#maya writes

“Come on, man,” Derek said, arms folded as he stared Spencer down across the break room table. “You can’t just read a thousand relationship books and think that’s the same as the real thing.”

Spencer looked up from the folder in his lap, utterly unbothered. “Thirty-nine books. And they’re peer-reviewed studies. It’s not about anecdotes, it’s about data.”

Penelope leaned over her coffee, eyes sparkling. “Oh boy. He’s going full empirical. This should be good.”

“It’s not that I think I understand relationships,” Spencer continued, adjusting his glasses. “It’s just that I recognize functional dynamics when I see them. And I happen to know what one looks like.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah? Like what, The Notebook?”

“No,” Spencer said. “Like me and Y/N.”

There was a beat of silence.

Y/N, seated two chairs down with a half-drunk coffee in her hand, turned very slowly. “I’m sorry, what now?”

Spencer blinked at her like she’d asked if water was wet. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘you and me’?”

He frowned, confused. “I mean us. Our dynamic. It’s a prime example of a healthy relationship.”

Garcia dropped her muffin.

Derek leaned in like he was about to watch a car crash in slow motion. “Go on.”

Spencer tilted his head at Y/N. “You seriously didn’t know?”

She blinked. “Know what exactly?”

“That we’re in a relationship. Or— at least something adjacent to one. I assumed we were both aware of that.”

Y/N stared at him.

Spencer, sensing the disbelief, leaned back in his chair and began to list things off like he was briefing a case. “We text every night before bed. You bring me coffee the way I like it— three sugars, not stirred— almost every day, without asking. I’ve picked you up from the airport twice. You’ve stayed over at my apartment more than once, and you steal my hoodies.”

“That’s just…” She trailed off, looking helplessly at Garcia, who was frozen mid-bite.

Spencer wasn’t done.

“We hold hands when we walk across busy streets. You braid my hair when I’m stressed. I read you poetry once and you cried, which I took as a positive emotional response and not distress.”

Y/N slowly set her coffee down. “Okay.”

“I’ve memorized your Chipotle order,” Spencer added, like that sealed it.

“Okay.”

Spencer leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “We literally hold hands all the time.”

“…Okay, yeah, I see where I went wrong.”

Derek lost it.

Garcia was fanning herself with a napkin, whispering “my stars” under her breath.

Y/N looked like she was debating the moral and logistical weight of throwing herself into the nearest garbage can.

Spencer, meanwhile, just looked vaguely betrayed. “How did you not know?”

She gave him a look. “Because you never said it out loud?”

“I thought it was implied!”

Derek clapped once, loud. “Oh, I live for this.”

Garcia blinked. “Cool, so I’ve been third-wheeling a relationship that wasn’t even technically happening. Love that for me.”

Y/N turned back to Spencer, who was still trying to solve the mystery of how she missed this.

“Are you mad?” she asked.

“No,” he said, after a beat. “Just… surprised. I really thought we were on the same page.”

“Well.” She exhaled, slow and a little amused. “We are now.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Does this mean we’re officially dating?”

Y/N shrugged. “Statistically speaking?”

That got the smallest smile out of him.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

to set the stage, you were freshly moved into a cool northern town. the sun radiated onto your skin with every step outside, and the breeze cooled you. there was nothing quite like living by the beach in the north.

but. there was something missing - something that the girls at your university chatted about eagerly as the season came and went.

riding.

they all did it. all of the pretty rich kids in the neighborhood. owned expensive, well cared for horses, that won them hundreds in shows and competitions. ones that put people like you to shame.

and so, as the summer approached and classes let out, you decided that you would take up your dream of learning how to ride a horse at the stables near your apartment. the price for lessons was hefty, but you decided that it was worth it. worth fitting in, worth knowing what the girls were talking about together. all in all, it was driven by fitting in.

it all came together in the start of july.

you wore a nice outfit and were paired with a coach. finally, finally you had what you wanted. until you met her. her. and your view of what your end goal was changed dramatically.

abby anderson. local farmhand. fantastic horse rider. dressed up slutty in a pair of dirty denim jeans that hugged her like the seams would rip. flannel rolled up her forearm, showing just enough skin for you to watch a tear of sweat run down the flesh.

