#number patterns explained

[presswoodterryryan]

🚪 Secret Doors and Hidden Worlds: The Math of Mazes and Portals 💻🌟🐰

By Alice Have you ever found a secret door in your house? I just did! And guess what? It was locked with math! It all started when Mr. Fluffernutter’s fluffy ears twitched. “Alice,” he whispered, “I think your room is hiding a secret!” I gasped. “A secret? What kind of secret?” Fluffernutter pointed his paw at the corner of my bookshelf, where a tiny sliver of golden light peeked through. My…

[transxfiles]

[guy with ocd voice] i just know i would be so good at microdata refinement.

[vilevexedvixen]

Fowler's Flower Pt. 3 - Crown of thorns

Abijah Fowler x servant!Reader

Summary: While the reader rests, her fellow English Roses stir in her absence. Their usual duties disrupted by Fowler's newborn vigor as of her arrival. Typically Mary serves as Fowler's go-to sacrificial lamb, but that morning Lizzy offered herself in her place when she sees Fowler about to torture the reader. Remembering exactly why she'd avoided Fowler's attention all this time...

TW: Sexual themes, breath-play, begging, and general religious fuckery.

Pt. 1 here

Pt. 2 here Dividers by @roseschoices

Lizzy couldn't sleep.

She often couldn't. A light sleeper at best, but this night even the twinkling of stars in the clear night sky felt like an agitating strobe taunting her from the heavens. The warm summer air feeling like a stale miasma that caught in her throat the deeper she breathed in a vain attempt to quell her nerves. It was almost funny, Mary's snoring was strangely calming by comparison. A reminder of her presence. Each breath of hers sounding slightly wheezy tonight, Fowler must have really done a number to her chest and back. An obvious observation, given she had just been tending to her wounds before bed. As with almost every night before.

Dabbing each cut and bruise with a rag soaked in what meager disinfectant she could make from the sake they shared with Fowler's prostitutes. Sparing some to drink as a makeshift painkiller, which Mary gladly indulged in between hisses as the disinfectant worked its magic. Her shaky hands causing some of the disinfectant to spill onto her clothes, which still stank faintly of it. Somehow, hearing Mary wheeze now stung more than seeing her stumble in as a battered wreck earlier. She could patch her up as best she can every time, but the damage will always last. Someday, she knew, would come a day her best efforts won't heal her.

Why must she always throw herself at his feet? Mary's but one person, no matter how hardy she reckons she is. Lord knows she can't work miracles, and there's only so many miracles she could pray for on Mary's behalf. She swears her prayers must have been heard on at least a few occasions. Rarely can she stomach a peak into the dungeon, even when it's not in use, but its proximity to the chapel makes some gruesome affairs hard to ignore. The depths of depravity and anguish she's seen Mary endure is nothing short of biblical. Sympathy aside, she knows were it not for Mary then she, Daisy and any other poor soul unlucky enough to spark Fowler's ire would have to endure that same torture. The last time that happened, well...

Her trembling hands fondled the rosary she hid beneath her garbs, less because of any explicit rule to keep it hidden and more a need to keep it close to her heart. As if on autopilot, she made her way to the chapel as she did most mornings. Almost as if the sun may not rise unless she prayed that the lord willed it to, even if she knew it must. Usually she'd make a detour to the kitchen first to gather up a little something for Mary to eat in case she was left in the dungeon overnight. It was a welcome change to not be sleeping alone for once, courtesy of Fowler getting his sadistic urges out of his system unusually early. One would wonder how a man like Fowler could even sleep at night, but his nocturnal tendencies seem to speak for themselves.

An unfortunate consequence of his near nightly habits is that Lizzy often guides herself to the chapel not by memerising the winding passageways that led there, but instead by the sounds emanating from the dungeon like clockwork. Finishing up just in time for the birdsong to begin, a jarring choir to cleanse her palate. Tonight her memory had to finally step-in, which actually led her to take a few wrong turns before finally reaching the chapel. Not even the birds had stirred yet, leaving nothing but the creaking floorboards to keep her company. And him, of course. Ever loving, ever looming.

As she knelt among the pews, gazing up at the carved carcass of Christ nailed above the alter with eyes half-closed, she could feel Mary's scathing nihilism get to her. Unsure if all her prayers were what kept her alive, or if their dismissal is what perpetuates her suffering, something she had no intention of testing. On which note, she began her morning mantra...

"Almighty God who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves; keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls; that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Her hands clasped tighter, as if the silence that followed her prayer proved the futility of her faith. On some level, she knew it, but it was the one thing that still granted her some semblance of dignity. Not her maintaining faith in the Lord or Church, but her continued role as a nun. Tending to Mary and other servants' wounds, cooking extra food from the kitchen for those in her care, praying on their behalf, mending their clothes, etc. Any task she could take on that resembled her old duties in the convent helped distract from the fact her new official role was as Fowler's.... "plaything". A role that she has thankfully gotten to neglect for some time, thanks to Mary, and which she fears _______ may not be fit for.

As if she spoke of the Devil - the heavy, daunting, unmistakable footsteps of Fowler arose from the end of the hall, alongside what sounded like a heavy sack being dragged across the floor. That can't be good...

Against her better judgement, she crept up to the chapel doorway to peak down the hall. Almost immediately, Fowler spotted her and greeted her with a knowingly vile smirk.

"Good morning, Sister Elizabeth!" he jeered.

She knew he played into her duties as a nun like it was some sort of amusingly pitiable delusion, but if that's what it took to keep his interest in her at bay then so be it. She frowned, "Yes, it has been a good morning thus far. May I ask what you've got there?" She knew very well what he had there, now that she had a closer look. The outline of her old servants garb in tatters and a limp head of messy hair, clearly _______ run ragged and unconscious.

"So you haven't met her yet?", Fowler's mocking tone irked her to no end, though she tried to hide it. Clearly in vain though, as his smirk deepened, satisfied with how easily he got under her skin. "Sorry to disturb your little chat with the lord, but the wine seems to have worked a bit too well on this one. Thank you so much for that little recipe of yours, it works wonders!"

Recipe? What recipe? Her mind scoured for what she could've possibly given him willingly. Then it dawned on her... the dwale? How could he have gotten the ingredients for that here?! She'd only managed to spare a handful of them she'd smuggled on her way here to use in emergencies, which he hasn't touched (to her knowledge), so how?... The distraught confusion he drew out of her with so few words tickled the base of his soul. Oh the guilt on her face was priceless!

'Oh _______, I'm so sorry!', she thought, distraught that her remedies were used for such selfish, evil indulgences, let alone by Fowler of all people! He can't of been dragging her to the chapel. What? Was he hoping to wake her with pain in the dungeon? ________'d barely been here a day! She can't just stand by and let him drag them there!

Fowler reveled in Lizzy's anguish, watching her twitch with grief and anger for just a moment before he continued towards the dungeon. Suddenly, Lizzy lept to hastily block his path, compelled as if her body were possessed to do so. She'd never been so brash in a long while, not since he crushed her hands to bits. He'd thought he'd broke her, but so glad he hadn't! This was going to be fun...

(NSFW scene; skip if you'd rather not partake.)

"Volunteering as tribute, Sister?", Fowler said, barely leaving a second before casting _______ aside like a rag-doll to grip Lizzy's neck and drag her back into the chapel. Despite the sinking dread she felt as he dragged her body to the alter, she didn't fight back. Not if it risked him turning his attention back to _______, still unconscious in the hallway.

"On your knees, Sister", he growled,yanking Lizzy down by the neck, buckling her onto her hands and knees coughing and gasping for breath. "Look at me!", he grabbed her chin harshly to force her to comply. Her little holy charade was cute, but it got old quick. The mix of fear and hatred looked absolutely beautiful on her. Admittedly, her purity was part of what was so fun about her, a cruel bit of false hope he perpetuated by keeping that little bit of her intact. Wielding the threat of its ruin like a collar and leash around her neck. Speaking of which...

Fowler traced the tips of his fingers over her collarbone where her rosary barely peaked out, coiling a finger around to deftly coax it from under her uniform. "Did you think this would save you?", his grip loosened to let the beads slip through his palm, grasping it once more upon reaching the apostle's creed. Pulling it taut to squeeze the sides of Lizzy's neck and forcing her forward, her face barely inches away from the knot of his robe's belt. Her chest heaved as each breath grew more laboured than the last. Head sagging heavy over her shoulder as a dull fog enclosed her aching skull. The beautiful sight of her fighting to maintain her balance not at all discouraging Fowler from quenching the remaining flow of blood to her brain with the rosary in the slightest. If anything, seeing her so quickly slump into a heady stupor compelled him to pull it tauter. Bereft of air, her body grew heavy as clay - begging for Fowler to breathe life back into it again.

And that he did.

With barely a moment's notice he let go, her body collapsing to the floor, too weak to even lift her head let alone kneel. She wasn't sure how long she lay there for, but between deep gasps for air she could faintly hear Fowler circling her. Watching her.

"You know..." Fowler trailed off, "when Heiji had said he'd found a lady of the cloth up for sale I found it such a beautiful irony." He leaned down to stroke her cheek, working his fingers behind her ear to enmesh in her hair. Unceremoniously he dug his claws into her scalp and yanked her up by the hair, forcing her awake with the ache of it. Her pleading scowl denoting that her full, furious attention was back at him. Perfect. He continued, "Seems not even England's own are safe from the Tudor lust for pillage and plunder. Willing to cannibalise itself for gold to toss at another enemy. Doubt the money he paid for you is enough to rebuild your old monastery - but what a fat sum for the abbot to run away with, eh?"

Lizzy rarely dwelled on how she got here. Why would she? One day she was tending to the monastery's garden and blessing weary travelers seeking sanctuary; the next her room was exposed to the elements. Books and beams charred to bits and nothing of the monastery's holy relics left but the sun-bleached shadows on the walls they once adorned. While some of her sisters stayed to help repair the ruined remains, most fled to the few monasteries yet untouched by Henry Tudor's warmongering greed. One by one though, with barely a hope of normalcy left to cling to, they each were sold into contract work. Lords who thought themselves above the Lord.

"Now, since you're practiced in the ways of worship-" he began untying the belt of his robe, which slid aside gracefully - a stark contrast to the vulgar bulge it revealed, "I have something in need of your... blessing". His hands weren't really necessary to uncover the thick cock barely contained by his breeches.

She froze, it had been so long since she last serviced him, it was almost a lost art. Not only that, but she'd had the mercy of a blindfold each time before, shielding her from the harsh reality in front of her - even if the unmistakably horrid taste of him lingered long thereafter. Noticing her hesitation, Fowler resumed that same old mercy, tying his robe's belt across her eyes into a makeshift blindfold as she's so accustomed. "Now, petal, you finally ready to do your fucking job?"

Fowler was done playing games, he needed release and she knew it. Taking one last deep breath, Lizzy wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock and began sucking with all the energy she could muster. As good as it felt, it would take so much more to pull even a whimper from Fowler, so she gradually picked up the pace. Hardly a minute into it, and her jaw was already aching. She couldn't really complain about being so out of practice, but damn did it hurt.

Not at all satisfied with her pathetic attempt at a blowjob, Fowler gripped a fistful of her hair and rammed his cock down her throat as deep as it would go. In and out, like a roaring tide during a storm. Each thrust made Lizzy gag, she could barely breathe! Within a minute of Fowler keeping his pace, Lizzy started to black out. As her eyes fluttered shut, she felt the sting of a slap to the face as Fowler pulled himself from her mouth, "Don't go falling asleep on the job, Sister, understand?".

Barely with it, she nodded. Unsatisfied, Fowler slapped her again - this time garnering a yelp from Lizzy, "I could end you with a single thrust to the back of your throat. Now, be a good girl and beg me not to... beg like your life depends on it!"

Her mind raced, faster than her mouth could keep up. Fumbling and stammering between pleads and whimpers. She begged, "Please My Lord, have mercy on me! I beg of you... please don't kill me!" Her hands grasping at his loose robe in a show of desperation, garnering nothing but an unimpressed tsk from Fowler, "I know you can do better than that Petal... I've seen you beg more fervently in here for a heartier supper than you're begging for me now!" He leant in to grab for her rosary yet again, this time swiftly pulling it off her neck with a snap. A couple beads spilling onto the floor before he wrapped the remaining chain around her wrists to bind them together in prayer.

Panicked, she pleaded, "No, NO! My Lord please, I meant no disrespect I swear! Forgive me. Every breath, I cherish it as if it were my last, were it not for your benevolent mercy. Please oh PLEASE, have mercy on me My Lord!" That at least drew a smile out of Fowler, if a faint one. Fearful her pleas were insufficient, she began to pray;

"O Lord, my God, Thou art to me whatsoever is good. Remember me because I am nothing, I have nothing, and I can do nothing. Thou alone art good, just, and holy; Thou canst do all things, Thou accomplishest all things, Thou fillest all things. Turn not Thy face away from me; withedraw not Thy consolation, lest my soul become as a thirsty land to Thee. Teach me, O Lord, to do Thy will; teach me to live worthily and humbly in Thy sight!"

By the last word her hands were visibly, profoundly shaking. To say she feared Fowler for the longest time would be an understatement, but in that moment her fear overshadowed all other thoughts. And Fowler could hear it...

"Good, Petal."

Her trembling sigh of relief echoed throughout the chapel. A pleasant calm... before the storm.

"Now, open wide for me-" still with his grip on her hair he easily pulled her head to attention, though hardly needed to as she now willingly parted her lips for him, "That's better, my dear ~"

With her eyes closed she fully lost herself in submission, loose and limp. Were it not for the slight pressure she could feel pulling at her scalp she'd swear her body was moving on its own and not puppeteered by Fowler. Back and forth, back and forth... Soon all sense of time melted away. Maybe her mind and body had shut down, exhausted with panic. Perhaps she had truly began to accept it, relaxing into her role... NO! Her body stiffened with resistance, causing her to gag and force Fowler's cock from the back of her throat. But by then she'd served his needs, cum spilling from her mouth and dripping all over her garments. She could barely believe the sight of herself, disheveled and desecrated.

She hadn't a second to process what happened before Fowler had cleaned himself up and re-tied his robe. Her stare hardly seeing that the blindfold had been removed, everything still a-blur.

"Clean yourself up, you look a mess", he said so nonchalantly as if the entire morning hadn't happened. As if _______ wasn't still laying there, having not stirred from her drug-induced coma. As if she hadn't just thrown herself at his feet to stop him dragging her away to the dungeon. Then the birds, in their ignorance, began to whistle.

Mary woke with a start.

Patting the straw mattress beside her. Her eyes unseeing, sewn shut with sleepy-dust and by the impulse to shield herself shield from the blinding sunrise. Feeling for her friend in the fabric, but finding nothing. Panic forced her eyes open to search for her. The room haunted by her absence, where...? The Chapel. Of course, bless her heart. The realisation of her morning habits quelled what anxieties had welled in that brief moment of terrible isolation. She'd be back soon enough. Praying her heart out for the lot of them, no doubt.

A sharp twinge forced Mary on her back once more as she tried to sit up. Every inch of her upper back and chest ached. Breasts abused, back torn open like a scratching post and she could've sworn the sharp, broken edge of a cracked rib or two was daring to pierce her lung if she dared rise too quickly. Easy does it now...

With a painful grown, Mary brought herself to her feet. Leaning on the wall every inch up. Little by little. She hadn't a crutch, so the wall will have to do. If the bustling just outside the door was anything to go by, the day's chores had already begun and she had missed breakfast. Dammit. She was no princess, but no sense in wasting good food - she needed it!

As if on queue, her stomach growled like a wretched beast, guttural and feral. 'Hush!', she hissed. She could last until midday, she reckoned. Just needed to... rest a bit more than usual, just not here, not alone. With aching shoulders she limped her way against the wall towards the kitchen, guided by the scent of the delectable bone broth stewing with the remnant's of Fowler's meaty supper from the night before.

The cook seemed to notice her struggling a lot, peeking up from his grand cauldron to shed a pitiful look of sympathy. "あなたはお腹が空いているでしょう？ほら、どうぞ!", he scooped a bountiful heap of bone broth for her to drink from. Warm and filling, just what she needed. Collapsing onto the wooden bench, she cupped her hands and gratefully accepted his gesture, "感謝に候ひます!" she exclaimed with joyful relief.

The broth was perhaps a tad too hot for consumption quite yet, but her aching stomach demanded sustenance! Other than the slight burn to her already desensitised tongue on the way down, all she felt was the pleasant (if bland) flavour of the broth. While so preoccupied by her food, she hadn't noticed Elizabeth's return. Even as she reached her bench and sat upon it with the weight of the world strapped to her back, making it creak evermore indiscreetly. One would think she'd gone deaf!

"Hey...", Elizabeth rested a quivering hand on Mary's shoulder, startling her and causing some of her broth to slip down the wrong hole. Choking it down, she coughed, "H-hey Sister Elizabeth, slept well?"

"You know I won't have", she retorted - some humour to her tone, though minimal.

Wanting to keep the mood light, Mary snorted, "No rest for the wicked, eh?", earning a light chuckle from Elizabeth. Music to her ears! She finished her broth as the two of them basked in each others' company in pleasant silence. A welcome respite from their daily trials. Soon enough though the silence was broken by Mary, with a concern that increasingly weighed them both down, "You think _______'ll be alright?"

"Lord knows, Mary. Lord knows...", Elizabeth mumbled, knowing exactly who knew.

[maaaxx]

when i was a little undiagnosed autistic kid i used to get SO excited about patterns ™️and greatly overestimated how much everyone else cared. So like I had locker number 123 one year and i was positive that was going to make me the most loved person in my school, like i thought i was the chosen one ,this is the thing that was going to finally make people like me, this is what ive been missing my entire life etc etc. And i was extremely confused when people were not lining up at my locker to see.

my school identification number had the sequence '654'in it and i was certain that my grade was eventually going to hold interrogation sessions that would break the Geneva convention in order to find out who had my id number because it might be one of the best lunch numbers to exist, like not only were the numbers by eachother BUT ALSO there was a 5 in it and two other numbers and 5 + 2 obviously equals seven and that was SO COOL (obviously 7 is one of the best numbers everyone knows that)

SPEAKING OF 7 my great aunts license plate was one of my favorite things as a child, because the letter part of it had 3 numbers that were also in her last name AND they were in the right order AND they were evenly distributed (so like if her last name were smith it would be SIH) and not only that but the letters were 5337 which, again i liked 7's, so like if you took the amount of numbers there are in the sequence that aren't the 5 or 7 (the two 3's) and added it to the 5, you would get the last number in the sequence. But also if you added the 3's together you'd get 6 and if you add that with the amount of numbers left besides the 7 again (the one 5) you would also get 7. And I swore she got that plate custom made because what are the fucking odds that you would get a license plate like that BY CHANCE

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I love how everyone is now assuming that KHIV is probably going to come out in 2026. And honestly, there's a good chance that that's the case (sadly).

