#pulled this image from the confirmation post

[thelostcanyon]

Last month, I was in an office building in Tucson. As is the case with many of these local complexes, the walls of the corridors displayed large framed photographs featuring Arizona nature and scenery. One that caught my eye was a large and striking photo of a desert scene with a silhouetted Ocotillo in the foreground. The picture bore no caption nor any signature.

This is a detail from the Ocotillo photo that I encountered by chance. It is part of a much larger image by a photographer unknown to me, and for that reason I will not present the entire work without their permission nor would I infringe on their copyright. 

Now, one Ocotillo looks pretty much like any other Ocotillo, yet the one in the photo seemed familiar somehow. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my photos and, sure enough, located some photos with the same exact individual plant as the one in the framed office photograph. Incredibly, this unknown photographer had taken a photo of the same Ocotillo that I had taken, and now I had fortuitously discovered this chance occurrence many years after the fact.

Needless to say, I was astounded to have stumbled upon such an improbable event. The odds are vanishingly small that I would encounter, let alone recognize, such a coincidence given that Ocotillos surely number in the hundreds of thousands just in the immediate area around Tucson, and many millions across their vast range.

Once I arrived back home, I was able to study the two photos more closely and confirm my original conclusion. This further examination, however, led me to an even more amazing realization: the development and relative positions of the flowers indicate the two photos were not only of the same plant, but also were probably were both shot on or around the very same day: March 24, 2017. With this revelation, it seemed that the odds against this coincidence went from highly unlikely to infinitesimally remote.

One final twist to the story: my photo of this Ocotillo was posted here on Lost Canyon back in 2018. Out of the thousands of posts on this blog, it is the very first one.

[do-you-know-this-adhd-character]

Do you know this (canon) ADHD

Proof: Confirmed on the creator's blog.

[m0thkiller]

Merkava driver whose chronically online with the punisher mask has gone totally silent after the resistance popped a few tanks going into Gaza

[secondbeatsongs]

Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

 now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)

[ai-art-thieves]

It's Time To Investigate SevenArt.ai

sevenart.ai is a website that uses ai to generate images.

Except, that's not all it can do.

It can also overlay ai filters onto images to create the illusion that the algorithm created these images.

And its primary image source is Tumblr.

It scrapes through the site for recent images that are at least 10 days old and has some notes attached to it, as well as copying the tags to make the unsuspecting user think that the post was from a genuine user.

No image is safe. Art, photography, screenshots, you name it.

Initially I thought that these are bots that just repost images from their site as well as bastardizations of pictures across tumblr, until a user by the name of @nataliedecorsair discovered that these "bots" can also block users and restrict replies.

Not only that, but these bots do not procreate and multiply like most bots do. Or at least, they have.

The following are the list of bots that have been found on this very site. Brace yourself. It's gonna be a long one:

@giannaaziz1998blog

@kennedyvietor1978blog

@nikb0mh6bl

@z4uu8shm37

@xguniedhmn

@katherinrubino1958blog

@3neonnightlifenostalgiablog

@cyberneticcreations58blog

@neomasteinbrink1971blog

@etharetherford1958blog

@punxajfqz1

@camicranfill1967blog

@1stellarluminousechoblog

@whwsd1wrof

@bnlvi0rsmj

@steampunkstarshipsafari90blog

@surrealistictechtales17blog

@2steampunksavvysiren37blog

@krispycrowntree

@voucwjryey

@luciaaleem1961blog

@qcmpdwv9ts

@2mplexltw6

@sz1uwxthzi

@laurenesmock1972blog

@rosalinetritsch1992blog

@chereesteinkirchner1950blog

@malindamadaras1996blog

@1cyberneticdreamscapehubblog

@neomasteinbrink1971blog

@neonfuturecityblog

@olindagunner1986blog

@neonnomadnirvanablog

@digitalcyborgquestblog

@freespiritfusionblog

@piacarriveau1990blog

@3technoartisticvisionsblog

@wanderlustwineblissblog

@oyqjfwb9nz

@maryannamarkus1983blog

@lashelldowhower2000blog

@ovibigrqrw

@3neonnightlifenostalgiablog

@ywldujyr6b

@giannaaziz1998blog

@yudacquel1961blog

@neotechcreationsblog

@wildernesswonderquest87blog

@cybertroncosmicflow93blog

@emeldaplessner1996blog

@neuralnetworkgallery78blog

@dunstanrohrich1957blog

@juanitazunino1965blog

@natoshaereaux1970blog

@aienhancedaestheticsblog

@techtrendytreks48blog

@cgvlrktikf

@digitaldimensiondioramablog

@pixelpaintedpanorama91blog

@futuristiccowboyshark

@digitaldreamscapevisionsblog

@janishoppin1950blog

The oldest ones have been created in March, started scraping in June/July, and later additions to the family have been created in July.

So, I have come to the conclusion that these accounts might be run by a combination of bot and human. Cyborg, if you will.

But it still doesn't answer my main question:

Who is running the whole operation?

The site itself gave us zero answers to work with.

No copyright, no link to the engine where the site is being used on, except for the sign in thingy (which I did.)

I gave the site a fake email and a shitty password.

Turns out it doesn't function like most sites that ask for an email and password.

Didn't check the burner email, the password isn't fully dotted and available for the whole world to see, and, and this is the important thing...

My browser didn't detect that this was an email and password thingy.

And there was no log off feature.

This could mean two things.

Either we have a site that doesn't have a functioning email and password database, or that we have a bunch of gullible people throwing their email and password in for people to potentially steal.

I can't confirm or deny these facts, because, again, the site has little to work with.

The code? Generic as all hell.

Tried searching for more information about this site, like the server it's on, or who owned the site, or something. ANYTHING.

Multiple sites pulled me in different directions. One site said it originates in Iceland. Others say its in California or Canada.

Luckily, the server it used was the same. Its powered by Cloudflare.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do with any of this information.

If you have any further information about this site, let me know.

Until there is a clear answer, we need to keep doing what we are doing.

Spread the word and report about these cretins.

If they want attention, then they are gonna get the worst attention.

[k0mmari]

Sword Spirit AU - Xiu Ya (pt.1)

Hello hello! This is going to be a very very casual AU with the first half being dedicated to Xiu Ya(jiuyuan) and the other Xin Mo(bingyuan), so sit tight, relax, and maybe put on some Soul Eater in the background, because this is basically it.

This post is going to be VERY LONG, so sorry in advance ^^;;

It's finally time for Shen Jiu to go to Wan Jian Peak and get his spiritual sword, one of the final steps for his Shizun to finally, oficially, name him Head Disciple, even if the rest of Qing Jing will most likely fight Shizun in her decision.

It would be no surprise, ever since SJ stepped foot there, rumors have been spreading about him, usually about how he only got in so late due to Yue Qi's influence, or how he paid his way in as a young master (as if the rest of the disciples hadn't done exactly that) and thinks he's better than everyone, or how he never fights fair and uses underhanded methods during spars. All rumors don't hold a drop of truth in them of course, but SJ has better things to do than trying to clean his image to a bunch of spoiled brats.