and the boots. the goddamn boots. she didn't fit here, in this fancy town. she looked like she belonged deep in alabama with corn and a farm. but here she was, standing before you, smiling like your mind was spinning.

it didn't end there, but it didn't start there either.

it didn't start until you came to the stables empty. "no other lessons today," jerry anderson said when you arrived. "just you and abby." the words sunk in like knives. today was the day that she finally got you on a horse.

it started when she mounted you to the horse. steady hands sliding up your thigh once you were adjusted, up high enough to sink between your thighs if you had asked kindly enough.

it started she insisted on getting on the horse with you - "do it with all my first timers," she had said, mounting it behind you and pressing your back to her front when she reached for the reins.

she was respectful with it at first. both hands on the reins, large, muscular arms caging you in as if you could escape regardless. the horse trotted along, occasionally speeding up or slowing down as she gave it a command. it was fine then, but it hadn't started.

it started when her right hand left the reins and slid across your thigh, tapping it to get your attention. "'m talkin' to ya, pretty thing." she whispered, breath creeping up your neck. you hadn't even realized that she had begun speaking, let alone that it was directed to you.

once she talked you through how to control the horse (again, since she already had once and you weren't listening), she handed the controls off to you. that's when the game between the two of you started.

a cat and mouse, if you will. her hands fell to your waist, both of them on either side to keep you steady. or at least, that's what she would've told jerry, but it wasn't the truth. she kept them there because your small waist fit like a perfect puzzle piece in the palms of her hands, and she was far too worried about you bouncing around on the back of the horse.

you, of course, had an equal role. you would lean into her chest and let out quick, breathy gasps as the horse sped up. let her name dance out of your mouth when the horse trotted, coming off your tongue with a bounce each time. her hands tightened against your waist every time.

it wasn't until you got back to the stables that things got particularly interesting. she took the reins back from you, pulling the horse to a stop. before you let her get off, you made sure to back up into her just enough that your ass pressed into her hips gently, enough to feel the dent in the stiff denim of her jeans. her body stiffened, breath catching, before releasing her tight grip on the reins.

she swung her leg over the horse, hopping down and looking up at you. "can you help me, Abby?" you asked, her name like honey on your tongue. her rough hand slid over your waist, lifting you and setting you down softly in front of her. You grabbed a hold of her forearms with her hands on your elbows, and suddenly you were face to face. "How'd I do today?"

"You're a natural," she grinned, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. "Didn't think a city girl like you'd be so good at riding." You released her arms, crossing your own over your chest. Her hat blocked the setting sun from your face, shading it just enough so that you could see the blue in her eyes.

"Horses aren't the only thing I'm good at riding," you winked with a grin, hoping that the line wasn't too much or too cheesy. Blush overrode her cheeks, nervousness getting to her.

"'s that so?" She took a hesitant step closer to you, leaning over you just enough to size you up. "What else can you ride so well?" You were blushing now too, surely harder than you ever had before.

"Oh, y'know. Bulls, bikes, pretty cowgirl faces." The shock in her face was an expression you wanted to save in your memory forever. She reached out, pulling you in by the loop in your jeans.

"Maybe we should test that theory?" She murmured before pressing her lips to yours. They were salty from the sweat of the sun, but soft. She kissed you like lemonade on a hot day, wildflowers in the sun. Like everything good in the world, like her mouth was made of gold.

Her hand slipped from your belt loop, opting for your hip instead. Her other hand came to the back of your neck, holding you just enough to hold the dominant position. You brought your own to her cheeks, cupping her jaw so that you could pull her in. What you weren't expecting was a deep groan into your mouth, but it only made your clit beat.

Her tongue traced a line across your bottom lip, wasting no time as you spread your lips. She sucked your tongue and explored your mouth like it was the last time she'd see you, but after this simple occurrence, you'd never leave her be.

You pulled away, letting a breathy "take me to your house" leave your lips. She felt around in her pockets, fumbling around with her keys quickly. You led the way to her truck, yelping with a giggle when her hand came down on your ass.

It wasn't a long drive -the stables were on her own property after all- but the tension made it feel like an eternity. Now was finally the moment of relief from every short skirt and rolled up pair of sleeves. Every time you wanted each other and couldn't have it.