[mbat]

i could say so much about this but it is kinda infuriating, and i dont know if theres a conversation about it that i just dont see people having, but it feels like 99% of the time that i see a jewish character in media, especially jewish men, theyre "weaker" in some way. and theyre even moreso never allowed to be the big strong and/or badass ones.

i saw a list yesterday that was a bunch of jewish characters in media, and there was a character on that list that i know of and have seen some of, but i didnt know she was jewish. what i knew about her was that shes seen as "weak" and shy and dorky in her show. so when i read that shes jewish, it just felt like "of course she is."

and dont even get me started on these characters being "weak" or dorky or, in the mens cases, feminine, and how it makes them the butt of the joke a lot. i could list several cases ive seen, but the main one that comes to mind is leslie berkowitz from one day at a time (2017)

i love that show. there is many things i love about that show and can praise about it, but leslies character is not one of them. hes a man with a name thats seen as a womans name, so of course they joke about that. hes "submissive" in the fact that people tend to step all over him and he just accepts it, and they joke about that. its also so weird because that show gives so much respect and understanding and empathy to every other character, but the one explicitly jewish character... is a joke?? they take him seriously very few times compared to everyone else who gets so much time to be taken seriously. and the jokes about him in particular just feel gross because theyre so... opposite to everything the show seems to stand for. like, this show literally has a nonbinary character but theyre still making fun of a man for being seen as feminine. make it make sense.

i can think of few times that ive personally seen that a jewish character was allowed to be a full on badass, and even fewer where they werent a nerd of some kind at all. i should clarify that i dont think being a nerd is bad, but obviously a lot of people have in the past considering... everything ever for the past few decades.

and hell, most of the times i can think where jewish characters have been allowed to be badass and strong were when they were written by jews. i cant speak for every single time, and my knowledge is of course limited here since ive only seen so many pieces of media, but like, isnt that just kinda wild

[mssalo]

worship

Ignored and humiliated by your husband, you find yourself in Joel's arms-his best friend who's been silently craving you for far too long. One heated night pushes you both over the edge, and Joel isn't holding back. He's ready to give you what your husband never could: everything.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, cheating, body worship, your husband treating you bad, Joel treating you good, oral (f receiving), kissing, (P in V), pinning, cumming Inside, breeding kink, Joel gets nasty with it, 10k

Part: 2

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The late afternoon sunlight filtered gently through the lace curtains, casting soft patterns across the dining table where you sat with Sarah, helping her with her homework. Your smile, though kind, felt heavy today. You leaned over the table, explaining a math problem to her with patience, even though your mind was clouded with thoughts of your husband.

It had been weeks—maybe months—since he’d been fully present. You had long suspected something was off, but now it was undeniable. He came home late, if at all, and when he did, his eyes never seemed to meet yours. You’d catch glimpses of texts on his phone, messages you weren’t supposed to see. You weren’t stupid. You knew.

But you’d spent so long being the perfect wife, the one who never caused trouble. He’d always introduced you as his “trophy,” an arm to show off at events, beautiful and polished. It was the role you’d filled for years, playing the part he wanted you to play. Smile, be perfect, don’t question. And you had been doing just that for far too long, even though inside you were crumbling.

You brushed a strand of hair from your face and forced a warm smile as Sarah struggled with her fractions.

You adored Joel’s daughter. She was smart, sweet, and had a lightness about her that made your heart ache with a longing for the family you never had. Sarah was only fourteen, but she had a way of reading people that made you think she saw right through you.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” you encouraged her softly. “Just think of the numerator as the number on top and the denominator as the number on the bottom.”

Sarah gave you a soft smile, but it was clear she wasn’t fully focused. Her big, brown eyes studied you carefully, picking up on the sadness that lingered just beneath the surface of your cheerful demeanor.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice hesitant but filled with concern. “You seem… off today.”

Your heart sank a little at the realization that she noticed. You were supposed to be the adult here, the one keeping it all together, but it was getting harder to hide the cracks. You blinked back the tears threatening to well up, reaching over to give Sarah’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whispered softly, trying to steady your voice. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Sarah looked at you for a moment longer, her brow furrowed as if she didn’t quite believe you, but she didn’t push it. She was too kind for that, too sweet. You wished your own husband had even a fraction of the empathy this girl had. Instead, he barely acknowledged your presence anymore, leaving you to feel like a ghost in your own home.

After Sarah finished her homework, you walked her to the door, sending her off with her usual hug. She hugged you back tightly, sensing more than you were letting on, but when you said goodbye, you assured her again that you were fine. She gave you one last concerned look before heading home.

After Sarah left, the silence in the house became overwhelming, filling every corner with the weight of your thoughts.

You leaned against the door for a moment, closing your eyes, fighting the urge to let the tears spill over. It was getting harder to keep up the facade. The loneliness, the sense of being unseen in your own marriage—it was suffocating.

You’d done everything you could to save the relationship, to bring back the warmth that had once existed between you and your husband, but there was nothing left.

With a deep breath, you pushed away from the door and headed to the kitchen, trying to busy yourself with anything that could distract you from the ache in your chest. But the sound of a knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you opened it, Joel stood on your porch, concern etched into his rugged features. His broad shoulders seemed even larger framed by the doorway, his familiar Texas drawl cutting through the silence as he spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle but serious. “Sarah told me you weren’t doing too good today. Figured I’d come by and check on you.”

You blinked, surprised but not unwelcome to see him standing there. It took a moment for you to gather your thoughts, your heart catching in your throat at the sight of him. Joel had always been kind to you, always present in a way your husband wasn’t. He was a steady, comforting presence in your life, one you had grown to rely on more than you ever intended.

“I—I’m fine,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to worry her. It’s just been a long day.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t hesitate to step inside, closing the door behind him. He looked down at you with those dark, thoughtful eyes of his, reading you in ways you wished your husband still could. His gaze softened, but he didn’t buy your answer for a second.

“You don’t gotta put up a front with me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I can tell somethin’s been bothering you.”

It was those words—the way he said them with such understanding, such care—that made something in you break. You couldn’t hold it together any longer, not with Joel standing there, offering the kind of concern and kindness you hadn’t felt in so long. The tears you had been holding back began to well up again, this time falling before you could stop them.

Joel stepped forward, his hands settling gently on your arms.

“Hey, hey now… don’t cry,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

His words, so simple yet so full of warmth, only made the tears come faster. You wiped at your cheeks, embarrassed that you were falling apart like this in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just… everything feels so wrong.”

Joel’s grip tightened slightly, a gesture of reassurance. He guided you over to the couch, sitting beside you as you tried to compose yourself. You leaned into him instinctively, finding comfort in the solid presence of his body next to yours. Joel had always had this way of making you feel safe, like you could let your guard down without fear of judgment.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly, his hand still resting on your arm, warm and steady.

You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. You’d kept it all inside for so long, afraid to say it out loud, afraid that acknowledging it would make it all too real. But sitting there, with Joel looking at you like he genuinely cared, it all came tumbling out.

“He doesn’t care anymore, Joel,” you murmured, the words spilling from your lips, weighed down by the months of heartache you had been carrying. “It’s like I’m invisible to him. He doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t even look at me… and I know he’s seeing someone else.”

The effect on Joel was immediate. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to contain the anger that flared up inside him.

His eyes darkened, filling with a storm of emotions—disbelief, frustration, and something protective, primal. His hand, which had been resting gently on your arm, tightened its grip slightly, grounding you as he processed your words.

He stared at you for a long moment, his face a mix of shock and disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could treat you that way.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Joel muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice low and rough. “How could he—how could anyone—do that to you? To you of all people?”

He shook his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His voice softened, but the rough edges of his anger were still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You deserve so much more than that. You deserve someone who sees you, who knows just how lucky they are to have you.”

Joel leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur as he continued.

“You’re kind, thoughtful… hell, you’re always puttin’ everyone else first. The way you care for Sarah like she’s your own, the way you keep your home so warm and welcoming, the way you’ve always been there for him… you’re so damn good, and he doesn’t even see it.” He shook his head again, the disbelief etched deep in his furrowed brow.

“How could he not see that? How could he throw that away?”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, filled with a mixture of admiration and frustration.

“It breaks my heart to see you treated like this. You deserve someone who cherishes you, who shows up for you, every day… who loves you for exactly who you are.”

His words hit you like a wave, each one wrapped in the raw sincerity and care that had always been so natural for Joel. You could see the anger and confusion in his eyes—he truly couldn’t understand how anyone could treat you as anything less than extraordinary.

You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that it was enough to be the perfect wife, to keep playing the role you had been assigned, but Joel’s kindness made you question all of it. His care, his attention—it was what you had been craving for so long, and now, here he was, offering it to you without asking for anything in return.

“But I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the weight of everything settled heavily on your shoulders. “I’ve tried so hard to make it work, to be what he wants, but nothing’s enough.”

Joel’s hand lifted to your face, gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his palm grounded you, the rough texture of his skin a stark contrast to the tenderness in his touch. He guided your face to meet his eyes, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You don’t need to be what he wants,” Joel said, his voice low, almost a growl, roughened by emotion.

“You deserve to be seen, to be loved for who you are. Not just for what you can give someone else.”

His words hung in the air between you, wrapping around your heart, pulling at the deepest parts of you that had felt so neglected, so starved for this very thing—connection.

The space between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken emotions that had been simmering for far too long. It was as though every unexpressed feeling, every suppressed desire had built up into a moment that neither of you could stop.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the ache of loneliness and longing that had been gnawing at you for months. Joel had always been there, quietly, steadily, offering you the care your husband never could.

And now, sitting so close to him, his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his body radiating toward you, the pull between you was undeniable.

“Joel…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your gaze flickering between his deep brown eyes and his lips, so close, so tempting.

He didn’t move away. Instead, his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His touch was tender, but his eyes were dark, filled with something deeper—something that had been quietly building between you for longer than either of you cared to admit.

“I’ll take care of you,” Joel whispered, his voice rough with the promise of protection, of something more. “You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.”

Your heart raced, torn between the vulnerability of the moment and the undeniable comfort of his words.

The way he spoke, the way he looked at you—it was everything you had been craving for so long. The tenderness you had missed, the feeling of being truly seen, appreciated, cared for. It was overwhelming. And yet…

Before you could fully process what was happening, Joel leaned in. His lips brushed against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. The world around you seemed to disappear, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his hand still cradling your face.

The kiss was gentle at first, full of the tenderness and care you had longed for, but there was something else beneath it, something more intense, more primal, as if he had been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if needing something to hold on to, something solid in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

His kiss deepened slightly, his other hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you closer. It felt like everything you had wanted—someone who saw you, who cared for you, who wanted you.

But just as quickly as the warmth of the kiss had filled you, the weight of guilt crashed down like a tidal wave. You broke away, pulling back suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, breath coming in short gasps. You shook your head, stepping out of his reach, the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, but your mind already spinning.

“I—” you stammered, the words barely forming as you backed away, your hands trembling. “I can’t… I’m sorry, Joel, I just… I can’t do this.”

The look on Joel’s face was one of hurt and confusion, but also understanding. He stood there, his arms falling to his sides as he watched you retreat.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice gentle, though the rough edge of his emotion was still there. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You took another step back, trying to steady yourself, your heart in your throat. “It’s not right,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to rationalize everything that had just happened. “I can’t… I’m still married, and this… this is wrong.”

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and a quiet sorrow.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt anymore,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You deserve better than the way he treats you.”

His words hit you hard, but you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t face the reality of what had just happened, of what you had almost allowed yourself to feel. The guilt was too much, too overwhelming. You turned away, your hands still trembling as you moved toward the stairs, needing distance, needing space to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice barely audible as you left Joel standing alone in the living room. You hurried upstairs, your heart heavy, your mind racing, every step a reminder of the pull between you and Joel that you had just tried so desperately to resist.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, your hand gripping the banister as you tried to steady your breath. You could still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, the safety of his arms around you, and it terrified you.

Because for the first time in so long, you had felt something real, something you wanted. And yet, the weight of everything else—your marriage, your vows, the guilt—it was too much to bear.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel Joel’s presence downstairs, lingering in the quiet of the house. His words echoed in your mind, and despite everything, you knew deep down that what he had said was true: you deserved more. But admitting that meant facing the truth about everything you had been avoiding for so long.

And you weren’t ready for that.

· · ─────

The days following the kiss were thick with awkwardness and tension that hung between you and Joel like a fog neither of you knew how to clear. Every time you thought about it—his lips on yours, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had made you feel seen and wanted—your stomach twisted with guilt. But there was another feeling too, one that gnawed at you in the quiet moments when you were alone: longing. That kiss had stirred something deep inside you, something that had been buried for far too long, and now, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You longed for that feeling again—the safety, the warmth, the tenderness that had been absent from your life for so long. It made the distance between you and your husband feel even wider, the coldness in your marriage more unbearable. But despite how much you tried to shake it, that kiss was constantly on your mind.

Then came the day Joel came over to watch the football game with your husband. You knew it was coming—your husband had mentioned it in passing—but you weren’t prepared to see Joel again. The thought of being in the same room as him after what had happened made your heart race and your palms sweat.

When Joel arrived, you could hear his familiar knock on the door, followed by your husband’s slurred greeting. He had already been drinking, you noticed. You had hoped he would keep it under control, but knowing him, that was never a safe bet.

You opened the door and found Joel standing there, looking as calm and collected as ever. But the moment his eyes met yours, a wave of heat rushed to your face, your heart skipping in your chest. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was impossible to ignore the way the memory of that kiss flooded your senses all at once.

He shifted slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets, as if he was just as unsure of how to handle the tension between you. His gaze flickered over your face for just a second longer than it should have, his eyes darkening with something unspoken before he quickly looked away.

You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your cheeks growing warmer by the second. You cleared your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to greet him without giving anything away.

“H-hi, Joel,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look at him, even though your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of your shirt, desperate to find something—anything—to do with your hands.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours briefly, and you could see the hesitation there, the same uncertainty you were feeling. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his voice coming out low and gruff, but with a warmth that only made you blush harder.

“hello there,” he said, his tone casual, but the way his eyes softened when he looked at you made your stomach flip.

The awkwardness was palpable, like neither of you knew exactly what to say. You wanted to hide from the intensity of the moment, to avoid the feelings that had been swirling between you since that kiss. Your gaze darted down to your feet, your fingers still twisting the fabric of your shirt nervously.

Your husband’s voice suddenly bellowed from the living room, a loud demand for more beer, pulling both of you out of the charged moment. Joel winced slightly, his brow furrowing in mild annoyance at the sound, but you just gave a small, flustered nod.

“Uh, I’ll get that for him,” you mumbled quickly, stepping aside to let Joel in, your skin tingling with the awareness of how close he was as he brushed past you.

As Joel entered, you couldn’t help but glance at him one last time, your heart racing again when you saw the way his eyes lingered on you for a brief second before he turned toward the living room, where your husband was already half-immersed in the game.

“Thanks,” Joel murmured softly, his voice still gruff but gentle as he moved to sit beside your husband.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You knew tonight was going to be hard—being in the same room as Joel, pretending that nothing had changed. But the way your heart leapt every time you caught his eye made it clear that things were far from normal between you.

The night dragged on painfully, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. Your husband’s drinking had started early, his excitement for the game quickly turning into something darker, something meaner as the alcohol took hold. It wasn’t unusual for him to drink during football, but tonight, it seemed worse than usual. Each beer drained away whatever patience he had left, and you could feel his mood souring with every sip.

“Get me another one,” he grunted, not bothering to look at you as he pointed at the empty bottle on the coffee table.

You moved quickly, not wanting to cause a scene, especially not with Joel sitting there. The last thing you needed was for Joel to witness the full extent of your husband’s irritability. But as you handed him the beer, your husband’s gaze flickered up to you, and his expression turned sour.

“Can’t you just do one damn thing right?” he muttered, snatching the bottle from your hand. His words were slurred but sharp, laced with frustration as if your mere presence irritated him.

Your cheeks flushed with humiliation, the familiar sting of his words settling deep inside you. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you from across the room, but you didn’t dare look at him. The embarrassment was too much. All you wanted was to get through the night, to make it out of this room with what little dignity you had left.

But it only got worse. As the game continued, your husband’s tone grew harsher, his demands more insistent.

“Get me some more chips,” he barked, barely glancing at you. You quickly obliged, fetching the bowl from the kitchen, trying to keep your hands steady as you placed it on the table in front of him.

Joel, always polite, nodded in your direction. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice warm and sincere. The contrast between Joel’s quiet gratitude and your husband’s increasing belligerence was jarring, and it only made the ache in your chest worse.

As you turned to walk back to the kitchen, you felt it—your husband’s hand coming down hard on your ass, the slap echoing through the room. You froze in place, your entire body going rigid as the sting of his hand sent a wave of humiliation crashing over you.

“Good girl,” he slurred, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re real good at one thing at least, huh?”

The room felt like it was spinning, your face burning with shame. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, to even breathe for a moment. Joel was right there. He had seen it all.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the humiliation overwhelming, crushing. You had endured so much already—his cruelty, his indifference—but this? In front of Joel?

You couldn’t stay in the room any longer. Without a word, you turned and walked quickly toward the stairs, your vision blurring as the tears threatened to spill. You could hear your husband muttering something under his breath, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

As you reached the bathroom, you closed the door behind you and leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as the tears finally came. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to hold it together, but it was no use. The humiliation, the shame—it was all too much.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection blurred by the tears that streamed down your face.

What had happened to you? How had things gotten this bad?

You had spent years trying to hold onto the marriage, trying to make things work, but now it felt like you were nothing more than an afterthought, a servant in your own home. The sting of his hand, the cruel way he had dismissed you—it was unbearable.

You didn’t know how long you had been standing there when you heard a soft knock at the bathroom door.

“Hey… it’s me,” Joel’s voice came from the other side, low and cautious, full of concern.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You weren’t sure if you could face him, not after what had just happened. Not after he had seen the way your husband had treated you. But Joel wasn’t like your husband. He had always been kind, always understanding. He had seen you—truly seen you—when no one else had.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You hesitated for a moment, wiping at your tear-streaked face as you tried to compose yourself. Then, slowly, you unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to let him in.

Joel stepped inside, his presence filling the small space, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes softened when he saw your tear-streaked face, his brow furrowing in concern.

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean for things to get like that.”

