#//sorry for the separate continue post

[mechahero]

@hopefromadoomedtimeline continued from here

"I break it until it's back into place again."

He responds far too casually than anyone should when saying something like that. Despite the brief pause he takes to speak, he's still trying to push his way out of bed. His shoulder rolls, trying to shake Trunks' hand off of it with the same amount of force the other man's grip. Which is to say, not much at all. It's more like he was silently trying to tell Trunks to let go and let him get up.

Still, he'll dig in his heels. That's the kind of creature he is. Always determined to give up something to help him and pass off to someone he'd seen as far more deserving. His eyes flick down to the bedding underneath his hand. Anything to avoid uncomfortable, prolonged eye contact. Lambda's lips press together before he runs a tongue over them to wet them. Uncomfortably dry, he hated that.

"I want to leave.", he speaks up once more. "I don't know what's going out there or if it's still dangerous and I-I-" Another pause to suck in a breath and to stop his voice from wavering further. "I have to get back out there. I don't have time to sit 'round doin' nothin'."

[alectoperdita]

New Chapter: No light (6790 words) by Alecto

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto Tags: Fictober 2020, Post-Canon, Aged-Up Character(s), Friends With Benefits, Hook-Up, Mild Sexual Content, Relationship Negotiation, Emotional Constipation, Yearning, Bottom Kaiba Seto, Blindfolds, Top Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Impact Play, Spanking, Praise Kink, Anal Fingering, Prostate Massage, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Sexual Overstimulation

Summary:

Kaiba doesn’t always want to deal with the details visible in the light, especially when it comes to his not-relationship with Jounouchi.

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

This is an oldie but hopefully still a goodie! After an inspiring conversation with @rainbowwinedemon about the idea of Jounouchi introducing and guiding Kaiba through some basic BDSMplay, I couldn't resist writing a chapter exploring it. Sneak preview under the cut!

---

It started with a blindfold. Not even a high-quality one, but something picked up from the likes of Donki on a lark.

The fuzzy handcuffs presented on a subsequent hook-up was potentially more incriminating. Its saving grace was the fake fur trim was black—not gaudy pink or cheap leopard print—and the way it made Kaiba's dick jump as his wrist was bound to a bed post. Just one arm, though. He didn't intend to allow Jounouchi to immobilize him entirely.

(Not this time, anyway.)

This was perhaps the most troubling part of fucking with the lights on. Jounouchi not only saw him and his every reaction, but he cataloged. He intuited.

Figured sex was where he finally decided to apply his minuscule brain.

Kaiba would be more mad about it, but Jounouchi was a proficient bed partner. No, worse, he'd proven competent.

It was for that reason alone Kaiba didn't kick Jounouchi out of the mansion and raze the deviant's life to ashes for his next suggestion.

Spanking.

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

[chibishortdeath]

Lord help me this ref sheet has taken me 120 hours and I’m not even anywhere near done with it nor are all of the OCs drawn yet aaaaaaaaaa

Anyway uh the Transformers interest doesn’t play around. I have so many words typed already, it’s still just the pre-war ish prologue— they shoulda put a disclaimer on this series that it would make you write novels uh 💀💀💀. I’m still thinking of how I’m gonna post the fic on tumblr tbh, likely just in screenshots of my notes app or I’ll copy paste the text, but yeah, eventually I’ll be posting that once I get over the anxiety about it X,,,D.

[robingivesmemagic]

if danny todd made it to other comics maybe he would just be jasons half brother or smth. and they probably wouldnt have known about each other until much later Maybe we just need danny to be real so jason can get the fuck out of heeeeere SOMETHING BAD WOULD HAPPEN TO HIM ANYWAYS BUT IM IGNORING THAT

[150699]

When Viktor says "The doctor was right" at the end of s2ep6, I wonder if he was actually referring to when he visited Singed's lab in s1 and Singed told him, "If you take this path, they will despise you. Love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress."

I do think that he's at least partially referring to the exchange in the greenhouse when Singed essentially suggests he sacrifice Vander in favor of guaranteed survival, to which Viktor replies, "I will not sacrifice his humanity for your cause."

I'm not totally convinced he agrees with everything that was said there, but he's certainly changed his opinion on the necessity of sacrificing people's humanity to achieve his vision/the glorious evolution.

Of course, both dialogues are connected if you consider love to be a defining trait of people's humanity (as many do). In that case, Singed's s1 dialogue could be translated to, "Humanity is the sacrifice we make for progress."

Viktor, however, will never be able to fully rid himself of his humanity for the exact reason that - again - Singed gives to Caitlyn and Ambessa.

"Why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? For love."

The commune, the evolutionary goal, all of it is done out of love for people and a desire to help them... if the most effective way to help is to sacrifice their humanity, so be it.

[xehanortsreport]

ansxig :)

[poisonouspastels]

[spicyicymeloncat]

Rage

[sweettifalockhart-archived]

@niderofalltrades || Cont. from x

Her voice falters as hesitation settles on her worn expression. Sleeplessness has settled beneath her eyes, yet Tifa knows to be wary of what she says, and in front of whom. Her posture is tense and her brows are furrowed, just to shake the blurriness lingering on the edge of her vision. When she recognises the source of the vaoice, relief washes over her as she places down her drink.

"Nider... ? What are you doing here?" She has heard of him and his involvement with AVALANCHE previously, though due to her indecisiveness, Tifa joined shortly after he had 'left.' Although AVALANCHE's motives are considered good, there are measures that must be taken to protect them and all associated with their mission.

[smugwolf-sins]

woah the wind is loud what was that lol

[reidsism]

➳ THE SOUND OF HEARTBREAK — S.R

to nav 𓇙 to s.r mlist

spencer reid x soft!bimbo!reader

in which, for all your love, you just can’t compare to the most beautiful girl in the world

wc: 13.5k (woah)

warnings: post maeve arc (so spoilers for 8×10 - 8×12), heavy angst, but so so much love and fluff before it! im picturing this taking place between s8 and s9 lol. also some of the bau aren’t like. super nice in this one soz :/

a/n: don’t stress abt the ending too much bc im already planning a part two (tbh a whole saga around these two icl). also yeah if u can’t tell, i don’t really like maeve im so sorry. i don’t think i do her any injustice here but this is like. me fixing stuff. sorta. kinda. not really. mostly just painfully. :,) also omg reblogs?! best part of my day fr

“Just as one day we will be separated by my death or yours. I know this must seem like a heaping up of obscurities to you. I can't say it in a more orderly and comprehensible way. I love you wildly, insanely, infinitely.” -Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago.

The living room is quiet.

Spencer’s apartment is always quiet, peaceful, warm. How could it not be, surrounded by books you’d never heard of, shelves that reach the ceiling and lined edge-to-edge with copies of novels that are older than you, in languages you can’t begin to comprehend?

The chess table is still set up, mid-game, from where Spencer had been teaching you how to play the other day. He’d gotten a call from his boss that he had to come in, and Spencer had stared at the board for no more than a moment before saying you could continue once he was back, then he pressed a kiss to the space between your eyebrows—your glabella, as he had once mentioned—before rushing out the door.

It still feels strange, being in his apartment without him here. But he had called you from the jet on his way back, and asked if you’d be home when he got back. He sounded so sleepy, so sweet, you couldn’t help the murmur of assent from spilling from your lips.

He’d only given you a key a week ago, and you were beyond shocked when he had pressed it into your hand, the metal digging into your palm. This, between you, was still so new, so young. But he’d assured you that he trusted you, that he always wanted you around, that you having a key to his home wasn’t a matter of if, only when, and he’d prefer not to waste unnecessary time.

It’s late when the door opens.

Spencer is quiet when he enters, expecting to see you either curled up on his couch or lying asleep in his bed, but instead, you’re standing at one of his bookshelves, your hand outstretched to reach at the higher shelves.

He’s a bit surprised. The top three shelves on that unit are all foreign novels, ones he’s collected from his youth. Latin, German, Russian, Korean, and even a couple of thick Spanish texts that he used mostly to continue learning the language.

You’re silent, not even turning your head to acknowledge his presence, and Spencer wonders if you’ve even heard the door at all.

“Angel?” he prompts, causing your head to whip to the left so quickly he’s momentarily concerned you’ve given yourself whiplash. You tear yourself away from the shelf immediately, like the surface itself has burned you, and Spencer pauses. “You okay? You didn’t even hear me come in.”

You just nod, jerkily, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. “I was just looking,” you tilt your head to the shelf and shrug, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands and crossing your arms over your chest. “Sorry.”

Spencer shakes his head, hanging up his messenger bag and coat on the hook by the door. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says, coming closer to you. “Are you curious about them? You can borrow a few, if you want.” He sits on the couch carefully, like he knows there’s something you’re not saying.

You shake your head with a sigh, glancing back over at his stacks of novels. “That’s alright, Spence.” He pats the cushion next to him and you seat yourself slowly onto the cool leather, crossing your legs under yourself. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d get it anyway.”

Spencer furrows his brows. “I’m sure you would, actually. There’s no reason why you couldn’t, unless it was a language you don’t understand. But even then,” he tilts his head, scooching ever so slightly closer to you. “I can still read them to you.”

You sigh softly. “I know, honey. You know I love it when you read to me,” the corner of your lips twitch up, and it makes a slow grin pull at Spencer’s cheeks. “How was the case, anyway?”

Spencer shrugs. “Fine, as usual. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.” He rests his arm over the back of the couch, a silent beckon for you to curl into him like usual. “I’m home now. With you,” he presses the softest of kisses to your hairline. “Are you tired?”

You shake your head, “Not really. I’m sure you are, though. Want me to start the kettle?” Spencer can’t help the nod—he is tired. Exhausted, even. You just smile at him before standing and padding to the kitchen and turning on the stove, setting the metal kettle on the burner.

He hears the cabinets open and the sound of ceramic being placed on granite. You’re quietly humming to yourself, and Spencer closes his eyes. It’s nice, so domestic in a way he hadn’t expected. You peek your head around the corner for a moment. “Lavender or peppermint?”

He smiles, all warm and soft. “Lavender, please.”

You nod once, your head hiding behind the wall again before you peek back out. “Maybe take a shower, honey. It’ll help you relax, y’know,” you grin, teasing at him. “The tea’ll be done when you are.”

Spencer’s eyes crinkle as he chuckles, watching you turn back to the kitchen. He stands with a sigh before heading into his bedroom to grab pyjamas and a towel, then into the bathroom where he leaves the door open, just a crack.

You take the kettle off the burner before it has a chance to whistle, not wanting to disturb this quiet, peaceful comfort that has settled into the cozy warmth of your boyfriend’s apartment. You make his tea exactly how he likes it; black, with no less than four sugars.

You hear the water from the shower shut off just as you’re bringing the mugs to the coffee table—on coasters, cute little pastel ceramic ones shaped like fruit slices. You’d bought them at a flea market downtown years ago, and when you saw that he didn’t have any, despite all the coffee and tea he drinks, you didn’t hesitate to bring them over.

They might look slightly out of place in this warm, cozy place, but, well… Maybe you have that in common.

The bedroom door creaks open before you have the chance to spiral too far. Spencer emerges in a loose-fitting MIT tee and sweatpants. He meanders slowly to the couch before flopping down and grabbing his mug—his usual one, with “think like a proton, they’re always positive!” faded on the side. It’s starting to chip, but he got it for free at a physics convention in Anaheim back when he attended Caltech, and it’s been a memento since.

He smiles as he picks it up off the bright coaster before looking at you. He nods towards the bookshelf you were staring at earlier. “Can you grab that red one for me, angel?” he gestures to a large leather-bound hardcover on the second shelf.

You nod and reach up to grab it. It’s heavier than you’d expected, but you take it to the couch before curling into Spencer’s side.

This has become routine every night you spend here. You make tea, and Spencer reads to you on the couch until you’re either both passed out or too tired to continue, before heading to bed.

You get comfortable, pulling your knees to your chest as he covers you both with the plush throw blanket he keeps on the back of the couch. Spencer clears his throat before starting to read, flipping to some random page in the middle of the book. You don’t question it, just close your eyes and rest your head on his chest.

His voice is low, quiet as he begins to read. You’ve already begun to drift off by the time you start to register the words he’s saying. They’re not from anything he’s ever read to you before.

“I felt a mortal pity for the boy I was, and still more pity for the girl you were. My whole being was astonished and asked: If it’s so painful to love and absorb electricity, how much more painful it is to be a woman, to be the electricity, to inspire love. ‘Here at last I’ve spoken it out. It could make you lose your mind. And the whole of me is in it.’”

You sit up, peering at the pages that Spencer’s eyes are trained on. You can’t hold back the way your breath catches.

“Spence, what is this?” Your brows furrow as you sit up fully, removing yourself from the warmth of his embrace. You wrap the throw blanket around your shoulders tightly.

He glances up from the book. “Doctor Zhivago,” he says simply, as if that explains everything. At your slightly raised brows, he continues. “It’s a Russian romantic novel by poet and composer Boris Pasternak. It was first published in 1957, and—”

“No, I mean, what is that?” You shake your head, pointing at the page.

Spencer’s brow furrows. “The language? This is Cyrillic. It’s the Russian alphabet, and—”

You cut him off again. “I know what Cyrillic is, Spencer.” You can’t hide the bite in your voice. “I meant, what- how- why are you reading it in Russian?”

He shrugs, closing the cover softly. “I have both the original Russian and the English translation, but I prefer this version. The translation makes it clunky, it doesn’t get the tone quite right.”

You just blink at him. “I didn’t know you spoke Russian,” you whisper, curling deeper into the blanket. You hate this, the feeling of inadequacy that comes so frequently from being with a man like Dr. Spencer Reid.

He sets the book down on the coffee table. “I don't, actually. I can read it, though.” He glances sidelong at you. “Is that… a bad thing?”

You shake your head, finally looking at him. “No, of course not, honey. I just,” you sigh. “I don’t know. I feel like I can’t keep up with you sometimes.”

All the time.

Spencer purses his lips. “Well, I don’t need you to. Frankly, I don’t really want you to.”

And that gives you pause. “Really?”

He nods, reaching for you, and you allow him to cradle you in his lap again. “Really. This might come as a bit of a surprise, angel,” he grins, “but I do like you.”

Your face goes warm. You press your cheek into his chest. “I know.” It’s quiet, a murmur, a whisper.

Spencer presses a feather-light kiss to your head. It’s late and quiet and calm, and you’re so warm, cuddled into him and under this plush blanket, that it takes no time at all until you’re fast asleep.

The sun wakes you before you’re quite ready, the bright rays shining on your face.

You’re still curled into Spencer’s chest, his legs stretched out along the length of the couch, whereas you know it’ll hurt to stand after having your knees tucked up all night. The blanket is still wrapped around you, the warmth more suffocating than comforting now, but the weight of his arm slung around your waist is a welcome one.

You peer your head up to look at him, to take him in, in this peaceful state of relaxation. You love this part, when you wake before him and he doesn’t turn his face away when you admire him.

His face is smushed into the throw pillow, his hair wild and messy, thrown every which way like a halo around his head. He’s snoring so softly you can barely hear it, but you do, because there’s nothing about this man you can’t notice.

You try to ignore the tug in your chest. It almost hurts. He looks so peaceful and happy and loved, so relaxed in this sleepy state of the early morning. You almost feel guilty for the thoughts that run wild in your head. How is this real? How is he real? How the hell do you fit into this world—his world—full of chess and tea and comfort and Russian poetry and genius minds?

But then he stirs, and his arm instinctively tightens its hold on your waist, his large hand splaying out over your back. He stretches slightly and, before he even opens his eyes, there’s a smile on his lips.

“Morning, angel.”

Your heart stutters wildly in your chest. You almost feel like bursting into tears right there, collapsing into his chest and letting him comfort you in that way you know he will. But you swallow it back. Just smile at the dopey look on his face, his eyes still shut.

You press the softest of kisses to his cheek, and maybe it’s your mind, but you swear he looks confused for a moment, his brows pulling together as he inhales, his nose at your neck.

It’s your mind. It has to be; your feelings of inadequacy are making you paranoid. “How’d you sleep, baby?” you murmur, your lips brushing his cheek before you pull away.

Then he opens his eyes, his honey-brown irises taking you in so sweetly, scanning over your face as a soft smile overtakes his lips. “Best sleep I’ve gotten in a long while,” he grins, pressing a peck at your lips. “Do you want any coffee?”

You nod, allowing him to crawl out from under you and stand from the couch. He pads into the kitchen, leaving you with your mugs from last night and the red leather hardcover of Doctor Zhivago. You soften immediately. Spencer was reading you poetry. He’d never done that before, read anything romantic. Usually, he read something you were at least familiar with, the classics, stuff you somewhat remember reading in high school. But this warms your heart so much you swear it’ll melt right there in your chest, drip down your ribs like sticky-sweet honey.

You stand, stretching out your legs, and pick up the mugs before bringing them to the kitchen. Spencer’s standing at the counter, his back to you, his hands bracing the edge of the counter. You set the mugs down in the sink and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his back. “You okay, honey?”

Spencer nods, placing his hands over yours where they lay on his front. “I’m fine, angel. You can leave the mugs, I’ll wash them. Did you want to shower?”

You hum, pulling away from the hug but maintaining your hold on his hand. “Sure. Did you wanna join me?” you grin, “y’know, save water, and all that?”

Spencer’s neck flushes red, and he swallows harshly. “Not right now, sweetheart. But go ahead, take your time.” He gives your palm a squeeze when you pout. “Your coffee will be done by the time you’re back, and I don’t have to go in to work. Not unless I get a call.” He smiles when your face brightens. “So we’ll have the day, okay?”

You nod, a grin wide across your lips before you’re bouncing off to his bedroom. He hears the shower turn on a moment later, and he sighs heavily as he turns on the sink to wash the mugs.

Spencer can’t stop the quirk of his lips as he stares at your mug for a moment—a cute, bright pink one, tapered at the top like an upside-down strawberry. He takes extra care as he washes it, making sure to get soapy water around all of the molded leaves and seeds.

He exhales as he sets it aside. Runs a damp hand down his face. He needs to collect himself, but god, it’s so hard when he swears she’s hovering over his shoulder.

Spencer’s reading silently on the couch, sipping at the last bit of coffee in his mug. You’re on the other end, scrolling absently on your phone as you set your strawberry mug onto an orange slice coaster. You glance over at him, and you soften. “Spence?”

He hums, looking up at you. You’re lost looking into his eyes. He’s wearing glasses today, his thick browline ones that frame his face just right, and you wonder why he wears contacts so often. Why he doesn’t let himself look like this more frequently. He looks stunning in spectacles. “Angel?”

You blink at his prompting. “I was just wondering,” you shrug, glancing over your shoulder at the chess table behind you. “Did you want to continue?”

Spencer lets a smile slowly overtake his cheeks. He nods, setting down his mug onto a pink grapefruit slice coaster. “If you want, sure.” At your assent, he stands, holding out a hand.

Your cheeks flush with warmth as he helps you stand from the couch. You follow him to the table before seating yourself in the same seat as a week ago, staring at the pieces in concentration.

He smiles. “Do you remember where we left off? You nod, and he moves his rook up two places.

Your hand hovers over your knight, then your queen, almost shaking with uncertainty. Spencer watches you, his eyes soft but calculating, patiently waiting for your next move. You rest your fingers over a pawn and move it up one space with resignation.

“You know, angel,” Spencer says softly, all gentle comfort. “It’s not about making the perfect move. It’s about thinking a few steps ahead, but also,” he moves his rook up and takes the pawn you’d just moved, setting it to the side. “Trusting your instincts. You’ve got this,” he smiles so warmly at you, so reassuring. You still feel the slightest twinge of frustration and embarrassment.

Chess doesn’t come naturally to you, but you’re determined to figure it out. For him.

You bite your lip, glancing over the board. You’re sure his comment about trusting your instincts has something to do with the way you’d hesitated, but you’re still so confused about what to do. You glance up at Spencer again, his eyes fixed on the board, his hands gently tapping at the edge of the table.

“What should I do with my queen?” you ask, a little hesitant. “I feel like she’s… I don’t know. Not doing much.” God, how do you stop feeling so stupid about this?

Spencer just smiles, that warm, gentle expression that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. “That’s okay, sweetheart. Remember, your queen can move in any direction. Horizontal, vertical, or diagonal, but only as long as nothing is blocking her path. She’s powerful. You have to decide how to use her.”

You nod slowly, trying to picture it in your head. “So… I can go anywhere? Like, here?” you ask, pointing to a spot near his king.

“Exactly,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze never leaving the board. “But you’ll want to think about what happens after you move her. Like, does it leave you open to being attacked? Does it bring you closer to checkmate?”

You inhale shakily, trying to digest it all as you nod, but it’s a lot to process. You take a deep breath. You can do this. You look down at the board, then back at him, his gaze still so patient. “What if I mess up?” you ask softly, unable to hide the shyness in your voice, your tone full of the nervous doubt you try to push down.

Spencer chuckles gently. “You won’t mess up, angel. Even if you do, it’s just part of learning. I’m not going anywhere,” he smiles. “You’re doing great.”

His words warm you more than the mug of coffee you’d just finished, and you feel that familiar flutter in your chest. You allow yourself a small, shy grin before focusing on the board again. You move your queen exactly as he described, cautiously placing her diagonally across the board.

Spencer’s eyes light up a little, and his smile widens. “See? That’s the right move. You’re getting it. You’re really good at this,” and oh, how your chest positively aches at the pride in his expression.

Your heart skips a beat at his compliment, like it always does, and you let out a soft giggle. “I’m not that good, Spence,” you reply, trying to play it off.

He shakes his head, and you can see the admiration in his eyes. “You’re more natural at this than you think, trust me. Just keep practicing.” You sit back, watching him move a piece, and then he looks up at you, tilting his head. “It’s all about finding balance—taking risks, but also knowing when to protect what matters. Just like life.”

You blink at him, a little stunned by the way his words feel. Just like life? Maybe that’s what this whole chess thing is about—finding a way to balance your moves, even when things feel a little uncertain. Even when you’re just learning.

And then Spencer laughs softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You look so lost in thought, angel. Am I being too deep or introspective?” He gently pushes his glasses up his nose from where they’ve begun to slip down the slope of it.

You shake your head quickly, your heart racing as his eyes meet yours. “No, no! Not at all! I’m just thinking about how much you know.” You move your knight in an L-shape, like he taught you, and if the twinkle in his eye is any indication, you’ve made a good move. “Like, it’s crazy. You make it all sound so easy.”

Spencer just shrugs modestly, then picks up his rook and moves it up. “It’s just about seeing the whole board. Everyone has their own way of learning. Yours just happens to be different.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, and you feel your heart tug. “And I think that’s what makes you special.”

You bite down on your lip, trying to focus on the game again, but his words are ringing in your ears, making everything feel like it’s a little too perfect. The fact that he’s teaching you, patiently guiding you through something new, something you want to learn for him, feels so intimate.

You try to steady your breath as you make your next move, feeling your fingers brush against his as you capture his bishop. It’s a brief touch, but it makes your heart race. You chance a peek at him, and oh. His smile is so impossibly bright. You clear your throat and continue, tucking his bishop onto the table beside the board.

You’ve got this.

It's mid-afternoon when you pipe up again. “Y’know, the weather’s really nice today, Spence.”

He looks up from his book, honey-brown eyes tracing your nose from where you’re curled under his arm. “Yeah, I saw. It’s supposed to be pretty temperate until next week; then the rain is supposed to hit.” He lifts his arm from your shoulders and tenderly traces his knuckle down your jaw. “Did you want to go out?”

You shrug lamely, going shy and warm under his gentle gaze. “I don’t know, I guess, yeah. It’s really warm out.” Your eyes lock onto his. “I think we could go to the park or something?”

Spencer smiles, his hand gently gripping your chin as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. “That sounds great, sweetheart.” He stands, and pulls you up with him. He crouches to help you slip on your running shoes and ties the laces. You can’t tear your eyes from his lithe, slender fingers working the laces and, oh. Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

He stands and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder before grabbing his keys with one hand and yours with the other.

His fingers intertwine with yours, and you flush with warmth. He smiles at you as he leads you out of his apartment, locking the door with one hand before you head downstairs.

It’s warm and breezy, the air a perfect 75° outside, the wind just soft enough to sweep at your hair without messing it up. Spencer’s hand is still tangled with yours, and you can’t keep the smile off your face as he goes on some tangent about the differences between mallards and pintail ducks, because you’d just passed a pond and wondered why they looked so different.

You wish you were focusing, but god, you’re lost. So incredibly lost. Staring at his side profile, his brows raising and furrowing, his nose scrunching in that perfect way that makes you just want to bite it. He’s so animated, so enthusiastic about this, it’s a bit staggering.

You don't know when it happened, but now, looking up at him in this dreamy way, like he’s hardly real, like you’ve invented him to cover up the hurt from the meanness of those in your past, you’re sure of it.

You’re in love.

Somewhere between the way he reads to you and teaches you chess with all the patience in the world, between the way he remembers how you always take your coffee and kisses you first thing in the morning, between his warm linen sheets and the dusty scent of his books, you’ve fallen totally, completely in love.

And you don’t know why that invokes so much fear within you. Isn’t it a good thing, to fall in love with your boyfriend? To love him so wholly, so deeply, you aspire to learn the things he loves? To yearn for sameness, to relate to him, to keep up with his statistical rants about anything from the decline of leather-bound novels to the likelihood of walking past a serial killer without ever knowing it?

And then he looks down at you, notices the wistful, faraway look in your eyes as you just stare at him, and all he can do is laugh. He pulls you ever closer, pushes your hair back, and kisses your temple, and you positively melt. He’s so gentle with you, it almost hurts.

Then he’s tugging at your hand, and you look away from him for the first time since you arrived at the park. There’s a couple of tents set up along the path further ahead, and even though you groan through a laugh, Spencer looks so giddy, so excited, you can’t even think about ruining that. So you go along with him, his hand gently tugging at yours, before he stops at one tent towards the end.

Jewellry.

Spencer takes a while looking down at the display, before he picks up a simple gold necklace, a modest, tiny pink gemstone hanging off the chain. Spencer doesn’t hesitate before asking how much and pulling a twenty from his wallet.

You can’t tear your eyes from him. You feel like you haven’t so much as blinked in the last three minutes.

Spencer turns to you, the necklace hanging from his hand like it’s nothing more than a silly little trinket, and maybe it is. It’s probably some cheap, knockoff thing that’ll tarnish in a week, something that he paid far too much for, and you’re sure he knows that.

But he’s standing in front of you, holding it out with the sweetest, gentlest, most open expression you’ve ever seen on him.

And for that? The necklace might as well be twenty-four-carat gold and diamond-encrusted.

You blink at him, your brows furrowing upwards and eyes wide like a doe. “Do you want me to wear it?” you ask, sheepish and small and looking up at him like you’d give him the very earth itself if you could.

Spencer just smiles, all soft and warm and good. “I got it for you.” He shrugs, like this is nothing. Like it's casual and not like he’s holding your heart in his fist, like you trust him enough to not throttle it. “You can do whatever you want with it, angel.”

And, oh.

This is love. You’re certain of it. You’re so lost in the warmth of his eyes, the love pounding against your chest, that you don’t even notice the way he goes quiet, rigid, no longer looking at you, but through you. Like he heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Can you put it on me?”

Your soft voice breaks him from his trance, and immediately, the warmth returns to his gaze, his smile comes back so quickly it’s almost as if it never left. He nods, gently turning you around, and you pull your hair away from your neck.

Spencer is slow, reverent, as he drapes the chain around your neck. Careful as he clasps it. He even bends enough to press a soft, almost intangible kiss to your nape before stepping away.

And when you turn around, dropping your hair? Your palms go to his cheeks, clasping him like something precious between your hands, and you kiss him with all the love in the world.

All the love you’ve left unsaid.

You’re barely back inside his apartment when Spencer’s phone buzzes from its place in his bag.

You haven’t stopped toying with your necklace since he put it on you. The charm is almost glued to your fingers now; you’re unable to stop messing with it on your neck. It’s something so simple, but it feels like something more. Like something meaningful.

You’ve already seated yourself on his couch when he comes and plops beside you, a new, brighter grin on his face. “What was that, baby?” you ask softly, watching as he sets his phone face down on the coffee table.

“That was Garcia,” he smiles. “She invited us for drinks at Porter’s tonight.”

You blink. “She invited us, or she invited you?”

Spencer pauses, his hand momentarily ceasing its ministrations on your shoulder. “I mean, she invited me, and the team. But,” he sighs, turning to face you fully. “But, I think it would be nice. Introducing you to them.”

You inhale softly. “You sure? You don’t think it’s, like,” you glance down at your lap. “Too early?”

He shakes his head, his hand gently hooking under your chin to tilt your face up so he can look at you properly. “Angel, you already have a key to my place. I don’t think anything is ‘too early’ anymore.” His head tilts. “If you’re not ready to meet them, you know I wouldn’t force you to, right?” At your nod, he continues. “I would like for you to meet them. Really. They’re really important to me, and so are you. But if you don’t think you’re ready, or if you don’t want to, you don’t have to come. Or, I can stay home.”

Your eyes go wide, doelike and soft. Where on earth did this perfect man come from?

“Las Vegas,” he murmurs. You blink at him. He simply grins. “And I’m not perfect, sweetheart,” he turns bashful, his thumb gentle as it caresses your jaw.

“You’re so good,” you whisper, a whine in your voice. “Why- how are you so good?” You can’t help the tears that fill your waterline now, and Spencer immediately cradles you to his chest.

He shushes you softly. “I’m just normal, angel. I promise,” he chuckles. “I’m not doing anything that you don’t deserve.”

You sob impossibly harder.

“I would love to meet your friends, honey,” you pull away, your mascara smeared down your cheeks. Spencer’s hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb lightly brushing away the black smears from your skin like he’s doing something holy. Like he’s done it before, like he’d do it a thousand more times if you asked.

“You sure?” he whispers, careful, like if he speaks too loud this—you—might disappear. Like this is all some vivid dream he’s not quite convinced he deserves to wake up into.

You nod, just once. A little wobbly, but firm. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure, Spence.” Your fingers tug at the chain around your neck, the clasp digging gently into your skin. It stings, just a little. Just enough to feel real. To remind you, he gave it to you. Just today. That it means something. That Spencer is different.

“They’ll love you,” he smiles. He sounds so certain it almost breaks you in half. “I know they will.” You want to believe him. You want to let that live in your chest and take root. Because you’re not sure of much, really, but this? What you feel? It’s real. You know it’s real.

When he presses a kiss to your mascara-stained cheek, you close your eyes. Take it in. Take him in. He pulls away, looking at you warmly, openly, lovingly. “You can wear whatever you want. You don’t have to dress up,” he stands, his hand still warm where it’s clasped in yours. “We’re just going to a bar, and most of them are going straight from work.”

And maybe that’s exactly why you do want to dress up. You love Spencer. You want to make a good impression on his friends, his team, the people who keep him safe when he’s across the country chasing killers. Because you’re not just trying to impress them. You’re trying to seem enough.

In his bedroom, the light hangs low and golden and warm. Your dress hangs off your shoulders, and your hands tremble just slightly as you smooth it down again.

Spencer stands behind you, zipping you up with quiet hands and a look that could positively undo you. His touch settles at your hips, warm and grounding and real.

You study your reflection. “Is this okay, baby?” You catch his eyes in the mirror. Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you hate how small it sounds. How unsure. You can’t hide the way it trembles, the nerves that show through.

Spencer’s hands slide to your arms, trailing a path of fire before they cover your wrists, holding them steady. “Angel,” he whispers, turning you around gently. He looks at you like you’re an oasis in the middle of the driest of deserts. “You look beautiful.” He kisses you softly, tenderly. “I promise, they’re gonna love you. Please stop worrying.” His lips find that space between your eyebrows again, your glabella.

You know it means it. And that’s the worst part.

You’re still not used to someone holding you so closely, so gently, without an ounce of malice, of annoyance, of condescension.

You exhale shakily. You move your hands to the lapels of his blazer. Then to the knot of his tie. Then, finally resting them on his cheeks. Your eyes dart around his face, studying him like you haven’t already memorized the slope of his nose, the pink of his lips, the honey-brown warmth of his eyes.

Just in case. There’s a sinking in your gut you can’t explain. Let me remember you, it says, just in case.

“Thank you, honey.” You kiss him again, and when one of his hands finds the back of your head, you let him.

But then you sigh, pulling away. “If you ruin my hair, Dr. Reid, so help me,” you giggle, pressing a final kiss to his chin.

He chuckles softly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he grins before heading to the living room and pulling his messenger bag over his shoulder.

You grab your purse and glance one last time at your reflection. Not to fix anything, no. Just to see yourself. To pretend you might resemble someone worth loving in a room full of people who love him.

When you step into the living room, Spencer’s already waiting by the door, his hands wringing at the strap of his bag, his smile still impossibly wide.

He links your fingers with his again like it’s second nature. Like this is just what you do. Like you belong with him.

You pretend—for just a moment—that you do.

You know you’re nervous when you hardly remember the metro ride. Conversations blurred around you until they were nothing but mist in the background. Just the steady warmth of Spencer’s hand in yours, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles on your skin, like he was tracing something only he could see. You remember the vibration under your feet and the way he held you when you stumbled as the train stopped.

By the time you step off the train and into the buzz of the city night, the air is cool, crisp. There’s a dewy scent of rain on the horizon.

You don’t even remember the walk to the bar until Porter’s flashes in bright red neon.

Your pulse is back in your throat, and suddenly it all feels too fast. Too real.

The gentle tug on your hand has your head snapping to your left. Spencer’s brows are furrowed, his lips pressed together. “Just take a breath, angel.” His voice is soft, warm. His thumb runs tenderly across your hand again. “It’ll be fine. Like I said, they’ll love you. I promise,” and oh. Oh, he looks so earnest. So sure. You can’t help the nod, the shaky exhale, the way your shoulders straighten out.

You blink. Look over at him again, a small smile quirking at your painted lips. “Okay, baby. I’m ready.”

He grins like sunshine.

Porter’s is busy; not packed, but there are enough patrons to have the bartenders ignoring attempts at conversation.

Spencer grins widely as a group of six, all settled around a circular booth, waves him over. His hand stays locked with yours until you get closer—then, he places it on the small of your back.

Their smiles start to… well. They falter, a bit, when they notice it. His hand, warm and steady on your back. You expected to surprise them, sure, but… You figured that for FBI profilers, they’d be a little better at hiding their shock.

And that means they’re not hiding it. They’re not trying to. If you can see their confusion, their surprise, their—is it discomfort?—then it’s intentional.

And that’s what stings the most. That this sudden tension, the glances, the raised brows, all point to you not fitting in.

They’re not impressed.

Spencer hardly notices it, though. You think it must be because he’s been so excited, but… really, how doesn’t he notice it? It’s like all the oxygen in the room has been sucked out, leaving six pairs of eyes staring at you like you’re other, like you don’t belong.

The blonde with wide eyes smiles at you, but it’s the kind that feels practiced, calculating. You’ve seen it before, more times than you can even remember.

The man next to her—broad, confident, handsome—raises a brow, his glass of whiskey stopping by his lip. He tilts his head when his eyes lower, meeting Spencer’s hand on your back.

Then the third woman, dark hair, a sharp gaze, pursed lips. God, she looks like Spencer when he’s trying to solve a crossword. You hate it, being studied like a puzzle yet to be solved.

And then Spencer says their names, and suddenly, for a moment, it clicks. “This is JJ, Morgan, Blake, Hotch, Rossi, and Garica.” Names you’ve only ever heard in fond little stories, in memories over takeout containers and sleepy mornings in bed.

You take a breath, willing yourself to breathe again. Your eyes land steadily on Garcia—Penelope. She’s already standing to hug you, her arms outstretched and a grin on her face. Spencer had described her as glitter and joy personified, and you can’t disagree. You think you love her already. “Oh my god, you’re real!” you giggle, “I was so sure Spence made you up!”

Penelope laughs with you, her hug warm and inviting, and you can’t help melting into it. She smells nice; like coconut and vanilla and citrus. You squeeze her back before pulling away, and her eyes are crinkled behind her wide pink glasses. “Oh, honey, I’m so real! But who are you, gorgeous? The Good Doctor’s been hiding you away from us!”

You smile shyly up at Spencer, watching as his hand returns to your back. “Uh, guys,” he glances down at you, all softness, before looking back at them. “This is my girlfriend.”

He says your name with reverence, dripping in pure affection, and the mood shifts yet again. Even Garcia freezes from her place next to you.

You wave timidly at them. “Hi,” you smile. “Spencer’s told me loads about you guys. He really loves you all, I can tell.”

And… there’s silence. JJ, Morgan, and Blake blink in unison. Like they’re sizing you up. Surprised in the worst way.

Your fingers reach up to your necklace again, gently pulling at it, tucking the charm between your digits again and again. You smooth your dress, tug it down. Maybe it’s too short? You bite your lip, check your posture, standing up straight. You hold back a sigh. You want to be enough. For them. For him.

JJ smiles a little softer, now. Her eyes more forgiving, just a fraction. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she says. “What do you do?” she asks, scooching over on the bench. Spencer slides in first, then pats the space next to him. You squeeze onto the seat, and try to ignore the warm weight of his hand settling on your knee.

“I work in a flower shop,” you say softly. Blake’s eyes brighten a bit at that, and she unclasps her hands.

“You’re a florist?” she presses, taking a sip of her margarita.

You shrug. “I guess, that’s what my nametag says,” you laugh softly, folding your hands in your lap, fingers fidgeting beneath the table. “But I dunno if I’m like, a real florist. I just do the arrangements.”

Spencer squeezes your thigh gently. You do your best to ignore it.

Blake’s eyes dull again, just slightly. “So, how did you two meet?”

You feel underwater. Your hearing is muffled, you can barely hear the sweet story Spencer’s retelling, of when he walked into your flower shop and you giggled and handed him the store’s card with your number scribbled on the back.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the surface of the table. You try to control your breathing. Keep the tears at bay.

You’re being ridiculous. Absurd. Your insecurities are making you paranoid; you know it. This happens all the time.

But then Spencer’s lightly shaking your knee, his head tilted low enough to catch your gaze. His eyes are worried. You grin at him. “Sorry, what was that, honey?”

He furrows his brows. “I asked what you wanted to drink, angel.”

Your mouth opens, then closes again. “Um,” you bite your lip, looking around the table at everyone’s drinks. Your eyes land on Garcia’s. “Penelope?” you prompt, and her head snaps over to you.

“Yeah?” She looks happy, a little buzzed.

“What’re you drinking?” you ask, nodding at her glass.

She grins widely. “Oh, sweetness,” she stands, holding out a hand for you. “Only the most delicious frozen strawberry daiquiri you’ll ever have! Come on,” she wiggles her fingers at you. “I’m due for a refill anyway, let’s go!”

You blink at her before taking her hand; it’s soft, and she closes it around yours in a way that feels so warm, so comforting. You barely get off the bench before she’s practically dragging you towards the bar.

She orders two frozen strawberry daiquiris, giving the bartender a flirty wink and an “extra pink, thanks, babe!”, before turning to you. “Oh my god, I need to know,” she says, gripping your shoulders like a lifeline. “How long have you and Einstein been together?”

You blink. “Um,” you furrow your brows. “Like, two-ish months, I think?”

Her face blanches, and suddenly, everything feels too fast, too sudden, like it’s the wrong answer, even though it’s not. You swallow your paranoia. “Spencer could probably tell you, like, the actual day, if you ask him. He’s really good with that stuff,” you add on, your voice low, a shy, proud little smile curling at your lips. He really is good with that stuff. Remembering the important things. Even something as simple as your favourite takeout place or the way you take your tea.

She pouts at you, her eyes softening, like she’s trying to make sense of what she’s hearing. It’s almost like she’s worried for you, like she feels sorry for you, but you can’t quite figure out why. “Oh, honey,” she sighs, collecting you into a hug you’re too confused to return. “I’m so sorry.” Her arms are too tight, too warm around you. You just stand there, stiff and unsure why everything feels so off.

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean, sorry?” you frown, your stomach doing a nervous little flip. “Everything’s been great. Spencer’s, like, sunshine in human form,” you try to laugh, but it comes out quiet, timid.

She sighs heavily, like she’s carrying a too-heavy weight on her shoulders, and then looks at you like she’s afraid to ask. “But… you don’t think this is, like, really soon?” She furrows her brows softly. “He doesn’t think so?”

You shake your head, confusion knitting your brows. You pull away from her grasp gently, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you didn’t before. “Penelope, what do you mean? Why would it be too soon?” You cross your arms over your chest, vulnerability eating at you. “Like… like me meeting you guys? ‘Cause I was worried about that, ‘cause it felt like, really early. But Spence said it was okay, ‘cause… like, I already have a key to his place, and I’m there, like, all the time, so—”

Penelope’s gasp is so sharp, so dramatic, that she covers her mouth with both hands in complete shock. “Oh. My. God!” Her eyes are nearly as wide as the frames of her glasses. “No- You- What?! You have a key? To his apartment?”

You nod slowly, and for some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re saying the wrong thing. “Yeah? He gave it to me, like, a week or so ago,” you add, hoping it doesn’t sound as bad as you’re starting to feel it is.

And Penelope? Oh. She shifts like ice in the Arctic. Cold and imposing. You don’t think she even catches it, but she’s looking at you like you’re the villain in a story you didn’t even know existed. “That’s… so soon, sweetness.” Her eyes soften only slightly, and there’s a sympathetic lilt to her voice that feels less inviting and more pitiful. “What about Maeve?”

And you pause. Blink at her a couple of times, unsure if you’re dreaming, the weight of her words pressing on your chest. She stares at you, awaiting an answer. One you don’t have. “I-” you hesitate, like the words are too heavy to lift from your throat. “Who’s Maeve?”

Penelope frowns, her nose going red as though she can’t bear to see you confused. “Oh, honey,” she sighs, pulling you into her arms again, like she’s trying to shield you from the pain of her words. “Maeve was,” she starts, then pauses. “I feel like Reid- Spencer, should be the one to tell you.” She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. She pulls away from the hug, her hands still lingering on your arms.

You keep a trembling hand on her wrist. “Clearly, he never told me anything. Who’s Maeve?” you ask again, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Is he-... Is he seeing someone else?”

You don’t want to be the fool again. Not again, not with Spencer. You swore he was different.

Penelope shakes her head, her arms smoothing over your shoulders in a calming motion. It doesn’t work. “No, no. Not at all, honey,” she whispers softly. She’s so… soft with you now. Her hands caress your shoulders like a mother comforting a child, explaining something you can hardly understand. “Maeve was Spencer’s girlfriend. They dated for, like, almost a year,” Penelope adds quietly, like she’s treading carefully around a wound that’s still raw.

That gives you pause. A year? That’s… serious. You feel the weight of its importance, like you’re not measuring up somehow. But Spencer’s not required to tell you about all of his past relationships, right? You know you haven't told him about yours, either.

But then Penelope sighs. “She died four months ago.” And the world goes still. You freeze, like the air’s been sucked right oout of your lungs. “She was kidnapped by her stalker, and she got shot. Right,” she pauses, swallowing hard. Her voice cracks as she continues, like she’s holding back her own pain. “Right in front of Spencer.”

And it’s there. A slow death, you can feel it creeping up on you. Your heart starts to melt against your ribs like thick, sticky honey. It burns you from the inside out, like acid; hot and relentless. “So,” your voice trembles, barely above a whisper. “So… I’m what?” You look into Penelope’s eyes, searing desperately for something to hold on to, but all you see is a deep, profound sadness. “I’m, like, a rebound?”

You wait. Penelope is silent. Her lips part, like there’s something she wants to say, to comfort you, to tell you no, he really loves you, but… She doesn’t. And when you see the minuscule shake of her head, you break.

You shatter like glass, like crystal. Like you’re fragmented in tiny shards scattered across the sticky bar floor, and suddenly, Porter’s is too bright. Too loud. Too much.

The sob escapes you before you can stop it, crawling up your throat and across your tongue like bile. You cover your mouth with your hand, tears freely spilling down your cheeks relentlessly.

Penelope’s lip wobbles as she watches you push past her and run down the back hall, before hearing the slam of the ladies’ room door.

She stands there, still and frozen.

What did she just do…?

Her gaze slowly moves to the table. Nobody has turned around, nobody has noticed a thing. Spencer’s laughing at something JJ says, and the guilt gnaws at Penelope like a plague.

You stumble into the bathroom like a storm, leaning your back against the door like you can hardly hold yourself up on your own, your legs shaky and trembling like a fawn taking her first steps.

The bathroom lights are harsh, fluorescent, and unforgiving. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and recoil like you’ve seen a ghost. Your mascara is smeared down your cheeks, bleeding down to your jaw, inked like grief itself has manifested onto your skin.

Your lipgloss is mostly gone—just a faint shimmer clinging to the dip of your cupid’s bow, like it’s trying to hold on for you.

You can’t help the way you begin to sway, dizzy as your knees nearly buckle in your heels. You grip the sink like it might hold you upright, like you’re not actively falling apart. But the second you meet your own eyes again, something inside you cracks.

You can’t look at yourself.

You can’t look at her—the girl stupid enough to think she was someone’s forever, not just a placeholder for a ghost.

You stumble into a stall and lock the door behind you, the click too loud in this stifling silence. You sit down hard on the toilet lid, burying your face in your hands as the sobs come back with a vengeance.

You feel like a fool. You’d really thought Spencer was different.

You wish he was here.

You wish he wasn’t.

Penelope shudders a breath, wobbling back to the table with two frozen strawberry daiquiris in hand. Her smile is long gone, her face pale and blotchy and tear-stained. Her eyes are red behind her glasses.

She sets the glasses down on the table like she doesn’t know what else to do with her hands.

JJ’s brows knit together. “Garcia?” She leans forward from her seat. “Are you okay?”

But Spencer’s looking over his shoulder, eyes darting around for you. He’s already standing when he notes your absence, like a string inside him has been pulled too tight, too restrictive, too wrong. “Garcia?” he asks, his voice shaky and low. “Where is she? What happened?”

Penelope’s lip wobbles. She wrings her fingers together, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispers. “I swear, I didn’t mean to—I just, I thought she knew, I thought you told her, and I—Spencer, I’m so sorry—”

Spencer’s heart drops to his gut. His mouth goes dry. “Told her what?” Penelope doesn’t answer. He takes a step closer, his throat going tight, his voice sharper now. “Penelope, what did you say?”

Her silence says everything. Her guilt fills the blanks. She shakes her head weakly at him, her hands coming up, her mouth opening and closing like she doesn’t know what to say. She sniffles.

Spencer’s eyes go wide. “Penelope,” he breathes out, horrified. His irises dart around her face. “What did you say to her?”

Penelope’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. No words come out. Her face crumbles as she looks at the man in front of her. Her own words play back in her head, your reaction playing like a film sheet behind her eyes. She collapses next to Morgan on the bench, tucking herself into the booth. “Bathroom,” she mutters softly, like a confession. Like it hurts.

Her glasses come off in one swift, clumsy motion as she covers her face with both hands. She’s wiping her tears, covering her guilt, trying to hide from the shame of what she’s done.

Spencer’s gone before anyone can even fully comprehend what’s just happened.

He doesn’t walk, he runs, tearing through the bar like it’s life or death, like he might already be too late. His heart’s in his throat, hammering loud against his ribs, and he doesn’t care who sees, doesn’t care how crazy he must look.

He just needs to find you. Needs to explain, to defend, to apologize.

Maeve’s ghost hovers over his shoulder like a curse.

There’s an incessant banging at the door to the bathroom.

You think it must be him—who else would knock on the door to a public restroom?

You do all you can to ignore it; you cover your ears, tucking your face as far into your lap as you can. Try to block it out. Block him out.

But then the door opens, and frazzled footsteps rush into the bathroom until they stop in front of the locked door of your stall. You can see his brown oxfords standing in front of the door. “Angel,” he whispers, slightly out of breath. “Please open the door… please?”

You inhale shakily, holding your hands tighter over your ears. You don’t want to hear him, his excuses, his lies.

“Go away,” you murmur, tears coating your voice, your throat clenching tight. “I don’t want to see you.”

Spencer sighs, crouching in front of the door. “Sweetheart, let me in, please. I don’t know what Garcia told you,” he knows it’s a lie. “But you have to believe me. I want you. Only you. I swear it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to hear more lies, Spencer.” You swallow a sob. “I know about Maeve.”

Spencer’s heart stops in his chest. “It- It’s not what you think,” he tries, his voice thick with tears he feebly attempts to hold back. But then you sniffle harshly, from under the door he sees you stand, planting your heels on the tile. He stays crouching, swiping at his red-rimmed eyes.

You open the door just a crack, eyes catching sight of his lowered form. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is quiet, pained, tight. Spencer raises his head, meets your eyes. You look ruined. Makeup smeared, eyes red and puffy, lips bitten red and swollen.

He hates that he’s made you look like this. He hates that he still thinks you look gorgeous. Like a tragedy, beautiful and broken and raw.

“I,” he hesitates, eyes never leaving yours. He swallows. “I’m sorry,” he sighs simply.

Your face crumples again, and Spencer’s brows knit tight. His eyes stay locked on the way you tuck your lip between your teeth to hold in a sob, like he’s never seen anything more beautiful than the way you fall apart. “You should’ve told me,” you whimper, sniffling. “It’s not fair, Spence.”

He flinches at the crack in your voice. He bows his head. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know I should’ve, I’m so sorry, angel.” He can’t help the way he leans forward, just enough to rest his forehead against the softness of your tummy.

Your hand cards through his hair like you don’t hate him, like you never could, and it breaks you even more. This was a betrayal. You can’t forget that, even if the softness of his curls feels like home between your fingers. “Was I just a rebound for you?”

Your question is broken, tearful, and your chest stutters with a breath. Spencer’s head lifts slowly from your middle. He swallows. “No,” he breathes out, the word like acid on his tongue. His eyes are slow to meet your gaze. “No, angel. Never.”

Your eyes close, a shaky exhale exiting your nose as you purse your lips. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” You remove your hand from his hair, crossing your arms over your chest.

You’re closing off. Spencer stands from his crouch, his left knee clicking as it extends. He wrings his hands to prevent himself from reaching out for you. “I should’ve.”

You just shake your head, lifting your chin to eye him steadily. “I asked why, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell me about her if I wasn’t a rebound, a replacement?”

He swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “I don’t know. I think I was still…” he shrugs meekly. “Hurting, I guess.”

Your arms fall to your sides. “I could’ve helped you.”

Spencer lowers his head, shaking it roughly. “No, you couldn’t.” His eyes squeeze shut. He swears there’s a cold spot on the centre of his back, like someone’s staring into him, through him. He tries desperately to ignore her presence. “I never really dealt with it, I just wanted to move on. And,” he raises his head again, his eyes pained as he looks at you. “I did. I started to. With you.”

He reaches out his arm, his shaky hand settling softly on your elbow. You sigh, setting your gaze to the floor, but you don’t pull away from him. Spencer thinks it’s a small win. He tests the waters by taking a small step closer, invading your space, and his heart thrums in his chest when you let him.

You can’t hold it back. You want to hate him. You want to hurt him, like he’s hurt you. You thought you’d finally found it, your forever, the man who would treat you like you’re something worthy of love, of respect, of kindness. Who doesn’t criticize your curiosity, but who lets it thrive, who answers your questions softly, with reverence in his voice, with love in the way he holds you.

You thought he was different. You really did. But you think it’s fitting, really. To still love him, even now, even after he’s shattered your heart in your chest, even after he’s killed you from the inside out.

You collapse into his chest, and Spencer doesn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly, like he’s holding your very form together. Like if he so much as loosens his grip, you’ll break apart into tiny pieces on this dirty bathroom floor.

His lips go to your hair, his hand cradling the back of your head. He can feel the way the sobs wrack through your body, the way they shake against him, your form trembling as you fist the fabric of his cardigan, needing something to keep you grounded in reality—to keep you out of your head.

“I thought you were different,” you sob, broken and pained and whimpering into his shoulder. Spencer freezes. “I thought you wouldn’t hurt me. Not like them, not like before.”

He opens his mouth, but he can’t find the words. How does he respond to that? To your wailing of grief, of betrayal? Of admitting you’d believed in magic just to find out it was all sleight of hand? How does he acknowledge being the source of your pain, of hurting you so wholly that your knees buckle under the weight of it?

He doesn’t know. So he just holds you impossibly tighter, rocking your trembling form in his arms as he tries to find some way to fix this mess he’s caused.

You’re silent for too long. No longer sobbing, just quiet sniffling as you bury your head in Spencer’s chest, no doubt staining his cardigan with your makeup. He doesn’t care.

You pull back slightly, hands still fisted in the fabric. “I want to go home.” Your voice is quiet, raspy, like your throat itself is protesting you talking to him.

Spencer nods, petting your hair down softly. “Okay,” he whispers back. His gaze catches yours before you lower your eyes to his chest again, your hand instinctively going to wipe at the smudge of mascara. Your brow furrows, and your eyes fill with tears again as your thumb rubs at the stain, just to smear it around. Spencer gently wraps his hand around your wrist, and your eyes snap up to meet his. “It’s okay,” he nods softly. “Please don’t worry about it, angel.”

You sniffle again before pulling away, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I want to go home, Spence,” you murmur again. He nods, holding a hand out for you.

You don't take it, don't even look at it, averting your gaze to the floor again.

Spencer sighs, blinking away tears before he’s opening the door to the bathroom, and following you out.

He doesn’t touch you, even though his hand is hovering over your back, your head down as you stand by the front door. Spencer swallows roughly, grabbing his bag off the bench of the booth, avoiding the eyes of his team, who watch him silently.

Hotch’s eyes stay steady on the black stain on the front of Spencer’s cardigan, Garcia’s still got her hands on her face, and JJ is looking at you; small and feeble and shy, and still shaking with tears as you wait for Spencer. He holds the door open for you, whispers something to you as you both exit, and JJ heaves a sigh, taking a gulp of her drink. She and Blake share a look.

The back of the cab is quiet. Uncomfortable, stifling, suffocating silence. You’re seated on opposite ends of the backseat, Spencer’s eyes on you, your gaze out the window.

When the driver pulls up to Spencer’s apartment block, your brows furrow, your eyes going to Spencer, who’s already climbing out the door and opening yours. “I said home, Spencer,” you frown, ignoring his hand. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

Spencer flinches. “Please, angel. Just for tonight? So we can talk?”

You heave a sigh, glaring at him as you slap away his hand, stepping out of the yellow car and walking past him and into the building.

Spencer exhales, his hands wringing tightly on the strap of his messenger bag before following you up the stairs. You’ve already unlocked the door with your key and slumped onto his couch, sniffling as you lean down to take off your heels.

He doesn’t bother removing his bag from his shoulder, just closes and locks the door before rounding the couch and sitting on the coffee table, gently taking your foot and tucking it into his lap. His fingers undo the strap around your ankle, his hands slow as they pull off the offending shoe. He does the same for the other foot, then stands, picking up your heels as he heads back to the entrance to place them down beside his beat-up old converse.

Spencer hangs up his messenger bag, toes off his oxfords, and looks over at you.

You’re curled up on the couch, tucked into the corner, arms around your knees. Your gaze is fixed on one of his bookshelves, brows furrowed, lips pressed tightly together. Like you’re trying to understand something, trying to solve a puzzle he can’t see.

Spencer slowly makes his way over, sits cautiously beside you, his eyes following yours to the shelf. He doesn’t know if the book you’re staring at is the one his eyes are drawn to immediately, but he tears his gaze away like it’s burned him.

The Narrative of John Smith sits like a ghost on his shelf, its very presence mocking what Spencer’s tried so hard to build with you.

“I don’t know how to get over this,” you mutter softly.

Spencer looks up at you to find your eyes already on him. You shake your head gently, like the small motion of it is just too much. “I don’t know how to move on, now.”

He swallows, tucking his feet up under his legs. “I know.” His hands wring in his lap. “I don’t either. I just know that I want you.”

You scoff, avert your eyes. “If you did, you would’ve told me about her. Now you’ve just made me feel like an idiot,” you sigh. “Again.”

His lips turn, the corners of his mouth pulled into a pout. “Again?”

You sniffle again, shrugging. “I told you. I thought you were different. I thought,” you sigh, raising your head to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

Spencer tilts his head. “You say that a lot,” he notes. “‘I don’t know’. Like you’re afraid to say what you’re thinking. Like you’re expecting to be wrong, or dismissed. Or left,” he catches your eyes when your head snaps back to his. “And I hate that. I hate that someone taught you to apologize for existing, for being curious, for not knowing. And I…” he sighs, blinking at you, his expression soft and gentle and guilt-ridden. “I hate that I did that, too. To you.”

You swallow a sob, your eyes going wide.

Spencer scooches a little bit closer to you, just enough that your knees knock against his. “I should’ve told you about…” He tries to say her name. His tongue freezes, paralyzed.

“About Maeve,” you whisper. Spencer tries to hide his flinch, like hearing you say her name is wrong. Like the mixing of these two aspects of his life shouldn’t be happening.

He nods jerkily. “About Maeve,” he tries to ignore the way his voice catches on the word. “I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

You nod, tucking your lip between your teeth. “I know you are,” you glance sidelong at him. “I know.”

Spencer exhales shakily. “And I’m sorry Garcia told you.”

“I’m not.” Your voice is shockingly steady as you say it. You shrug when he looks at you. “If she didn’t, I don’t know how long it would’ve been before you did. Honestly, Spencer,” you turn to face him. “Would you have ever even told me?”

He wants to nod, to tell you he would’ve, but he swears he can see her brown hair in the corner of the room, stalking, watching, waiting. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

You wait. And then sigh heavily. “You’re not okay,” you murmur. “I can’t help you, you were right.”

And then you stand from the couch, head into his bedroom, and close the door.

Spencer hears rummaging, the sound of his drawers being opened and closed, then his shower starts, and he buries his face in his hands. Rubs his palms aggressively over his cheeks, pushing his hair away from his forehead.

He stands, peeling the cardigan off. He holds it out, his eyes locked on the black stain that’s, ironically enough, just over his heart. He exhales softly before putting it into the dirty laundry hamper in his bedroom. The bathroom door is closed, the sound of the shower muffled behind it.

He sighs. Drags his feet into the kitchen to start the kettle. His hands move on autopilot: setting the kettle onto the stove, the soft clanging of your mug and his being pulled out of the cupboard, just like always. He freezes when his fingers close around the handle of your pink strawberry mug. It looks like something Garcia would’ve picked out. Too bright, too bubbly, too you. His heart skips a beat.

You were right. God, you were right. He wouldn’t have said anything; not now, maybe not ever. He would’ve stayed silent, keeping you blissfully unaware. You would’ve never found out about Maeve had Garcia not told you anything. The guilt eats at him, gnawing on his chest like a disease, spreading through his ribs like rot.

His hands tremble as he sets it down on the counter beside his. The ceramic clinks too loudly in the silence. He rocks his head back and forth, like he can shake the memories out.

When he opens his eyes, he swears she’s there. Just there, at the edge of his vision, he catches a glimpse of her sweater. He pours the water from the kettle into your mug. It’s all he can do to stop himself from shouting at a ghost.

She haunts these walls—ones she’s never once stepped into. It drives him mad.

Spencer’s sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap and his head bowed when you re-enter the room.

He looks up as the couch dips beneath your weight. You settle in the opposite corner, as far as you can be while still sharing the same space. Spencer clears his throat, rubs his palms nervously over the tops of his thighs. “I made you tea,” he whispers.

You blink. Your strawberry mug sits neatly on an orange slice coaster. He reaches for his, and you see the grapefruit one under it. Your throat goes tight again.

You don’t want to cry again. You refuse to.

You sigh. “I didn’t really want any tea.” Your lips press together as you curl further into your corner. “But thanks anyway.”

Spencer flinches. It’s barely noticeable, just a twitch. But of course you catch it. There’s nothing about this man you don’t notice.

Or so you thought.

Because now he’s staring at you.

Or, not quite; he’s staring through you.

You swallow hard. How many times has this happened before without you noticing? Without knowing he was haunted? Broken? Grieving someone you never knew existed. Mourning the woman you replaced.

You avert your gaze again. You can’t keep looking at your boyfriend while he stares through you, at the woman he lost. “Spencer,” you say, quiet yet sharp. It snaps him out of his trance.

His eyes dart to the side of your face. His brows pull together, unsure, almost pleading. He swallows roughly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, setting his mug down. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” he chews on his lip, shrugging. “I just… I thought you might want it. Like…” he trails off.

You know what he was going to say, anyway. Like every other night. Like routine. But if he thinks you’re about to cuddle up to him while he reads to you, he’s sorely mistaken.

But then you look at him. Just once. And he looks so broken, you can’t bring yourself to say it.

So you stand, slowly, achingly, like just leaving him there is enough to hurt. “I’m tired,” you mutter softly. Spencer’s eyes track your movement. He untucks a leg, like he’s about to follow you like some lost, desperate puppy. You hold up a hand. “I’d like to be alone for a bit. You brought me here,” you can’t help the narrowing of your eyes. “The least you could do is let me have that.”

Spencer gulps, sinks back into the couch with a jerky nod. “Of course,” he whispers. He doesn’t look away, not even when his bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

He turns back around, squeezing his eyes shut. He scrubs at his cheeks, as if trying to wipe the grief and guilt from his skin itself.

There’s rustling behind the door. Spencer pictures you crawling into his bed. He wonders if you’re cuddling his pillow, like you always do when he leaves for work in the morning.

Then he figures you’ve probably thrown it off the bed. The thought tugs harshly at his chest.

He sighs, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around his shoulders. He sits in silence, his mind running too loud, too fast, for even him to keep up.

There’s a chill to his left. He doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t want to face the visible manifestation of his guilt, his grief.

Spencer doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there. The tea cools in both mugs; the steam rising and fading, like breathing out a ghost. His apartment is too quiet. Too silent to have you just in the next room. Too quiet for a mind like his. It feels wrong. Suffocating. Smothering. His lungs ache like he’s drowning in it.

It’s been hours. Two cups of lavender tea, three hours lost in casefiles and novels and poetry, and none of it has helped him sleep. It hurts even more when he realizes it’s because you’re not there beside him.

Spencer stands with a quiet groan, dragging himself to his bookshelf. He stares at it, needing something else. Anything to get him to sleep, anything to quiet his thoughts, even if just for a moment.

He doesn’t mean for his eyes to go to it. Doesn’t even realize his hand’s already reaching, already pulling it off the shelf. His mind doesn’t catch up to reality until Spencer’s already sitting on the couch with The Narrative of John Smith open on his lap. Maeve’s handwriting stares back at him from the first page.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone—we find it with another.”

The tears come before he even realizes he’s crying.

Spencer’s vision comes back slowly, like waking from a dream, walking out of a fog, seeing past the haze. He blinks, looking down at the book in his hands. He sets it down on the coffee table—careful, like it burns to so much as hold it.

He gulps. Two books sit side-by-side. Two mugs, four coasters.

He sighs, lying back on the couch. He listens, but the bedroom stays silent.

You wake early. So early that not even the sun is up, the birds aren’t even singing, and the stars are still twinkling in the darkness. You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling in silence. It’s so quiet here, the only sound is the crickets chirping softly outside the window.

You sit up, heaving your legs over the side of his bed with a heavy sigh. This room… you’ll miss it. It’s warm, comfortable. Smells like old books and clean linen and him.

Spencer.

Just the thought of him has you holding back tears again.

You shake your head, trying to push away your impending grief, and stand slowly. You open the drawer he’s dedicated to you, your hands trembling as you dress yourself. You avoid your reflection as you take the rest of your clothing out of the drawer and shove it into your bag. You grab your toothbrush and your makeup bag.

And you take one mismatched set of socks from his drawer.

You’re slow, quiet, as you creak open the bedroom door, your bag slung over your shoulder. You peek over to the couch. Spencer’s stretched out, long limbs draping over the armrest. His brow is pinched, mouth slightly agape, but he’s asleep.

You exhale a sigh of relief. Your eyes catch sight of the coasters—your coasters. Bright, vibrant, fruit slice circles of ceramic. They still look out of place. Still don’t belong here.

You can’t bring yourself to take them with you. They brighten up this warm, cozy space, this place that they just don’t fit in. You’ve related to them since you brought them over.

Oh well.

Spencer can decide what to do with them. You try to ignore the stinging in your chest when you imagine him throwing them out.

With a reluctant turn, you silently slip on your shoes, tug on your jacket, and sling your purse over your shoulder beside your bag.

You don’t leave a note. You wouldn’t know what to say.

You exhale as you crack the front door open quietly, allowing yourself just one last glance around the apartment.

You’ll miss it.

You close the door gently behind you, careful not to let it click. Your hands shake as you lock it, fingers trembling as you remove the key from your keyring. You slide it under the door. It catches on the floorboard for a second, then disappears into his apartment. Like it never belonged to you in the first place.

Your fingers go to the tiny pink gemstone on your neck. You tug at it gently. Rest your fingertips over the chain in something not unlike reverence, before lowering your hand.

You straighten your shoulders. You don’t look back.

Spencer wakes sluggishly. Like his body’s not quite his, his limbs tired and heavy. When he finally manages to sit up, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. The door to his bedroom is open; he can see his bed made neatly. Too neatly.

He glances to the kitchen, expecting to see you standing at the counter, humming, pouring coffee into your favourite mug and smiling over at him, like you always do, every morning. But it’s empty.

Spencer’s brow furrows, knitting together tightly. He calls your name, soft, then louder. His voice shakes.

He rises slowly, like lost in a dream, his gaze drifting to the door.

Your shoes are gone, leaving his beat-up old converse and scuffed oxfords alone by the door. Your jacket’s not hung up beside his on the hooks. Your purse is missing from where you always hung it in front of his messenger bag.

Spencer rounds the couch, his hands trembling, panic rearing its ugly head, fear clawing at his chest. “Angel?” he tries again, his voice softer now. “Sweetheart, please… please answer me,” he whimpers, his throat going tight.

His gaze drifts down to the floor, like he’s hoping, just for a moment, that he’s wrong. That his peripheral was lying to him.

It shines, like some cruel joke, where it rests on the hardwood, the first rays of dawn catching it.

The spare key. The one he gave you. The one he thought meant home.

It gleams from the floor, tossed carelessly, just in front of the front door, like you’d locked it and slid it under the threshold when you’d left.

Left.

He doesn’t even know when you left. Doesn’t know if it was hours ago or mere minutes, but the air still feels thick with your absence.

Spencer stumbles, almost collapsing to the floor beside that key. The key to his home. To his heart. The key you’d left behind.

He staggers back to the couch, eyes hollow, locking onto the coffee table. Your coasters. And your mug. Just… sitting there.

You’d left them.

He swallows his sobs, choking on the grief that’s clawing its way up his throat. They look so bright. Too bright. Out of place here, in the dim silence of his apartment. You were, too. You brought a brightness to this warm, cozy place. One he didn’t know he needed until you’d taken it away. Like the sun setting, sinking slowly beneath the horizon, leaving nothing but a cold darkness in its wake. An emptiness he can’t escape.

Spencer reaches for the book left beside them. Flips it open to page 639 like muscle memory.

The Cyrillic stares back at him. He can hardly make it out through the tears clouding his vision. His voice cracks as he forces the quote out—the one he had meant to read to you just last night—his memory carrying him.

“I can't say it in a more orderly and comprehensible way. I love you wildly, insanely, infinitely.”

He breaks down into a lump of broken sobs on his couch, clutching the red leather-bound novel to his chest like it’s the only thing holding him together.

This is it. Doctor Zhivago, bright fruit slice coasters, and a strawberry mug. It’s all he has left of you, when he never thought he’d have to face the reality of life without you again.

Your absence chokes him like a vice.

The air turns frigid; Spencer feels like he’s wrapped in a sudden chill, like the warmth that was in his chest is being stolen from his soul itself.

He won���t open his eyes—refuses to. He won’t face this ghost that haunts him, keeps him broken, that pushed you away. He can’t look at her brown hair and warm sweater and blood on her cheek.

He just hugs the novel closer to his chest and mourns once more, wailing his grief into the air like pain personified is being ripped from his chest, leaving him hollow, empty, alone.

[kizzmexoxo]

“Taught to Obey”

PAIRING - L.hs x OF reader x S.jy (Hee & Jake are both brothers)

WARNINGS - Smut, oral sex, unprotected sex, blackmailing, touching, slap (one time), voyeruism, slight dubcon, this is more of hee’s smut scene

WC - 1.7k+

a/n - This is one of my first fic I wrote. This will probably contain a part 2 (spoilers: will prob focus on Jake since this one was hee’s) depending on the outcome of this post. Have a good time reading and remember to separate reality & fiction. Thank you!

Part 2

kizzmexoxo 2025 © all rights reserved.

You’re a perfect student. Straight A’s, good reputation, everyone knows and loves you. A sweet perfect angel in their eyes. Though, you had a secret of yours. A dark secret no one must know. Somehow, someone discovered that secret of yours. What’s worse is that it’s the brother who you’re tutoring of.

Everything started when you were called by your professor to have a chat.

“Amazing grades as usual, Y/n.” He gives a big smile and pushed up his glasses that was falling off his nose. You give him a smile and nodded as a thank you gesture.

“I have a proposal for you.” He continues, “Would you like to tutor one of my great friend’s kid? He says he was finding someone dependable, and you are very fit for that position.” You were pleased about the idea, even though you did hesitate a little.

He chuckles, “Of course you’re getting paid. My old friend offered $500 per hour. Would you be okay with that?” He looks up at you with expectant eyes while yours widened. “Seriously? Of course I’m taking it!” You say with an excited tone. He chuckles at your reaction. “Alright, you can start tomorrow. I’ll send you the address and details in your email.” You nodded and thanked him once again before taking your leave.

Studying has been always easy for you. So tutoring other people won’t be that hard. You hope.

The next day, you finally arrived at the address your professor sent you. The house was quite bigger than you expected. I mean, the owner offered you $500, of course they would be loaded. You knocked on the wooden door. You waited for a while, yet no response, you rang the doorbell. No response again. You sighed and knocked while ringing the doorbell at the same time, trying to get someone’s attention inside the house.

Finally the door opened, only revealing a tall boy with messy black hair, wearing black hoodie and grey sweatpants with a furious but tired look on his face.

“What do you want?“ he didn’t bat an eye at who he was talking to since he just woke up from a nap. He rubbed his left eye, as soon as he dropped his hand he locked eyes with you. You stare at him awkwardly. “Im a tutor here for..” you looked at your phone, “Jake Sim..” you look up at him, noticing him staring at you with those dark eyes that made you feel nervous.

He looks at you like he’s checking you out. He was. He looked at you up and down before making space for you to enter. You thanked him silently and entered the house. It very modern and spacious.

You turn your head to find out what felt like someone was been piercing the back of your head and noticed how the man who let you in had a seductive look on his face. Or maybe he was just really attractive.

Before you could say anything, the sound of footsteps going down the stairs got your attention. “Sorry! I was taking a shower.” Said a man who looked younger. He came up to you, flashing you a big smile. He looked like a happy dog.

“I’m Jake Sim, you must be the tutor.” You nodded and gave him a smile back. “Y/n Y/l/n.” He nods, “Father isn’t here today but he knows you’re coming. Let’s head up to my room?”

“Alright.” You give him a smile as starts walking up the stairs. Before you could follow him, you felt an arm wrapped around your waist. “Make yourself at home, y/n.” The taller man whispers on your ear after leaving to go up the stairs. What the heck?

You arrived Jake’s room.

He leads you to his table as he sat on the opposite side of you. You sat down and your session has started.

It’s been an hour since getting to know each other and started on a topic he was failing at. You had noticed that in sometimes he gets touchy. Whenever you pass notes or paper to him, he purposely place his palm onto yours before he takes it. Or when he chose to sit beside you and start playing with one of your fingers resting on the table.

You didn’t mind at first since maybe this was his habit. Although his touches were getting intense. His hand now on your thigh, squeezing it slightly as you try to discuss this one equation to him. It just had been less than two hours.

I could feel his hand reaching higher and higher till his pinky finger slightly graze on your mound. That’s when I grab his hand, to stop him.

“Jake. Are you even listening to me?” I lock eyes with him. He still had that innocent look on his face as if he weren’t just about to grasp on my cunt.

He sighs. “I was wondering when you were going to stop me.” He smiles. “I wish you didn’t though.” His hand lowered but was still on my thigh.

“You should stop.” You remove his hand from your thigh. “Last warning, Jaeyun.” He chuckles and accepted his defeat. “Okay don’t be mad. It was just a joke.” He hums and shows a pout. How can you get mad at a face like that.

Minutes have passed. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You walked out of Jake’s room and met yourself with a hallway. You proceeded to walk with Jake’s directions.

As you continued to walk down the hallway, you met the taller boy again. He locked eyes with you and showed a smirk.

“You again.” You give him a small smile, walking pass him. “You’re familiar you know.” You paused your tracks. You turned around, seeing already him looking at you. “What do you mean?”

He took a step closer and took out his phone. You were confused what he was doing until he showed it to you. Your OF. Fuck. Your screwed.

You took a step closer trying to grab his phone but he quickly swing it away. “Hey there.”

“What are you trying to do with that?” He chuckles, “What? I haven’t subscribed yet. Should I?” He leans down close to your face. “Don’t show that to anyone.” You got straight to the point.

“Whoah, calm down princess.” He laughs in your face. This was very fun for him. “Who knew the ‘angel’ of the school sells her body like this.”

“Keep your tone down!” You cover his mouth with both your hands, not wanting Jake to hear.

Wait a sec. He knows you? Oh my gosh, how could I not recognize him. Lee Heeseung, the known troublemaker in the campus.

You never knew he had a brother. Though that’s not your concern right now. I gasp. “Heeseung.”

He held your hand to remove it from his mouth,“Took you long enough to recognize me.”

you sighed. “Seriously, heeseung. Don’t show that to anyone.” He scoffs. “Why not? I was planning to show jake.”

You hit his shoulder. “No..! I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

You look up at him before hesitatingly agreeing by nodding.

“I saw how Jake touched you back there.” He suddenly says, stepping forward, our bodies so close to each other.

“I stopped him.”

“Will you stop me too?” He lets wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, closing the gap between your bodies.

“Heeseung-“

“You said anything. Or you want me to show Jake your dirty pictures?”

You kept quiet. Letting him touch you.

“Do you show your little tits in this website?”

You looked away, avoiding his eyes and questions. That didn’t last long as he grab your chin to make you face him.

“Answer me.”

You nodded, embarrassed.

“Can you show me too?” He says breathlessly.

I look up at him again, noticing his dark eyes, craving for lust.

“Come on.” He grinds his body to yours.

“Show me and I’ll keep it a secret. Both your account and now.”

You sigh in defeat, nodding.

That’s how you ended up on Lee Heeseung’s bedroom, your legs spread out, your hand covering your mouth to avoid making loud moans. You glance down, the sigh of his messy black hair and his face digging into your wet cunt.

You whimper from his licks and kisses all over your cunt and your inner thighs.

“This taste so good.” He says before diving back in again. You can feel his warm tongue inside your cunt. His tongue pushing back and forth your entrance and swirling.

He teases you by giving a kiss onto your clit then sucking onto it. You moan

You wonder how many minutes have past. Jake is probably looking for you already. “Hee..” You whimper. “Jake is probably looking for m-me.. that’s enough..”

He looks up and chuckled. “I haven’t even fucked you yet. Now you want to leave?”

He suddenly turned you around, your face in his pillows and your ass raised up with your back arching. He gives your ass a slap. You let out a muffled scream against the pillows.

You can feel his tip, rubbing it up and down into your wet slit. “Going to fuck this pussy real good.”

He slid it in, he groans at your walls clenching into his dick. You let out a gasp after he pulls it out and rams in back in. You grip his dark grey sheets as he continues to thrust his hips faster.

His head rolls back while he continues pounding, hitting your cervix. Both of his hands gripped on your hips, making his dick slide even deeper.

Not even an hour in, the room was already filled with pants, heavy breathing, and moans. You wonder if Jake could hear you from his room. You were scared to get caught, but it was thrilling.

“Heeseung! Please hurry.. i still have to tutor your brother.”

“Step brother.” He thrusts faster. “And he can wait.”

It connected. Their last names weren’t the same, yet? You had no time to think about that as he fucks you like an animal. You let out a pained moan, but you were feeling good. Really good.

So good that you didn’t realize Jake watching the whole entire time. His eyes glued to you. Fuck you were so hot getting rammed like that. He wished he was in Heeseung’s place right now.

Heeseung glanced on his side, seeing his brother, step brother rather, peeking through his door. He gives him a smirk and continued to thrust into you harder.

“S-slow down..!” You whine. He looks down at you, sliding his palm behind the back of your neck and brought you closer to his face, giving you a kiss. He slides his tongue inside you as he thrusts into you, reaching his limit.

Finally, he lets it out. Your walls painted white by his cum. You moan gasp one more time while your legs shivering from the sensation. He lets go of your neck and leans back to enjoy the pleasant view in front of him. He wanted to go for round two.

He looks back to his door to find Jake gone. He scoffs and ran his sweaty hair with his hand as he turned to look at you again, fully blissed out.

You pant and took a glance at him, already looking at you. He brought his face close to you, his palm on the side of his face and gave you another kiss. “Let’s do this again, yeah?”

“You don’t want me spreading that little secret of yours.”

You stare at him, disheveled. What will you do now?

[itoshiexx]

when you call them "husband" - part 2

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you call them "husband" - part 2

pairings: itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo x fem!reader (no descriptions tho, just the words "wife" on rin's part) (separate) | warnings: established relationship, fluff, lovesick boys

notes: I'M ALIVE! i cant believe how long it's been since i had time/energy/creativity to write something, ohmy goddddddd. i'm so sorry for all the time it took to post this, but i wanna ty all so much for all the love on part 1 and all the requests for part 2! hopefully this will meet your expectations ♥ as always, i went a lil' overboard with rin's part. enjoy!

part 1 / masterlist

ITOSHI RIN

rin was not a fan of social media. it was clear with the way his instagram only had 8 pictures despite being years since his career started, and even more so by the fact he had no other social media besides that. if he wasn’t so famous, people would say itoshi rin was a ghost or some artificial intelligence invention. 

it was one of the reasons people were very shocked when he started dating you, an influencer with millions of followers on every platform. rin was a private person, and you… well, you shared your life on the internet for everyone to see. to say you were polar opposites was an understatement.

however, you never forced your boyfriend to appear in any of your socials, only recording things for your own fun and memories and posting only what he allowed. rin was glad for that. he didn’t mind doing dumb things with you to see you smile, as long as the rest of the world couldn’t see how whipped he was for you.

also, you were kind of glad the professional athlete was so unaware of social media, because it meant you could do a lot of tiktok trends without the risk of him already knowing what was coming — which made everything more satisfying. 

and the trend you chose that day was especially good.

“hey everyone, it’s y/n here!” you chirped, waving your hands in front of your phone. however, you were actually recording rin, who was at the other side waiting for your sign to appear on the screen.

you continued speaking. “today i have a very special guest, who i’m sure you’re all very familiar with.” you gave the camera a little cheeky wink, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes with all your theatrics. “please welcome itoshi rin, my handsome husband!”

rin gave a step forward to start his way to you, but suddenly, his whole body froze, brows furrowing in what you could only call utmost confusion. silence took over the room for what felt like an eternity, and you had to suppress your laugh seeing the imaginary ‘loading’ wheel on his head.

rin.exe stopped working.

“baby?” you decided to intervene, honestly a little scared of how immobile rin was.

“you— i’m— did you just— did we—”

you could no longer hold your laughter, and rin’s favorite melody echoing through the walls of your shared apartment was probably what snapped him out of his trance. he immediately scowled and crossed his arms, cheeks burning red from his pathetic stutter.

“i am never doing these dumb videos with you again.”

“no, no, i’m sorry!” your giggles kept going, and you approached your pouty boyfriend, squishing his cheeks between your hands. the smooch you gave him was almost enough to make him melt. almost. rin still had some self respect.

he also didn’t want to admit how abnormally fast his stone heart was beating with the mere thought of being referred to as your husband — and, even better, referring to you as his wife. 

fuck. that certainly did make him feel lots of things. those stupid butterflies that were born the minute you met were roaming freely in his stomach, soaring with all the love he had harbored just for you. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” you said again, smiling like you swallowed the sun and all things good in this world. you might as well have. how else could rin explain the way you were his everything? “it was a prank i saw on tiktok.”

he arched his eyebrow, arms uncrossing to put his hands on your waist. “oh? so you don’t want me to be your husband?”

the itoshi was satisfied to see you flushing this time. “i— w-well, you see…”

and then you started rambling, just like you did every time something made you nervous. and rin could only look at you as if nothing else was worth looking at, because really, to him, it wasn’t. 

…well, maybe the sight of you walking down the aisle would get the cake. he might have to find out soon. 

MICHAEL KAISER

once you started dating bastard munchen’s star, michael kaiser, it was natural to have his world collide with yours. everything from football to blue hair dye to weird sleeping habits became a part of you as well, and you nourished every expanse of your world his presence alone was able to give.

your favorite part, besides learning all of him — his little habits, quirks and love languages that seemed to be crafted solely for you — was definitely immersing yourself in his culture. germany always seemed distant and quite detached from your life, and you loved to learn new things from different perspectives. 

food, traditions, language… michael loved teaching you things, giddy and secretly grateful for your excitement. it was his sparkly eyes that prompted you to learn a few things by yourself to surprise him and make him happy. 

the tiktok trend was just a nice coincidence. 

you phone was hidden on the kitchen balcony, camera recording and waiting for the moment your boyfriend would arrive in your shared apartment. luckily, kaiser was very punctual, and you didn’t have to wait much longer.

“liebling, i’m home!” you heard him scream from the front door, and you giggled to yourself, pretending to be busy chopping vegetables for dinner. 

you waited for his footsteps to near where you were, and, as soon as you felt he entered the camera frame, you answered:

“welcome home, ehemann!”

you didn’t have to turn around to see the way kaiser completely froze; arms stopping just before reaching your waist as if your figure was an illusion created by his tired mind. you fought hard to suppress your grin.

“what… did you say…?” his voice was low and uncertain, but there was no annoyance in it; just pure confusion. 

turning your head around to finally look at him, you were pleased to find your mikka with rosy cheeks and a bashful expression, so extremely unusual for a guy like him you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter on your chest. 

you gave him your best innocent look. “huh? isn’t that how you say boyfriend?”

“i-it’s husband, liebe. you called me husband,” his tone was still incredulous, and this time, you couldn’t keep your smile off your face. 

“oh, did i?”

your countenance seemed to finally snap him out of his trance, and michael’s eyebrows shot up, scoffing slightly — albeit still endearingly. his arms circled your waist and he pressed a kiss on the side of your neck. 

“how mean of you, baby. playing with my heart like that.” he trailed more kisses on your neck and jaw, making you squirm. “you tryin’ to kill me or something?”

you giggled again, both from the ticklish kisses he was giving you and the huge amount of love you had harbored just for him. “of course not, baby. i need you alive to make you my husband,” you jested.

“oh, yeah? you wanna make me your husband?”

“yes.” you shifted, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. kaiser hugged you a little tighter, feeling something fuzzy inside his chest. “is that a problem?”

“never,” he answered immediately. because it was true.

boyfriend, fiancé, partner, husband… michael didn’t mind what title would be bestowed to him — as long as he could keep being yours.

MIKAGE REO

being the heir of one of the biggest corporations of the country and a professional football player made your boyfriend’s schedule pretty busy. therefore, thursdays like these, where you and him could have a nice walk around the park under the warm sunlight, hand in hand, were extremely rare — hence why they were so appreciated.

reo knew how much his frenetic agenda was a hard toll on your relationship, affecting both of you with distance, longing and short periods of time together. and, well, everyone knew how much of a goner he was for you, so it wasn’t surprising to see him give in whatever spare time he had in his hands — even going as far as making such time exist if there wasn’t any — to be with you for as long as he possibly could.

how could he deny your pretty little eyes pleading to have a stroll in the park with him ‘just for a few minutes?’

god, you were so selfless. he wanted to give you all of his minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. and for all that’s worth, reo would never deny you of such a thing — he’d rather shoot himself than make you think you weren’t loved with every fiber of his being.

the weather was nice; a gentle breeze kissing both of your faces and making everything more pleasant. you were both chatting and appreciating the calm environment when you spotted an old lady a few feet ahead, selling different colored roses for the passersby. a smile was etched onto your lips, and you impulsively let go of reo’s hand to run towards her. 

“why hello, dear. would you like to buy a rose?”

your boyfriend watched you beam to the lady and slowly approached you, though still keeping his distance and trying hard not to intervene and buy all the roses for you. 

“yes, please! a red one would be perfect.”

“oh, who will you give it to?” asked the woman, already taking one flower from the bunch to hand it to you. 

your smile became slightly more bashful, “it’s for my husband!”

and fuck, if reo wasn’t already completely in love with you and thoroughly believed you were his soulmate until then, he certainly would after that very moment. he could feel his cheeks burning and his tongue rolling inside his mouth with how speechless he became. his heart soared with your words, excitement coursing through his veins with a love so overwhelming he nearly fell on his knees right there. 

heavens, he loved you so fucking much. and you made him realize it was about time he proved it to you (once again).

his hands easily found his phone in his pocket, and a quick call to the jewelry store was made while you busied yourself with paying for the flower. reo couldn’t stop smiling like a lovesick fool, but he didn’t mind.

“hey, mr. fuji, it’s mikage! you know, i think it’s time for that visit i mentioned a while ago…”

he might not fall to his knees right there, but he would drop at one knee very soon.

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

[no-144444]

Mark my words.- o.piastri

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summary: mark slips up about your marriage.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! rb!mechanic! wife! reader

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He crossed the finish line, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face. Sure, Checo had crashed in the last lap and Max had gotten p6. Not a good result, but then again, that’s what you had told Christian would happen if he didn’t let you build the car. 

You were Adrian’s protege. You were the next Newey. Christian was just too focused on the past. 

“Fuck!” he groaned, slamming his headset on the desk. 

“I told you so,” you sighed, leaving him at the desk and running to the parc fermé. Oscar would be coming through in mere minutes, and you wanted to be there to see him. Secretly dating another team’s driver wasn’t easy, but you two made it work. You were both lowkey about things, even though you’d been married for about a year now. You stood beside Nicole, far away from your own team, but you didn’t really care. You wanted to see the light in his eyes when he came up to his mum and you. 

Nicole wrapped her arms around you, cheering as you both relived the moment that Oscar had won. Oscar Piastri, 2 time Gran Prix winner. He’d proven himself time and time again, he wasn’t a second driver, and McLaren now had a difficult choice to make. 

But all that was for another day. Today was about Oscar. 

He ran over to the team, finally spotting his mum and you beside her. You could see from his eyes that he was smiling. She pulled him into a tight hug. 

“You did it!” she cheered, holding him close. “I’m so proud of you.”

He pulled off his helmet, smiling at her. “Thanks mum, love you loads,” he smiled, then turned his attention to you. “Not bad, eh?”

You smirked. “Not bad Piastri.”

“Not bad for you either, Piastri,” he smirked as you rolled your eyes. 

“Go get weighed idiot, I’ll catch you in the airport, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss you for the world,” he winked, then walked off to continue the celebrations. 

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You woke up the next morning, sore, with Oscar beside you. You groaned as you turned over, shutting off his alarm. “Osc,” you yawned. 

“Shush,” he whispered. “Five more minutes.”

“Oscar, we need to get up,” you reminded him, but he just tightened his grip on your waist. “Come on Osc, I need a shower.”

He smirked and you rolled your eyes, not missing his innuendo. “I could-”

“We did enough of that last night, give me time to recover,” you laughed. “Worth a shot,” he smiled. “Alright, I’ll start on some breakfast.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a sweet greeting (also short because his breath stinks in the morning) and you went your separate ways. This weekend was Singapore, and you knew how tough it was on every driver, engineer, and mechanic. Singapore was always the race you dreaded. It was unpredictable and hot. Way too hot. 

You came out of the shower to see Oscar pacing the kitchen, on the phone with a very stressed Mark. “No I understand that, but I thought they wouldn’t hear us… I-I didn’t mean to-“

“Oscar, it’s too late mate. You’d better just come out with it, or get your mum to, or something. People are getting really confused and they think Y/n is your sister or something,” Mark sighed

You burst out laughing, making Oscar laugh. 

“They think we’re siblings?” you laughed. “What the fuck?”

“You did call her ‘Piastri’ to be fair mate,” Mark chuckled.

“Well that is her second name!” he defended.

“Osc, just post our wedding photos or something,” you shrugged. “Or we could just let people speculate.”

“Sorry baby, but I don’t really love the idea of people thinking you’re one of my sisters,” he mocked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. 

You shrugged, grabbing a piece of toast he'd made you. “I don’t care, I’m just an insignificant engineer from RedBull.”

He rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re so helpful,” he responded sarcastically.

“Using sarcasm as a defence mechanism because you don’t want to admit you’re the breadwinner of the family? How humble and noble of you,” you laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek and squeezing his ass, making him jump. 

“I hate it when you do that,” he scoffed, batting your hand away. You knew he loved it. 

“Anyways, what’s our action plan lads?” Mark asked. 

“Up to you,” you shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“Will I post on twitter and act like it’s been common knowledge?” He suggested.

“Mate, no one would believe that. You’re known for keeping things secret and being nonchalant, just do that,” Mark laughed. 

“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. “Thanks Mark.”

“See you in Singapore,” he sighed and you grained as Oscar hung up the phone. 

“Fucking Singapore,” you groaned. 

“I know,” he nodded in agreement. “Hopefully this year I won’t be as ill.”

“Let’s fucking hope so,” you smoothed down his hair. “You need to start brushing your hair baby. It’s so awful in the mornings.”

His lips became a line and he nodded. “Humbling me isn’t always necessary,” he breathed out and wrapped his arms around you, grabbing your ass as he pressed kisses on your face and neck. “But it is appreciated,” he finished sarcastically, as you pushed him off giggling. 

“You’d appreciate it more if you took the advice,” you muttered, taking a bite of your toast. 

He shook his head, chuckling. “How’d I get so lucky?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You shrugged. “By using the dark arts?” you teased and he just laughed. 

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You walked into the Singapore paddock with Lando, deep in conversation about his upcoming birthday party. You usually weren’t photographed all that often in the paddock, and when you were, it’s usually because you were beside a driver or someone more important, mostly because you were known to ruin photos. Holding up your middle finger, threatening to flash the camera, etc, it’s what has made you a Gen Z favourite. You also refused to go up on the podium, no matter how many times Max asked. You were pretty low-key about everything, it worked well. 

“So I was definitely thinking a DJ, but what about the dress code? Should it be casual? Business casual? Black tie?” he questioned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Club attire Lando, it’s being held at a club, let people dress like they’re going to a club.”

He nodded, as if he’d never thought of that. “You’re a genius!”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you sighed as he walked off to the McLaren motorhome. 

You walked off to the RedBull motorhome, noticing more cameras on you than normal. Most people just left you alone, it wasn’t often that the camera followed you (mostly because of your aforementioned behaviour), but tonight they wouldn’t let up. 

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Even as you sat in the pitlane, chatting to Daniel, you were still being recorded. 

“Do you know what this whole thing is about?” you asked Daniel and he looked at you like you were crazy. 

“Have you not seen what Mark posted?” he asked, his eyes wide. 

“What the fuck did he post?” you asked, rushing to get your phone out. 

And there it was. Mark had announced it for you. 

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aussiegrit

tagged: oscarpiastri , reallyy/n

Liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen and 872,928 others

aussiegrit: These two crazy kids were too busy being in love (and winning races) to tell you guys that they’re married! Love you two xxx

comments

alexalbon: oh oscar’s going to go mad.

landonorris: marks time of death: now.

oscarpiastri: I WANTED TO POST FIRST

oscarpiastri: THIS SHIT IS UNFAIR. FUCK YOU MARK -> reallyy/n: someone will be sent to the stewards if you don't stop with the language...

pierregasly: it still freaks me out that they're MARRIED and 22 and 23. like wtf. -> kikagomez: 👀 -> pierregasly: ... -> user82: SHE CLOCKED YOU I FEAR

user93: I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS (no i'm not.)

user22: THIS IS SO ADORABLE WTF

sebvettel: good memories! officiating was such a blast! -> user883: SEB OFFICIATED? -> user21: it makes sense, y/n has been super close with the schumachers and seb since she was a kid because of her dads job as a mechanic in f1. he worked for ferrari from the 1980s to around 2015. -> user02: LORE DROP?????

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“That dickhead!” you cursed. “I’m going to go find Osc, I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and sent you on your way. You had to tell Oscar, he definitely didn’t know yet, right? He was going to lose it at Mark, he wanted to be the one to post, he wan-

And you walked into someone. Someone wearing papaya. Oscar wearing papaya. Oscar. 

“Did you see?!” “Did you see?!”

You both chuckled, then remembered the situation. 

“I’ll kill him for you if you want?” you offered and he just smiled. 

“It had to come out somehow,” he shrugged. “Though, those aren’t the pictures I’d pick.” 

“We all know what pictures you’d pick,” Lando interjected, winking at you. Oscar elbowed him. “I meant your wedding pictures!” “Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “Anyway, we can call him later and kill him together. Sounds good?” 

He nodded, wrapping a hand around your waist, the other landing on your ass. “Sounds great.” 

He quickly pressed his lips to yours, feeling all of the cameras on him, but still not caring. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you smiled before walking away, back to your conversation with Daniel. 

Mark was going to get murdered, that was just a fact. Mark your words.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[lovscb97]

bang chan recs (18+)

key: !!! = personal favourite, s = smut, f = fluff, a = angst

add. notes: hai :3 i know i said i would make a skz recs list but the minute i scrolled thru my likes n started saving from chan onwards, i realised i had Too many recommended fics for him (this list is like 40 fics/drabbles long....) so i decided to just make member separate posts instead!!! i tried not to have repeats of authors to give u guys a broader scope to choose from n also sorry in advance that i yapped so much abt them it's just like . these r my all time fav authors so it's expected. anyways i hope u guys love these works as much as i do bcs they r from some of my absolute fav creators n plz give them lots of love n always make sure to appreciate these ppl <3

. . .

hopelessly devoted to you — @changbunnies (!!!, s, a?)

this was literally a 11/10 fic like i am not even joking rn. i luv greaser chan n even tho he messed up, the way he makes it up to mc is so so soooo sweet. the fact that he's so gone n pussydrunk while eating her out, the sweetness in how he holds her n fucks her is all too mindnumbing n i hope u continue writing bcs u r amazing at it!! i will always come back 2 this when i need a pick me up fr

2. bad idea — @hyunsvngs (!!!, s)

JUNOOOOO my lovely baby.... i adore u n all ur work always but this fic. This Fic. it changed the trajectory of my life. like not even kidding but i was a different person when i started reading this n when i finished it i was Changed. life is worth living now, the grass is greener n the birds always sing 2 me which i firmly believe is bcs of u n this beautiful yummy fic. i fucking LOVE stepdad chan sm like there's smth so gross n nasty abt fucking ur mom's bf n even tho mc is a menace, i still loved it. never stop doing what u do!!!

3. 1095 days — @luvyeni (s)

EX INMATE CHAN RAHHHHH!! i have akshewally been following ur work for so long n i LOVE!! the way u write :3 thank u for always churning out ur work so fast n being so good at what u do. im obv a sucker for daddy kink considering i eat it up every time n it's so fucking good i love how chan cares for mc n the way he gives it to her once he's back. mark my words i will EAT this man up n this fic whenever i stumble across it

4. milk and honey — @straykeedz (s, f, a?)

user straykeedz u have to stop... ur work too addicting n perfect.. ur depiction of chan too real n crazy (/pos)... they're gonna get u... but seriously i love bffs2lovers so bad n the way u always characterise chan n make him call mc so many cute pet names melts my heart :( i've also been following U for a long time n even tho everything u write is so so soooo good, this has to be one of my faves alongside ur inexperienced chan fic. i hope u don't pressure urself too much to update n jus do what u have to do :D

5. my wife — @chrizzztopherbang (s, f)

ngl i Think this is my first fic from u cus i followed u bcs of it n that's a given honestly cus newly turned husband chan?? eating his wife out metres away from his friends n family on the other side of the door n fucking her within an inch of her life right after they're pronounced husband n wife?? i love it i loved their bickering over who's a pervert n i just love the idea of mc finally calling the love of her life hers forever. i hope they r always happy alongside u

6. sweet nothing — @frenchkisstheabyss (!!!, s, f, a)

this fic actually changed me as a person too not even kidding. i EAT UP exes to lovers n the portrayal of it was so good here bcs there's so much unspoken tension between the two n then chan begging mc to not leave again n her promising she won't bcs all she wants to do is be his at last?? AWOOGAAAAA i need him so bad it's jinja michin (i am so cringe sorry..) ANYWAYS!! i hope u know tattoo artist + ex bangchan is a crazy combo n that the makeup sex was HOT HOT HOT!!! plz keep writing i adore u <3

7. pick you up — @moonchild9350 (!!!, s)

see idk if this is tmi but sex where ure being picked up n fucked is downright nasty in the best possible way n i fear i need to get railed like that by chan so u writing abt is literally u making my fantasies come true. this fic was a delicious mix of cute w chan telling mc he only works out so he can pick her up (based off of his bbl texts obv) n hot w him Actually fucking her within an inch of her life. i love all ur work tee bee eich so keep doing what ur doing!!!

8. spring has sprung — @cbini (!!!, f, s)

miss ems where do i even begin with u.. (u probably Do Not Know me but i know u smirk emoji. soz that was weird erm but ya i am the binnie anon who said u deserve changbin LOLZ) this fic was the perfect mix of cuteness w raw passionate fucking i love the idea of chan getting hard bcs ur dressed so preciously in a pretty dress i think it's rooted somewhere in his slight corruption kink which comes out def when u r all dolled up for him. anyways u never miss n i hope u know that <3

9. walking in on rooomate!chan / pt. 2 — @kacciidubs (!!!, s, f)

going 2 be very honest here i do not even remember what happened in part 1 bcs part 2 of this roommate chan fic actually blew my mind away like Seriously user kacciidubs u r insane!!! all ur work never misses n i am always so eager whenever u post bcs i've been following u n loving everything u put out for so long. ofc ur chan work is my favourite as u can tell but this fic... this fic was crazy the switch between daddy n sir oh my god what if i cream my pants rn. plz never stop writing <3

10. last nerve / pt. 2 — @cb97percent (!!!, s)

user cb97percent let me just preface this by saying whatever u write is INSANE. like i already knew u were a great writer but this fic? changed me as a person not even joking rn. the way mc n chan banter n how chan's an asshole who is pissed off how he can't get it up anymore unless he fucks mc is so funny n how the raw passion between them results in the best sex Ever. n ofc the ending w minho took me out n Yea i just . i have no words plz never stop writing to u as well

11. hush — @petrichor-han (s)

sucker for exhibitionism n sucker for chan so what better way to comemorate this occasion than by reading abt it? this entire scenario was so hot like honestly i can totally imagine chan's bitchass doing this bcs he's so cheeky in nature he would lose himself from the thrill of almost getting caught. u r amazing as always thank u for churning out so much content for kinktober may god or whoever u believe in bless u with eternal inspiration

12. daddy!chan helping you shave — @hyunjins-orange-slice-too (!!!, s, f)

i sent u an ask already talking abt how much i love u n everything u write but THIS. this made me weak in the knees bcs i have imagined this very scenario so many times if im being brutally honest. there's smth so sweet n domestic abt the act of helping ur partner shave n with daddy chan in the mix? kill me now plz. the way he asks if he can play w mc once he's done n how he sternly instructs her to be safe like omgkjdfjhjdfgjhhjg need him in ways that give the pits of hell a run for its money w how hot n nasty im abt to be fr

13. one last time — @baby-yongbok (!!!, s, a?)

like i said, i am a sucker for the exes to lovers pipeline alongside husband chan so while this isn't Either of those things entirely it still scratches the itch in my brain very very well. the way mc n chan exchange snarky remarks n how chan only says he's satisfied once they're done fucking OHHHH MYYYYY GODDDD... need this man carnally like i would dump him just so he can fuck me the way he fucked mc in this fr (that is a lie we r locked in 4 life). u r brilliant as always i always look forward to ur work so next time u r questioning if this is worth it just know lovscb97 on tumblr has ur back fr

14. chan ask drabble #1 — @skzms (s)

maymay.. my eternal luvr... the genius behind smrsmf minsung... ofc u were bound to eat this up n end up on this list. idgaf if it's just an ask answer or drabble bcs the way u write is so . so Elegant. i love how u always use ur words to describe the emotion lingering between ppl in love n the way u do it here w chan n mc, the way he reassures her afterwards n how he promises her he'll give her everything later while fucking his fingers into her ohhhh mannnn.. i can just imagine him in his suit thank u for bringing the vision to life fr

15. you're right, baby — @chlorinecake (s, f)

soft dom chan who is ur fiancé fucking u n claiming u bcs he's a lil pouty that u forgot ur ring?? n then going so far to say he'll cum in u to make sure everyone knows who u belong to?? RAHHHHHH HE NEEDS ME!!! this was written so deliciously i loved the way mc n chan cared for each other n also the ending was so cute LOLZ hope they r happy in every universe n that their wedding goes great fr u r an awesome writer user chlorinecake

16. silence — @valkyriexo (s, a)

make up sex make up sex make up sex!!! i love it so good even tho it hurts so bad when mc realises chan forgot to show up :( but the fact that he makes it up to her by begging her to not leave him n making her cum as many times on his tongue as possible for her to forgive him?? INSANITY!! the longing in their eyes n words n actions from how much they've missed e/o when he finally touches mc n oh man.. u ate this up

17. corruption — @goquokka00 (s)

STEPBRO CHAN RAHHHHH i am a sucker for him (in more ways than one iygwim eheheh.. soz) i loved the sinister blackmail u added into the story n how he fucked mc bcs of her bad grades by making up some shit excuse abt learning how to please someone like y/n u can't be this dense girl!!! (i'd do it too if he asked me #Tbh) ANYWAYS. idk how this didn't have more notes bcs it was hot asfk i hope u keep writing more stuff to come :3

18. chef's kiss — @hyuniepies (s, f)

the tenderness of mc n chan's love mixed w the nasty dirty talk ohhhh hyuniepies u r a GENIUS!! this is exactly how i imagine domestic life w chan would be like; him coming back home to u cooking a dinner n then fucking u absolutely silly on the countertop bcs he just can't wait after getting a look at ur figure n bcs he's missed u so much. i too would be obsessed w bangchan if (read: when) he becomes my husband teehee

19. chan ask drabble #2 — @miupow (!!!, s)

USER MIUPOW UR FUCKING BRAIN!! HOW DO U CARRY SUCH A HUGE BRAIN IN UR HEAD!!! DOES UR BACK NOT HURT FROM HOLDING UP THE DELICIOUS IDEAS OF BCHAN SIZE KINK!!! like i told u yst i love ur writing n i love U so bad. u always eat w every request or idea u come up with n i absolutely adore that for u i hope u truly never stop writing bcs u have a serious gift n i hope ppl keep telling u that constantly bcs i sure as hell will <3

20. pretty mouth of yours — @jeongin-lvr (s, f)

need to give chan head like . Yesterday. but OHHHH MEINNNN GOTTTT fiancé channie w mc sucking him off so pretty u know exactly what im a sucker for u dont u user jeongin-lvr? ur writing is tooooooo good i swear i have read so much of ur work n granted this is one of my fave chan works from u icl i love the jeongin ones even more but i'll add those to my innie recs list later :3 ANYWAYS!! plz never stop writing u r awesomesauce (cringe.) n i love u hope u r having a great day today

21. daddy issues — @hwan-g (!!!, s, a)

HELLO THIS FUCKING FICCCCC... it is so good so delicious so fucking beautifully written that it brought tears to my eyes no joke. i still remember the first time i stumbled across it n like wow.. i think i dmed u on my side reading account too to express how much i liked it bcs i rly Did like it truly was a piece of art n sometimes i can't believe ppl like u just write stuff like this for free?? u should be getting paid good money bcs all ur work ALWAYS eats <3

22. closing the distance / pt. 2 — @thefantasyden (s, f)

ik long distance relationships r tough n it's awful when u can't spend time w each other physically or touch either but hear me out . it would Not suck w chan bcs he'd do everything for u the way he does everything for mc in this fic. from how he shows up n is too nervy to kiss her to them finally touching each other for the first time n then she moves back to him?? ohhhh man i love love n i love U for making this ur work always eats n trust that i'll always come back to this fic when i need to rmb how much i love chan

23. riding chan's thigh/knees — @faeryacha (!!!, s, f)

i love daddy chan so bad im sorry im not even gonna hide it anymore n i love the way he was written here too, from the way he asks if mc wants to play to the way he has her fuck herself on him to get herself off like i'm not even into little space like that but the minute he refers to himself as daddy n speaks to me all soft n protective im on my knees on the floor ready to suck him off like my life depends on it. u ate so bad w this plz continue doing more amazing work in the future!!!

24. steamy desires — @notsoangels (s)

shower sex w chan mngnghfhghgh.. need him so bad id let him fuck me anywhere as he pleases but in the shower?? w the hot water cascading over us w just us in our little world like omgomgomg NEED. i love the simplicity in ur writing too n how it paints a picture in my mind bcs i can vividly imagine all of this happening like him making u squirt on his cock n then rinsing u off so u can spend time wrapped up with each other on the bed like plz. One chance plz.

25. the fuckboy next door — @seospicybin (!!!, s, a)

miss seospicybin.. how do u always do it? how do u always come out w the most mindbreaking jawdropping amazing insane array of fics without even breaking a sweat like hello? this series is so fucking good from the smut to the angst that hurts so good. i love the development of the plot n that chan tries So hard to be true to mc so he can be w her n the way she tells him to do it for himself like :( they deserve each other sm i am very much looking forward to part 4!!!

26. pussydrunk chan — @aeliuss (s, f)

mngngngngjghgh i love pussydrunk chan so bad n i love the idea of him being so infatuated w mc that he just Had to drag her away n eat her out. i also love that he's there to support her in the end n how turned on he gets from her just being herself like that is a real man!!! n the way it's so reflective of how chan is irl too? i feel like this is how exactly how he'd behave— needy but so so soo in love with u too

27. kitty — @bandgie (!!!, s, f)

no joke this fic made my pussy throb. i need him 2 do this to him so bad bcs i need Him so bad. the way u wrote the subspace drop n how immersed mc was in her role n the way chan guides her thru everything n then the aftermath of it like hngnngnfgddjghjgh... i always have loved ur writing but this particular piece rly got to me along w ur kinktober series i hope u continue to do writing bcs u seriously so so SO good at it fr!!

28. angel eyes — @temptaetions (!!!, s, a)

this fic. this fucking FIC. bro this is actual evidence of the fact that literary geniuses exist bcs the way u wrote so beautifully not just the actual smut but the whole storyline?? u r a godsend fr like u should be getting paid to put out work of this degree. not only r u a PHENOMENAL writer but i hope u never stop writing bcs this was actually so so lovely n amazing to read i wish i could revisit the first time i read this T_T

29. just (fucking) friends? — @snowyquokka (s)

HELLOOOO i love possessive fwb chan almost as much as i love ur writing!! the way he's so annoyed at how she said they're just friends so he takes out his anger on her but then at the same time asks her what her color is to make sure she's still okay WOWZAAAA.. need him Bad. n in the end when they both agree they don't wanna be just friends like chan.. i don't want 2 be just friends either.. come 2 me plz... anyways very yummy work fr

30. american whiskey — @straywrds (!!!, s, a)

this fic... how do i even begin w this fic... the way u write is actually so . so otherwordly yk? u rly pour all ur passion into ur writing n the way u describe everything like every emotion every detail every feeling it's so raw n real that it touches my heart. i can Feel what each of the characters go thru n the SMUT... the smut is so so delicious ofc. i've read ur other work n u r such a good writer plz keep going with what u do i will always support u fr

31. free use w/ soft dom chris — @hwanghyunjinenthusiast (s, f)

the dirty talk in this.. hngnngkgjjdgjjh. i need free use w daddy!chan just as bad as i need to reread this fic ten times until it's ingrained in my brain n any telepath w the ability to read minds out there is disgusted by how many times i think abt it (idk what this analogy was i am sorry). the way he eats mc out n the way he fucks her omgfkjdgjhjhgjh NEED HIM RAHHHHH u did so well w this

32. play tight / pt. 4  — @roseykat (s, a)

squirting w chan squirting w chan SQUIRTING!! W CHAN!!! the way he makes mc do it once n then immediately goes "yea i need to feel that on my dick" n fucks her within an inch of her life like ohmygodjkdjhsfghj i did eat up the angst too but the way u wrote them fuckinig was so nasty n delicious I ENJOYED IT SM!! this entire series is such a good read even tho it's not chan centered idk if there r more parts to it but if there r plz link me to them!!

33. dream you — @charmercharm3r (s, f)

ok i know we r discussing smut n all n trust that i will get to that but THIS!! this was so cute n precious ohemgee the way he loves mc n takes care of her n banters w her at the start so lovingly is so so precious to me i want him so bad :( the smut was also very delicious w chan switching to hard dom mode n making mc suck him off before ravishing her like oh my god PLZZZZ FUCK ME PLZPLZPLZ u did so well on this plz continue writing more for me at the least <3

34. brat-taming w/ chan — @blurboki (s)

this damn drabble was so.. hngngjfjghjhdgjh. i want 2 be a brat to chan so bad n act out just so he'll snap n put me into my place which is exactly what u wrote n i LOVED IT!!! it's so short n simple (not a bad thing at all btw) yet it's so powerful too? i love the characterisation of chan cus i firmly believe this is how he'd act in bed w a fussy bratty s/o like wow. Just wow. i love u and ur delicious mind i hope u r having a great day just for this :3

35. tell me all about it.. — @chnsbm (s, f)

hngnfjhdfsjghgjh the idea of chan making u forget all about ur stress n playing with u to help u sleep is so gfjfjjjffjhgjhjh HOT!!! the way he lovingly reassures mc like u don't need to worry abt it now just let me take care of u n how he's such a fuckin TEASE!! w the way he's touching her is so so hot u ate w this idea n i will forever die on the hill that this is really smth chan would do— tease u n make u talk while he's doing ungodly things to u just to see u stutter over ur words

36. be that guy — @daizymax (!!!, s, a)

i have said it once i have said it twice n i will say it one more time bcs i don't care how many times i need to reiterate it needs to be said: EXES TO LOVERS W CHAN IS TOP TIER!!! the smut in this was so delicious but the LONGING chan had for mc.. the way he felt the twinge in his chest for letting her go oh man.. i'd take him back if he so even looked at me but maybe im just crazy. BUT ANYWAYS!! this is possibly one of the hottest chan smuts there ever is so thank U for this delicious gift fr

37. more than just friends — @kwanisms (!!!, s, f)

werewolf chan my luvr... my big strong baby who will knock me up w his knot n fuck me until the sun rises RAHHHHHHHH!!! this was so so SOOOOO good n yummy like from the way he pinned mc to the wall to the way he ordered her around n how his self restraint snapped the moment she called him daddy like why's that so Me behaviour HELPPPP anyways user kwanisms u fucking ATE w this i hope ur pillow is cold every night u go to sleep <3

38. connected — @j-0ne25 (s, f, a)

let me just start this by saying I FUCKING LOVE U USER J-0NE25!!! ur interactive stories esp megaverse r so fucking good how r u so bigbrained my dumbass could never like actually JSDHJFJHGJH. anyways i rmb reading this very vividly n oh boy.. "baby patience, or do you need me to teach you a lesson?" Brother my panties r drenched n off dont even start w me rn. anyways this was so so delicious plz never stop writing i beg u

39. chan ask drabble #3 — @hyungszn (!!!, s, f)

saved the best for last but CLOVER.. (u dk me but i am ur biggest fan hai :3) "your mouth is saying no but your body is telling me a different story, mrs. bang." GRRRHJDJSDFJHKJSFKJSFKJGJ... I NEED HIM SOO FUCKING BAD!!! the way they banter even while having nasty sex n just love each other so bad n hello my breeding kink went feral w this. when mc asked him to not eat his cum out of her pussy n he was like "and why is that?" cus he wanted to hear her say it GRAHHHHH I WILL EAT HIM!!! on a side note, u r so so soooo amazing i have been reading ur work for so long i think since american pie n i can safely say u r one of the best skzblr writers i have ever seen along w so many other ppl like plz keep up the good work bcs i will ALWAYS support u for it !!!

. . .

add notes: thank u very much to all these amazing writers fr. if ur work wasn't featured here now do not fret!! i probably (most definitely knowing my dumbass) just missed it cus i didn't scroll Very far down in my likes (there's like 2k+....) so trust that u will most likely end up on the next recs list!! i love u all very much regardless if u r here or not n as always a very big thank u once more for all ur amazing hard work, u r all doing so well n i hope u guys know that <3

[totalswag]

hey i love your work so much and if it’s not to much go ask i was wondering if you could do a fic where fem!reader is part of the cast on obx and she is really close friends with drew where they are flirting and what not and everyone ships them and they are at an interview with the rest of the cast and that gets brought up? sorry if that doesn’t make sense! if you don’t have time it’s completely

behind the scenes ⎯ RAFE CAMERON

authors note thank you so much lovie!! i'm open to take requests and write them. i've thought of this concept before and all i gotta say is thank you for requesting this because I NEED THIS!! super sorry for not posting for a small while, there were stuff i needed to take care of first.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary having a close relationship with drew that send hints to fans they like each other based on the way they flirt with each other.

warning(s) flirting, shipping, co-stars secretly like each other?

Being apart of the Outer Banks cast has been such a blessing. You've created relationships with people you consider family now and who you can count on no matter what the circumstances are. Being on set for weeks on end filming scenes and making memories is what you look forward to most.

You grew closer with Drew Starkey because your characters are dating in the show and always next together on set too. Drew has become someone that you consider very important in your life.

You joined the Outer Banks cast during the second season. Drew appeared in a couple appearances near the end of the season, implying that he is interested in someone— love interest. You recall fans going nuts trying to figure out if this will continue. Fast forward two seasons, and your characters are together.

After a long day of filming, the cast decided to gather for dinner at a local beachside restaurant. The atmosphere was vibrant, with laughter and the sound of waves breaking on the shore. You and Drew were seated next to each other, much to the joy of your cast members, who were closely watching your interaction with Drew.

"Drew, look at the camera," you softly sang, your phone in your hand on the table, Drew in the frame of the video— he was speaking to Rudy across the table. He gives you a look that shows he knows you are heard before looking down at your phone and waving.

"Oh! "Hello there," he smiles even more when he sees himself on the screen—you giggle at the end of the video before sharing it to your Instagram story. 

"You posted it on your story?" he inquires, his body language focused solely on you. "I obviously had to; it was cute," you said as you placed your phone on the table next to your wallet. You suddenly felt nervous in front of Drew.

He raises his eyebrows in satisfaction. "Cute, huh?" He smirks and smiles, patting your thigh.

Fans began to ship you and Drew together as your relationship grew. The chemistry between you two is clearly obvious on and off screen, which is why you perform scenarios so well. Fans go berserk every time you post something on social media about Drew.

You two flirt without even realizing it at times. You will compliment each other as if you were a relationship, but this is nothing out of the norm for you two. Even your cast members have boarded the train and made a few comments about when you'll finish up together. 

You can't lie, he's an attractive young man. There's no doubt about that.

Few hours after you posted on your story, fans have been discussing the video you shared in which Drew looks at you as if you are the most beautiful person on the planet and no one else is present.

Today, you and the cast will be doing interviews all day to promote Season four. For the first portion, everyone will sit in the same room as the interviewer, but thereafter everyone will be separated.

"Alright, everyone," said the interviewer, "we've got some fun questions from fans today, and they're dying to know more about the dynamic between some of our favorite cast members."

Everyone said "Oooo," anxious to see what else the interviewer would say.

"Let's start with a fan favorite," the interviewer added, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "There's been a lot of talk about the chemistry between you two." She pointed to Drew and you. "Care to share any insights on that?"

Your stomach dropped.

The question hung in the air, drawing a chorus of “Oohs” and playful nudges from the cast. You felt your cheeks heat up as you exchanged a glance with Drew. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips

"Well," Drew said, leaning in slightly. "Y/N and I have always been close. We simply clicked, you know?"

"Really?" the interviewer asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Because the way you two flirt on and off set is pretty convincing."

You laughed and shook your head. "We simply have fun with it. Drew is a terrific person, and we like joking around. "It keeps things moving on set."

"From our first reading together, I knew she was going to be a great co star of mine and we've formed an amazing bond throughout the years" Drew says with his hands. In gratitude, you give him a pat on the back.

Your cast mates' eyes are constantly drawn to you and Drew since they can tell you have mutual feelings for each other. Granted, you two have scenes together all the time and have developed a strong bond. However, you consider being more than friends with him.

The interview continued on with more questions popping up that were exciting to answer. In the back of your mind you were thinking about the question about Drew and you— do you want more?

Later that evening, you and Drew returned to your apartment and relaxed in your living room. The city lights outside your window gave a soft glow across the room, and the steady hum of the air conditioner broke the silence. You'd both changed into more comfortable clothes, eager to relax after a long day.

"Today was something, huh?" Drew murmured, breaking the silence as he sprawled down on your couch, seemingly at peace.

"Yeah, it was," you said, sitting next to him. "They really went all in on the whole shipping thing."

Drew chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your heart race. "Yes, they did. "Makes you think, doesn't it?"

He sat up, his face instantly serious. "About Us. I mean, everybody sees it. Hell, we see it, don't we?

Your breath became locked in your throat. The playful flirtation, the lingering touches, the way your heart raced whenever he was close—it all hinted at something more than friendship. However, hearing him say it aloud was another. It made it real.

"I suppose we do," you confessed gently.

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