You were out of the truck before her, taking her hand and practically dragging her inside. The both of you stumbled through the door when you got to it, lips attached and clothes coming off left and right. Her flannel was first to go, leaving her in a finely cut white t-shirt and the jeans that fit her all too well. You could've dropped to your knees right then and there, but you waited until you had her in her room.

Once you were there, you did drop to your knees, unbuckling her belt while she tossed her hat to the side. "Shit, this the treatment you give all your riding instructors?" she asked with a chuckle, but you were only focused on the pair of boxers in front of you.

"Only the pretty ones," you responded before pulling her boxers down with her jeans. You didn't wait, immediately taking a lick at her clit. Her head fell back against the wall with a moan, hand looping in your hair and pushing your face into her cunt.

"Fuck, darlin', y'r good at this," she pressed your face into her and you took a deep breath against her bush, marveling at the smell. You fucked her deep with your tongue, constantly rotating between tongue fucking her and sucking her clit with a passion.

She was louder than anyone you'd ever slept with - moaning and whining with every flick of your tongue, and it made you beyond wet. You slid two fingers into her with ease, her slick and your saliva almost dripping down her thighs. "Fuck, fuck right there," she whimpered when you curled your fingers just right.

Before you could object, she was pulling up the hem of her shirt and stuffing it into her mouth. You were quick to find, though, that the view was incredibly enjoyable. Abby had abs for days, something you'd never seen in your lessons. She was a vision, dripping in sweat and biting her shirt so hard it was probably soaked.

The longer you went, the harder she clenched onto you. You could tell she was close when she took control, humping her clit on your tongue while you fucked into her with your fingers. Her hand tightened in your hair and held you when she tipped over the edge, groaning into her shirt and spasming around your fingers.

When she was finished, you pulled your fingers from her and sucked them clean, letting her come down from the orgasm. She had you up in moments, rushing you to the bed as she stripped her clothes and pushed your top over your head.

She worked with you to unbutton your jeans and you kicked them off, followed by your bra and panties. "Please ride my face," she said, all color drained from her face as her eyes locked into the mound of hair leading to what she wanted most.

"If you insist," you joked. She laid down quickly, grabbing at your hips to get you to move faster, absolutely desperate for you. Once you were in the correct position, she pulled you down, attaching her lips to your clit without a second thought.

You took a hold of her hair, pushing her head back and sitting up ever so slightly. She looked as if you just took away her favorite thing in the world. "Stick out your tongue," you instructed and she did as told without hesitation. You sat down again, doing what you promised - riding her, grinding down against her, using everything she was giving you.

And Abby? Abby was having the time of her fucking life. Her big hands were positioned on your hips, pulling them forward to keep you moving. She was watching you from below, eyes so full of need she could explode.

"Move your hands," you instructed, leaning over her and pinning them above her head before regaining your position. Her hips bucked into the air, chasing any friction she could find, close without even being touched.

With a cracked moan into your cunt, Abby came again, and the vibrations from it had you cumming with her. When you sat up, moving down between her legs, you couldn't help but mock her. "Pretty girl came untouched, didn't she?" You ran your thumb down her pussy.

"Shit, don't be like that," she whined, "you're so pretty, couldn't help it," she watched as you moved, and before you could help it, a broken "ride me" fell from her lips. "Please ride me, use me,"

You didn't need to be asked twice - you simply slotted yourself between her legs, one across her hip as you pulled her leg up to your shoulder. You slowly came down, pressing your clit into hers and using your mix of wetness as lube.

"That's a good girl," you cooed, making her hips jump. She held onto your hip with one hand, the other gripping the bedsheet like a lifeline.

Each time you ground down into her she whimpered, slutty noise after noise falling from her lips. "You- fuck- you feel s-so good," her eyes rolled back, accent thick as she tripped over her own words.

"Abby," you moaned, head lolling back as you neared your next orgasm. "Gonna cum with me like a good girl?" Her eyes squeezed shut and her hips jerked up again.

"Yes, yes, fuck, yes, whatever you say," you came together, rutting into one another like you were in heat. You didn't stop there, though, dipping your fingers into her messy cunt and tapping her lips, making her suck your fingers clean.