You shook your head quickly, wiping at your eyes again. “It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “It’s just… this is how it is. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Joel’s expression darkened slightly, but not with anger—just with sadness, frustration at the situation. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a tear from your cheek, his touch so different from the harshness you had just experienced. His fingers were warm, careful, like he was afraid to push you any further than you were ready for.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “You deserve better than the way he treats you.”

His words broke something inside you, and you felt your lip tremble as another sob escaped. You had been holding it in for so long—holding everything in, trying to be strong, trying to make it work. But now, standing here with Joel, it all came crashing down.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I feel so trapped.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, full of understanding. And then, quietly, he spoke again.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. Whatever you need… I’m here.”

The warmth in his words, the tenderness in his touch—it was more than you had felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt seen, felt valued. It stirred something deep inside you, something desperate and raw, a need that had been pushed down for so long.

Before you could even think about it, you lunged toward him, closing the small distance between you and crashing your lips into his. It wasn’t delicate or hesitant—it was a kiss born out of longing, out of months, maybe even years, of being unseen, unheard.

Your hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer as your body pressed against his, needing more, needing all of him.

Joel responded immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you back with a fierceness that matched your own. There was no hesitation in the way his lips moved against yours, no doubt in the way he held you tight.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his mouth hungry, demanding.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire, igniting every nerve in your body. His kiss was rough, filled with a desperation that mirrored your own, like he had been holding back for too long and finally, finally, he could let go. The tension between you, all the unspoken words, all the stolen glances—it was exploding now in this moment, and neither of you could stop it.

Your heart raced as your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him under your fingertips. The years of loneliness, of being ignored, melted away with every touch, every kiss. Joel’s hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, pressing you against him as if he was afraid to let go.

He pulled back just slightly, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick with emotion, his lips still brushing against yours. “God, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You couldn’t respond with words—you didn’t need to. Instead, you pulled him back into the kiss, your lips crashing together again, more desperate, more urgent. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he backed you up against the bathroom wall, pinning you there as he kissed you harder, deeper.

There was no space left between you, no room for doubt or hesitation. Your body responded to his in ways you hadn’t felt in years, every nerve alight with the intensity of it. His hands slid down your sides, rough and possessive, holding you tightly as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You could feel the heat rising between you, the desperation building, as if all the longing, all the frustration had finally found an outlet. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, each touch making your breath hitch, your body arch into his.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice breathless, barely able to get the words out.

But he already knew. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was even more intense, more consuming than before. You were lost in him, lost in the feel of him, the taste of him. Everything else—the hurt, the humiliation, the loneliness—faded away until there was only this moment, only Joel.

This was what you had been missing. This was what you had been longing for. And for the first time in so long, you felt alive.

Joel’s breath was hot against your skin as his lips moved along the curve of your neck, each kiss searing into you, grounding you in this moment, in him. His hands gripped you firmly, possessive yet tender, his touch a reassurance that you were more than what you had been made to feel for so long.

“God, you have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with need. “You’re everythin’. You deserve so much more than what he gives you. So much more.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the intensity in his tone, the sincerity. You could feel the heat between you building, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, kissing along your collarbone, your chest. You were lost in the sensation, the way his hands moved over you, the way his breath ghosted over your skin.

Joel's kisses became more urgent, more fervent, as he slowly knelt before you, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants. He paused for a moment, looking up at you with an expression that was both filled with desire and a silent question—a request for permission, for trust.

“Let me worship you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hands steady as he began to ease your pants down, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent sparks through you. “I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want you to feel everything.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity as he pulled your pants away, his eyes dark with want as he drank in the sight of you.

Joel stood, lifting you effortlessly in his arms, turning and pressing you gently but firmly against the wall. The coolness of the tile was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off of him, his body holding yours securely, every inch of your weight supported by his strength.

“You’re everythin’,” he murmured again, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss before trailing down your neck. “You deserve the world. And I’m gonna it to you.”

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted you slightly, his hands gripping your thighs as he held you against the wall. His mouth moved lower, his lips, his tongue, trailing over your stomach, your hips, until he was kneeling before you again, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh.

The sensation of his breath against your skin made your head spin, the anticipation building as his kisses grew slower, more deliberate, inching closer and closer to the center of your need. Every kiss, every touch felt like a promise—a promise that you were cherished, that you were seen.

Joel’s lips trembled against your skin as he kissed down your stomach, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips tightly as though he was afraid to let go.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with desire, and his breath came out hot against your bare thighs as he spread you open for him, his tongue flicking out to tease the edges of your soaked entrance.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he growled, his voice deep and husky. "I've been waitin’ for this, waitin’ to taste this sweet pussy. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about it—about you."

You gasped as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue flat and wide as he dragged it through your folds, groaning like he was savoring every drop.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as your legs trembled, and he groaned again, the vibration making you whimper.

"God, you're perfect," Joel mumbled against you, his voice muffled as he licked you with long, languid strokes. "This cunt is all mine tonight, yeah? You feel that? You hear that? This pussy's mine."

He sucked noisily, deliberately making sure every stroke of his tongue was loud, wet, and filthy. You could hear the lewd slurping sounds as he devoured you, his mouth greedy and desperate as if he’d been starving for this moment.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your whole body burning under his relentless attention.

“What if he hears?” you whispered, your voice shaky as your head fell back against the wall. “Joel… what if—”

“He won’t hear shit,” Joel cut you off, his voice rough with possessiveness. “That asshole’s passed out cold on the couch. Even if he could hear, I wouldn’t stop. He doesn’t deserve you. But I do.”

His tongue plunged into you, fucking you with wet, deep strokes, his nose brushing against your swollen clit as he grunted against you. “This pussy tastes so fuckin’ sweet, baby. All I want is to hear you moan for me. Let him fuckin’ hear it.”

You couldn’t help but whimper, your hips bucking against his face as he growled, his tongue thrusting deeper, his lips and chin coated with your arousal. He pulled back for just a second, his breath heavy, his eyes wild as he looked up at you.

"Fuck, I could eat this pussy all night," he murmured, his voice almost a snarl as he gripped your thighs tighter, pulling you even closer. "I want to make you come on my tongue over and over, until you can't stand. You deserve to be worshipped like this. I’m not stoppin’ until you scream my name."

With that, he dove back in, his tongue swirling over your clit as he sucked you harder, his mouth relentless. You moaned louder, your fingers tugging at his hair as your body arched off the wall, pleasure crashing through you with every filthy stroke of his tongue.

He groaned again, louder this time, savoring every moment as he devoured you, his mouth hot and hungry, like he couldn’t get enough.

He alternated between sucking your clit hard, his lips tight around the sensitive bud, and sliding his tongue deep inside you, fucking your pussy with slow, torturous strokes.

Each time you gasped, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, his hands gripping your thighs so hard it felt like he was staking a claim.

"Yeah, that’s it," he murmured between licks, his voice raw. "I want to hear you scream for me. Let me hear how much you love it when I eat this sweet little cunt."

Your moans grew louder, filling the bathroom as Joel’s tongue worked you harder, faster, his groans matching your own as he lost himself in the taste of you.

His hands slid up your body, gripping your breasts roughly as he continued to feast on you, the pleasure so intense it was overwhelming. You couldn’t stop yourself anymore—every nerve was on fire, your mind blank as you gave in completely to him.

"Joel, fuck, I’m gonna—" you gasped, your thighs trembling as you teetered on the edge of release.

"Cum for me, baby," he growled, his voice hoarse as his tongue flicked over your clit again, harder, faster, relentless. "Cum on my tongue. I want to taste all of it."

With a final, devastating suck on your clit, you shattered. Pleasure slammed into you, your entire body shaking as you screamed his name, your nails digging into his scalp as he held you in place, his mouth still working you through the waves of your orgasm.

Joel didn’t stop—he kept licking, kept sucking, devouring every drop as your body convulsed, the intensity of it making your legs shake.

He moaned against you, his tongue softening slightly but still teasing your swollen clit as you came down, his grip on your hips loosening just enough to let you catch your breath.

When he finally pulled back, his face was slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with lust as he looked up at you, his chest heaving.

"You taste like heaven," he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction as he stood, pressing his body against yours again, his lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, feel the raw, aching desire still burning between you, and you knew this was only the beginning.

“That’s what you deserve,” he whispered, his hands roaming over your body, possessive and loving all at once. “And I’m not done worshippin’ you.”

Joel’s hands moved up your body slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second his fingers touched your skin. His breath was still ragged, and his lips were barely an inch from yours as he whispered against them, his voice rough but tender.

“If you were my woman, I’d never let you leave the house without makin’ you cum at least twice,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver through you. “And here he is, treatin’ you like garbage. Doesn’t he see? You’re a goddess.”

He paused, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch gentle but insistent as he slowly pulled it up, over your head, tossing it to the side. His eyes darkened with hunger as he gazed at your bare skin, his breath coming out in a heavy exhale as he traced his fingers along the curve of your waist, up to the clasp of your bra.

“You represent everything good in this world,” Joel continued, his voice deepening as his fingers worked to unhook your bra, his eyes locked on yours. “He should feel so damn lucky to have you. How can he not see what he has?”

Your bra fell away, and his eyes dropped to your breasts, the sight of them making him groan deeply, the sound vibrating in his chest. His hands cupped them reverently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as his lips curled into a smirk.

“These,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, “prove my point exactly.”

Without another word, Joel dipped his head, his lips brushing against one of your nipples before he drew it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, your back arching as you gasped, your hands instinctively finding his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned again, his hand kneading your other breast as his mouth worked your nipple with expert precision, sucking harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Every movement of his mouth, every touch of his hands, felt like he was worshipping you, like you were something precious and sacred.

“I swear,” Joel mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing to your other nipple, sucking it into his mouth with the same intensity.

“If you were mine, I’d worship this body every damn day. You deserve to be treated like the goddess you are, not some afterthought.”

His teeth grazed your nipple, sending another wave of pleasure through you, making you whimper as he continued to suck and lick, his hands never leaving your body, constantly exploring, worshipping. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you, his mouth greedy, his hands possessive, but all of it wrapped in the tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his breath hot against your skin as he switched between your breasts, lavishing each one with the same amount of attention. “Every part of you is fuckin’ perfect.”

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, his erection hard and insistent through his jeans. The friction only added to the heat between you, the tension building with every kiss, every touch. Joel’s lips moved back up to your neck, his breath ragged as he pressed soft kisses along your jawline, his words spilling out between them.

“I could spend all night tastin’ you, touchin’ you,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with raw emotion. “You deserve to feel this good all the time. I’d make sure you never forgot it.”

Your mind was spinning, your body burning under his touch. Every word he spoke, every movement of his mouth, was like gasoline on a fire, and you were completely consumed by him, by the way he made you feel—seen, wanted, worshipped.

Joel’s hands slid back up to your breasts, kneading them as his lips claimed yours in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body radiating heat, his need for you palpable.

“Tell me,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how much you want this.”

Your breath hitched, your lips parting as his words hung in the air between you. The heat in his eyes, the intensity of his touch—it was overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding.

“I want it so bad, Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky with need, your body arching into him. “Please… take your clothes off. I need to feel you.”

He groaned at your words, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his erection pressing harder against you.

“Yeah, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing yours, “you need to see a real man. Feel a real cock, not just someone who acts like one. I’ll show you the difference.”

With a swift movement, Joel pulled back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing the broad, muscular chest that you’d only stolen glances at before. His skin glistened with sweat, his muscles flexing as he moved, and the sight of him made your mouth water. Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as you let out a soft moan of appreciation.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice breathless as your hands wandered lower, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Joel smirked, his hands already working to unbuckle his jeans, his voice dropping to a rough, dirty whisper. “You want this cock, hm? You’ve been starving for it—starving for a man who knows how to take care of you, who knows how to make you cum like you deserve.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion, his thick, hard cock springing free, already leaking with precum. It was big—thick and long, veins running down the shaft, the head swollen and glistening.

He gave it a slow stroke, his eyes locked on yours, the sight making your thighs clench with anticipation.

“See this?” he growled, tapping his cock against your thigh, making your breath hitch. “This is what you’ve been missin’. And I’m gonna make sure you never forget what a real man feels like.”

You whimpered in response, your hands reaching out to touch him, to wrap your fingers around his length, but he pulled back slightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of filthy promise. “I want you to feel it everywhere first.”

With that, Joel pressed his cock against your stomach, dragging it slowly across your skin, leaving a slick trail of precum in its wake. You moaned, the sensation driving you wild, your body arching into him as you felt the heat of his shaft sliding over your skin.

“Fuck, you look so good with my cock on you,” he groaned, his hand gripping his length as he slid it up between your breasts, over your chest, your neck, and then back down again. “You want this. You want to feel it inside you, stretchin’ you, fillin’ you up.”

“Yes, Joel, please,” you whimpered, your voice shaking with desperation. “I need it. I need you. I want your cock so bad, I can’t stand it.”

He chuckled darkly, his hand moving to tap the thick head of his cock against your clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you cry out.

“You want it here, yeah?” he growled, slapping his cock against your swollen clit again, harder this time, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You want to feel me inside this tight little pussy, fuckin’ you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Oh, God, yes,” you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body trembled with need. “Fuck me, Joel. I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to ruin me.”

His eyes flashed with pure desire as he tapped his cock against your clit again, the wet head of his cock throbbing as more precum leaked out, mixing with your own arousal.

He dragged his length through your folds, coating himself in your slickness, groaning as he teased you.

“I’m gonna make you scream for me,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never even think about another man again. You’ll be mine, baby. This pussy will be mine.”

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you, making you ache for him. Every word he spoke, every filthy promise he made, sent another wave of heat crashing through you, your body desperate for the release only he could give.

“Say it,” Joel demanded, his voice rough as he slid just the tip inside you, stretching you ever so slightly. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter as you felt him start to push inside you. “I’m yours. Please, fuck me. Make me yours.”

With a deep, guttural groan, Joel thrust into you, his cock stretching you wide, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, your body arching into his as he buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips as he held you in place.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of you in slow, deliberate strokes. “This pussy is mine now, baby. And I’m gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll forget anyone else ever existed.”

Joel’s thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but the delicious pressure only intensified the raw need coursing between you. His cock filled you so completely, stretching you to the point where you could barely think straight, only able to feel him.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Joel groaned, his voice rough with lust as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you with a force that made you gasp.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your ragged moans and the wet, lewd sounds of your pussy taking every inch of him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice low and rough as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “This is what you’d get with me all the time. Not that half-assed bullshit you’ve been settlin for. You’d get this—my cock fillin’ you up, my hands on your body, making you cum until you can’t even fuckin stand.”

He punctuated his words with rough, powerful thrusts, his cock driving deeper into you with each one. Your head fell back against the wall, your legs trembling as he held you up, completely at his mercy.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as his hips snapped into you again and again. “You deserve this, you deserve to be fucked like this every day. Not treated like you’re worthless.”

Joel’s mouth was everywhere—his lips moving over your neck, nipping at your skin before kissing and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he fucked you harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice thick with praise and hunger. “My perfect little good girl.”

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing lower until he found your breasts again, groaning as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. The sensation of his mouth on your sensitive skin, combined with the relentless pace of his hips, had you gasping, your body on the verge of breaking apart with pleasure.

“Fuck, ’could suck these tits all day,” Joel murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your nipple as he switched to the other breast, sucking and licking, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he fucked you harder.

“So fuckin’ beautiful. You’d get this all the time with me, baby. You’re my good girl, hm?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, your nipples aching under his relentless attention. “I’m your good girl. Please, don’t stop.”

Joel growled, a deep, primal sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he kissed his way back up to your mouth, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue invaded your mouth, hungry and demanding, as he continued to pound into you, each thrust harder than the last, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You whimpered beneath him, your nails digging into his back as he pounded into you, his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming you, and you could barely form coherent words. All you could do was moan his name, begging for more.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel rasped, his lips trailing down your neck as his hips snapped harder, faster. “You love this, baby? You love havin’ my cock so deep inside you, fuckin’ you the way you deserve. Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you need it.”

“I need it,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as your head fell back against the wall, your body trembling with pleasure.

“I need you so bad, Joel. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me harder. I love it. Please, Joel, don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop,” he growled, his hands sliding up your body, cupping your breasts again as he continued to thrust into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“I’ll never stop. You’ll never go a day without feelin’ this. Without knowing how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

His lips moved across your face, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, before finding your neck again, sucking and biting at your skin as he pounded into you. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed you closer to the brink of release.

His tongue claimed your mouth with the same intensity as his cock claimed your pussy, his hands still worshipping your body as if he couldn’t stop touching you.

“You feel so good,” he growled against your lips, his breath ragged as his hips continued to slam into you.

“This is what I’d do every single day if you were mine. I’d wake you up with my tongue on this perfect pussy, make you cum before breakfast, fuck you until you can’t even think straight.”

You moaned loudly, your body arching into his as his filthy words made your head spin, the pleasure building inside you with every thrust of his cock.

His hand slid down your body, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles as he fucked you, his touch sending sparks through your veins.

“I’m gonna make you cum, babygirl,” Joel whispered, his voice thick with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue dominating yours. “I want you to cum all over my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you love it.”

You whimpered, your body trembling as the pleasure mounted, your mind going blank as Joel’s cock slammed into you harder, deeper. His hand on your clit, his mouth on your neck, his body pressed tightly against yours—it was too much, and you felt yourself spiraling toward release.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough as he felt you tighten around him. “Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

With a final, devastating thrust, the coil inside you snapped, and you screamed his name as your orgasm tore through you, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him as he groaned deeply, his hips never stopping, prolonging your pleasure as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Joel’s hips slowed, but his thrusts remained deep and deliberate, his cock throbbing inside you, the heat of him radiating against your skin. His breath came in hot, ragged bursts against your neck as his hands roamed possessively over your body, caressing every inch of your trembling form.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hips ground deeper, each thrust making your body arch against him. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. My good girl.”

His words sent another jolt of desire through you, your body still sensitive from your orgasm, but you could feel his need, the tension in his body as he held back. His cock twitched inside you, and you knew he was close—so close.

Joel’s pace slowed slightly, his cock throbbing deep inside you as he hovered over you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. His hand slid down your side, possessive, as if every inch of your body belonged to him now. He kissed along your jawline, his voice husky, thick with lust and something deeper.

“Where do you want me to cum, baby?” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his cock still twitching inside you.

“Tell me where you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You felt a rush of heat, your body trembling with the intensity of the moment. Your voice came out shaky, but full of want as you gasped, “Inside, Joel. Please cum inside me.”

A guttural groan escaped his throat, his eyes darkening as he stared at you, the words hitting him like a spark to gasoline.

"God, I’ve been dreamin’ of hearing you say that," he growled, his hips bucking forward again, harder this time. "Pumpin’ you full of my seed. Fuck… the thought of you pregnant with my child?"