It's not like any of them would believe him, anyways.

In all honesty, he'd rather not be Head Disciple at all, but this is the best way at getting to a secure enough spot that he won't have to worry as much about his safety, even if he will be forced to look after a bunch of children he couldn't care less about. Anyways, SJ's only hope now for something to go marginally right his way is for him to get a good sword.

He gets to the sword wall and, as luck would have it, he feels a pull, calling him to a beautiful sword: elegant, refined and everything SJ desperately hopes he can be.

SJ carefully pulls the sword out of the wall and immediatelly he can feel a connection forming, his slugish qi rushing into the blade and in exchange, a flash of bright, almost refreshing qi runs through him. For a moment his muscles relax as he feels the sword gently humming in his hand.

He walks away from the wall, a few of the other disciples that also had come to retrieve their spiritual sword already holding their own blades, but the only person that SJ cares to show his own sword stands a bit further away. His ever aloof Shizun and... Yue Qi, who was not invited, but decided to come anyways. Great.

YQ wastes no time in praising his sword and how it's a perfect fit for 'Xiao-Jiu' (which only earns him a nasty side-eye), but SJ controls his urge to bite the other boy and focuses on his Shizun. She merely send the sword a glance, unimpressed, and instead says "Disciple Shen has now a spiritual blade of his own. He will get to know his blade, which will aid him with his... cultivation problems, but also raise his cultivation to new heights."

SJ grinds his teeth, not wanting to be reminded about his shitty cultivation, but thankfully, Shizun doesn't dwell on the topic. "When Disciple Shen fully becomes one with his sword, the blade will reward him and show it's true self. It is only then that Disciple Shen will become a truly honorable cultivator."

True... Self? With a subtle glance, SJ confirms even YQ looks a bit surprised, apparently also never haven heard about a swords 'true self', but Shizun doesn't ellaborate any further on it, instead moving on as if she hadn't said anything special, and turning to head back to Qing Jing, uncaring if any other disciples weren't done getting their swords yet.

She unsheathes her own spiritual sword, intending on letting her disciples walk all the way back, but before setting off, she turns towards SJ. "Disciple Shen, the name of your sword."

SJ huffs but brings his sword closer, and reads the engraving on the base of the blade. "...Xiu Ya."

Just as SJ finishes reading the name out loud, the sword starts violently vibrating, catching SJ and his Shizun off guard, and it flings itself off of SJ's hands, flying a short distance before it stabbed the ground.

SJ's hands are left hanging in the air where he once held the sword, frozen stiff in his shock. It certainly doesn't help that is Shizun, who is never phased and now looks visibly shocked, mutters to herself: "I... didn't know a sword could do that."

.........Great.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week after the whole... situation on Wan Jian, SJ is now convinced his spiritual sword hates him.

It just... doesn't do anything he wants it to do! If his Shizun orders him to spar with another disciple with it, Xiu Ya could randomly just fling itself out of his hand, or physically pull him in another direction when he is speaking with another disciple, and no matter how Shizun instructs him to send his qi to the blade, to 'connect' with it, Xiu Ya refuses to cooperate, one day even straight up denying his qi.

Unbeknownst to SJ, his sword is no longer a regular spiritual blade, and actually a host for a recently deceased Shen Yuan, who woke up from his sleep to his new owner pulling him out of the wall and promptly panicked when he heard his name be declared Xiu Ya, which could only mean his new owner was none other than the scum villain himself, SQQ.

It was then and there that SY decided it would be now his life's mission to stop any evil wrongdoings a teenage SQQ must get up to. (It translated to him flinging himself out of SJ's hand any time he felt himself getting too close to another disciple's skin, or vibrating angrily when SJ started to insult someone.)

SJ takes Xiu Ya to his Shizun, and even to Wan Jian's Peak Lord, to check if there's something wrong with his sword, or if he had done soemthing wrong, but both reassure him that the sword is fine, and it must be testing him, urging him to 'clear his heart' to better connect with it.

SJ, feeling like his chance at being Head Disciple is slipping through his fingers the longer he can't get a hold of his own sword, it's supposed to obey him, tends more often than not to... argue with it. It, of course, only creates more rumours about him and his 'cursed sword', but he doesn't have time for this, and he won't let a piece of metal ruin his chances at rising up the ranks.

Everything starts to change one fateful day where everything just seems to go wrong all at once for SJ: His Shizun goes away in a three-day long mission, which leaves him the responsability to look after the peak, and none of the other disciples are willing to make it easy for him, constantly getting in his way, purposefully waisting his time and straight up insulting him to his face.

Yue Qi even tries to grace SJ with his presence, but it takes him no longer than 5 minutes before he manages to say the wrong thing, and it takes even less for it to snowball into SJ expelling him from the peak unless the whole Sect is set on fire. It gets so bad even SY, usually happy to mostly daydream where he sits sheathed at SJ's waist, takes note of it, and gets a bit concerned for the boy.

SY already notices SJ's spiritual veins where all sorts of messed up, but it only becomes relevant when he notices his qi heading straight towards a qi deviation, and no matter how SY tries to vibrate and wiggle, it only seems to upset SJ even further and by the end of the day, as SY suspected, SJ hides away at the bamboo house and falls to the floor, gasping through a qi deviation.

He'd usually just tough his qi deviations out, or pass them at the Warm Red Pavillion, but now he isn't even afforded the mercy of being to suffer alone, as some disciple might come looking for his 'help', and he'd be damned if someone snitched on him to Shizun for not doing his duty as (unnoficial) Head Disciple.

SY, as much as he doesn't really like SJ, for once understands SJ's constant state of frustration when the moment the Peak Lord leaves, his peers treat him like this, and no matter how shitty SJ is- or, rather, may become in the future, SY can't stand being idle as he watches the boy shaking on the floor, gasping in pain.

It's a bit awkward but SY manages to make himself float over towards SJ's trembling body, trying his best to project his own energy outward and reach towards SJ. It's there for only a second, but SY manages to feel a similar connection to when SJ first picked him up, and SY can feel, in a weird flash, the mix of emotions swirling in SJ's soul: his anger, his frustration, but most importantly his deeply rooted sadness, and fear.

It's not really an explanation for why SJ acts the way he does, but SY can understand when a child lashes out in fear when that's all they know. He reaches into SJ's qi, carefully patting it down and soothing it until SJ finally stops trembling and slumps onto the ground, knocked out.

Maybe... Maybe Shen Yuan was in the wrong, and Shen Jiu deserves a second chance.

[sc3ptre]

Hiii! I love your works so much — they’re so amazingly written. I was wondering if I can request you do the Hot Ones interview for Drew Starkey with the Outer Banks cast — only if you want to!

I hope you have a great day!!