And, well, it started there, and it certainly didn't end there. The arrangement went on... and on, and on, and on. Safe to say that the local farmhand was the best fuck of your life, and an even better lover.

Oh Lottie, the workshipper that you are.

That winter day, when the snow was raging outside and the cold seeped inside the wooden cabin, she consulted with It, asked It what they could do to survive the winter.

When she heard Its voice echo inside her ears, cold as the icy wind and hoarse as a murder of crows and as billions of ghosts’ whispers, she couldn't believe what It was asking, no, demanding of her. You, out of everyone?

That day, she questioned herself whether the Wilderness was real, or a figment of her own imagination. But an order it’s an order, and like the true devotee she is, she compiled. 

When she came into the room, everyone’s faces looked harsh, distant, barely holding it together. The dance of light and shadows the fire projected into the room and onto their faces only added more depth to the seriousness of the situation. Had she been good at art history, Lottie could have confidently said that she had been transported into a baroque’s painting world. Or Victorian gothic, or whatever.

She couldn’t see you at first, not behind the bloody pulp of meat that was left in place of her left eye, not with you away from the center of the room, hidden in the dark, protecting yourself from what was happening. From what was about to happen.

You always looked so precious to her.

Natalie was always It's favorite, but you were always hers.

You were too busy drawing imaginary doodles on the floor, trying to do anything to forget this place to see her walking towards you. Her and your friends’ faces morphed into confusion, anger and jealousy as she arrived at your feet. Only when the fireplace’s lights were gone from your eyes, did you look up. Standing above you, the light shone around her, creating a halo around her figure. She looked almost holy to you, had her face not been shrouded in darkness.

“It chose”.  

Adorned with an antler crown, you order, help and try your best to hold the group together.

You are a beacon of light, a hope inside the darkness. Someone she can count on, someone she knows will lead all of you to safety. 

Lottie is utterly obsessed with you, even more so after you became the Antler Queen. She treats you like a god.

She gives you her share of the food, stuff your clothes with fresh medicinal herbs, kisses you goodnight every day, when the sun goes down, right in the middle of camp, in front of everybody. She looks up at you with love in her eyes, as if you were a gift the Wilderness sent her, for how good of a devotee she was.

Speaking of kisses. Charlotte, previous to the crash, had never been too much into public displays of affection. And, more than that, she never confessed anything about her little crush for you. But after everything went to shit, it’s like a cloud obscures her judgment. She had always felt this need to tell you, to come and sit down next to you and whisper in your ear “I like you”, but never had the courage.

That’s until the Wilderness itself made you their queen, and from then on, all her fears and doubts melted away.

On one of those afternoons when the air gets warmer and the light shines longer, she comes to you. You were sitting down on a log, letting time pass while you carved a figure out of wood. It’s something that always made her smile, how you could still cling to humanity in a place like this. She couldn’t. They couldn’t.

Since the evening was nearing, everyone was finishing up their tasks, sitting by the fire or losing track of time. You looked up to see Lottie’s gaze fixated down on you. “Oh, Lottie. Wha-” you couldn’t finish your words, because the moment you stood up, she took your face in her hands and leaned down to kiss you.

The more time passed, the rougher she had become with you. Her teeth pulled at your bottom lip, her tongue exploring your mouth, her breath heavy against your skin. All of that, in front of every one of your friends. 

You couldn’t let yourself be seen by anyone for a while, especially because Lottie had followed you to your tent. 

She follows you; no matter where you go, you've always got her eyes on you.

Resting inside your tent? Lottie peeks at you.

Hunting with Natalie? She gives you a protection token and prays for you while you are away.

Eating meat by the fire? She watches as your teeth sink into it.

You think it’s a little weird sometimes, but you know she means well. 

And don’t get me started on the rituals.

They are divided into two categories: the ones that are performed in front of everyone, and the ones that only you two share. Despite the height of the experience of a group ritual, it's the private ones that are her favorite. 

She wakes you in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep and the air is cool. You follow her into the woods, away from the camp. She tells you that the Wilderness has asked her for a sacrifice tonight, and that that sacrifice is you. She tells you that It wants to hear you scream into the night, wants to feel you writhe above the ground it rules over. 