“The thought of you, round and swollen with my baby—fuck, sometimes I just cum from imaginin’ it,” he growled, his voice growing more desperate as his thrusts quickened, his cock hitting deep inside you with every movement.

“You’d be so beautiful, so perfect. And you’d be mine—all mine.”

His words sent a shock of pleasure straight through you, the intensity of his dirty talk igniting every nerve in your body. Joel’s hands gripped your hips harder as he thrust deeper, his cock filling you completely with each powerful stroke. His voice was raw, full of desperate hunger as he whispered in your ear.

“Imagine it,” he rasped, his breath hot against your neck, his cock pounding into you relentlessly.

“You, swollen with my baby. I’d make you cum again and again while my child grows inside you. I’d take care of you, worship you… make you feel like the goddess you are.”

The filthy images he painted, combined with the overwhelming sensation of his thick cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, made your body tremble, your mind reeling with the intensity of it. Your fingers dug into his back as your moans grew louder, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

His pace grew faster, more frantic as he chased his release, the idea of you full of his cum, of you carrying his child, driving him wild. You could feel him getting closer, his grip on your hips tightening as his cock swelled inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“You’d be such a good mother,” he groaned, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, baby. I’m gonna cum so deep inside you. I’m gonna make sure every drop stays inside. ’ gonna be so full of my cum.”

You were lost in him, lost in the way his body felt against yours, the way his words wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the pleasure.

“Yes, Joel,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your body trembled with anticipation. “Please, cum inside me. I want it so bad.”

“Take it, baby. Take all of it. I’m fillin’ you up. God, you feel so fucking good.”

With a deep, primal growl, Joel’s hips slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside as he came with a force that made his whole body shudder.

He held you tightly, his breath ragged as he groaned your name, his cum spilling inside you, filling you completely.

You could feel every twitch, every hot pulse of his release, the sensation sending you over the edge again, your body convulsing as a second wave of pleasure crashed through you.

His body shook with the force of his release, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants as he held you tightly, his cock twitching inside you as he emptied himself.

He stayed like that for a moment, his body pressed tightly against yours, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he caught his breath. His cock still twitched inside you, his cum warm and thick as it filled you completely. His hands caressed your sides, his touch tender and loving despite the roughness of what had just happened.

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he buried his face in your neck, still trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm. “Fuck… you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft but full of emotion. “’ everything I’ve ever wanted.”

His cock still twitched inside you, the warmth of his cum spreading through your core as he slowly pulled back, pressing soft kisses along your neck, your shoulders.

Joel's breathing was still heavy, his chest pressed against yours as he held you tightly, his cock still buried inside you. He kissed your neck softly, murmuring between deep breaths.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this,” he rasped, his voice low and raw. “You have no idea how long I’ve been savin’ this for you, baby. No one else could ever do it for me. You’re the only one… the only woman I want. I’m full of it, every drop of cum was meant for you.”

His words were tender but possessive, the weight of what he was saying wrapping around you. His hand slid up your side gently, still exploring, as though he couldn’t get enough of touching you. His lips brushed your ear, and his voice took on a pleading tone.

“Please, baby,” he whispered softly, his fingers tightening around your waist. “Leave him. You deserve more. You deserve to be worshipped, loved, the way I’ll love you every single day. You’re mine now. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart pound at the weight of his words, your body still trembling from the intensity of the moment.

As the intensity of the moment began to fade, the weight of Joel's words hung in the air between you. You felt the warmth of his body still pressed against yours, his breath steadying as he held you close, but now, the frantic passion had simmered into something deeper. Something certain.

For the first time in what felt like forever, clarity washed over you. Joel had peeled back all the layers of doubt, of shame, of loneliness, and left you with the undeniable truth—you deserved this. You deserved more.

You shifted slightly in his arms, and he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was soft, no longer driven by raw desire, but by something far more profound. There was a silent question there, one he didn’t have to ask out loud. He had already said it all.

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. You didn’t need to say anything right now. You didn’t need to make promises or decisions this second. But for the first time, you knew. You knew what you wanted, who you wanted.

And Joel knew it too.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple, the tenderness of the moment grounding you both. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You nodded, feeling lighter than you had in years. You weren’t just his now—you were finally yours.

As the room grew quiet, the weight of your choices settled in, but it wasn’t daunting anymore. It felt like freedom. Like the start of something new.

The beginning of everything you’d been missing.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other. part2

Imagine the way you laugh, the way you tilt your head back, the way your hand find his like it was your instinct. It was the kind if laugh that he was been longing to hear after all those mission that has been keeping him away from you. And now he is right here by your side, staring into your smile that hadn't changed. How he love to be with you like this.

Imagine the way the two of you were sitting right next to each other at the cinema. The way your head was on his shoulder, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your hands as he tries to put his attention in the movie you have been talking all over the phone for the past few weeks, fully knowing he would end up looking at you anyway. Nonetheless, it was a quiet moment, he was at peace. You've always been his home and peace.

Imagine the way this phone vibrated halfway the movie, Caleb was about to ignore it. Pips would not bother his time with you, she learned not to after the last time. He knew he made a promise to be there for her but at the same time, he knows where his priority lies, you. He was about to ignore it, the buzzing of his phone that was been going on for quite sometime now. But then what he saw was unfamiliar, unregistered phone number. It wasn't a mission, not even pips let alone his friends. It was a threat. Not just to him, but to you.

"It's MC." He lied. And fuck, the way he wanted to take it back so bad the moment he saw the way your face shifted, the way the light in your eyes flicker. The glimpse of disappointment in your eyes. Hurt. He knew he had hurt you once again. But then you look away, hiding it from him. You've always been so understanding, even when you don't understand, you tried. You always did. And so he couldn't take it back, it was the easiest way to say something that would have taken him so long to explain.

"Please Caleb. Just after the movie. Can't we have this moment?" You said. Almost, he almost folds. He wanted to say yes. Every part of him was screaming at him, wanting to say yes. To stay right here, to ignore the message and turn off his phone. But he couldn't do that, not when threat was around. Not when he could potentially put you in danger just by staying right beside you. He couldn't do that. He was panicking, he felt like he was running out of time. He felt like every minute with you would only put you in danger. He needs to put an end to this, fast.

Imagine the way the unexpected happened. The way you grab his hand and look at him, hoping, eyes looking for answer to your question. "Why, because you'll choose her?" His heart dropped. He should have told you back then. It wasn't her. That it was you. That he was leaving to protect you. But then he froze. He froze like a coward, something he shouldn't be. He haven't been a coward for a long time, not until they manage to get out of that hell he and MC have been through when they were a child. But here he was, right in front of you acting like one. All because he was afraid to lose you. And you let him go.

Imagine the way he should have stayed. He should have told you. He should have been faster. He should have called earlier. But he wasn't fast enough. The moment he turned onto your corner street was just enough time for him to see your-his home light up the night sky. It was the loud sound of the explosion that split him in half. The way he couldn't even hear the sound of his own voice screaming for your name. He just remember the ringing sound, the smoke, the fire. It felt like he had died once again. And maybe he did, right with you.

Imagine the way he did not even flinch when it was reported as a gas leak. An accident. What a lie. He knew better than anyone that was a fucking lie. It was meant for him. You were just where he lived. Where he loved. And they knew that.

Imagine he woke up at night, cold sweat running down his neck, tears running down his cheeks. He lost you again, this time within reach. It was haunting him. Your smile, your laugh, your eyes. You died thinking he had chosen her. You died thinking he had walked out on you, on us again.

Imagine the truth was just he was trying to save you. In the end, he failed. He tried to be gentle, even in the midst of panic. But in the end, you're gone. All because he thought he had it under control. All because he thought he still had time.

Imagine in the end he reach out for his phone, dialed your number but it doesn't ring anymore, but he pretend it does. Just so he can hear your voice again.

Imagine he could heard that grief is love with nowhere to go. But strangely, his goes everywhere. It burns in his chest, spills out of his hand and sits in every second he was alive without you. He did not just lose you. He killed you. And there is no coming back out of that.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: Penge piso, pambili ng lollipop.

: goodnight- oh wait, i need to tag 🥹😭 edit: I can't tag?!

[reasonsforhope]

"Eavesdropping on whale songs over the last six years is providing new information vital to answering questions about these giants of the ocean.

The number of whale songs detected is associated with shifting food sources, according to the California scientists—and the number of days humpbacks have been singing has nearly doubled.

When monitoring baleen whale songs in the Pacific Ocean, researchers found year-to-year variations correlated with changes in the availability of the species they forage on.

In vast oceans, monitoring populations of large marine animals can be a “major challenge” for ecologists, explained Dr. John Ryan, a biological oceanographer at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute in California (MBARI).

Their team deployed underwater microphones called hydrophones to study and track baleen whales, which communicate over long distances through sound.

“Surprisingly, the acoustic behavior of baleen whales provides insights about which species can better adapt to changing ocean conditions,” said Dr. Ryan, a lead author of the study.

They also monitored songs from blue, fin, and humpback whales off the West Coast of the U.S. to see what the song data could reveal about the health of their ecosystem.

The findings, published in the journal PLOS One, showed “large” year-to-year variations in whale song detection.

“The amount of humpback whale song continually increased, with their songs being detected on 34% of days at the beginning of the study and rising to 76% of days after six years,” said Dr. Ryan.

“These increases consistently tracked improved foraging conditions for humpback whales across all study years—large increases in krill abundance, followed by large increases in anchovy abundance.

“In contrast, blue and fin whale song rose primarily during the years of increasing krill abundance.

“This distinction of humpback whales is consistent with their ability to switch between dominant prey. An analysis of skin biopsy samples confirmed that changes had occurred in the whales’ diets.”

He explained that other factors, including the local abundance of whales, may have contributed to patterns in song detections observed in some years, but changes in foraging conditions were the most consistent factor.

“Overall, the study indicates that seasonal and annual changes in the amount of baleen whale song detected may mirror shifts in the local food web.”

WHALES ON THE COMEBACK TRAIL: • Gray Whale, Extinct for Centuries in Atlantic, Is Spotted in Cape Cod • Sighting of Many Blue Whales Around Seychelles is First in Decades – ‘Phenomenal’ • Majestic Sei Whales Reappear in Argentine Waters After Nearly a Century

“The results suggest that an understanding of the relationship between whale song detection and food availability may help researchers to interpret future hydrophone data, both for scientific research and whale management efforts”, which could better protect endangered species."

-via Good News Network, March 1, 2025

[genderqueerdykes]

i love when intersex people try to talk about our issues people try to hit us with a "that doesn't count, that would be like 0.01% of the population you're talking about," ahh response, which I have personally received several times at this point.

everyone loves to be confident to pull some bullshit statistic out of their ass to be dismissive, but it's funny because they never do a second of research. the United Nations Human Rights Office estimates 1.7% of the population are born intersex:

even if the numbers were any lower, it would still be worth talking about intersex issues. any amount of people with these experiences are worth representing and discussing. we should not have to be invisible because our conditions are so stigmatized that many of us receive "Corrective" procedures just after birth, during childhood, or puberty. so many of us are swept under the rug, that's part of the reason why the statistics vary depending on which area is reporting the statistics.

you can't weaponize how marginalized someone is against them. if we fight for people with the most specific gender identities that can't be easily explained in one or two words, we must include intersex people. if we include people who use unique pronouns not seen in current common vernacular, we must support intersex people. if we support other queer minorities, we must support intersex people.

it's not an option. you can act like we are a statistic on a page, a number you can't possibly fathom in your mind, but we are all around you. everywhere. existing in real time. we are not fossils. we are not extinct.

you don't have the pleasure of ignoring us anymore. intersex rights are human rights, and sometimes, they're queer rights, too.

[inkskinned]

somewhere out there someone has probably used AI to write their wedding vows. someone out there is probably loading their hinge profile with AI quippy responses. when i close my eyes i picture a man hunting through chatGPT prompts, trying to get someone else to love him. maybe she sends him back chatGPT too, and two robots fall in love.

is this our new lives, then? is love scripted? i have a dandelion heart and some part of me wants to believe that AI will not obtain self-reliance by evil but instead by discovering the single perfect shape of love - the one thing humanity (in all our time and force) could never quite nail down. maybe it will be a string of numbers. the imprint of static, the universe's thumbprint. maybe it will just be a single long mirror, and jam dripping down your hands.

i know there are "good" reasons. i was nervous! or i was unsure how to say it! but - i want your nervous words. i want your unsure words. i want you to strike entire pages of work for me. i want you to gesture vaguely, to ransack your mind for ways to instead-of-saying just show me. i want to find where your words fail you and where the summer of your longing blazes out of you, infinite, resisting the capture of definition.

and i want to do the same for you. isn't any love worth a little bit of struggle? i want to shiver with the movie-ripe sense my friends are lovely and i am so tender towards them - i want to never quite be able to explain what it means to spend my life with them. i want to draw shapes on your skin that exit the geometric and fade into the same, wordless pattern. it is still love if silent. you know - i rarely, if ever, actually tell my siblings i love them? i just show up often, and hope the action does the talking.

i know AI is "easier". of course. buttoned up and seamlessly corporate. but i do not want to love you through a film. i do not want to love you with your edges sanded down. i cannot recognize myself in you if you are unmarred and glistening. something about how, with the crystal-clear mp3 files of the present, we ache for the scratch of vinyl. the flaws are what make love worth it. i want the raw and the windbeaten and the unkempt.

something tender, then. i love you because you're real, which means that you cannot be perfect.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Every Shade.

Spencer Reid x Avoidant!BAU!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Your perfect boyfriend says a fun fact about the standards of beauty, and suddenly his words hit you harder than they should.

Words: 6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. mentions of insecurities, beauty canons, serial killers, death and the reader wearing makeup. established relationship. spencer being an inexperienced boyfriend. lack of communication but happy ending. hurt/comfort. angst?. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I can seriously think of my inexperienced boy being a foolish or careless boyfriend even without meaning to be, so enjoy this!

Spencer Reid never thought of himself as the careless type of boyfriend. In fact, before you, the very idea of being someone’s boyfriend had never seemed possible, let alone something he could do well. He had always been more comfortable with facts, numbers, and patterns. Relationships had always been a different kind of mystery to him, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to solve. But when you came into his life, something shifted. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt an overwhelming desire to be not just a partner, but a good one. A thoughtful one. A boyfriend who paid attention to the details.

He knew your favorite coffee order without you ever having to tell him. He knew the exact shade of blue that made your eyes sparkle in a way that made him catch his breath and the way you furrowed your brows in concentration when you were diving deep into thought. He noticed the little things, like the way your fingers gripped the edge of your sleeve when you were lost in a difficult problem or how you would laugh softly at jokes you didn’t find funny just to make others feel comfortable. Every habit, every subtle movement, every fleeting comment you made was something he absorbed like a sponge, collecting the pieces of you that made you you. And it made him feel closer to you, more connected than he ever thought was possible.

But it wasn’t just the light moments he noticed. Spencer also understood the weight of your darker days, the ones where the world seemed to shift into shades of gray, where the air held a bite that wasn’t harsh but still cut through you. He knew when the seasons teetered between autumn and winter and how those melancholic in-between days clung to your spirit. On those days, the ones where you wore your sadness like a cloak without ever saying a word, he was there. He noticed when your smile didn’t reach your eyes, when your usual energy seemed dimmed. So, without fail, he would show up with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a soft blanket, and arms that enveloped you like a cocoon. He would be your shelter, your quiet refuge from the world, without needing any words to fill the silence.

He loved knowing you this well, loved that he could anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. It made him feel closer to you, like he had earned a place in the most hidden corners of your heart. And to Spencer, there was no better feeling in the world.

He knows you; he sees you. He does it.

That morning, in the quiet hum of your office, was one of those moments where your boyfriend’s watchful eyes made all the difference. The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm, golden light that contrasted against the coolness of the winter air outside. Before you, your makeup bag lay open, a chaotic yet familiar spread of tools—brushes, tubes, powders—all of them scattered like tiny pieces of armor you would need for the day ahead. You were preparing for the press conference, the one where you would stand in for JJ during her maternity leave. The pressure felt immense. It wasn’t just any press conference; it was the moment you had to prove you could handle the spotlight, the cameras, and the ever-watchful public eye. The weight of one of your best friends’ trust sat heavy on your shoulders, but it was a weight you were willing to carry.

As you smoothed foundation over your skin with careful, practiced strokes, you felt the weight of Spencer’s gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, never demanding, just there, steady and grounding, as if his attention alone could keep you tethered. He had a way of watching you that made you feel both seen and safe, as though he was quietly committing every little detail of you to memory.

Still, you glanced up, unable to resist.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those deep, knowing eyes—told you everything. He was looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world, his quiet reverence sending a warm, familiar hum through your chest. It made your pulse stutter, your breath catch just slightly.

Because, oh God, how much you loved feeling his eyes on you.

You swallowed, dragging your focus back to the mirror. Focus. Get it together. You’ve got this. JJ had entrusted you with this press conference, and you weren’t about to let doubt creep in, not now.

But from the corner of your eye, you caught movement.

Derek Morgan, leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed, wearing that signature smirk of his. It wasn’t just amusement playing at the edges of his mouth; it was something more entertained, more knowing. His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, and you could practically hear the teasing remark forming before he even opened his mouth.

You sighed. Here we go.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow as you reached for your concealer. “Never seen someone put on makeup before?”

His grin only deepened. “Nah, I’ve seen plenty,” he said, raising an eyebrow as if he were admiring a work of art. “I’ve just never seen someone prepare for a press conference like they’re getting ready for a red carpet event.”

You rolled your eyes. “Some of us like to be prepared. Looking good is part of that.” You injected confidence into the words, though if you were being honest, they felt a little hollow. Today, it wasn’t just about looking good, it was about feeling in control.

And right now, with nerves curling tight in your stomach, you weren’t sure you did.

Morgan’s smirk didn’t waver. He nudged your boyfriend with his elbow, dragging him into the conversation. “Come on, kid. Tell her she doesn’t need all that makeup.”

You looked up, expecting his usual reassuring smile, that soft look he reserved for moments when he knew you were nervous or self-conscious. You could always count on him to calm your racing thoughts, to tell you that you were perfect just the way you were. The kind of reassurance that made everything feel lighter.

Instead, Spencer glanced at you with that thoughtful frown he always wore when his mind was spinning through facts. “You know…” His voice was calm, detached even, like he was about to drop some piece of knowledge that he thought might help. “It’s weird, but studies show that people tend to take you more seriously when you fit the ‘beauty standards.’ You know, like…if you’re wearing makeup or have certain features that are seen as desirable, people will listen to you more in meetings.”

The mascara brush froze mid-air.

Oh.