‘Big news for the unemployed’ | Hot ones versus

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I started my little (a casual 11h first day shift) side/summer student job a few days ago. I filed a complaint to HR and had a screaming match with my supervisor the same night. I have never longed for unemployment the way I do now.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.5k

When Drew spun the bottle, it landed squarely on Maddie, signaling that your team would kick off the first round.

“As the only kook here” Drew began, a grin playing on his lips as he read from the card, “I’m pitting pogue against pogue in a three on three challenge. Lose a game or fail to answer a question and your entire team must eat a deathwing. However, if you pass my test, then I will suffer the wrath of the last dab” 

He glanced up and smiled at Maddie “Madelyn, the bottle landed on you, so your team will answer the question first”

You sat closest to Drew, your legs intertwined beneath the table with his, a comforting reminder of what the two of you had.

“Alright, Y/n” Drew said, nodding toward you.

“Shoot,” you replied confidently.

“Outer Banks has hooked viewers for four seasons with its countless twists and turns,” Drew continued, eyes twinkling “However, name one storyline you think should've never made it out of the writers’ room”

The entire cast gasped dramatically.

“Is this your way of trying to get me fired?” you joked, laughter bubbling through the group.

Jonathan turned to you, a grin on his face “Do you want to eat that wing?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. You shook your head rapidly.

“Oh I know!” you said with a confident tone “Sarah getting shot where she did and literally being able to sprint the next morning. Like, give my girl a break” 

“That’s why I love you!” Madelyn shouted, laughter rippling around the room.

“That’s a solid one,” Chase agreed, nodding appreciatively.

Meanwhile, Drew slipped off his rings, mentally preparing to take on the dreaded deathwing. 

“Oh, now I feel bad” you murmured, worry flickering in your chest.

“You worry too much about him,” Jonathan said with a smile. “He’ll be alright.”

Chase chuckled, watching Drew carefully pull apart the wing. “Oh you’re shaking” 

Then Drew took his first confident bite, a big one, causing you to gasp.

“Just relax,” Madison advised Drew “Oh my god. Big bite!” 

“Baby, no!” you whispered, soon covering your mouth, hoping the mic hadn’t caught that. “He doesn’t have to eat the whole thing, does he?” you asked, turning to the producers.

“Yes, he does. Yes, he does,” Jonathan repeated with a smirk.

“It’s okay baby. I want to” Drew nodded and assured mouth full, the pet name barely audible.

“He does.” Jonathan assured further “He’ll want me to do it and i’d respect that”

Once Drew finished, the chewing looked agonizing. His fist covered his mouth as he fought through it, and you looked at him with concern while the rest laughed and cheered him on.

“It’s getting hot” he coughed, face warming up but proud.

By the time round three rolled around, Drew picked up the next card with a dramatic flair, eyes scanning the words before he read aloud.

“After five years of long shoot days in remote locations, our cast has become like a family. So now, it’s time to see how well you know your co-stars in the game of ‘Who posted it’, you’ll be shown a series of Instagram photos and must correctly identify whose account it is from. The losing team must eat a death wing”

Groans and nervous laughter erupted around the table as the challenge began. Despite a strong start, your team stumbled through the last few images. The final buzzer sounded and the opposing team cheered as the loss was confirmed.

You let out a dramatic sigh, then confidently picked up one of the fiery wings from the tray. 

“I’m usually really good with spice,” you said, squinting at it skeptically, “but why do I feel like this is not gonna go well for me?”

“No, no, no, you got this ba–” Drew began, but was cut off by Jonathn, who grinned and shouted  “Eat that wing baby!” taking Drew’s words right out of his mouth. 

The table burst out laughing as you gave Drew a playful glare and took a bite. At first, your expression stayed neutral. You chewed, shrugged. “That’s actually really good, it’s not that—oh”

The second wave hit. Your eyes widened slightly as the burn kicked in, creeping across your tongue. The opposite team laughed as you blinked through the rising heat.

“I take that back!” you gasped, fanning your mouth. “That’s warm… but good” 

“Look at us!” Madelyn clapped, looking at both you and Carlacia as she chewed. “Taking it like champs…it is really hot though”

Drew leaned over with a smug smile and whispered just loud enough for your mic to catch it faintly, “Knew you’d make me proud”

You grinned, mouth burning but your pride fully intact.

For the final round, the stakes were turned up, quite literally, as each of you added a dollop of the infamous Last Dab hot sauce on your next wing. 

Drew read the final challenge with mock gravity in his voice, holding up the card like it was a royal decree.

“The treasure of the Royal Merchant has caused many to betray their closest allies. This game is no different as we have come to a final ‘Winner Takes All’ challenge. That’s right. No more teams, it’s everyone for themselves in the most cutthroat party game of the seven seas ‘Musical Chairs’” Drew read.

Groans, laughter and a few exaggerated threats echoed around the table as you all stood and the crew prepared the game.

You soon found yourself circling the chairs just behind Drew, tension high and competitive glints in everyone’s eyes. The music stopped suddenly and chaos ensued. You and Drew dove for the same chair at the exact same time. He ended on your lap as the others looked around for who lost. With your arms around him, you patted his chest and he chuckled as he stood up.

“Oh, it’s me,” he announced with chivalry, stepping aside and reaching for his wing

“What a gentleman,” Carlacia teased with a smirk.

“He just didn’t want to sleep on the couch tonight,” JD added under his breath, which you barely heard, making the ones who did erupt in laughter.

Drew shot you a wink, high fived you with a grin and took his wing like a champ, downing it as applause rang out.

“You gotta get outta here” Madison told him, waving dramatically.

“Alright, fuck y’all,” Drew said with a grin, stepping off set as the others booed him playfully. 

The game whittled down quickly, with chairs disappearing and cast members losing left and right. When it came down to you and Chase in the final showdown, adrenaline surged. The music cut out, and with lingering reflexes, you claimed the last seat.

The cast cheered off-frame, someone yelling, “Attagirl!” 

“I told y’all to put your money on that girl!” Madison added proudly.

Once the clapping died down, the cast re-emerged and Drew held out the trophy with dramatic reverence. 

“And here we have it…the wing of champions,” he declared, handing it to you.

You took it with a grin, and held it up, turning toward the camera as the rest of the cast rallied around you. 

“Thank you all for this.” you began in mock sincerity. “The wings were really hot and I’m just honored to survive this. But more importantly, I’m really hoping I can take home the ones we didn’t eat” 

You glanced pointedly at a producer off-camera.  

The cast and crew burst into laughter as you finished “Outer Banks Season 4 is now streaming on Netflix, please watch it… . But seriously though…I’m dead serious about the wings—can i? I have ziplock bags in my purse.”

The screen faded to black as the entire set cracked up behind you.

—--

The "First We Feast” Instagram post announcing the video with the cast blew up almost instantly, but after the full video dropped, the internet practically caught on fire.

