Summary: Bi!Reader feels insecure in their sexuality and Spencer offers validation.
Word Count: 933
Content Warnings: referenced/implied biphobia, no pronouns are used but reader is AFAB, mostly dialogue
Author's Note: written for @imagining-in-the-margins's Pride Challenge! written as a combination of the bisexual prompts :)
As pride merch began to weave its way back into mass-consumer culture, large chains preparing for Pride Month, you couldn’t help the niggling of doubt in the back of your mind. Growing up, sexuality wasn’t an open topic of discussion in your family, and though you’d eventually been able to figure it out on your own with the help of the internet, social media, and several very attractive celebrities, it wasn’t uncommon for you to feel insecure in your sexuality. Bisexuality, despite its status as one of the most common sexualities in the queer community, was often overshadowed, both in your life and in the larger community.
Of course, it was easy to fall into stereotypes–bi with a preference for women, yet still dating a man. Not that you could complain about Spencer, he was everything you’d ever wanted and more. Yet, that doubting of your sexuality still bothered you from time to time. Were you really bisexual if you’d never been romantically involved with a woman? If the only kisses you’d ever shared with a woman were fleeting and meaningless? When the only romantic interests you’d pursued had been male?
It was difficult to articulate, even more difficult to say aloud. Many of your close friends were straight and were unable to offer more than comfort. And your boyfriend…well. You weren’t unhappy in your relationship with Spencer, far from it. Part of you was worried that a discussion about your sexuality would cause him to feel insecure in your relationship, and that was the last thing you wanted. Another more irrational part of you, built out of feelings of shame and doubt, feared that he would confirm your worries and invalidate your sexuality.
Logically, you knew Spencer wasn’t that kind of person. Armed with this knowledge, you brought it up after dinner one night as you were perched together on the couch, watching an old foreign film with a name you wouldn’t even attempt to pronounce.
“Do you think that it’s weird?” you blurted out.
Spencer furrowed his brow and paused the movie. “Do I think that what is weird?”
“That I say I’m bi even if I’ve never been in a relationship with a woman? Or even pursued one?”
Inhaling sharply, Spencer frowned. “Is this your way of telling me you want to pursue a relationship outside of ours?”
You shook your head vigorously. “No, no, not at all. It’s just…you know, Pride is rolling around soon, and it caused a thought spiral, seeing the merchandise resurfacing in stores. I mean, am I really valid in my identity if there seems to be nothing indicating that I am truly attracted to women?”
Spencer visibly relaxed when you clarified that this was nothing about your relationship. He moved closer to you, taking your hand in his and interlacing your fingers.
“Love, there’s nothing wrong with being queer in a straight-passing relationship. And not having previous involvement in romantic relationships with someone of the other gender doesn’t mean that you’re not bi. Sexuality isn’t defined in concrete terms. It’s fluid, and it’s a different experience for many people. Plus, you don’t need to prove it to anyone. You can be attracted to women and never have been in a relationship with one. How you feel is how you feel.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Plus, I’ve seen how you look at the women in your favorite shows.”
Your face heated, and you groaned.
“And in public, for that matter,” he added with a chuckle.
You buried your head in your hands. “I was just admiring their outfits…”
“It’s understandable for you to feel the way you do,” Spencer stated, voice taking on a more serious tone. “Society places a lot of pressure on labels and certain boxes you have to conform to if you identify with any label. We’re told how we can and can’t present ourselves. But really, all that matters is that you’re true to yourself. And at the end of the day, you don’t need to have a label if it’s causing undue stress.”
“It feels like I had everything figured out about my sexuality when I was younger. I knew I liked men, and I knew I liked women, and everyone and anyone in between. I didn’t care what other people thought. But now that I’m older, it just feels like I’ve adopted a label that doesn’t matter. All people see is that I’m dating a man, and they make assumptions based on that,” you sighed.
Spencer brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Like I said, it’s about what’s true to you, not anyone else. You’re no less valid for being in a relationship with a man than a bisexual woman would be for being in a relationship with a woman. Bisexual erasure is unfortunately common, even in the LGBTQ+ community, with people preferring absolutes–you’re either ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ or it’s too complicated. You don’t have to ‘pick a side’.”
You felt tears welling up as the burden you’d learned to ignore seemed to dissolve, lifting an immense weight from your shoulders. It’d been eons since you’d allowed yourself to open up and discuss your anxieties about your sexuality in this manner, and to find yourself supported and seen by one of the most important people in your life was ultimately reassuring.
“I love you, you know that?” Spencer whispered. “Your sexuality isn’t going to change that.”
“I love you too.” You paused, squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”
He kissed your forehead as you settled back in, starting the film from where you’d left off.