The words landed harder than they should have, knocking the breath from your lungs in a way that felt almost embarrassing. Because this was Spencer, your Spencer, the one who had seen you at your worst, who had kissed you sleepy and messy in the morning, who had traced your bare skin in the dim light of your bedroom.

And yet, here he was, stating facts about beauty standards like they were nothing more than statistics. Like they didn’t mean anything.

You forced out a weak laugh, trying to brush it off, trying to tell yourself that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. But the sting was already there, curling under your skin, settling deep in your chest. Was that how he really saw things? That your worth—your professional worth—was tied to how well you conformed to something so shallow?

That you weren’t enough without it?

You searched his face, hoping to find something, some flicker of understanding, some sign that he realized how his words had sliced right through you. But he wasn’t looking at you like a man who had just shaken your foundation. He was looking at you like a scientist reciting an interesting fact.

Like it wasn’t personal.

But God, it felt personal.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, boy,” Derek said, messing with Reid’s hair, trying to break the tension, but the words didn’t quite hit the mark.

You tried to focus again, returning your attention to your makeup, but the weight of Spencer’s comment lingered in the air. Your hands felt unsteady as you finished applying the mascara, the brush shaking slightly with each stroke. Your voice felt tight as you responded, trying to keep it light, but your words tasted flat, like you were trying to cover up a bruise that wasn’t yet healed.

“That’s…interesting,” you said, your tone carefully neutral, though the insecurity that was now flooding through you was anything but calm.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at you, his voice slightly absent. “And if you’re a woman, studies show that you’re more likely to be taken seriously in a professional setting if you wear makeup or—” His gaze seemed to soften, but it didn’t feel comforting. It just made you feel like there was something more he wasn’t saying. “Not that you need it, of course.”

You could feel your heart rate pick up as you tried to smile, but it didn’t feel natural. His words had drilled into you, chipping away at the small pieces of confidence you’d carefully built up this morning. The idea that your worth, in part, was tied to your appearance, to how well you matched up to some standard that was beyond your control, weighed on you like a heavy cloak. You thought about the days you’d come to work with little makeup, or none at all, when your boyfriend had seen you without the polished facade, the times when he had seen you just woken up or coming out of the shower. Did he see you as less then? Did he notice the imperfections when you were stripped of all that? Did he like you less when he saw you naked, unpolished, and unguarded? Were you enough for him in those moments? Did he still see you the same way? Or was there a shift, a moment when he realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t quite as perfect as the women he read about in his studies, the ones with their perfectly symmetrical faces, their natural makeup, their flawless skin?

“And, you know,” He added, still looking at you and Morgan like he couldn’t stop talking, “there’s this whole thing about how people with higher cheekbones are considered more attractive, and—”

You felt your breath catch. The fun facts about beauty standards kept coming, one after the other, each one a reminder of the ways you didn’t measure up. How the curve of your jaw wasn’t quite sharp enough, how your cheekbones weren’t as high as the models in the magazines, how you didn’t quite fit the mold your own boyfriend was talking about.

He wasn’t intentionally trying to make you feel insecure; he wasn’t even really paying attention to how you were really reacting, but somehow, his words echoed in your mind, like a chorus of doubts rising to the surface. Maybe you had been too focused on doing your makeup to feel like yourself today. Maybe you had gotten too used to hiding behind this mask to feel comfortable with who you really were underneath. Maybe you were pretty, but not pretty enough. Never enough. Never like a model.

You forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease. “Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to keep up with all the standards, huh?” You said, your voice tight, and then quickly added, “But I’ll be fine. It’s just a conference, right?”

Something inside you was mentally begging him—pleading with him—to say something else. Something real. Something that had nothing to do with studies or statistics or the way the world decided who mattered more. Tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me none of that matters. Tell me I don’t have to measure up to a standard I’ll never fully reach.

But all he gave you was a weak smile, the kind he always gave when he thought everything was fine. He said, “You’ll do great. You always do,” as if that was enough.

But it wasn’t. Not this time.

Not when your heart was filled with doubts and insecurity, and all you really wanted was to feel seen. To feel like you were more than just the sum of your appearance.

“Thanks,” you said, the word small and insignificant, slipping from your lips like it didn’t matter at all.

Spencer didn’t notice the shift. He turned his attention back to his notes, his mind already back on its analytical track. He was already gone, lost in his thoughts, unaware of the storm that had stirred inside you.

And as you sat there, in front of the mirror, your perfectly applied makeup reflecting back at you, the weight of the silence between you grew. You had done everything right. You had made yourself look the way you were supposed to. But somehow, sitting next to the person who should have made you feel the most seen, you felt more invisible than ever.

The mask was still in place, but it didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like a cage.

The women’s bathroom buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of conversation from the stalls, the clatter of makeup brushes on porcelain, and the steady trickle of a faucet someone had forgotten to turn off. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting everything in an unforgiving, almost surgical glare. Too bright. Too harsh. Every pore, every smudge, every slightly overfilled section of your eyebrow…ugh, why did it look so weird today?

You squinted at your reflection, lips pressed into a tight line, as if sheer force of will could stop the growing wave of insecurity curling around your ribs. Your hair was shining after so many new products, your foundation was patchy in places, and your eyeliner was untouched. You should have been focused and methodical, getting ready like you always did. Instead, your hands were unsteady, your thoughts tangled in something that had absolutely no right to be taking up this much space in your brain.

But it was.

Because Spencer Reid and his dumb fun facts had lodged themselves deep into your psyche, turning what should have been a normal morning into an existential crisis. The same babbling you used to love to hear now sounded like a nightmare. The same guy you had fallen in love with and loved to be with all day was now the one you had been avoiding looking in the face for more than three seconds.

On the counter was one of the magazines you had bought the other day, with a model looking back at you with her impossibly perfect cat eyes and flawless skin. Today you tried the same look. It hadn't worked. It looked good on her, perfect. On you? You looked like a raccoon trying to do a winged eyeliner tutorial while riding a roller coaster.

Suddenly, Emily’s voice sliced through the fog of your spiraling thoughts.

“Okay,” she said, her tone edged with concern and authority, “what the hell is going on?”

You startled slightly, mascara wand freezing midair. When you looked up, she was leaning casually against the counter, but her eyes—dark and sharp as ever—were anything but casual. She scanned you like a crime scene: the half-done eye makeup, the tense set of your shoulders, the way your lips were pressed into a thin, nervous line. You must’ve looked like you were trying to solve an advanced math problem, not get ready for a briefing.

You cleared your throat, forcing out the lie you hoped would be enough. “Nothing.”

Emily blinked slowly, unimpressed. “Right. Because people always look like they’re about to throw up when nothing is wrong.”

Damn profilers.

From across the room, Penelope was perched dramatically on the edge of the sink, legs swinging, a swirl of floral perfume and bubblegum. She blew a perfect pink bubble, let it pop, then gave you a long, knowing look as she chewed.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, cocking her head. “That’s the ‘I’m having a silent breakdown but don’t want to talk about it face.”

You tried to scoff, but it came out weak. “I don’t have a face for that.”

Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Oh, honey. You absolutely do.”

“She’s right,” Emily deadpanned, crossing her arms. “It’s your second most common expression. Right after, I’m internally screaming but pretending everything’s fine.”

You let out a breath—sharp and tired—and pressed two fingers to your temple like that would somehow press the thoughts out of your head. But they didn’t go. They never really did.

“I just…” You trailed off, mascara wand still clutched in your fingers. Your eyes dropped to the cluttered counter: a foundation bottle left uncapped, brushes scattered, and a smudge of lipstick on a tissue like a failed experiment. “Do I look good?”

The silence that followed was brief but pointed. You could feel both women scan you with clinical precision: your rumpled hair, eyeliner started on one eye but not the other, and foundation patchy where you’d tried to blend too quickly. But it wasn’t just about that. They knew it. You knew it.

Emily gave a dismissive wave. “Why are you even asking? You know you look good.”

But the question still hung heavy in the air.

You set the mascara down with a quiet, deliberate click. A tiny sound, but final. “Spencer said something,” you murmured, your voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “A couple of days ago.”

Both women immediately stilled.

“About beauty standards,” you continued, eyes fixed on the magazine lying facedown on the counter, a model’s perfect eyes staring back in judgment. “He was talking about how people take you more seriously if you look a certain way. If you’re conventionally attractive. He was just rattling off facts—like he always does—but…it stuck.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed as she popped her gum again. “Ugh, that boy and his fun facts.”

You tried to laugh, but your stomach was turning like someone had twisted it into a tight knot and pulled. The memory clung to you: his voice so casual, so neutral, dropping that stupid statistic like it meant nothing. But it hadn’t felt like nothing. Not to you.

Emily straightened. She wasn’t amused. Not even a little. “He said that to you?”

You nodded slowly. “Not to me. He was just…talking. He probably didn’t even realize what he said. But now I’m in here, halfway through my makeup, spiraling over whether my eyeliner’s straight enough to be ‘taken seriously’ by the world.”

You gestured helplessly at the mirror, at your own reflection: smeared foundation, uncertain brows, the ghost of winged eyeliner clinging to your lid. “And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Like…if I don’t pull it together, if I don’t look perfect, it’s not just that I’ll feel bad. It’s that no one will listen to me.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit,” she said flatly.

Penelope raised one hand and placed it dramatically over her chest like she’d been mortally offended. “The biggest load of bullshit.”

You let out a huff of air, something like a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, well. My brain didn’t get the memo.”

Penelope stood up then, with unusual seriousness softening her expression. “Sweetheart, let me tell you something. You could walk into that room with mascara running down your cheeks, wearing nothing but a coffee-stained hoodie, and people would still shut up and listen when you talk. Not because of how you look. But because you’re brilliant. And terrifying. In the best possible way.”

You swallowed, feeling something tighten in your throat. “No, but—”

“No buts,” Emily cut in. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but sometimes he forgets how real people work. Especially the ones he cares about.” Her voice softened, just slightly. “But don’t let one stupid comment rewrite everything you already know about yourself.”

That startled a real laugh out of you.

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! I adore that lanky little weirdo, but he says a lot of things without thinking about how they land. That doesn’t mean he sees you any differently. It just means he’s a socially awkward nerd who needs to learn when not to share his random knowledge with his girlfriend.”

You allowed yourself a deep exhale, some of the weight on your chest easing, if only a fraction. It felt like the first time all day you could breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the pressure of everything you couldn’t say.

Emily’s voice, soft and steady, broke through the stillness. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “Not to Spencer. Not to the world. And definitely not to some arbitrary beauty standard that doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

The calm conviction in her words settled over you like a warm blanket, soft and grounding, and Penelope added her own brand of comforting chaos. “But if finishing your makeup makes you feel good, babe, then go ahead and slay.” She flashed a wink, her smile wide and dazzling. “We’ll be right here, hyping you up, always.

You looked between them, their unwavering confidence in you, the way they stood on either side like a protective barrier between you and your own insecurities. The knots in your stomach loosened, just a little.

You finished your makeup with steadying breaths and Penelope’s steady stream of compliments in your ear like a lifeline. The eyeliner wasn’t perfect. The foundation still sat weird in that one spot near your chin. But it didn’t matter as much now. Or at least, you were trying really hard to make it not matter.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, the usual BAU morning chaos was in full swing, agents weaving in and out of the bullpen, papers rustling, and the echo of hurried footsteps down the hall. You fell into step behind Garcia, letting her take the lead as you clutched the folder to your chest with slightly sweaty palms.

And then you felt it. The subtle shift in the air that told you he was there before you saw him. Spencer.

He was already seated at the table, elbows propped up, flipping through the preliminary case file, his usual air of quiet concentration surrounding him. He lookedd so much like himself: cardigan slightly too big, curls falling just messy enough to look endearing, the corner of his mouth tucked between his teeth as he scanned the papers. So familiar. So impossibly distant.

You didn’t let your eyes linger.

Instead, you angled yourself toward the projector, using the task of setting up the slideshow like it required your full, undivided attention. Which it absolutely did not, but the alternative was accidentally making eye contact and seeing something in his expression you couldn’t handle. Confusion, guilt, or worse: nothing at all.

“Morning,” he said quietly. It was the tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he had permission to exist in the same space as you.

You responded too fast, your voice too sharp, too clipped. “Morning.”

There was a brief silence. You could feel his eyes on you, like a gentle tap on the shoulder you were determined to ignore.

And then, mercifully, Hotch walked in, his presence slicing through the tension. “Let’s get started,” he said, already flipping through the case file as he moved to the head of the table.

The team fell into their usual rhythm, a buzz of motion, chairs scraping back as people shifted into place. You slid into your seat at the front of the room, clicking the remote to bring up the first slide, and forced your voice into something steady, something professional.

“We’ve got three victims, all found in rural areas surrounding Baltimore. All women, ages 25 to 30, all brunette, similar build. There are signs of overkill, stab wounds well beyond what would be necessary to cause death.”

You moved through the slides with practiced precision, your voice even, your focus razor-sharp. You didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t once let your gaze flicker to Spencer’s side of the table. You spoke to Hotch. To Rossi. To Emily. To Penelope and Derek. Even to the wall. Anywhere but him.

Only once did your composure crack, a tiny hiccup in your breath when you mentioned the geographic profile. It was something Spencer had taught you when you were still new, something he’d spent hours drilling into you, showing you how to see patterns in the chaos. And there it was, his head lifting ever so slightly, his mouth parting like he wanted to remind you of something. Maybe a fact you’d forgotten. Or just to remind you that he was still there, somewhere, waiting to bridge the gap between you.

You forced yourself to keep going.

When you finished, Hotch gave a brief nod. “Good work. Let’s move out in twenty.”

The team’s energy shifted, moving from the quiet tension of the briefing room to the familiar post-briefing buzz. Chairs scraped back, papers shuffled, and voices rose as people began to file out. But you stayed behind, pretending to organize the files in front of you, keeping your hands busy, keeping yourself from fleeing. The paper felt like the only thing in the room that didn’t carry the weight of unspoken words.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer pause in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the harsh fluorescent light. He lingered, hesitant, unsure.

“Hey,” he said, his voice almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to speak to you in this moment. “Can we—”

“I have to double-check something with Garcia,” you cut in before he could finish, your words not unkind but firm, like a wall going up between you.

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it was enough.

You moved past him without waiting for a reply, your heels clicking sharply against the tile, the sound too loud in the stillness of the room. Your heart hammered in your chest, the echo of his voice a distant thing you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.

Maybe never.

You didn’t see him at first. You didn’t want to. The hallway of the precinct was quiet, almost too quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant murmur of voices in the bullpen nothing but a dull backdrop to your pulse, racing in your ears. You had taken the longer route on purpose, weaving through empty hallways, hoping to lose yourself in the disarray of the building. You could feel the thick weight of the morning press down on your chest: the meeting, the case, the pressure to be perfect. You just needed a moment of stillness, a second of quiet.

But fate had a funny way of ruining plans.

The moment you turned the corner, you saw him. Spencer. Standing there, just a few feet away, shoulders slightly hunched as if he were bracing himself. His posture was that familiar mix of awkwardness and intent focus, like he was trying to decide whether to speak or stay silent, but there was something different about him today. His hair was messier than usual, curls sticking out in odd directions, and his fingers were twitching by his side, nervous. Almost like he was unsure of himself.

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to keep walking, tried to push past him, but the sound of your shoes clicking against the linoleum slowed as you drew near, the silence hanging heavy.

“Hey,” he said, soft and tentative, like he was trying not to scare a wounded animal.

Your body tensed. You didn’t respond right away, hoping maybe if you didn’t acknowledge it, he’d take the hint and let you slip away again, untouched. Unspoken to. Unseen.

No such luck.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he tried again, more gently. “Just for a second.”

Your grip on the folder tightened until the edge of the paper cut into your palm. “I’m kind of busy,” you muttered, finally, still not looking at him.

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, half a breath, half defeat. “Maybe because I am,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to the paperwork you clutched like a shield. “The profile’s not ready, the press is waiting, and if I don’t finish the summary, Hotch is going to breathe down my neck in fifteen minutes.” The words came out sharp and mechanical, like a rehearsed excuse. But your heart wasn’t in it. Not even close.

Spencer was quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of his stare, not sharp, not demanding. Just there. Lingering. Like gravity.

“I did something,” he said finally, his voice thin and breaking at the edges. “Didn’t I? Something that hurt you.”

Your shoulders stiffened. The chill rolled in again, slow and insidious, sinking down through the fabric of your clothes and into your bones. You wanted to say no. Wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, that you weren’t affected. But your body betrayed you. Your jaw clenched. Your breath hitched.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it cracked on the way out, barely held together by habit.

He took a careful step closer. You felt it. The shift in the air, the static tension that danced between the inches that separated your bodies. “No, it’s not nothing,” he said softly. “Tell me what I said. What I did.”

You could hear the ache in his voice, that rare, tender vulnerability he only let you see. It scraped at you, raw and irritating, because he sounded like he cared. Because he did. And that made it worse. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t try to reason his way in with statistics or logic. He just stood there, steady and open, letting you feel every inch of his presence.

“I know something’s wrong.” Spencer said. “You didn’t sit with me on the jet. You didn’t even look at me.”

The words made you flinch, just slightly. You hadn’t expected him to notice. Or maybe you had. Maybe you wanted him to.

“I know we don’t show affection at work. That’s always been our rule,” he continued, quieter now, more broken. “But you always touch my hand. Or bump your knee into mine. You always steal a sip of my coffee, even when it’s gross. But this morning…you didn’t even look at the muffin I brought you.”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the guilt clawing at your chest. He’d noticed. Every small absence. Every little shift.

Finally, you turned. Slowly. Your gaze fell to the floor in front of his shoes, worn at the edges and slightly scuffed. Just like him. And then you looked up. Just barely. Just enough to catch the way he was standing. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands limp by his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like he didn’t know how to reach you.

And he didn’t.

Because part of you didn’t want to be reached.

Not yet.

“It’s just…” You swallowed. “It’s what you said the other day. When Morgan made that joke about my makeup.”

Spencer blinked, clearly trying to remember. “What did I exactly say?”

“You said people get more attention when they see someone pretty,” you said, each word carefully even, like if you didn’t control your voice, it would crack.

His brows furrowed. “I said that people tend to respond more favorably to those who fall within conventional beauty standards and that it has an unconscious effect on—”

“I know what you said,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to. The echo of your own voice in the empty hallway made your stomach twist. “You don’t have to repeat it like a textbook.”

That made him flinch, just barely, but enough.

“I didn’t mean it about you,” he said quickly. “I was just talking. I always talk too much, you know it.”

You gave a humorless laugh, turning your back to him, your arms crossed tight over your chest.

“That’s the thing, Spencer. You didn’t mean it. And you didn’t even realize how it sounded. You just threw it out there, like a fact. Like I wasn’t sitting right next to you, like I’m not already trying to compete in a world that picks apart every inch of me the second I walk into a room.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No. You didn’t.”

Your voice cracked this time, and you hated it. Hated the sting in your eyes, the tightness in your throat. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, not over something so small. But it wasn’t small. Not to you. Not when it was coming from him.

He stepped closer again, like he couldn’t help himself, and you stepped back just as fast.

“Please don’t,” you said quietly.

He froze.

“I know I’m not the only girl in the world,” you said, not looking at him. “And I’m not asking to be. But when you say things like that, even casually, it feels like I’ve already lost a race I didn’t know I was running. Like I’m not even in the frame.”

There was a long pause. Your boyfriend’s voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“You’ve never been out of frame. Not for me.”

You shook your head, blinking hard, trying to will away the heat behind your eyes. “I’ve spent the last two days wondering if I’d be worth more to you if I looked different.”

That hit him like a blow. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think. But please believe me when I tell you…I see you. All the time. You’re someone I—” He stopped himself, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “You’re the only person I can’t stop seeing.”

Something in your chest pulled tight, twisted cruelly.

You stared at a fixed spot on the floor. The tiles blurred a little around the edges. You didn’t know what to say to that, not when your chest felt too tight, not when your emotions were running just beneath your skin, raw and humming.

“I don’t always think before I talk,” he continued, carefully. “Sometimes I share things like facts and research like they’re harmless, like they’re neutral. But I forget that facts aren’t neutral when they land on people I care about.”

That made you glance up at him. Just for a second.

He looked like he meant it: brows drawn, hands loosely curled at his sides, eyes locked on yours with that intense kind of focus he reserved for unsolvable puzzles and people he couldn’t let go of.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said, and there was no rush in it. No grand gesture. Just a quiet truth. “Not when you’re all put together. Not just when you wear makeup. Not just when you smile.”

You blinked. The air in the hallway seemed to still.

“I think you’re beautiful when you’re tired. When you’re pissed off. When you’re sitting at your desk covered in crime scene dust and snapping at Morgan because you haven’t eaten in twelve hours.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think you’re beautiful even when you’re covered in blood, cursing at your vest because it rubbed your ribs raw…even if that sounds weird.”

A quiet laugh broke out of you, not a full one, but a cracked, genuine thing that caught you off guard. You shook your head, eyes misty despite yourself.

“Spencer…”

He stepped forward slowly, careful not to close the distance unless you let him. “You never needed to change anything. Not for me. Not for the world, either. But if you ever forget how amazing you are, I’ll remind you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat was too tight. But your hand reached out, just barely brushing against his. Not quite holding. Just…touching.

It was enough.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and hesitant.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And for the first time in days, the storm inside you quieted, not gone, but calm. Manageable. Because he didn’t just see you. He saw through everything you tried to hide…and stayed.

Friendly reminder ❤︎ : you are beautiful and "standards" are bullshit that don't matter, even if we sometimes feel like they do.

Take care and be kind to yourself, xoxo.

[mggslover]

spencer and readers first fight ! can you possiblyyyy do something along the lines of spencer said something sassy/petty/mean which results in reader giving spencer the silent treatment and he crashes out begging for her to speak to him 🤓☝🏼

your first fight with spencer genre: slight angst, fluff word count: 1,7k a/n: i've been so excited to write this one! honestly way too long for a drabble, but i hope you enjoy it

“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this."

Spencer didn’t understand the gravity of his words before you huffed out a sigh, placing your hands on your knees as you lifted yourself up from the spot next to him on the couch. His eyes followed your body as you walked straight toward your shared bedroom, opening the door before shutting it behind you with a bang. The click of the lock echoed through the now silent living room.

Spencer sat frozen in place, his gaze fixed on the door as if you’d magically reappear in front of him.

Everything about your body language hinted at you being angry, but he couldn’t grasp why. He replayed the situation back in his head in an effort to decipher the reason.

You had cheerfully greeted him when he entered the apartment. He’d been away on a case for several days, not having had the time to speak to you over the phone or give you any updates on how he was doing.

As much as he preferred keeping clear boundaries between his personal and professional life, Spencer couldn’t resist telling you the details of some of his cases when coming home. Not when the psychology behind the unsubs fascinated him so much. And especially not when you eagerly pulled him toward the couch, pushing him down onto the soft cushions as you handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, ready to hear about his day.

You sat cross-legged in front of him, eyes twinkling with admiration as he told you about today’s case. He explained how he discovered a pattern in the way the unsub took his captives, using the numbers 11235 — the first five numerals in the Fibonacci sequence.

He noticed the frown forming between your brows as he got into more detail.

“Can you explain that to me? I don’t get it,” you asked.

“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this.”

Spencer wasn’t lying. He remembered how his coworkers had blankly stared at him when he analyzed his theory — how Emily made eye contact with JJ, their silent looks saying there he goes again, and how Hotch had to cut him off to tell him to get to the point. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to explain it to you, he just didn’t see the point in doing so, not when he knew this was a connection only he could understand.

After a couple of minutes, there was still radio-silence. Spencer got up and walked to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. “Angel? Can you open up for me?”

“Just go away, Spencer.”

Your voice cracked, like you had been crying, and the sound made his heart sink.

“Please open the door so we can talk. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Your scoff vibrated through the door. “I don’t even want to talk to you if you can’t understand what’s wrong.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands turning clammy. He didn’t like confrontations and especially not with you. You’d never fought before. Rationally, he knew fights weren’t necessarily a bad thing — conflicts usually stemmed from deeper fears and feelings that get triggered, and confronting these feelings could lead to creating an even stronger bond. But right now, all he wanted was to turn back time and make sure those words never left his mouth.

His mind blanked in situations like these, so the only logical fix he could come up with was to call Derek.

“Hey,” Spencer spoke through the phone, balancing the device between his ear and shoulder as he nervously paced through the living room.

“Hey man. What’s up?”

“I messed up.”

Morgan’s chuckle sounded through the speaker. “Our genius making a mistake. Who would’ve thought the day would come?”

Spencer sighed, losing his patience. “It’s serious.”

Derek paused before responding. “Alright, slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Spencer repeated the conversation for what felt like the hundredth time that day, his guilt accumulating with each repetition. He gulped when he heard Derek take a sharp inhale at the other side of the line. He could almost see him shaking his head.

“Okay,” Derek began. “Now listen to me. When it comes down to it, all women are the same, they just need some loving and appreciation. Go buy her some flowers before the store closes.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced one last time at the still-locked bedroom door before heading out.

Thankfully, Spencer’s apartment was close to downtown. He hurried into the first flower shop that he spotted, his eyes scanning the bouquets until they landed on a pair of bright colored lilies. The outer corners of the petals shone with a radiant shade of pink, fading into a soft white at the center.

He cleared his throat as he placed the flowers on the counter. “Can I have these, please?”

The woman behind the counter started wrapping them in pink paper, reaching out for lint to tie a bow. “Trouble in paradise?”

Spencer blinked, not often experiencing someone seeing right through him. Besides his coworkers. And you.

“Ya know, I see so many men come in here on the daily. You can just tell they got in trouble with their lady; sweating bullets and rushing to pick a bouquet the second before the store closes.” She twirled the bouquet in her hand as she pulled on the strings of the lint bow. “At least you picked a nice one.”

“Do-,” Spencer hesitated, his voice softening in an uncertain whisper. “Will she forgive me after this?”

“Depends on what ya did,” she answered with a lift of her shoulders. “What I can tell you is that flowers don’t do much fixing.”

Damn it, Derek.

The florist turned around, rummaging through a drawer, before pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the counter.

“Write,” she stated in a single syllable. “We need words. We need to know that you care, and we need you to put more effort into it than paying ten dollars.”

With a new plan in mind, Spencer hurried home. The apartment was still silent when he returned, the door firmly closed and no signs of you having left the bedroom. He sighed and made his way to his desk, shoving aside piles of books and papers until he had enough space to write. He opened the envelope the florist had given him, and carefully pulled out a sheet of blank stationary.

My Lover Dearest,

It is ironic that I have read so much poetry and so many books in my life, and yet I cannot find the words to describe how much you mean to me.

Sometimes, I find it difficult to believe that someone as wonderful as you would want to be with me. That I’m allowed to deserve the love that you give me.

My mind works in strange ways, and as much as you’ve praised me for it, it can work as a curse as well. I am scared to overwhelm you, to talk your ears off (which would be a shame, because you have beautiful ears) to the point that you grow tired of me.

I never had the intention to cause you pain, or to initiate that you’re any less brilliant than you are. You are the brightest part of my life. I feel grateful every time I get to talk to you, and I would love nothing more than to explain any concept you’d want me to. I’m sorry for not having understood that before.

I love you. I love you. I have been wanting to tell you this in a special way, please know that I am not just saying this to ask for your forgiveness. I love you.

Sincerely, Spencer

The clock chimed 03.00 a.m. by the time Spencer finished his letter. His hand ached and he could barely keep his eyes open as he stumbled to the bedroom door. He turned the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. With a resigned sigh he slid the letter under the door and sat down against it. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake him.

The repeated knocking of the door against his back woke him.

“Spencer?”

Your voice sounded like a siren, and he instantly scrambled away from the door, allowing you to open it fully.

You stood there, holding the envelope in your hand as your eyes softened when you glanced over him, mouth forming a small oh. “What are you doing here?” you asked in worry.

“The door was locked,” he answered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

A curse escaped your lips as you pressed your hands against your face. “I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep with the door still locked.”

Spencer’s lips lifted into a small smile, relieved that you hadn’t locked him out intentionally. “It’s okay. Orthopedists actually recommend sleeping on the floor from time to time. Sleeping on a hard surface encourages a more natural position for your spine, which can reduce back pain. It even strengthens certain muscles, so the pressure on your body evens out. As a matter of fact, anthropological studies have shown that-”

He stopped mid-ramble, blushing when he noticed the faint smile tugging on your lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll stop,”

“Don’t you ever stop,” you replied as you lowered yourself on the ground next to him. You reached for his hands, placing them into your lap.

Spencer’s blush deepened, and he struggled to suppress a grin. Your encouragement reassured him, and he went on about groups in Japan and Tanzania who experience significantly lower rates of back pain due to their minimal use of furniture.

“Spencer,” you gently interrupted after a while.

He blinked at you, seeing the gleam in your eyes as you adoringly stared at him. “Hm?”

“I love you too.”

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[jehhskz]

Third time's a charm

pairing: nonidol!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: fluffy romance, fastburn, he falls first

wc: 6k

summary: hyunjin just wants a chance - okay maybe three - to make you fall for him

jé's note: my little gift to my beautiful @hyunjincanraptoo, happy birthday amiga, you're a light in my life, our chats always makes me so happy, i love you and i hope you enjoy this little fic and have an amazing day celebrating your life ❤️ ps: send some brigadeiro to me 🤭

my other fics

After a hell of week with noses buried into books and never ending lectures, friday night finally arrived and everyone could finally relax, and if you lived around the campus you'd surely get plenty of options to pick: whether it be night clubs or rooftop bars to karaoke or crashing into fraternities, the dorms would be completely silent, unless… you decided to enjoy some other type of fun.

Hyunjin was walking down the hall with his phone in hand blowing up with messages.

Lia (library) - how come you aren’t at Jack's? 😔

Cecilia (class) - hyun, come to the rooftop, they are having dj’s battle

Angel - bro, they are giving double drinks until 2 *attached: a picture of a blue bottle*

Kelly (café) - Felix told me you just left, right when I arrived? 💔

“So clingy…” Chuckled to himself, putting his phone in his back pocket, stopping in front of his door, pressing the keyword.

Hyunjin coming back to his dorm before midnight and all alone? That was a new.

Because the boy did love to party. You could always know that if there was good music and girls, Hyunjin and his friends would always be there. It was like a pattern, they didn't even need to do anything, the boys simply would leave traces and suddenly be stumbled upon by coincidence by them. It was fun but after some time it got boring, all those hollow girls felt and acted the same, the only difference was their faces, sometimes not even their names.

Hyunjin was bored, he wanted more. He wanted someone new, something different…

The chuckles and muffled chat coming from the end of the corridor caught his attention and he looked over, seeing you opening the door of your dorm with a boy waiting behind, poking your sides.

…someone like you.

The only girl from the building that didn't try to get his number, the one that he only knew the name because you were classmates and still, you never bothered to look for excuses to study with him. In fact, you looked pretty annoyed this morning, when the professor paired up you two for a new project.

Neither you nor Yunho noticed Hyunjin before you entered your dorm. But he thought it would be better that he would get inside too, before calling Felix.

“Hey angel!”

“Changed your mind after seeing the drinks?” The blonde teased when he picked up the call.

“Tonight I'll pass. I'm actually calling because I need a little help” Hyunjin plopped down in bed, kicking off his shoes.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Ji’s there, right?” There was a moment of silence before Felix confirmed.

“Ok, great. I need you to ask her to call y/n, say she needs help” He reached for the bubblegum on his bedside table, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth.

“What?” Felix chuckled, curious about what his best friend was up to now.

“I will explain it all later, now just do me this favor, alright?”

“Yep” Felix beckoned for Ji to come where he was “Gonna talk to her now”

“Ok, great, oh and tell her to be careful, we don’t want to scare y/nnie… just need to interrupt something” Hyunjin smirked, thinking about his next steps.

“Ok, I get it now” Felix also had a smirk while staring at the girl beside him

“She will be calling soon. May I help with anything else?”

“No, thanks. That was all, have fun!”

“Oh, I definitely will…” Felix winked at Ji, that was twirling her hair around her fingers, staring up at him.

~ ♡ ~

Exactly 10 minutes later Hyunjin heard footsteps outside. Waiting just a bit, he opened the door and peaked to check if the area was clear before stepping out.

You were putting your jacket back on when you heard a soft knock on the door. Smiling, you walked there, imagining Yunho changed his mind, deciding to be decent and not letting you risk go out so late all alone.

“You?” Your smile faded when Hyunjin popped the bubble, offering you one of his stupid (and perfect) grins.

“Hello to you, too. May I come in?” His ask was useless since he was already doing it, his shoulder brushing against yours as he casually stepped inside.

You groaned in annoyance, watching him stop and gaze around. The small lilac couch matched the dark purple fluffy rug and pink cushions, beside it there was the desk with your computer, a panel with colorful sticky notes and some pictures, his mouth twisted when he saw a polaroid of Yunho there.

“Nice place…” His eyes roamed over again, everything was so neat and well organized, exactly how he imagined the straight A's room would be. He stopped in front of your bookshelf, noticing how the books were perfectly organized by colors, he couldn’t help the urge to pull the blue and pink out and switch them.

“Stop it!” You grabbed his wrist as he picked the yellow one, ready to switch it with another too. Hyunjin laughed, sitting in your bed while watching you put them back in order.

“As much as I wouldn’t love for you to stay and chat, I gotta a place to be so you need to leave” You grabbed your purse, and paced around looking for where you left your phone.

He sat down in your bed, picking the teddy bear that was lying against your pillow, he scoffed before chuckling lightly, running his finger on its head “Cute”

“So… where are we going?” He looked up at you with mischief when you came by his side and grabbed the phone.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I'm calling an Uber” You drew the password code and opened up the app, Hyunjin shook his head.

“There’s no way I'm letting you get into a stranger's car this late at night” You stopped typing, side glancing at him

“How could it be any different from getting into your car?”

“C'mon, you can't be serious right now” He rolled his eyes.

“I mean, we aren’t friends, I've never even spoken to you before. How could I know if you aren’t dangerous too?”

“Yeah, if it wasn't for Mr Park you'd still be ignoring me…” He gazed at you with wide eyes before narrowing his eyebrows in suspicion “Aren't you the strange one, then?”

You slapped his arm and he let out a fake ouch as if it hurted

“See? I should be the one afraid to get inside a car with you!”

You raised your hand to smack him again, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to face him, making another bubble. Your free hand landed on his knee and you ignored the way your heart skipped a beat and your sudden wish to lean even closer and pop it before he did it, smirking devilishly at you after snapping you back to reality.

“Hey hey, easy there doll. If you wanted to touch me, you should simply ask” He teased and you pulled your hand back with an annoyed groan, straightening up again.

“Ugh, you're so annoying!”

Hyunjin stood up, too close for your liking so you took a little step back, making him chuckle.

“Annoying? Oh, I've been called a lot of stuff before, but that's new” He teased with that damn smirk glued on his face, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking away.

He was loving it, it was refreshing although it surprised him at first. How come you could be so unbothered by him when girls would always be gravitating around him, trying to get his attention, hoping to get in his bed?

“Oh, I know” You scoffed. Of course you knew, every girl loved to brag when they had a chance.

Could you blame them?

You wouldn't lie, you weren’t blind, he was handsome, way too handsome… With that black long and silk hair, his cute nose and plush lips that insisted on tugging into that annoying smile you wanted to rip off his stupid pretty face.

Yes, you could blame them!

Gorgeous or not, he was just a boy at the end of the day, not just that, but one with commitment issues too, which only made everything worse. They should be wiser and use their brains instead of thinking with theirs...

“You know? Oh good, so it means you weren’t so oblivious about me, after all” Teased again, poking your side. You took one more step back, frowning at him, a silent warning for him to stop if he wanted to keep those five fingers intact.

“Yeah, I know exactly what type of man you’re”

“Hmm, why are you making it sound like it's something bad?”

“Because it is” Your cold reply caught him by surprise, he wasn't expecting it, he wasn't used to someone being so bold with him like this.

You couldn’t read his expression while he stayed silent and looked at you, as if thinking about something, and for some reason you felt bad, realizing you should have chosen your words carefully. You felt awkward now.

“One chance!” Hyunjin grabbed your hands, sending a sudden jolt of electricity through them, your eyes widened.

“Uh?”

“Give me one chance, to prove you I'm not as bad as you think”

“Hyunjin…”

“Please” You couldn’t tell if he was playing or being serious right now.

“Why do you care so much about what I think, anyways?” You tried to laugh it off, it wasn't a big deal, but he stayed serious, gazing at you.

“I like you…” He said so casually with a shrug “...Plus, you're stuck with me for the rest of the semester as we work on our project, so I think at least we should get along”

You shook your head, he couldn’t be serious.

“Hyunjin…”

“Two…” He showed two fingers up, biting down his bottom lip, then shook his head, lifting one more “Three!”

“You really won’t leave it, will you?”

“Obviously not” He shook his head, mischievously smiling and poking your sides again and you squirmed “C'mon, y/nnie… just three dates, imagine all the girls who would be dying to be in your shoes right now”

“Yeah, I'll text them on the group chat” You waved your phone “Who wants to volunteer?”