Clips were reposted across Tiktok, fan accounts captioned everything from your teary-eyed wing victory to Drew handing you the trophy but what really set the comments section ablaze was the chemistry. 

drewdorabl3 I counted three ‘baby’s’ and two babes’. I am NOT okay.

obxsuperfan1 Just checking if I’m having auditory hallucinations…did anyone else hear Y/n call Drew ‘baby’?

rafesleftsock And Drew too! If you’re wrong then I need my hearing checked too.

mells134 I turned on the captions. They definitely said it!

drewswife.09 here y'all go again. they’re bestfriends 🙄

ikervt Me when i’m delusional

89kovcg Jobs people. JOBS

p0gu3l0v3r Ughhhh the way he looks at her

yenakls445 anyone else hear JD talk about how Drew didn’t want to sleep on the couch? 😭

dellaos.cc yes omg! 

89kovcg Huge news for the unemployed.

c3rtifiedpoguecollector who’s gonna tell them we heard everything?

y/n/y/l/n tell what to who? I’m so lost y’all

madelyncline babe just go ahead and log out

Speculation turned into full-on obsession as fans began dissecting every glance and laugh. Someone even made a compilation called “Every time they forgot they weren’t alone” on TikTok. It had a million views in a couple of hours and naturally, more chaos ensued yet you and Drew, thanks to your lack of social media presence, remained mostly unaware.

[prettygiri222]

okay but imagine eren seen a video of his baby momma at the club singin sexy redd’s “ FUCK MY BABYDADDY ” 😭😭 he just brings their son or daughter to reader’s mom and goes back to reader’s house and tears them TF upppp.

i can just hear him saying “ fuck yo baby who?? oh aight. ”

I had to add rapper!Eren to this cause it's something I always wanted to write😋

Eren x Black Fem Reader, PLOT + SMUT

rapper Eren Yeager's longtime girlfriend of six years broke up with him after having his first child, Duke Yeager. Eren shared a post on instagram confirming their breakup but stated that the both of them remain in Duke’s life as co-parents. the reason why was unreleased so fans speculated that Eren must’ve cheated because why else would you willingly break up with the famous rapper. his management released a statement saying it was due to conflicting schedules but it was seen as damage control so no one believed it.

during the six years of the relationship, his management managed to keep your face out of the media. but with the way Eren was constantly posting snippets of you, fans soon discovered who you were after matching physical features, traits and location that were found on his story with the ones present on your small instagram.

you two quickly became the it couple, how the girl from nowhere pulled a famous rapper gave fans hope because they saw them reflected in you. a woman who didn’t have to undergo multiple surgeries to pull the industry's finest. but after the breakup, that image fell.

his management did their best to keep things under wraps to keep the media from tormenting you but it didn’t work. when you posted a picture of yourself postpartum your dms filled with hateful comments wondering why Eren had gotten with you in the first place. you knew it was just jealous fangirls but it still got to you, especially since you weren’t all that confident in your new body and still recovering from your pregnancy. your accounts went silent shortly after.

although the breakup was mutual, the reason why was deeper than scheduling conflicts. you needed someone who was able to be there physically, emotionally and mentally. it was hard for Eren to provide that due to his career path, always travelling the world with a packed schedule. you guys did your best to make it work but after Duke came into the world you just couldn’t handle it anymore. 

Eren was a decent baby daddy and you guys co-parented well. you had full custody of him but when Eren was in town and would have time off you would send Duke over to him. Duke loved his daddy, always wanting to watch his concerts and interviews on the TV when he wasn’t there or free to facetime. Eren always made sure to send double what was asked for in child support to make sure you took care of yourself as well as his son.

that’s why when you reposted your friend’s story of you in the club all hell broke loose. people took it as a diss to your baby daddy, which it was, but not in the way they thought.

earlier that week you had dropped Duke off at Eren’s mansion. he had just flown back in from his world tour and finally had a few weeks off. despite being exhausted he called you up and asked if you could bring Duke over, wanting to spend as much time with his son as possible during his break. he sent over an uber black to pick the two of you up.

when Eren met you two at the door, Duke jumped into his arms smiling and giggling. it’s been a while since he’s seen his daddy in person. the sight made you awe. Eren turned to you and asked if you wanted to stay over so he could spend time with the two most important people in his life but sadly you declined. you didn’t want to interrupt their father and son bonding time.

Duke was almost a clone of Eren, he had his sharp green eyes, german nose and face shape. the only hints of you in him were his full lips, darker skin and coils. Duke was your little bundle of joy but he could be a handful at times. during the few times those two got to spend together Eren spoiled him rotten, whatever he wanted he got and it showed. whenever you told him no he would throw a tantrum saying how he wanted his daddy. you knew you were a good mother but hearing him say that when you were the one who took care of him every day hurt.

---

it was a friday night and Eren was at his crib chilling with Duke. he had his phone on do now disturb so his time with his family wouldn’t be interrupted. it was a shame you weren’t here to spend time with them. after having pizza, soda and ice cream for dinner the boys passed out on the couch after staying up past midnight watching movies. 

his peace was soon interrupted by the constant buzz of his phone. it roused him from his sleep but Duke slept through it. after the third ring, he finally answered the phone. he was pissed that his manager was calling him knowing it was his time off but he figured it must be important for them to use emergency bypass to call.

“what’s going on?” his voice gruff from his slumber and irritation. he turned on his phone to see it flooded with notifications from instagram, snapchat, tiktok, twitter, messages, missed calls from his friends and one from his mom and his heart dropped to his stomach. he hadn't dropped anything new recently so he knew whatever was happening had to be bad.

“well… it’s about your baby mama… she uh…” his manager was at a loss for words. he didn't know the words to describe the situation to make it not seem as bad as the media was already making it out to be. he knew Eren would be pissed when he found out what happened and they didn't want to be on the end of it. 

Eren was extremely protective of his family and friends. when he saw the hate you were receiving after you posted a picture of yourself postpartum he took to twitter immediately. he did not play when it came to you, together or not together. you were the mother of his child and you needed your respect. so he was wondering why you were playing in his face like this.

“well what is it?” he snapped, already losing his patience. “is she ok? is she hurt?” he shot upright from his resting position on the couch. he opened up the group chat between him, Armin, Connie, Onyankopon and Jean first. all that was sent was a blurry video followed by a bunch of skull and grave emojis.

he opened the video and immediately recognized the faces of a few of the girls in it as a few of your friends, Sasha, Mikasa and Historia at a club. Sasha, Connie’s model girlfriend was the one to record them singing along to a sexyy red song. he wondered what the video had to do with him until it panned to you. you stood out with your brightly dyed red hair styled in a what he recognized as a wash-and-go.

“fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!” you were shouting the lyrics a little bit too passionately. you had your middle fingers stuck up to the camera showing off your glittery red acrylic nails. you were clearly wasted, drunk off of whatever drinks Sasha managed to shove down your throat.