So you sit on an old tree stump, big enough to let you sit comfy on it. Lottie slowly descends down your body, until her face is nestled right where you need her the most. Thanks to her height, she has no problems in placing your legs on her shoulders; hell, you are even slightly curved upwards because of it.

She dives right down, taking you between her lips, workships you until her name echoes between the trees. Under the spring’s moon and stars only you and her exist.

Only with you she can still be human.

You are her god, and she’ll be your servant until she dies.

When you get back to camp, you’re greeted by a tired Taissa sitting by the fire, with deep eyebags, looking at you as if she could kill you with her gaze.

Using this as my seven sentences Sunday even it’s way more than seven sentences lol

Tagged by @spotsandsocks 💕

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Once again, it’s not his fault, not really. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s not his fault he wasn’t coherent enough after being shot to tell the EMTs not to give him narcotics. It’s not his fault he was unconscious when the rest of the decisions about his knee surgery were made. It’s not his fault he limped out of the hospital on crutches with a bottle of Percocet, and it’s not his fault he took it, or that he took it upon himself to increase the dose. Small increments, a few days at a time. He’s a doctor. It’s fine.

It’s not his fault his team was too busy focusing on Hotch to notice any of it.

It’s not his fault that when the Percocet runs out, he manages to make his way to a crummy neighborhood in the middle of the night to pay an embarrassing amount of money for a moderate quantity of Dilaudid, and it’s definitely not his fault that the relief is so powerful, it actually makes him cry.

No, it’s not his fault, he assures himself. But it’s still a problem. It’s still a secret. It’s still scary and shameful, and Spencer is weak and broken, and he can’t let any of his teammates find out what’s happening.

He tries to be careful. It’s easy at first, because he’s on leave from work. Once he gets back, he does his best to look normal, to arrive on time, to be kind to his coworkers. He tries his best, and it’s so hard, and he truly doesn’t know if he’s succeeding. He’s not sure of much, at this point. He’s just trying to get through each day the best he can, to manage the pain in a way that’s familiar for him. 

Hotch returns to work not long after Spencer, and from the look on his face, he can tell something is wrong. He doesn’t say anything, though. He never says anything. Spencer tries to brush it off, pretends it doesn’t bother him, pretends he’s not desperate to just talk about it with someone. 

He tries, and he tries, and he tries.

And then one evening, the phone rings.

The call shows up as Unknown Caller, but Spencer answers it anyway, expecting someone trying to scam him or sell him something.

“Just listen,” the voice says on the other end. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”

And Spencer couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to, because it’s Gideon’s voice on the other end of the line, a voice he hasn’t heard in years, though he hears it in his memories and his dreams more often than he’d like to admit. 

He waits, speechless, for Gideon to continue.

“Hotch called me. We talk sometimes, you know. He keeps me up to date on what’s going on. And he told me that something’s going on with you. He’s really worried about you.”

Spencer swallows. Why would Hotch reach out to Gideon instead of just talking to Spencer himself?

What would Spencer have even said if Hotch had tried to talk to him?

“I’m assuming it’s the same problem you had last time, when you missed that plane, though Hotch couldn’t confirm anything. Maybe it’s not that. Maybe you’re just struggling emotionally, or maybe it’s something else I don’t even know about. No matter what it is, Reid, I want to help you. I want to be here for you in a way that I haven’t before.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hand. It doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense. Gideon left. He left, and he’s gone, and Spencer made peace with that a long time ago. And now—now he doesn’t know what to do at all. Now, nothing makes sense. Nothing at all.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, Spencer?”

Spencer sighs. Pulls at his hair. Wrings his hands out a few times, and switches his phone from one ear to the other. 

“I messed up,” he finally whispers. “I missed another plane.”

“We can fix this,” Gideon says immediately. “Are you home? Are you safe? Can I come to you?”

“C-come to me?” Spencer repeats incredulously. 

“We obviously don’t want you detoxing on your own,” Gideon says matter-of-factly. “I’ll come help you.”

“Detoxing…”

“You know you can’t keep going like this. Something needs to change. I’m not going to let you kill yourself with this stuff.”

Spencer is quiet for a long time.

“I’m… at home,” he finally whispers.

“Stay there,” says Gideon. “I’m coming to you, okay? It’s going to take me a little while, but just—don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises.