardly hovered nearby like complete idiots. Y/N looked up the second we approached. Her eyes landed on me for barely half a second before she smiled politely. My brain shut off again. 

“Hi.” She said. 

“Oh my God! He’s buffering!” Quil thought through the link. I elbowed him hard without looking away from her. 

“Ow!” 

Y/N blinked in confusion. Bella looked like she was actively trying not to laugh again. 

“Y/N,” Jacob said quickly before I could humiliate myself further. “this is everybody. That’s Embry, Jared, Quil, Paul, Sam, Emily, Kim, Leah, and her little brother Seth.” 

Everyone waved or nodded. 

Y/N smiled shyly. “Hi.” 

Embry immediately grinned. “You’re way calmer about this than Bella was.” 

Bella rolled her eyes. “I was perfectly calm.” 

“You punched Paul in the face.” 

“That was unrelated.” 

“It literally was not.” 

Y/N laughed softly. The sound hit me straight in the chest. Again. Everything about her did. Emily scooted slightly on the driftwood log, making room. 

“Sit down before you all start making the girl uncomfortable.” 

I hesitated for maybe half a second before carefully sitting beside Y/N. Not too close, but not far enough away that my wolf liked it. Her shoulder was maybe six inches from mine. I was hyperaware of every inch. 

“So…” She said after a moment, glancing at me sideways. “you feeling less like you’re about to faint now?” 

The entire pack went dead silent, then exploded laughing. 

“Oh, she’s definitely like Seth!” Embry wheezed. 

My face instantly felt like it was on fire. 

“I wasn’t gonna faint.” I mumbled. 

“You kinda looked like you were.” She admitted. 

“I hate all of you.” 

“You keep saying that.” Leah said dryly. 

Y/N smiled a little wider at that. A tiny victory, I clung to it immediately. Bella sat across from us on another log, watching with the most entertained expression I’ve ever seen on her face. Y/N tucked a stand of her hair behind her ear and looked back at me curiously. 

“So, how long have you all known each other?” 

“Forever basically.” I answered automatically. “La Push is small.” 

“That explains why you all act like siblings.” 

“We’re emotionally codependent.” Jared said solemnly. 

“Speak for yourself.” Leah muttered. 

“You threatened Paul with a tire iron last week.” 

“He deserved it.” 

Y/N laughed again. Okay, maybe Bella was right because once she relaxed a little she really did have the same kind of energy as me. Sarcastic, easy laughter, warm, and I was absolutely screwed. 

“So,” Y/N said after another minute, glancing between all of us. “do bonfires here always turn into group interventions or was today special?” 

Embry pointed directly at me. “Special.” 

I groaned. Y/N looked amused now more than nervous. 

“You guys keep saying weird things like that.” 

“Because Seth’s being weird.” Quil said immediately. 

“I am not!” 

Y/N looked between us slowly, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. 

“Okay seriously, what’s up with you, dude?” 

Every single wolf at the bonfire went silent. 

Oh no. 

I froze. “Um…” I said intelligently. 

Y/N waited. 

“Uh…” 

Bella finally took pity on me, or maybe she just wanted chaos. Probably both. She leaned forward slightly, looking directly at her sister. 

“He imprinted on you.” 

The world stopped again. My eyes widened instantly. Y/N’s eyes widened too. The crackling bonfire suddenly sounded way too loud. 

“...What?” 

Bella pointed vaguely toward me. “The wolf soulmate thing Jacob told me about it.” 

Y/N blinked once. Twice. Then very slowly turned toward me. I wanted the Earth to swallow me whole. Now she knew, like actually knew. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe again because what if this freaked her out? What if- 

“Oh…” She said softly. 

I braced for panic. Instead she looked… stunned. Not upset, just stunned. Her gaze flicked over my face carefully, almost like she was trying to piece things together. 

“That’s…” She let out a short nervous laugh. “Wow.” 

“I can explain!” I blurted immediately. 

Embry made a strangled noise behind me. I ignored him. 

“It’s not like… I mean it is… but not in a creepy way!” I was actively dying. 

“God, that sounded creepy…” 

Y/N stared at me for another second, then suddenly her lips twitched. And before I could process it, she laughed. Not mocking or uncomfortable, just genuinely surprised laughter. 

“Well, I didn’t expect to be someone’s soulmate today.” She said, pulling her sleeves further over her hands. My brain completely stopped functioning. The entire pack went emotionally feral in my head. 

Oh my God! She called herself his soulmate! 

Seth is gonna pass out! 

Look at his face!” 

I buried my face in my hands. 

Please stop talking. 

Y/N laughed harder. Sitting there beside her, listening to that sound while the fire crackled and the ocean roared behind us, I realized something terrifying. Sam was right. My whole world really had changed in a single second. And somehow… I didn’t mind at all. 

*3rd Person POV*

The motel room smelled like stale coffee, gun oil, and the cheap floral cleaner every roadside inn in America seemed to buy in bulk. Rain tapped softly against the window while the television muttered low in the corner, ignored by everyone inside the room. Sixteen-year-old Y/N Winchester sat cross-legged on one of the beds, carefully wrapping fresh gauze around Dean’s bruised knuckles. 

“You punk walls too much.” She muttered quietly. 

Dean snorted from where he sat shirtless on the edge of the mattress. “Occupational hazard, baby.” 

Her lips twitched faintly. “Dad says it’s because you have anger issues.” 

“Dad says a lot of things.” 

Across the room, Sam huffed a laugh from behind an old lore book. John glanced up briefly from cleaning his handgun at the small table. 

“Watch the attitude.” John warned. 

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t push further. Y/N immediately glanced between them, the familiar nervous reflex deeply ingrained by years of trying to keep peace between the three men she loved most. 

“It’s done.” She said softly, trying off the bandage around Dean’s hand. 

Dean flexed his fingers experimentally before nudging her shoulder with his own. 

“Thanks, baby girl.” 

She smiled automatically. That smile was the problem. Sam noticed it first years ago. Dean noticed it too, though neither brother ever talked about it aloud. Y/N smiled differently around John. Softer, safer, like she truly believed he hung the moon. And John… God, John treated her differently, too. Not normal Dad differently, John Winchester was incapable of being normal, but softer. Gentler around the edges. She still trained, still hunted, still lived in motel rooms and survived on greasy diner food and fake credit card scams. But Y/N got blankets draped over her when she fell asleep in the backseat. She got forehead kisses before hunts. She got called princess. Sam and Dean got boys. Dean used to pretend it didn’t bother him. Then Y/N turned eight, and John drover three hours out of their way because she mentioned wanting strawberry pancakes from a diner she liked. Three hours. Dean had nearly died from a wendigo bite two weeks ealier, and John barely blinked. But Y/N pouted once, and suddenly the world stopped spinning. Dean hated how much that hurt. Not because of Y/N, she adored them. Absolutely worshipped both of her older brothers. 

When she was little, she cried anytime Dean left for supply runs because she thought monsters would eat him. She used to crawl into Sam’s lap during thunderstorms with stuffed animals tucked under her chin. She never bragged about being Dad’s favorite. Honestly, she barely seemed aware of it. That somehow made it worse. 

“You finish your research?” John asked Sam.

“Almost.” Sam answered without looking up. 

Y/N slid off the bed and wandered over to him, peering down at the lore book. 

“Anything useful?” 

Sam’s expression softened instantly. It always did around her. 

“Maybe.” He said. “Looks like the disappearances line up with demon omens.” 

Her face fell slightly. Demons were bad news. Not ghost bad, not vampire bad, demon bad. 

John stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. “Then we move tonight.” 

Dean frowned immediately. “Tonight?” 

“Yes, tonight.” 

“It’s pouring outside.” 

John’s eyes flicked toward Y/N briefly before returning to Dean. “Demons won’t stop because of weather.” 

Dean bit back whatever sharp response wanted out. Y/N quietly touched Dean’s arm. Instantly, some of the tension drained from his shoulders. 

“Okay.” He muttered. 

Sam noticed the exchange and looked away. That was the other thing, Y/N had become the glue holding everyone together. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. 

The abandoned cannery stood near the edge of town, rusted metal shrieking beneath the storm winds. Lightning illuminated broken windows and collapsing catwalks. Dean hated this already. 

“You stay between us.” John ordered Y/N as they approached. 

She nodded obediently, shot gun clutched tightly in her small hands. At sixteen, she was good on hunts. Too good. John made sure of that. But tonight she looked nervous. 

Dean bumped her shoulder gently. “Hey.” 

She looked up. 

“We got you.” 

Her smile appeared again, small and trusting. Dean would burn the world down before letting anything happen to her. Which was exactly why the next twenty minutes destroyed him. It happened fast. Too fast. 

One second they were sweeping the lower level of the cannery. The next, light exploded overhead. Black smoke poured form the shadows. Growling voices echoed everywhere at once. Demons. 

“Circle up!” John barked. 

Dean shoved Y/N behind him automatically while Sam risaed his gun. Then screaming metal echoed overhead. Dean looked up just in time to see the catwalk collapse. 

“MOVE!” 

Everyone scattered. The floor trembled violently as rusted steel crashed between them. Dean hit the ground hard. Sam cursed somewhere nearby. John shouted Y/N’s name immediately. Dean’s stomach dropped. 

“Y/N!?” 

The smoke thickened unnaturally. 

Dean scrambled up, coughing hard. “SAM!” 

Then he heard it. A scream. Her scream. Terrified, cut off abruptly. Dean’s bllood ran cold. 

“NO!” 

He vaulted over debris while Sam and John rushed after him, but by the time they reached the far hallway… nothing. Only blood smeared across the concrete. 

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

“No no no no-” Dean paced violently across the motel room while Sam worked through lore books at hyperspeed and John barked into burner phones. Three hours. She’s been gone for three hours. Dean felt like his skin was being peeled off inch by inch. 

“She’s smart.” Sam said quietly, though his own voice shook. “She knows how to survive.” 

Dean whirled on him. “She’s sixteen!” 

“She’s been hunting since she was a kid!” 

“That doesn’t make this okay!” 

John slammed his phone onto the table. Silence fell instantly. For one horrible second, Dean saw it. Fear, real fear in John Winchester’s eyes. Not anger. Not obsession. Terror. 

“She’s alive.” John said roughly. 

“How do you know?” Dean demanded. 

John swallowed hard. “They want something.” 

Dean hated that he was probably right. Demons didn’t take hostages for hun. Usually. 

Sam rubbed exhausted hands over his face. “The cult.” 

John nodded once. 

“They know we have it.” 

Dean stopped pacing. 

“So they took her to trade” 

“Or bait.” Sam muttered darkly. 

John’s jaw clenched.

Nobody spoke for several seconds. 

“She’s gonna think we left her.” Dean said quietly. 

John looked like he’d been punched. Because that was the real horror, wasn’t it? Y/N trusted them completely, and now she was alone. 

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

Y/N woke slowly. Pain arrived first, sharp throbbing agony across her ribs and face. Then cold. Metal chains dug brutally into her wrists above her head. The room smelled like sulfur and rot. Her breathing hitched immediately. No… No no no… She tried pulling against the restraints and cried out when pain exploded through her shoulder. 

“Well look who’s awake.” A man stepped from the shadows. Exacpt not a man. Black eyes. Demon. Y/N immediately tried for the knife she no longer had. The demon laughed. 

“That’s adorable.” 

Fear clawed violently up her throat, but she forced herself not to cry. Dean always said monsters liked fear. She wouldn’t give them that. 

“Where’s my family?” She demanded shakily. 

The demon grinned wider. “Oh sweetheart, they’re looking everywhere for you.” 

Her heart twisted painfully. 

Dean. 

Sam. 

Dad. 

“They’ll find me.” She whispered. 

The demon stepped closer suddenly and grabbed her jaw hard enough to bruise. 

“You know what your daddy’s problem is?” 

She glared silently. 

“He loves you too much.” His hand tightened. 

“And that makes you useful.” 

Y/N jerked away with a gasp. The demon backhanded her instantly. Pain exploded across her mouth. Blood filled her mouth immediately. 

“Don’t.” She breathed. 

He smiled. “Don’t what?” 

Then the beating stared. 

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

Dean didn’t sleep. Neither did Sam. John looked worse than both of them combined. By morning, every lead had collapsed into dead ends. Dean sat at the table cleaning guns with mechanical precision while Sam researched symbols nearby. John stood near the window, unmoving. Then Dean heard it. A tiny sound. John praying. Dean froze. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard his Father pray. 

“Please…” John whispered hoarsely. “Please let her be alive.” 

Dean looked away immediately. Because suddenly the jealousy felt ugly and petty. Yeah, John favored her. Yeah, it hurt. But this? This was still their Father. And Y/N was still his little girl. Sam quietly closed his book. 

“We’ll get her back.” 

John nodded once without turning around, but his shoulders shook. 

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

Y/N lost track of time. The demons alternated between questioning her and hurting her. Where was the colt? Where were they staying? Where was John going next? She refused to answer. Even when they hit her. Even when they dragged blades across her skin shallow enough to hurt but not kill. Even when they laughed at her tears. Eventually she stopped crying aloud. That seemed to annoy them more. One demon crouched in front of her several hours later, studying her battered face. 

“You know, your brothers are much more fun to torture.” He mused. 

Y/N’s head lifted weakly. “What?” 

“Oh yeah. We’ve watched them for years.” He grinned cruelly. 

Rage flared through her exhaustion instantly. 

“Don’t talk about them.” 

The demon laughed loudly. “There’s that Winchester rage.” 

She lunged as much as the chains allowed. The demon slammed a fist into her ribs. Something cracked, Y/N screamed. The demon grabbed her hair viciously. 

“You humans break so easy.” 

She gasped painfully, vision swimming. 

“They’re gonna kill you.” She whispered. 

The demon smiled coldly. “Maybe.” 

Then he punched her again. 

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

The lead came from a crossroads demon in Nebraska. Three dead hunters. One terrified bartender. An abandoned church outside town. Dean drove like a man possessed. Rain hammered the Impala while Sam loaded weapons in the backseat and John sat rigidly in the passenger seat. No music played. Nobody spoke. 

“She used to sleep on my chest during storms.” 

Dean blinked. 

John stared ahead through the windshield. 

“When she was little. Said thunder scared her.” He continued roughly. 

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“She still hates storms.” Sam said softly. 

John nodded. 

Silence again. 

Then Dean finally said what none of them had dared say aloud. 

“If they hurt her…” 

John’s expression turned murderous. “I’ll kill every last one.” 

Sam and Dean believed him. 

The chruch looked dead. Rotting wood, broken stained glass, darkness swallowing everything inside. But Dean heard it immediately. A scream. Y/N. All three Winchesters moved instantly. Doors brust open. Gunfire exploded. Black smoke screamed through the air. Demons lunged from every direction. Dean barely registered killing two before hearing another cry deeper inside. 

“Y/N!” 

“DEAN!” 

Alive. 

She was alive. 

Dean sprinted through the church like hell itself chased him. Sam and John followed close behind. They found her, and everything stopped. Y/N hung chained against a stone wall. Blood covered her shirt. One eye swollen nearly shut. Wrists raw and bleeding from restraints. Bruises everywhere. Dean physically staggered. 

“Baby…” 

Her head lifed weakly. The second she saw them, she broke. “Dean…” 

God… 

Her voice… 

Tiny and shaking. 

Sam looked seconds from vomiting. John’s face smptied completely of emotions, the kind that came right before true violence. A demon stepped from the shadows beside Y/N, blade pressed lightly against her throat. 

“Well, family reunion.” He drawled. 

Dean raised the colt instantly. “Move the knife.” 

The demon smirked. “You first.” 

John stepped forward slowly. 

“You wanted me, here I am.” He said coldly. 

Y/N shook her head frantically despite her exhaustion. “Dad don’t-” 

The knife pressed harder. She whipered. Dean saw red instantly. The demon grinned knowingly. 

“That protective streak? Definitely inherited.” 

Then Sam moved, fast. A flare of holy water splashed across the demon’s face. Screaming erupted. Dean fired immediately. The demon dropped dead. Everything exploded into motion. John rushed to Y/N while Sam covered the room. Dean grabbed the chains, hands shaking violently. 

“It’s okay, baby gir.” He said breathlessly. “We got you. We got you.” 

She cried openly now, Dean hated seeing it. Hated how terrified she sounded. The chains finally snapped loose. Y/N collapsed instantly, John caught her before she hit the floor. 

“Oh my princess.” He breathed brokenly, pulling her against him. She clung to him desperately despite the pain. 

“Dad…” 

“I’ve got you.” John cradled the back of her carefully, staring at the blood on her face with horrifying fury. Dean knelt beside them, hands hovering helplessly. Y/N crouched nearby too, visibly trying not to lose it. 

“They hurt you.” Sam whispered. 

Y/N looked at him weakly and somehow still tried to comfort him. 

“I’m okay.” 

Dean nearly laughed at the absurdity. She was bleeding everywhere. 

“She’s got at least one broken rib.” Sam said quickly, slipping into practical mode. 

“Possible concussion too.” 

John carefully brushed filthy hair from Y/N’s face. “You’re safe now, princess.” 

She finally looked at Dean. Then Sam. “I knew you’d come.” 

Dean’s throat closed painfully. 

“Always.” He said immediately. 

“Every time.” Sam added. 

Another demon screamed somewhere deeper in the church. John’s expression hardened instantly. 

“Dean, get her out.” 

“What about-” 

“GO!” 

Dean nodded immediately. He carefully slid Y/N into his arms. She cried out softly from the pain. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry-” 

“It’s okay.” She whispered weakly. 

Dean held her tighter. Too thin. Too cold. His baby sister felt too damn small. Sam grabbed weapons while John stalked deeper into the church like death incarnated. More screaming followed. Dean didn’t look back. 

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

The motel room became triage chaos. Sam cleaned wounds, Dean hovered anxiously, John barely let Y/N out of his sight. By some miracle, nothing was life-threatening. A broken rib, heavy bruising, cuts, mild concussion, trauma. Lots of trauma. Y/N sat on the bed wrapped in blankets while Dean gently held an ice pack to her swollen cheek. She winced. 

“Sorry.” Dean muttered immediately. 

“It’s okay. 

John paced nearby like a caged animal. Every few minutes he glanced at her like he needed visual confirmation she was still breathing. Sam finally finished wrapping her wrists. 

“All done, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, Sammy.” 

He smiled faintly at the nickname. Dean tucked another blanket around her shoulders. 

“You hungry?” 

She hesitated. “A little.” 

Dean immediately stood. “I’ll go get food.” 

“I’ll help.” Sam added. 

The brothers exchanged a glance. Silent understanding passed between them. Give John a minute alone with her. Dean squeezed Y/N’s shoulder gently before leaving with Sam. The second the motel door shut, silence filled the room. John sat slowly beside her on the bed. For several moments neither spoke. 

“I’m sorry…” Y/N whispered. 

John looked horrified. “For what?” 

“They took me to get to you.” 

Pain crossed his face instantly. 

“Don’t.” He said roughly. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.” 

She stared down at her bandaged wrists. “They kept asking about the colt.” 

John’s jaw tightened. “I know.” 

“I didn’t tell them anything.” 

His expression broke completely. “Of course you didn’t.” 

Y/N finally looked at him. For the first time since being rescued, her composure cracked entirely. 

“I was scared.” She admitted in a tiny voice. John immediately pulled her carefully against his chest. 

“I know, princess.” 

She stared crying again. Not the panicked sobbing from earlier, this was quieter. Exhausted. Painfully young. John held her like she was still five years old hiding from thunderstorms. 

“I thought…” Her voice shook violently. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t find me…” 

John closed his eyes hard. 

“Never.” He whispered fiercely. “Never, Y/N.” 

She buried her face against him. “I tried to be brave.” 

“You were brave.” 

“They hurt me and I-” 

“I know.” John’s voice cracked and suddenly Y/N realized something she never fully understood before. Her Father was terrified too. Not just angry. Terrified. She reached up carefully and touched his face. 

“I’m okay now.” 

John covered her hand with his own instantly. 

“You scared the hell outta me.” 

A tiny watery smile appeared. “Sorry.” 

He actually laughed softly through the emotions. “That’s my line.” 

The motel door opened quietly. Dean entered carrying food bags while Sam follwoed with extra medical supplies. All three froze slightly seeing Y/N curled against John’s chest. Something complicated flickered across Dean’s face. Not resentment exactly, just old hurt. Old longing. Y/N noticed immediately, because she always noticed. 

“Dean?” 

He snapped out of it instantly. “Yeah, baby?” 

She held one arm out toward him. Without hesitation, Dean crossed the room and sat beside her. She immediately curled against his side too. Sam huffed quietly. 

“Wow, no room left for me?” 

Y/N reached for him blindly without opening her eyes. 

“C’mere, Sammy.” 

Sam smiled helplessly and climbed onto the other side of the bed carefully. It was cramped and awkward. A tangle of long limbs, blankets, and exhaustion. But none of them moved away. 

“You guys are the best family.” Y/N murmured sleepily. 

Dean blinked. Sam looked down. John went very still. Y/N’s eyes were already drifting shut. Dean swallowed hard. Sam rubbed tiredly at his eyes. And for the first time in years, John Winchester looked at all three of his children together and truly saw the damage he’d done without meaning to. 

Dean, the boy forced to grow up too fast. 

Sam, the son who always felt second place. 

Y/N, the child he clung too tightly because she was the last piece of softness left in his life. 

John slowly reached over and squeezed Dean’s shoulder. It startled all three kids. Dean stared at him. 

“You did good.” John said quietly. 

Dean looked genuinely shocked. Then John looked at Sam too. 

“Both of you.” 

Sam’s expression softened carefully. The words were small, but they mattered. Y/N smiled faintly in her sleep, tucked safely between her brothers and Father. And for one rare quiet night, the Winchesters stayed together. No hunting. No fighting. No monsters. Just family. Broken, bruised, imperfect, but alive. 

The cave held the damp chill of autumn, but I didn’t feel it, not anymore. Not with Lincoln’s body hovering over mine, the heat from his bare chest seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt. The fire he built crackled somewhere behind me, throwing orange shadows against limestone walls I memorized over these stolen weeks. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice rumbled low, the words brushing my forehead. 

“Neither should you.” I reached up, fingers tracing the dark ink curling along his collarbone. 

“Yet here we are.” 

A sound escaped him, half frustration, half something else entirely. The same sound he made every time I slipped past the fence. Right before he gave in. His mouth found my jaw, not kissing exactly, more like mapping. Learning the terrain of me the way he learned every hollow and ridge of the forest outside. My breath caught and held, my spine arching without permission, pressing my hips into the weight of him. 

“We have maybe an hour before Bellamy notices I’m gone.” I whispered. 

Lincoln pulled back just enough to look at me. Dark eyes, always watching, always seeing too much. 

“Then we shouldn’t waste it talking.” His hand slid down my side, over ribs, past the dip of my waist, fingers hooking into the waistband of my pants. But he didn’t pull; he waited. 

“Yes…” I breathed before he could ask. 

The word barely left my mouth before he tugged the fabric down my thighs. Cool air kissed skin still damp from the humidity outside. My legs feel open, making room, and the way he looked at me, like I was something precious and terrifying all at once, made my stomach drop the way it did when I jumped from the ridge into the river. 

“Y/N.” 

Just my name. That was all, but the way he said it, rough and reverent, sent a pulse through me that ended somewhere low and deep. His fingers found my center with the confidence of someone who’d done this before. Who learned my body language over nights just like this one, stolen and breathless. He didn’t rush; Lincoln never rushed. The pads of two fingers parted me, sliding through slick heat that had been building since the moment I ducked through the treeline. 

“Already?” He murmured, and I could hear the satisfaction curling at the edge of the words. 

“Always so ready for me.” 

My cheeks burned. “Don’t let it go to your head.” 

“Too late.” 

Then his fingers pressed inside, and whatever retort I’d been forming dissolved into the sound that wasn’t a word at all. He worked me open with a patience that bordered on cruelty. One finer, then two, curling forward against a spot that made me see starsbursts behind closed eyelids. My hands fisted the furs beneath me, knuckles going white while the rest of me melted. 

“Look at me.” Not a request. A command issued in that quiet voice that trembled slightly, betraying him. 

I forced my eyes open. His face hovered above me, jaw tight, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords. The control it cost him to move this slowly was written in every line of his body. I could see it in the way his free arm shook, where it braced beside my head. 

“Beautiful.” He said, and the word landed like a physical touch. 

His thumb found my clit, circling, pressing, retreating in a rhythm that kept me suspended somewhere between satisfaction and desperation. The dual sensation of being filled and stroked simultaneously stripped language from my brain. I became only a body. Only nerve endings. Only the wet sounds of his fingers working me and the ragged pull of my own breathing. 

“Lincoln…” His name broke apart in my mouth. “I need-” 

“I know what you need.” 

He withdrew his fingers. The absence was immediate and hollowing, and a whimper escaped before I could swallow it. But he was already shifting above me, the rustle of my own clothing being shoved down, kicked aside. The fire popped. A log collapsed, sending sparks spiraling toward the cave ceiling. 

Then he was there, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and my entire awareness narrowed to that single point of contact. He didn’t push in. He hovered there, letting me feel the weight and heat of what was coming, and I wanted to scream. 

“Please…” I didn’t care how desperate it sounded. “Lincoln, please…” 

His hips rolled forward. The stretch of him, God, the stretch, blurred the edges of the cave. My mouth fell open on a soundless gasp as he sank deeper, inch by deliberate inch, my body accommodating his size with a mix of pleasure and ache that bordered on overwhelming. 

“Breathe.” He reminded me, his own voice strained. 

I hadn’t realized I stopped. A shuddering exhale, and he slid the rest of the way home. Buried to the hilt. My inner walls fluttered around him, adjusting, and the sensation of being so completely filled pulled a moan from somewhere deep in my chest. 

“Okay?” He asked. 

In answer, I hooked my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. He started to move. Long, slow strokes that dragged against every sensitive inch of me. The rhythm was deliberate at first, controlled, measured, the same patience he showed with his fingers. But I dug my nails into his shoulders and rolled my hips up to meet him, and something behind his eyes flickered and broke. 

“Y/N.” Different now. Less reverent. More desperate. 

His pace quickened. The sound of our bodies meeting, skin to skin, slick and urgent, echoed off the cave walls. My head fell back, exposing the line of my throat, and Lincoln’s mouth latched onto my pulse point like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the Earth. 

“Harder.” I gasped. 

He gave me harder. Each thrust drove the air from my lungs, fucking the thoughts right out of my head until there was nothing left but the relentless rhythm of him moving inside me and the coil of pressure winding tighter at the base of my spine. My legs began to shake. The furs beneath me were damp with sweat. Somewhere beyond the cave, an owl called out, and the sound seemed to come from another world entirely. 

“Close.” The word was barely a whisper. “I’m so close, don’t stop, don’t-” 

His hand slipped between us. Thumb finding my clit again, pressing down just as he bottomed out. I shattered. The climax ripped through me in a sudden, violent wave that had my back bowing off the furs and Lincoln’s name tearing out of my throat. I clenched around him, pulsing, fluttering, gripping, and through the haze of my own release, I heard him groan, felt the precise moment his control snapped. His hips stuttered. Drove deep. Held. And then, A crash from the darkness beyond the firelight. Lincoln’s body went rigid above mine. His hand clamped over my mouth before I could gasp, his eyes cutting toward the cave entrance, every muscle coiled into warrior readiness. Footsteps. 

“What’s the matter, Grounder?” A voice echoed from the shadows, sharp, mocking, and familiar. 

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice her slipping away?” 

Bellamy.