“yes bitch!” your friends shouted as you turned around to shake your ass sticking out your tongue. you were wearing a ripped mesh dress. one of your friends reached out to pull down the back of your dress to prevent your ass from showing but the dress was already leaving very little to the imagination. the pregnancy did your body good, you were a bit on the skinny side before but now your hips had filled out, your ass and boobs swole and your skin finally cleared up. you were glowing.

“I’m a fine ass bitch, I ain’t in the in the house sad!” you were feeling yourself. it felt nice to get out of the house and away from Duke no matter how much you loved him. having to take care of a baby by yourself was tiring, no matter how much Eren supported you from afar you needed him there with you.

your friends were hyping you up and your mind grew hazy from both the alcohol and adrenaline. you were far too gone to realize what you said when you yelled “fuck Eren!” instead of the actual lyrics. the camera quickly panned to the floor before the video stopped.

Eren had to replay the video countless times to process what he had seen and heard. but he couldn’t believe it was you. never in the eight years he’s known you have you ever picked up the phone to send a dig at him through social media. no matter how tough the going got, it’s what he respected about you. you always wanted to talk problems through and try to make it work. Eren clenched his fist looking at you now.

Eren knows how baby mamas like you are seen and treated in the industry. he’s seen how they're constantly bashed and embarrassed by the fathers of their children and the media. Eren never wanted that for you, he wanted to give you a ring before he gave you a baby but accidents happen and here you both were. instead of calling him or stopping by to talk you wanted to show out for the fans and diss him. it was stupid of you, he knew you were better than this.

“so it’s “fuck Eren” is that right,” Eren laughed to himself throwing his head back on the couch. sure he couldn’t be there for you and Duke all the time like he wanted but at least he tried. he was a very busy man. but he did what he had to to make sure his mother, Duke and you could have a nice and cozy life. where Duke didn’t have to worry about if he was going to eat dinner that night. “bet.”

“sorry little man but I have to go get your mommy. you’re going to go to stay with your grandma tonight, ok?” he cooed to Duke, waking him up. Duke slowly woke up and was trying to rub the sleep out of his eye. Eren loved his son very much he was the reason he kept this stressful life up. 

he enjoyed making music and performing but not during the days when he slept in the studio trying to find the perfect lyrics and beat or days where he hardly slept because he had to stay on his feet. it was a fast life and if he couldn’t keep up it would all come crashing down. and for you to make a dig at that knowing how he felt was fucked.

“Eren Yeager!” his manager shouted through the phone overhearing the whole thing. he needed Eren to keep a calm head and not do anything rash tonight. he didn’t need him sparking more outrage in the media or doing something that could potentially ruin the relationship you two had. “what are you going to do?”

“what else, I’m going to go fuck my baby mama,” before his manager could get another word out he hung up the phone. 

“daddy said a bad word!”

“...don’t tell your mom and I’ll bring you to the studio with me.”

---

you wobbled into your apartment with a sheepish grin. it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulder tonight. it’s been a while since you went to the club and got so drunk that the world became a blur. you were slowly regaining memories of what happened that night and you couldn’t help but cringe knowing you would regret some of them in the morning. your phone died on your way home after you reposted Sasha’s story so you were oblivious to the buzz you had created.

when you went to unlock your door you found out that it was already open. you raised your brow but you brushed it off thinking you must’ve forgotten to lock it in your rush to leave the house. you knew the security for your building was tight, it was the main thing you were looking for when you were buying your apartment. it was a necessity since Duke was the son of a successful rapper. 

when you and Eren had split you bought yourself a nice little two-bedroom apartment deep in the city. Eren offered to pay for it but you immediately declined, you didn’t want anything else of yours to get attached to him. during your relationship you saved up a lot of money since Eren had always offered to buy you whatever you wanted and spoiled you rotten just like he was doing with Duke. he fueled your shopping addiction only wanting his girlfriend to have the best of the best.

you had a little side hustle as an occasional hairstylist and nail artist for your friends and family with the occasional new client. Eren told you time and time again you didn’t need to work and that he would take care of everything. but you liked having your own source of income it made you feel independent plus you enjoyed your job.

being able to close on your dream apartment was a dream come true and it left you feeling satisfied. you loved how everything was within walking distance, there was a daycare down the street along with an elementary school for when Duke got older. there was a grocery store right around the corner with a few outlets and public transit ran just outside the building, it was perfect for a single mother like you. 

“thought we were doing good with this co-parenting shit mama?” the second you opened the door you were greeted by a voice you knew better than your own. goosebumps covered your arms, ‘why is he here’ you thought.

“Eren?” you called out into the dark apartment. you felt the wall closest to the door for the switch and turned the light on. and there he was, Eren, your famous baby daddy. he turned his head to look at you from where he was seated on the couch. his eyes were extremely low, watching your every move. “are you ok? where's Duke?”

“with your mom,” Eren was having such a pleasant high, he felt so relaxed and calm in the dark room. he didn’t have the TV on and was just staring at the black screen. but the second the room lit up and you walked through the door with that tiny see-through dress on it dispersed. he narrowed his eyes down at you and you could tell you had just blown his high. his anger simmering underneath his calm demeanour. 

“how’d you even get in?” you never gave Eren the key to your apartment. having already been split and you always dropped Duke off at his place there was no reason for him to have one.

“front desk gave me a key after I flashed a couple of stacks,” he replied nonchalantly, like it wasn’t a crime on both parts. you rolled your eyes, this was how Eren fixed all his problems, with money. you get that when he was growing up it was something he didn’t have but now that he had it was like all he knew how to do was throw it at people to make his problems disappear.

“well if Duke isn’t here then there’s no reason for you to be,” you don’t know what you did to warrant this visit but you didn’t want to be in his presence any longer. you liked to keep your contact with Eren as minimal as possible. plus you didn’t have the energy to deal with him tonight, you were tired. hoping he would get the hint it was time to leave you walked away and headed towards your bedroom, “please see yourself out. we can talk another day.”

“nah, 'cause it’s “fuck Eren” right?” he got up from the couch and followed you down the hall and into your room. the wooden floor creaking under his weight. you didn’t have to turn around to know he was towering over you, you could feel him breathing down your neck. you tried to move away from him but he gripped your waist with a firm grip underneath and pulled you against him. “you must’ve gone crazy going so long with my dick huh? that must be it, acting like you lost your damn mind.”

“Eren!” you pulled away to look back at him in shock. “what are you even talking about?”

“don’t play dumb with me mama, your ass is all over the shade room talking about “fuck my baby daddy” ” he took his phone out of his pocket to show you their newest post. it was a screenshot of a video but it was clearly you, it was the same outfit and hairstyle you had on right now. you swiped the image on his phone in disbelief and the video played, “fuck Eren! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!”

“oh my gosh! Eren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I was drunk and got carried away,” you looked up at him from the phone. you could tell he was pissed, his eyes darkened after hearing what you said in the video for the hundredth time. you were horrified, you didn’t mean to air out your personal problems and make Eren seem like a bad father. you knew how the public blew things out of proportion.

“they say drunk words are sober thoughts,” Eren stated, shrugging his shoulders. “I know Duke be stressing you out ma, let me fix it,” he stared down at you with a little smirk. he licked his lips, obviously checking you out. it's been a while since he's seen your body exposed, you always show up to drop Duke off in oversized sweaters and shirts. just looking at you like this made his dick hard, “plus you owe me an apology.”

that’s how you found yourself face down ass up in your bedroom with the man you’d never thought would step foot in your new apartment. Eren was behind you standing at the edge of the bed, his black and grey nike tech sweater was thrown somewhere in your room leaving him in a white wife beater and his golden cuban link chain. his grey sweats were down so that just his dick was out.

“mm fuck Eren! please,” you cried out. no matter how deeply you arched or angled your hips you couldn’t get him to reach where you needed him the most. he knew that but he loved watching you struggle and the way your brown cheeks jiggled after coming into contact with his pelvis. you were a sight to see, one that he deeply missed.

“you can do better than that mama,” he raised his pierced brow watching you. Eren stood completely still behind you, you had your face buried in the sheets as you attempted to throw it back on him. you were still dressed in your mesh dress but he ripped your thong off. “I saw you in that video. you were shaking that shit so c’mon, fuck me back ma.”

your makeup was staining your sheets but you could care less right now. the feeling of Eren stretching out your practically virginal walls was dumbfounding. he didn’t bother to stretch you out believing that your body was already moulded to his shape. but it’s been about two years since you last had sex. your tight walls were struggling to accommodate his humongous size.

“ ’m trying,” the lack of stimulation on your sweet spots had you in tears. the stretch was pleasurable but it wasn’t enough, paired with the shallow thrusts. you so desperately craved more so you reached in between your legs to play with your clit. Eren groaned at the sight of you touching yourself, not to mention you began to clench around him. 

“damn ma, now that’s what I’m talking about,” Eren gave your ass a harsh slap. you let out a little whine as you lost your rhythm because of it. but you soon found it again. your wetness was soaking his dick and you were basically twerking on his dick. Eren loved every second of it. 

he took one of your ass cheeks and pulled it to the side with his tattooed hand, he watched himself go in and out of your brown folds. feeling the unsteady approach of his orgasm watching as you struggled to fuck yourself on him he decided to finally grant you mercy. he languidly began to thrust into you. “go ahead and nut on this dick mama.”

 “o-okay” you stuttered out. you struggled to concentrate on stimulating your sensitive clit while bouncing back to meet Eren’s lazy thrusts. your fingers were covered in your own wetness while you rubbed little circles on your bud. each loop paired with the tip of his dick pressing against that spongy spot inside you brought you ever closer to your climax. “ ‘m so close!”

“let it out for me baby,” the pace became erratic, you guys’ release at its peak. sometimes his dick collided straight into your soft spot and sometimes it completely missed. but the feeling of him pummeling in and out of you had you convulsing around his dick. “keep squeezing around me like that and I'll put another baby in you, fuck.”

you let out broken whines as you struggled to continuously stimulate your bud. you were soaking wet that your fingers slipped around. “‘ren! ren!” you chanted, reaching out toward him with your slick-covered hand. Eren grabbed it and put it in his mouth. groaning deeply as he licked and sucked on your coated digits.

“don’t worry mama, I got you. let it out for me,” Eren leaned over your arched form and whispered in your ear. his husky sending shivers down your spine as he talked you through it. you listened to him feeling the wave of pleasure overwhelm you, the sensation in your stomach bursting.

“f-fuck, fuck!”

“shit,” when he felt himself about to burst he pulled out of your pussy's compelling grasp. he watched the lewd scene in front of him and used it to jerk off. he groaned out stroking his soaking dick. your pussy hole remained gaping after he pulled out and your liquids were spilling on your sheets. after a few strokes, he released all over your back onto your mesh dress staining it.

you plopped down onto your empty bed exhausted. the room filled with the sound of laboured breathing as you guys tried to catch your breath. the sound of Eren shuffling around could be heard soon after. your heart ached at the thought of him leaving you so soon but you closed your eyes, ‘it’s for the better’ you thought. you wanted a few moments of rest before you went to wash up.

but Eren wasn’t finished yet, he was shedding the remaining articles of his clothing leaving him naked. your eyes opened feeling the bed dip under the extra weight. before you could protest, Eren had already climbed on top of you, grabbing your legs and having them pushed over your head, “we’re not finished yet.”

this time Eren took the lead, he had ripped off your dress leaving you completely naked and exposed to his eyes. he had you folded over like a pretzel leaving you open for him. your legs were bent so far over your head you could see the top of your pussy and watch as Eren thrusted in and out of your overstimulated hole from above. the pleasure made you want to slither away but Eren’s strong hold kept you still.

“E-eren!” you were losing your mind from the stimulation. “too much! it’s too much!” you cried out. you reached out to push against his rock-hard abdomen. you didn’t want him to stop, not when you were so close to your second orgasm of the night but it was too much. he was being so rough with you. you didn’t think you had it in you after motherhood to be manhandled like this.

“nah, you can take it. you’re a big girl now, dissing me at the club with your friends. be glad I’m even fucking you since I’m such a “bad baby daddy.” Eren mocked you from above. he didn’t even flinch as you tried to push him away. he smiled down at you watching how easily you got fucked out. moans were no longer coming out your mouth, more like strangled sobs and whines that were being forced out after each deep thrust of his. the head of his dick battering your insides and abusing your soft spot left you tremoring underneath him.

“imsorryimsorry,” you babbled out. your mascara and eyeliner were running down your cheeks and your lipstick was smothered but you couldn’t look any prettier to Eren. he enjoyed watching as your tits bounce around. he brought his forest green eyes back up to you watching as you bit your quivering lip.

“how’d that song go again?” Eren sarcastically asked. with the number of times he replayed that video he had the lyrics, beat and rhythm all memorized. “something like this right?” pap! pap! pap! Eren changed the rhythm of his thrusts, the sound of his balls clapping against your ass and the squelching sounds of your pussy mimicked the bow bow bow of the song. he angled each thrust to deliver a particularly harsh hit to your g-spot.

without warning an intense feeling of pleasure erupted in your stomach. “imcuming!” you cried out. you could feel a liquid flow out from your pussy, completely drenching Eren’s dick. he quickly pulled out to watch you squirt, a sight he immensely missed. the translucent liquid gushed out of your hole soaking the sheets as well.

“you said fuck your baby who?” Eren smiled down at your fucked out face. you couldn’t even answer him with the overwhelming pleasure rendering all of your senses useless. your head was thrown back and your face furrowed, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. “oh aight.”

I think I got a bit carried away🤭

[kxsagi]

"𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬"

moving was hectic and busy, so busy that you had forgotten to text roommate! isagi that plans changed and you would be moving in at 8 PM instead of 2 PM. he was wondering why you weren’t responding to your texts and not answering your calls for six hours (to which you felt terribly sorry for doing so and apologized about it later), as he spent the whole day embracing himself for an awkward introduction. 

but instead of one, you open the door to your new shared apartment to the sight of roommate! isagi in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips as he stood there in the kitchen eating fruits, dumbfounded at your unexpected arrival. 

that was six months ago. since then, the two of you had fallen into an easy rhythm of late-night kitchen conversations about your days, movie marathons, playful teasing that sometimes felt like something more. 

and then there were the accidents. the way you would turn too quickly and find yourself chest-to-chest with him in the hallway. the way he would purposely leave the bathroom door open a crack with the light off to have you walk in on him post-shower, thinking he was done, but he was really just “touching up his hair.” or the way his voice dropped when he said your name. 

you told yourself it was nothing. but then came your first storm together. 

the power had gone out, leaving your apartment in darkness, but the worst part? you were in the middle of showering. 

“you okay? need light?” you hear roommate! isagi ask you from outside the bathroom door, knocking. 

“yes please, i can barely see anything,” you respond, but since the door is locked, you have no choice but to step out of the shower, wrap yourself in a towel, and get a light from the boy yourself. 

however, when you open the door, you don’t see your roommate. where’d he go? before you turn the corner of the hallway and call for his name, you collide into muscle and the lantern in his hand turns on. 

his mouth practically gapes at the sight of you with wet hair and just a towel on, droplets of water still scattered across the smooth surface of your skin. your round exposed shoulders and parted lips are enough to send him reeling and he nearly drops the lantern. 

“thanks,” you say, oblivious to his reaction and taking the lantern to the bathroom with you to continue your shower. 

what you didn’t even realize was how this small interaction confirmed his feelings for you were real. 

the planned movie night was no longer a go because of the power outage, leaving the two of you sitting on the couch with nothing else to do. the heater was also turned off, causing you to shiver from the entering winter cold. 

“you’re shivering,” roommate! isagi murmured, his voice husky. he reached for you, his hands sliding around your waist and pulling you closer. 

you should have moved away. you should have made a joke, kept it light like always. but instead, you pressed against him, your fingers trailing over his chest, your breath catching when his lips hovered just inches from yours. 

he murmured your name, his voice thick with something you had only dreamed about. it made your brain hazy. 

"yeah?" you reply, fingers curling into the fabric of his white t-shirt. 

"i can't –" his mouth crashed into yours, hot and insistent, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you onto his lap. 

he wouldn’t stop until you knew what true passion and heat felt like. 

by the time you two broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead resting against yours, you knew there was no going back. 

"well," you sighed, grinning. "guess we’re more than roommates now.” 

the black-haired boy chuckled, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "what do you mean? we’ve always been more than roommates."

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: i love me a good roommates to lovers trope :p AND I'M SORRY IDK WHERE THE HEADER IMAGE IS FROM ☹️

[konigslittleliebling]

UR LAST JOEL BLURB HOLY SHIT omg I - think I just fainted. Anyyyway 🫠 I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a continuation of this where you’re in bed with Joel and he notices that your stomach has a slight bump that you didn’t notice… he goes insane when it’s confirmed that you’re pregnant, bending you over and spending the rest of the day on his knees behind you 🤭

rough sex, pregnant sex, switching, creampie, lactation, not proofread. MDNI 18+ 🍼

you were recovering from post-orgasmic thrill when he felt it under the gentle strokes of his thumb. its circular motion stilled, thick fingers — leathery and weathered — splaying over your stomach. sleep was winning you over; eyes gently fluttering to a gradual droop.

“honey.” he drawled, low. you fidgeted closer to him, humming. “hmm?”

“you’ve got a pooch.” he began to knead your tummy, the pads of his fingers warm and callused. your lower belly had swelled slightly, firm to the touch. you frowned, verging on slumber. “a what?”

then he was silent, massaging your stomach whilst he kept his head propped up on the chin rest of his bent arm. you looked radiant. angelic. had a certain glow about you.

that was when the penny dropped.

you shot up in bed, staring at him like you’d never seen him before. “i’m late. . .” you recounted how many weeks it had been since your last bleed; a few too many. then your fluctuation in appetite plus the morning sickness. how were you only now piecing the puzzle together?

and his stomach — hairy and pudgy against your supple skin — compressed yours some moments later, soliciting moans that would end the career of a pornstar from your gasping mouth. you garbled on his tongue, struggling to breathe around the muscle that had a knack for rendering you speechless. his kisses choked you. winded you. hot, frantic and fucking wet and now you’re on all fours, arse bruised from the grind of his bushy pelvic bone as he hammers against you like a battering ram.

you’re not sure what’s come over him. maybe the notion that he finally filled you with the chub of his child, your womb fertilised and bred. the sentiment that you bear his kin — all safe and tucked away in the womb that he impregnated. images of your stomach all round and distended make his balls prickle with heat, the veins that coil around his ravaging cock pulsating against the slick walls of your cunny.

your nipples — engorged and sore, rub uncomfortably against the roughness of the sheets. breasts tender and enlarged. you groan at the sensitivity of them and the bruising friction of joel’s cockhead making contact with your cervix, punching it over and over again. he groans behind you, pulling himself from you almost entirely before lurching back in to bottom out every time — jolting and jerking your poor body violently like a limp sack of bones.

the way you thrash atop the creaking bed thanks to his forceful rutting ceases when he pulls you up by your jaw, pinning you to his front with a large hand to your chest — breasts bouncing against his war-torn palm as he attacks your neck with sharp nips and the brittle coarseness of his scruff. you start to lactate when he pinches at your hard nipples, heavy balls slapping the backs of your trembling thighs as they empty into your occupied uterus. occupied by his product.

and you cum with him, creaming all over his cock as he tumbles forward, trapping you beneath him whilst he fucks you both through it with short and instantaneous thrusts. your nipples continue to weep into his hand— sandwiched between your exhausted body and the mattress whist you milk him dry, limbs twitching and eyes gushing.

he hopes you don’t think that being pregnant will get you out of being bred like this everyday. you’re in for a very cum-filled pregnancy.