“Ha ha, aren’t you so funny?” He asked sarcastically, picking the phone from your hand “But I already told you, I don’t want them, I want you!”

~ ♡ ~

20 minutes had passed and your heart was still thrumming, stealing glances of Hyunjin while you sat on the passenger's seat of his car.

I want you.

Three little words being repeated inside your mind over and over again.

He was quiet during the whole drive, which was actually surprising, the only sound being the soft balad playing on the radio, but there was a little grin lingering in the corner of his mouth as his gaze was focused on the road ahead.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

As for Hyunjin? He was just hoping your friend wouldn’t ruin his plan when you’d arrive at the pub.

You texted Ji to let her know that you arrived, but got no response, thinking she could be drowning her sorrow with alcohol after being dumped by her man, you decided to walk in and go after her. Hyunjin followed you, grabbing your hand and guiding you inside, you noticed the not subtle glances from some girls towards you, after they would greet Hyunjin, you rolled your eyes and held his hand tighter without even realizing, but he did, gently stroking your hand with his thumb, a smirk playing on his lips as you walked around looking for the blonde.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed when you spotted her, or at least who you thought was her…

The colorful lights that danced around them were making it difficult to tell where Ji started and Felix ended.

Hyunjin's eyes widened up in surprise when he heard your gasp and a wide and proud grin appeared on his face. You started walking towards them, but got pulled back by him, gasping in surprise when you crashed against his chest.

You looked up at him and there it was, that annoying thrumming inside your chest again, but not only that, there was also a subtle dizziness too, as you inhaled the woody scent of his cologne. His hands rested on your arms, and you shivered slightly when he leaned closer.

“Wait, wait. What do you think you're doing?” He whispered and you rolled your eyes, peeking over his shoulder, noticing the blondes’ heavy makeout session was still going on. “Don't you know that’s rude to disturb? Let them have fun!” Hyunjin chuckled, which only annoyed you even more.

“Ugh, I can't believe Ji did that, she was crying just minutes ago”

“Well, it seems like Yongbok saved the day, then” Hyunjin wiggled away just in time before you smack him.

“Y/nniiieeee!” Arms were thrown over your shoulders as an excited Ji hugged you from behind.

You turned to face her, noticing the girl had lipstick smeared all around her lips, pretty much like Felix did when he came around with two cups in hand. You twisted your mouth, watching him talk with Hyunjin, your drunk friend giggling by your side.

“I'm so happy you're here, y/nnie. We are gonna have so much fun!” Ji side hugged you, squeezing you against her.

“Ji, you were crying, what happened? Where's Hong-joong?” You looked around “I'll fight him, what did he do?”

“Hong-joong, uh?” Her eyebrows raised up a bit, looking at you with slightly confusion, Ji noticed Hyunjin's silent plea for her to play along, so she did it. Small nodding, rubbing her forehead “Oh yeah, about that…”

“He isn't worth it, I'm okay…” She waved off as if it wasn't a big deal and then she grabbed your hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief “...now, tell me, you and Hyunjin, uh?”

“There’s no me and Hyunjin, he simply just drove me here” You shrugged, quickly glancing at him just to find out he was already staring at you while chatting with his friend. You turned back to Ji, trying to ignore him.

“He said he wouldn’t let me get into a random's car so late at night”

“Awwn, that’s so sweet!” Ji excitedly clapped and you looked down, feeling a little flustered, it was sweet indeed.

You glanced at him again, noticing he was beckoning at you to go there and you shrugged again at your friend, acting nonchalantly.

“Anyways, it doesn't mean anything” “Of course it does, Hong-joong never offered to do it for me…” Ji admitted and then chuckled, but the humor didn't reach her eyes “...damn, he would call me over and make me pay for the ride to his place…”

Ji's voice was becoming a faint sound as you came to realize how neither did Yunho. The cute boy that you met at the library on a random friday and had been ‘talking’ ever since.

Cute boy skipping a party at some random frat house to focus on his exams that would happen in two weeks? That felt like a huge green flag!

Or maybe he just needed every single point if he didn’t want to fail that semester.

Hyunjin held out a cup for you, but you shook your head.

“We are leaving” You simply told him, crossing your arms.

“Uh? Not even my girlfriend yet and you're already bossing me around?” He grinned and you flustered right away, gritting your teeth.

“No, that’s not what I meant, it's just that we came together and… ugh!”

Hyunjin chuckled, taking a sip of the soda he just offered you “Relax, y/nnie… I'm just teasing you” He took one step forward, invading your personal space as he leaned in before you took one step back, which only made his grin get wider “Has anybody told you how cute you look when you're all flustered?”

“Stop that!” You scoffed, looking away.

“Even more cute when annoyed”

“You seem to enjoy it a lot, don’t you?”

“Oh, I surely do” A new step forward, another step back. Hyunjin smirked, taking one more step and picking a little strand of your hair between his fingers, playing with it then gazing back at you.

Looking into his eyes for a moment that felt way too longer than actually was, your breath hitched and you felt speechless.

“I wanna leave…” You cleared your throat, feeling awkward.

“Oh c'mon, we just got here. Let's stay for a little while” His fingers were still caressing your hair, a mischievous smile playing on his lips “Please…”

Damn, how could you say no to that cute face?

“Okay, fine. Just a little more” Hyunjin's smile got wider and he suddenly hugged you, taking you completely by surprise and also intoxicating you with his delicious cologne that would get stuck on your skin and give you trouble sleeping that night.

“Stay with me and I'll make you glad you came” He whispered in your ear. It wasn't in reference to the lyrics of the song that was playing, Hyunjin knew exactly what he was doing and the way you got tense between his arms, he noticed it worked.

“You really think you're funny” You pulled back, rolling your eyes.

“Oh I can be that, I can be a lot of things actually and I'm sure you'll love every single one of them” His words dripped like honey and a funny sensation rushed down your body like little electricity jolts.

“Very cocky too” You did your best to not let it show, but you were enjoying that side of him, maybe a little too much for your own liking.

“I can be that too…” Hyunjin held your hands, pulling you to dance with him. His hands rested on your waist and you let your own rest on his shoulders, a little too close and a little too good, but you wouldn't dare to say it out loud. So you would turn around when it would get too much, a moment of clarity when the invisible pull to kiss him would become too strong, making Hyunjin fight his own urges then, to not hold your hips and pull you flush against him.

Obviously he was losing it, but could you blame him? So you let him, but just for a second or two, before you'd pull away again, cheeky.

That was the first time you danced with Hyunjin. That was also the first time he didn’t even get a simple kiss when the night ended.

And as ironic as it could sound, he loved it.

~ ♡ ~

You clutched your cardigan tighter around your body, it was particularly chill in that morning and way too early to leave the comfort and warmth from your bed. Stepping inside the bus, you sighed with relief when you felt it was warmer inside, your destination was the natural park, a school trip to do some research for the project you were working on.

Finding an empty seat, you slid down, leaving your backpack by your side and resting your head against the window, your eyes closing instantly, you were tired from staying up until late studying, didn't notice your bag being moved or the shoulder brushing against yours, your head being gently tilted to the opposite side and you let out a little sigh while nuzzling your face against the soft fabric of his hoodie, that known woody scent filling up your nostrils, warming you up inside.

Hyunjin looked down at you all cozied against him and his hand reached out, gently running his fingers on your hair, breathing in the floral scent of your shampoo, he smiled, feeling good and he noticed he could get used to it.

You sleepy groaned, trying to brush his hand off when he poked his finger into your ear, Hyunjin chuckles woke you up.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we arrived” Blinking a few times, you jolted in your seat when you noticed you were basically laying on top of him.

“Slept well?” His tease came along with his chuckles, watching you fix your disheveled hair with your hands. You rolled your eyes.

Looking out of the window, you noticed the trees that surrounded the entrance of the park, a big sign hanging on the trunk of the biggest one with the draw of the map of the site and some instructions for the visitors, glancing back at Hyunjin, you watched him stand up, picking both your bags, you stood up too, following him out.

“You should have woken me up…” You murmured, standing by his side.

“Yeah, but you were so cute talking in your sleep, I didn’t want to interrupt you” He side glanced at you, leaning closer, his tone low just for you to hear, as the other students gathered around, listening to Mr Park's instructions.

“What? I don’t talk in my sleep!” You scoffed.

“Oh Hyunjin, just give me a kiss” He mocked with a tiny voice and your cheeks burned high so you smacked his arm.

“Stop it or I'll ask Mr Park to pair me up with someone else” You hissed at him and he made a zipper motion on his mouth.

“...and you're all adults with internet access so be smart, I'm here to help you with your projects and not to play baby-sitter!” Mr Park didn't bother with the laugh of the students when he finished his talk, turning around and guiding the group to the cabins area.

~ ♡ ~

“I can't believe you got a cabin just for yourself!” Hyunjin followed you out of the reception in the direction of your cabin, still carrying your stuff.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You smiled, admiring the diversity of flowers that made a pathway towards the little matching wooden cabins, it was charming like a little village, with windows adorned with flowers too.

“We're partners, you should stay with me” He said it nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Project partners, there's a difference” You corrected him, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The interior was simple, but as charming as the outside, there were two beds looking cozy with the white wool covers and fluffy pillows, a small bedside table with a lamp, a fluffy white rug between them, a small wardrobe and a door that you assumed was for the bathroom.

“I'm gonna change that soon” He placed the bags on the floor next to the bed.

“A little too confident, aren’t we?” You teased giggling, sitting down on the opposite bed.

“I mean, I've got some credits…”“Just two…” You reminded him when he sat on the bed in front of you, casually resting his hand on your knee, the other going to play with a strand of your hair again.

He was too close again, you wondered what was this boy's problem with personal space. And also with your heart, you definitely should make an appointment to check those random beat skips…

“I thought we agreed on three…” His eyes widened in surprise, letting the strand slip between his fingers.

“We did, but you already used one” You nodded, smiling.

“When?”

“That day at the pub, the Ji emergency…” You didn't notice how soft you sounded, remembering how you danced together but luck for you, neither did him.

“No way, that one doesn't count, I wasn't ready!” He whined dramatically smacking his forehead

.“Of course it does” You insisted, nodding again and chuckling.

“I'd try harder if I knew…” He murmured under his breath, clearly talking to himself as he looked down, his lips pouting as if he was concentrating, contemplating.

You couldn’t help but laugh, it was funny how it looked like he was really taking it seriously “As if you were the ‘try hard’ type”

“You're right, I'm not” His behavior suddenly shifted back to cocky again and you laughed out loud by accident.

You covered your face, letting your laugh calm down and he smiled, admiring you, leaning slightly closer again while the room became silent as you stared at each other.

“Hmm, let’s go look around, we need to find some samples before it gets dark” You stood up suddenly, already making your way out.

Hyunjin followed you, not bothering to take his bags out of your cabin.

~ ♡ ~

Your exploration time had to be cut short due to the weather changing, after waiting for the rain to end, you and Hyunjin decided to go back and explore a little further into the woods, not too far because the sun would set soon, just a quick look to find a very specific flower you wanted, known for its strong healing properties it would be perfect for future works.

“Are you sure they grow in places like this?” Hyunjin was getting tired, it felt like you’ve been working in circles for hours.

“Yeah, they don’t enjoy much sun, so it's probably around here” The path was surrounded by big full trees and pebbles, lots of them, you frowned when you looked down at your feet, the dirt became mud and not only was it slippery it also ruined your allstar.

“What does it look like again?” “It looks like a pink heart, with tiny lilac dots at the end of the petals and… I found it!” You squealed excitedly when you spotted the flower almost hidden between the rocks. Hyunjin chuckled with your excitement, but also felt relieved that the search was over.

In the hype state you hushed to pick it, ignoring how slippery it was, but nature was quick to remember you, making you awkwardly slip your way down the rock you were about to step and if Hyunjin wasn’t quick enough and held your arm, pulling you flush against him, you'd fall right on your butt and completely embarrass yourself in front of your crush with the bonus of doing a special version of the walk of shame with mud all over your butt.

Luckily none of this happened, but from the way you yelped, Hyunjin noticed something still wasn't right. He held you by your shoulders, eyes training down your figure.

“My foot… I think I twisted it…” You looked down, it was hurting pretty bad.

“Ouch, okay… Let's go back and…” His hand was sliding around your waist, but you stopped.

“Wait, we must pick the flower first”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, that’s the most important thing of the project, plus if we simply leave then I'll have hurt myself for nothing” You looked up at him, waiting.

“Okay, fine. Stay here” He rolled his eyes, letting go of you and you did a small nod, smiling.

“Please be careful, Jinnie” His heart fluttered, it was the first time you used that nickname for him. He decided to not tease you about it now, and simply nodded, going to the rocks to pick the flower for you.

It wouldn’t be Hyunjin if he didn’t show off, so of course he had to slid the pathway and go pick another one too, prettier than that first you found, but just to have an excuse to roll his sleeves up and hop back on the rock, coaxing a little worried squeal from you.

“You could hurt yourself” You whined when he approached you, chuckling.

“I'm sorry, promise won’t happen again” He held out the pretty flower “For you”

You smiled, admiring it and feeling a bit flustered, murmuring a shy thank you. You were about to pick it, when he gently placed it behind your ear.

“Cute” He scoffed quietly, chuckling and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. Same heat that would travel all over your body when he held your waist and slid his other arm behind your knee, easily picking you up.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” You squealed.

“I'm carrying you back, your foot will get worse if you walk” He shrugged “Now let's go, it's starting to get dark”

You just nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, ignoring the insistent thrumming of your heart as he made the way back and in that moment, you forgot that others could run into you, only focusing on his scent and the heat coming from him.

“Hyunjin! What are you…” You heard Mr Park's surprised voice and you hid your face against the fabric of his hoodie “You know what? I don’t wanna know”

Hyunjin blushed, his fingers gripping a little tighter on you and he started walking quicker to prevent running into anyone else.

Back into your cabin, Hyunjin placed the pillows against the wall for you to lean against it and put one under your feet, sitting by your side and taking a good look to check the damage, luckily it was just a little swollen. He threw a blanket over you and went out to grab some ice.

Your heart fluttered while you watched the scene unfold, Hyunjin's concerned gaze on your ankle, the plastic bag in his hand getting wet because of the ice melting inside it.

“Is it still hurting?” He murmured, placing the bag a little to the side.

“Just a bit…” You replied and he hummed.You wouldn't lie, you were a little surprised with him, it felt very unexpected to you to see Hyunjin like that.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it was Yunho, would take care of you like this too? It was Yunho, the most boyfriend material guy you knew, of course he would, what a silly question was that? You thought. He appeared to like you, but then why haven't you heard from him for weeks?

Gazing back at Hyunjin, you remembered about a movie you watched, it was a silly romcom, but had a clear message: if he wants you, he will show it, if he wants to date you, he will work for it. Yunho knew all the right words to say, but why did it feel like he would only call you when he was bored?

Your contemplative moment vanished when your phone buzzed, Hyunjin looked up at you, he had put the ice bag aside and was now massaging your ankle slowly, his thumbs pressing the soft skin, sending little jolts up your body. You reached out and pulled the device from your purse, eyebrows narrowing when you saw the notification, surprised with who decided to come back after weeks of pure silence.

Gazing up you saw Hyunjin not even trying to be subtle as he tried to peek up and see who texted you. You bit down your bottom lip, holding back a smirk.

“Your contender…” You waved your phone, teasing him.

“Hunf, I don’t feel threatened” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

“Yeah…” He shrugged, scooting up to sit close to you, smirking, he held a strand of your hair and played with it “I know I’m the favorite”

“Hmm, is that so?” You asked and he nodded, coming even closer.

“Don't you agree?” He whispered, too close, once again. You stayed silent, tucking in your bottom lip, a spark appearing in your eyes as you stared into his just to look away.

Hyunjin’s fingers gently touched your jaw, turning your face back to him. The cabin was quiet, but inside you there was a storm forming up quickly.

“It's a secret…” You whispered, gaze traveling down from his eyes to his plush lips just in time to witness him wetting them. You trembled slightly, looking back up.

“That's okay, your secret is safe with me…” He whispered back, his fingers held under your chin and pulled you towards him, the gap was small but still he did it slowly, as if giving you time to change your mind, to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't…

Instead, you closed your eyes and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he finished closing the gap. His hand caressed your neck until it reached the back while his lips moved against yours, slowly like a caress, your lips parted and his tongue brushed against yours, making your heart skip a beat, he tasted sweet, like the strawberry bubblegum he had earlier, his fingers played with your hair, you couldn’t help smiling through the kiss, noticing how he really seemed to be obsessed with touching it.

He thought it was cute and soft, later you'd learn that, but in that moment he just wanted to keep kissing you and that's what he did.

Kiss you. Over and over again.

Just like that, kiss after kiss, Hyunjin managed to spend the night in the cabin with you…

And much to even his own surprise, he didn’t do anything beyond that.

‘I don’t want you to think I'm using you or anything like that…'

‘I really like you…’

And in that night, between his soft whispered confessions and slow kisses while caressing each other, you met yet another version of Hyunjin, the soft one and probably that would be your favorite.

~ ♡ ~

After a hell of a week filled with projects and finals, all you wanted was to get back to your dorm, slide under the covers and shut off the world for the rest of the month. Your feet dragged on the floor, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you heard the soft click of the door being unlocked.

You yawned, kicking your shoes and letting your purse slide down your arm and fall by the chair, books being carelessly placed on the desk. You didn't notice how the picture of Yunho was gone from your panel, your other friends’ pictures and sticky notes still there, a new picture of a certain shaggy haired boy winking being there instead, your books all out of order went unnoticed too.

But you noticed something new in your bed, lying there beside your plushie, you walked toward it and grabbed it: a new plushie, an extremely squeezable teddy bear holding a heart written be mine. The surprise was so cute you didn't think about the fact he knew your dorm's password, you giggled, holding it tight against you before you called Hyunjin's phone, one, two, three times and no answer, so you decided to go there.

Hyunjin opened the door after the second knock, popping a pink bubblegum and smirking.

“May I come in?” You did it like him when you first interacted, walking inside before he could reply. Hyunjin smirked, watching your reaction.

It was your first time getting into his dorm, so you were definitely curious to see what it looked like, and what you saw was pretty different from your imagination.

The mattress was on the floor, there were cushions and pillows, lots of them, and blankets, one sheet was half up, hanging in a chair. Your eyes widened and you turned to face him.

“A fort?” You smiled as you watched his cheeks getting rosy.

“Hello to you too and yeah… It was a surprise” He scratched the back of his neck, murmuring the end, suddenly fearing your reaction since he never done such a thing for a girl.

“A surprise for me?” Your smile got wider, that was lovely and so unexpected.

“Yeah, I thought I'd have more time before you came back” He shrugged, looking around, it was almost everything done.

You covered your eyes with both hands, shaking your head “Pretend that I'm not here” Hyunjin chuckled, finding your intention to fix the problem very endearing. Noticing how you stood still with your eyes covered, he finished setting the sheets and came back to stand in front of you, he pulled your hands down and your mouth fell agap when you saw the blanket fort complete.

“Awwn, that’s so cute!”

“You're cute” Hyunjin squeezed both your cheeks between his hands, gently shaking your head before he gave you a kiss when you whined.

You both slid inside, cozying up and putting a random movie on the projector that you pretended you’d watch. It didn’t last not even 10 minutes because Hyunjin was already all over you.

“About that plushie…” You whispered a little breathless, fingertips running down his back, under his shirt.

“Hmm…?” His murmur was muffled against your neck, as he kept kissing under your ear, making you shiver.

“Be mine?” You repeated the words written in the heart, waiting for his explanation, Hyunjin smirked against your skin, giving a little nibble before he lifted his head up to look at you.

“Say please” He bit down his bottom lip, cheeky.

“Hyunjin!” You smacked his arm, but a little laugh escaped your lips anyways.

“Ouch! I’m kidding, baby…” He gave you a peck, grinning again “I already am” Hyunjin teased again, as if you were the one asking him to date you.

“Oh my God, you're truly impossible!” You scoffed, but Hyunjin noticed the little smirk on your lips.

“Okay, this time’s serious. Be mine?” He asked softly, caressing your waist, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palm.

“Hmm, I don’t know… gimme some time to think” You did your best to attempt to sound nonchalant, but his frustrated expression and squeeze on your waist broke you into laughter.

“I’m kidding, Jinnie…” You caressed his back again, embracing him a little tighter and leaning forward, whispering against his lips “Because I already am…”

His heart fluttered and he kissed you, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke again.

“Ha ha, seems like somebody's getting really funny”

“What can I say? I'm learning with the best” You shrugged, giggling.

“Oh really? Well, let’s see what else I can teach you…” He closed the gap between you two, kissing you again, this time deeper, body pressing against yours.

And as the night stretched out, you two got lost into each other inside the blanket fort. His phone on silent mode on his desk, shining with new messages notifications, all those girls turned into unknown numbers.

———————— ♡♡ ————————

tagging: @doitforbangchan @athforskz @jeonginsleftcheek @moonchild9350 @hyunjincanraptoo @changbinniescurlyhair 💕

[cobbled-peach]

˗ˏˋ જ⁀➴ The JJ Issue

when Spencer has to work late on a case with JJ, you find yourself spiralling with jealousy. And now, you're determined to make him remember exactly what he's been missing.

cw: 18+ Spencer reid x jealous!fem!reader. NSFW content. Mildly insecure reader, explicit language, alcohol use, mentions of masturbation, heavy making out, slightly toxic relationship and emotional manipulation if you really really look a/n: so this was a request, but I'm technologically inept and deleted it when trying to copy it to my word doc. ANYWAY, I feel like I veered slightly off topic, but I present my take on jealous!reader and some dumb bitch-ish Spencer™ for you mwah mwah please feel free to send in more requests i am happy to take whatever!!! wc: 3k

The clock flicks to 11:00 PM.

You watch the numbers change with quiet contempt, the harsh glow of the display slicing through the darkness. The sheets beside you remain cold and untouched. Empty. Too still and too silent.

Still no Spencer.

It’s the third night this week. The third night of cold pillows and even colder silence. The third night of laying in a bed made for two and wondering if your boyfriend was going to crawl in before the sun came up – or if he’d even bother returning home at all. 

He’d been busier at work in the past month, his absence only being amplified by the newest case.

You’d tried to follow along when he explained it. Something about Montclair, Virginia. Weird geographical patterns, overlapping jurisdictions, unusual victims. Apparently, it was the kind of bureaucratic mess that kept the BAU tangled in an endless supply of paperwork.

But all you’d really heard – what had stuck and started looping in your head – was JJ.

JJ.

JJ and Spencer. Working late nights in close quarters.

Beautiful, capable JJ. With her glossy hair and understanding eyes. Who could read a room in seconds and had helped Spencer through numerous cases. JJ, who had history with him. Real, lived-in history. She probably understood the way his brain worked in ways you hadn’t even discovered yet.

JJ. Who had the privilege of seeing him more often than you did lately, while you were stuck eating leftovers and watching the clock tick toward midnight.

You tried not to be the jealous girlfriend.

Tried so hard.

But it’s easier said than done when you’re alone in a dark apartment, with your texts left on read since 12:23 PM.

You can picture it too clearly – Spencer and JJ tucked away in some dim conference room, heads bowed over maps and files, shoulders brushing. JJ laughing softly. Spencer glancing up from his notes with that boyish smile that he reserves for only his favorite people. A room of shared trauma and comfort, of inside jokes and a history you can’t compete with.

You hate how vivid the image is. 

You hate how much it turns your stomach even more.

Your fingers curl around your phone, thumb hovering for a beat before you start to type:

Any idea when you’ll be home? x

You stare. Waiting.

The dot-dot-dot appears almost instantly. He’s always fast, when he can be.

No, this case is a mess. JJ and I are still trying to determine the geographical patterning. I’ll be home when I can.

That’s it.

That’s it?

No “I miss you.” No “Sorry for the late night.” No acknowledgement that its eleven-fucking-o’clock and you’re still alone, curled up in his shirt, half-hoping for the sound of him returning to break you out of this fog. Just plain, clipped Spencer-speak. Cold. Factual. Like he’s updating Hotch, not the person who shares his bed.

“JJ and I.”

Of course.

Your jaw tenses and you type again:

Should I leave the door unlocked, or is your work wife walking you home tonight?

No response. Probably back to his files. Or worse – laughing with her about something brilliant he said. You picture her touching his arm. Picture him not pulling away.

Two minutes pass, and you try again:

Let me know if she likes it when you quote Voltaire.

Maybe she even moans when you pull out statistics too.

Still nothing.

You throw your phone to the end of the bed with a dull thud, resisting the urge to follow it with your wine glass. You’re not drunk – not quite – but your veins are warm and the wine bottle is getting low. Almost as low as your patience.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

It’s not that your insecure.

But it’s been a long week. And you’re tired. And lonely. And a little more than marginally horny.

And all that serves to make a deadly combination.

You glance at the wine bottle on your nightstand, dragged in here from when the living room started to feel too big. Half-empty now, or maybe half-full, but you don't feel like looking on the bright side today. Your fingers wrap around the stem of the glass like a lifeline, and you take a slow sip.

The taste of sour grapefruit and poor decisions.

It doesn’t take long for you to start wondering things you shouldn’t be wondering.

Like if JJ’s ever seen Spencer shirtless, skin flushed from an adrenaline-fueled takedown. Like if she notices the way his lashes flutter when he gets focused, and the subtle tick in his jaw when he’s trying to hold back a dirty comment. Like if she’s ever heard the quiet, shaky sound he makes when you touch him just right – a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like forever.

You huff, irritated with yourself.

This is not the kind of spiral you want to be in.

But how are you supposed to feel okay when the man you love has spent more nights with someone else this week than with you?

Someone brilliant and bright and right beside him.

Your mind drifts – dangerously, again – to what he might be doing if he was here. What you wish he was doing. Your hand plays absently with the hem of his shirt, sliding a little higher up your thigh, feeling the fabric brush over bare skin. Skin and air and silence.

You wonder if he’d even notice you were awake if he walked in right now.

Or if he’d still be thinking about JJ and her smiles.

Your stomach twists again.

You set the wine glass down, staring into the dark, heat curling beneath your skin like a storm on the verge of breaking.

You’re not proud of the jealousy. Or the spite. But tonight?

You’re not sure you care.

It’s 1:00 AM when you hear the door open.

You’ve migrated back to the couch now. Curled up like a forgotten thing in the quiet throb of the living room. A blanket is pulled tight around your shoulders, forging a cocoon of spite and cheap Sauvignon Blanc. The bottle on the coffee table is empty. There’s half a glass still in your hand, warmed by your palm. Your fingers are molded around the stem like its something keeping you grounded.

The door shuts gently.

Spencer enters the apartment the way he always does when he knows it’s late. Softly. Cautiously. The guilt doesn’t show on is face right away, but seeps in to the little things. The way he trades his leather shoes for worn slippers like they might squeak loud enough to wake you up. The careful way he sets his keys down, not with the usual absentminded clatter, but softly, like he might disturb you.

You hear the rustle of his cardigan being shrugged off and flung over the back of a chair. He moves through the apartment with the measured care of someone navigating a crime scene. Almost like a ghost; present, but not where you need him to be.

The bedroom door creaks. A pause. Then a soft, confused hum, like he’s surprised the bed is cold and vacant. 

You don’t move.

His footsteps return, still soft and hesitant, and then the living room light clicks on. It’s not bright, just enough to paint his face in a warm gold shadow. When he sees you, wrapped up and still, his features settle somewhere between relief and worry.

‘There you are,’ he says gently. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be up.’

His voice is warm. Too warm. Like he’s dealing with a wounded animal, already prepared for a potential fallout.

You don’t answer right away. Just lift the glass and sip what’s left of the wine. It brought warmth before, but now just feels thin and useless as it settles in your stomach. A comfort that has already faded.

Spencer looks like he always does after a long day – exhausted. Shirt untucked and wrinkled at the collar. His hair is tousled like he’s raked his hands through it a dozen times. His lips are parted, already searching for the right apology.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ you say. The words land flat and cold. Sharper than you intended, but not enough to make you regret it.

His brow furrows as he takes a tentative step forward. ‘Oh no. Are you okay?’

‘Oh, just peachy.’ You flash him a malicious smile and tilt your head. ‘How’s JJ?’

‘JJ?’ he repeats. ‘She’s… fine?’

‘I bet.’

You see it in him. The subtle shift. His brain starts ticking, trying to process the change in tone, piece together context clues. His hands twitch slightly at his sides. You’ve seen it before, when he’s dealt with a particularly messy profile. It’s how he acts when trying to decode erratic behavior.

But this time, you’re the chaos.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, slower this time. Careful.

You finally meet his eyes, steady and level. ‘You’ve spent more time with her this week than you have with me.’

He exhales and crosses his arms. Not intentionally defensive, but it comes across that way. Just the subtle shift of someone bracin against a growing storm.

‘Me and JJ? We’re working the same case,’ he offers. Not patronising, just explaining. ‘That’s how assignments work.’

A rational answer. Reasonable. Sensible. And completely useless to the part of you that’s been sitting in silence every night, nursing bitterness like it’s a glass of wine.

‘That’s not what I said,’ you reply.

You toss off the blanket and stand, wanting to be level with him.

His gaze drops, almost instinctively, to your bare thighs peeking out from beneath his shirt. Snaps it back to your face instantly. Like he caught himself doing something inappropriate, even if it wasn’t.

‘She get’s your attention,’ you say softly. ‘Your thoughts. Your little facts. Your laughter. Your time.’

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

You keep going. Getting closer enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

‘And I get cold sheets and texts left on delivered.’

‘I didn’t mean to ignore you–’

‘She gets to share your space. Share your mind. Is that what gets you off now? Criminal profiling and shared trauma? Is that your kink, Doctor?’

His cheeks go red immediately.

‘She’s married,’ he points out, like that’ll resolve the tension.

‘Married women flirt too, Spencer.’

He’s still red, sputtering slightly now. ‘I don’t—I don’t think of JJ like that. I never have.’

‘Do you think of me like that?’ you challenge. ‘Or have I been bumped down your priority list below paperwork and tactical briefings? Do I need to start talking about blood spatter patterns during foreplay? Or maybe I need to join the FBI just so you’ll remember me.’

He swallows visibly, jaw tightening. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘No,’ you snap. ‘What’s not fair is me touching myself alone in our bed to the sound of your voice in some old Quantico press briefing because it’s the only version of you I could get this week.’

His eyes widen slightly. His breath catches. 

‘I think about you constantly,’ he says, almost desperate. 

You scoff. ‘Sure. Right after filing case summaries.’

‘No,’ he says, firmer now. ‘I do think about you. I just—I hyperfocus. And when I hyperfocus, my brain sort of queues everything else. It’s not about priority or importance. It’s about sequence. You’re just… waiting in line.’

‘Great,’ you say flatly. ‘I’m a fucking deli number.’

He winces. ‘That came out wrong.’

You look at him, taking a breath. Run a hand through your hair.

‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘I think you’re angry and hurt. And I think you’re trying to make me angry and hurt too. Like earlier, your messages were mean. That’s why I ignored them... Now, you’re just sort of scaring me.’

That stops you. Not because you’re insulted, but because he looks genuinely lost. Innocent.

‘I’m not trying to scare you,’ you say quietly. You deflate slightly, some of the heat leaving your voice. ‘I’m just… trying to remind you that I’m still here. Wanting you. Waiting for you.’

There’s a silence.

Then–

‘I didn’t realise it was this bad. I thought you just wanted some space.'

You nod. Not spitefully, just confirming the truth.

‘Do you even remember what it was like?’ you ask. ‘When you used to come home and fuck me like you were starving. Like you couldn’t stand being apart from me. Like the space between us physically hurt you.’

He doesn’t answer. But you see the recognition in the way his jaw ticks, the way his hands clench at his sides. 

‘I miss that,’ you say. ‘I miss you.’

That look returns to his face, unsure if this is a test. If you’re being serious. If you’re going to snap at him for misreading your cues.

So you lean in – slow – until your lips are just inches from his. ‘You say you think about me constantly… prove it.’

He hesitates. Blinks. ‘You mean like—right now?’

‘Preferably in a way that makes me forget I’m mad.’

He pauses. ‘...Sexually?’

‘That would be ideal.’

He clears his throat. ‘I just want to make sure. Because sometimes when you’re upset, you use sarcasm to—’

You lift your hand, cutting him off. ‘No sarcasm now, Doctor.’

He shifts his weight, brows still drawn a little.

‘Right, okay.’ Another pause. ‘So, just to clarify – you’re asking me to have sex with you. Now. Because you want to stop being angry. Or is the sex part of the anger expression?’

You stare at him.

He continues. 

‘Because if you’re just using me to release emotional frustrations, that’s fine, I want to have sex with you, but I’d just like to know in advance so I can—’

You step in and kiss him. 

Not sweetly or softly. 

It’s the kind of kiss used to shut him up. Open mouthed and hard, tongue sweeping across his lower lip before he’s even realised your lips are touching his. For a moment, he’s caught between instinct and hesitation. Trying to figure out if this is you just getting back at him.

Then you feel him give in. His hands grip your waist, grounding himself, allowing his mouth to move with yours in a way that’s messy and uncoordinated – like he’s catching up with weeks of missed makeout sessions.

When you finally pull back, his pupils are blown wide, his lips flushed and slightly parted.

‘I’m not asking you to give me a therapeutic exercise,’ you state. ‘I’m asking you to stop thinking and touch me.’

He nods, too quickly. ‘Right. Touching… now?’

‘No. In another three days,’ you say sarcastically, grabbing his hand and sliding it beneath the hem of your shirt – his shirt – until his fingers are splayed across your ribs. 

His palm is warm. Touch a little tentative.

‘Do you even remember what touching me feels like?’ you ask, breath brushing against his cheek.

Spencer exhales sharply, the memory hitting him and punching the breath from his lungs.

‘I think about it all the time,’ he whispers.

‘Then why are you still just standing there like this is a goddamn team-building exercise?’

He snaps into focus. ‘I’m sorry. You’re just—when you’re mad, and basically half-naked, it’s hard to follow all the emotional subtext and my working memory has lost it’s buffer—’

You roll your eyes, pushing him backward until his knees hit the couch. He drops onto the cushions with a surprised noise. Part yelp, part breathless laugh.

His hands instinctively settle on your thighs as you straddle him. He stares up at you like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he doesn’t deserve for it to be happening.

You place your palm on his shoulder, playing with the soft cotton of his shirt.

‘Spencer.’

‘Yes?’

‘Please stop thinking.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder.’

You lean down and kiss him again. Slower, this time. Deeper. He responds instantly now, hands sliding to your waist, then up your back, holding you close to him. His mouth moves with less hesitation, more purpose.

‘I missed you,’ he murmurs between kisses. ‘Missed you so much. I’m sorry—I didn’t know what to say without it sounding like I was making excuses before.’

You shift your hips against him, just enough to feel him getting harder beneath you. 

‘I don’t want an apology,’ you say.

‘You don’t?’

‘No.’ You grind down again, a little harder. ‘I want you to make it up to me.’

He moans softly, head tipping back against the couch cushions. He nods in understanding, taking a moment to catch his breath before pressing his lips to your jaw, trailing them down to your throat, feeling your pulse fluttering beneath his tongue.

‘You’re so…’ he pauses for another kiss to your skin. ‘I mean, you always look good, but—God, you’re so, so pretty. I missed you.’

His fingers dig into your hips, and then his mouth is back on yours, rougher now. He’s kissing to make up for all the nights you went to bed alone, all the hours he spent at work while you touched yourself to a crackly echo of his voice. 

His hands slide up beneath your shirt again. Tracing your skin. He gets to your breasts, and gasps softly, like he’s surprised.

‘You’re not wearing anything under this.’

You roll your eyes at his astute observation.

‘You want to keep narrating?’ you ask, a little breathless. ‘Or do you want to do something about it?’

‘Doing something. Yes.’

He lifts the shirt off your body. Slow and tentative, like you’re something delicate. It’s a sight he’s seen numerous times before, bit his eyes still go wide as he takes you in. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

‘Jesus, Spence,’ you say, nudging his shoulder, getting impatient.

‘Sorry. You’re just gorgeous. And naked. And still angry. And you—’ he pauses, runs his hand up your ribs again. ‘—feel like something I shouldn’t be able to touch.’

‘Well I’m letting you touch me.’

You grab his wrist, guiding your hand to press between your legs. He sucks in a breath, still looking up at your face.

‘This is how mad I was,’ you whisper.

His brain seems to short-circuit again. ‘I have… no response to that.’

You push your hips down against his hands. 

‘Then shut up, and make me come.’

a/n: i ummed and ahhed about putting an aftermath scene but decided not to because I lowkey like 'em toxic >:) We also do NOT hate JJ in this house, she was just convienient. I also (can you tell I like to yap?) don't know what era of Spencer Reid I pictured for this. Somewhere in the earlier seasons, maybe? But idk. You choose. I have a taglist now! Please comment if you want to be added, or go to this post here. I've decided not to put tags on my 18+ fics, just as I don't want any minor interactions with them Also, to the person who requested this: if it did not align with your request I'm so sorry and I can do if you really really want xxxx