[lovebyeler]

a rant on mlvn & their shippers. inspired by this post i saw on twt

one thing i noticed about mlvn fans is that whenever bylers point out a fact that is objectively true, either confirmed by the cast/producers or is said explicitly in the show, the first thing they do is call us names and deny it.

as much as i dislike mlvn, i see how someone could ship it by seeing it closer to the way they're portrayed in the show; a sort of puppy crush turned into push-pull relationship whose sides need to be truthful to themselves & understand each other better to make it work. i could see the appeal in this type of dynamic and if this was how they actually saw mlvn.

however, my main problem with mlvns is that instead of seeing them for what they are, they portay them as an example of somehow perfect couple - they'd rather twist words said in the show than admit that they're a troubled pair. they romantize the version of mlvn in their head instead of looking deeper into the show & will make fun of you if you do that.

the "and i knew right then and there [...] that i loved you" fragment of mike's monologue has been proved to be a lie multiple times from multiple sources. they would have to retcon things established in season one for this to be true. mike never was shown to like her from the start, he just happened to be the most empathetic one from the party and only started liking/crushing on her later (depending on your interpretation). besides, the show quite literally makes fun of love at first sight & the writers said they don't believe in it as well. and in the said tiktok screenshot, it's not bylers theorizing even - it's literally what finn has said.

you could still believe that mike loves eleven while lying & exeggarating things in the monologue so he could save her. that's sort of romantic as well if you want to see it in that light - he's willing to be fake to save her, however eleven is mad at him for that reason, and then lesson of mlvn in next season would be that you don't need to lie in order to save your relationship. but wait, wouldn't that be a repeat of season 3 & 4 where it was shown not to work regardless? 🤔 besides, i could still see how someone could possibly defend this.

but no, they cling to that damn monologue like it's their bible. they themselves exeggerate their love instead of just looking at them like it's a regular relationship. they downplay their lies, their problems for the sake of shipping it. at this point i'm starting to wonder if they ship it cause they actually like their dynamic or do they ship it cause they like them together visually?

that's the biggest difference between bylers and mlvns for me. bylers look deeper into their negative side of their ship, pick apart their flaws yet this doesn't dismantle their relationship but support it. why won't mlvn do the same when they have a bunch of that going on their ship as well? if we see proof by analyzing byler fights, can't they do that instead of downplaying them? unless deep analysis won't help mlvn... which is possibly the case. that's why they choose to ignore it. but that's another topic. i think i'd still appreciate them more if they actually tried, though.

anyways, that'll be the end of my long rant. it's ironic to me how much byler shippers are called delusional because they dare to analyze the show when mlvn's whole ship is build upon false romantized image of it, don't you think?

[kdh-tally]

Hii! May I request for your headcanons on the Huntr/x girls and the Saja Boys when they receive hate and what their partners(Rujinu, Zoestery, Miromabby) would react when their partner receives hate(not criticism)? Sorry if it’s doesn’t make sense, I’m looking for smth similar to the one u did on their reactions when someone flirts w their partner

Saja Boys Coping with the Idol Life

Prompt : Huntr/x helping Saja Boys against the haters

Author's Note : So i already kind of completed the angsty part of the request a while ago but I never wrote how Huntr/x would help so here this is!!!

Can be read as a part 2 to -> Saja Boys Struggling with the Idol Life

Going on hiatus wasn’t easy. They had received back lash, k-netizens accusing them of not being committed to their idol careers. It seemed like everyone was against them. Well, except Huntrix. 

The girls had been their biggest supporters, quietly fighting against all hatred being thrown the boys' way. The girls had urged them to fight back. And it was finally time.

Rumi lay sprawled on Jinu’s bed. The two had returned from their short date, Jinu tense the entire time till they returned to the privacy of their dorms. He smiled softly at her before laying down beside her. She immediately turned to face him, admiring his features as he pulled out his phone. 

Unlocking it, he was instantly met with another post from a hate account. They had clipped the photo, Jinu’s hand hovering just a bit too close to Rumi’s waist. It was innocent, a complete accident. But the headlines didn’t care.

The comments were ugly. Possessive. Fans demanding he apologize for his ‘perverted’ behavior. Others screaming betrayal, claiming he must have been in a relationship with the female idols. However, there was a general consensus that he needed to remain “professional”.

He had immediately turned the device off but Rumi had already taken notice. “You’re still reading those?” she asked gently, not wanting him to close up. 

“I don’t mean too, I just…” his voice trailed off, unable to find the right things to say. Rumi took the phone from him and threw it across the room where it landed on a plush beanbag. 

“I know what you mean,” Rumi hummed as she traced along the patterns on his chest. She’d been in a similar situation. Accused of over acting around male idols for attention. However, she’d learned that most of the voices were just people who had nothing better to do that criticize others out of jealousy.

It took her months to understand this but she didn’t want Jinu to fall into the same headspace. She unlocked her own phone, scrolling through the many selfies they had with each other before stopping on one Mira had taken of both of them. 

It was Jinu peacefully sleeping on her as they rested on the couch, her hands brushing through his hair as though he was a pet cat. Jinu watched as she uploaded the image to her professional instagram story, captioning it my soulmate. 

Once the image was uploaded, she tossed her phone across the room as well. “They’re going to come after you too, Rumi,” he said after a moment of silence. 

“I don’t want to hide us anymore. They made you feel ashamed of loving me and I won't let them do it again.” She responded. 

Later, both Hutr/x and the Saja Boy’s company released an official statement. It was short and concise.

“We confirm that Saja Boys’ Jinu and Huntrix’s Rumi are in a private relationship. They have been close friends and partners long before their respective debuts. Please respect their privacy.”

And to their surprise... many fans did.

Romance had gotten quiet again.

After the dorm conversation, he’d curled back into his shell. Though he promised to take care of himself, and had been during their hiatus, he was still unable to produce any music. He spent hours sitting on the balcony, notebook open but pages blank.

Until Mira found him. She didn’t knock, she never really did. She simply walked up behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the railing. They looked over the city as a silence filled the space between them. It was comfortable.

“You know,” she said eventually, “if people are gonna ship you with anyone, they should at least get it right.”

Romance glanced up. She was half-smirking.

He laughed. It was a real one. The first time he’d done it in months. Mira always seemed to be able to make him do that.

“I used to panic about who they thought I was into. Now I’m just... mad I wasted so much time worrying about it.” 

Mira didn’t say anything, but she stood to move behind him, playing with his long hair and tying it up into a ponytail.

He turned to her after a moment, eyes fully locked on hers. “I love you.”

She blinked in surprise, not expecting the sudden confession but accepting it regardless. She sent him a smile, one of her rarer facial expressions.

“And I think I might love Abby too. Or I did. Or maybe I still do. I’m not sure.” He let out a confused sigh.

She nodded, staring out at the dusk. “Okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not a random fan, Romance. I understand how you feel. You’re allowed to be confused about who you want.”

He reached over, hand brushing hers. He felt at peace for the first time in a while.

Then Abby appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of snacks, a confused frown across his face. “Did I miss something?”

Romance blinked and Mira smirked. The three of them made their way back into Romance and Abby’s joint room, the biggest one in the dorm, and relaxed on Romance’s bed. Abby insisted on feeding both of them as they played some movie.

Later that night, Abby stared at himself in the mirror. His shirt was off, his abs defined but a little less sharp than before. He had crept away from the other two, assuming they had both fallen asleep. He hadn’t eaten much that week. He seemed to have formed a habit of feeding others in order to avoid eating himself.

He still heard their words echoing in his mind. The hashtags. The edits comparing him to old photos. The DMs saying he’d let himself get too comfortable.

He sighed, about to pull his shirt off before screeching as cold hands wrapped around him. “WHO THE FU-” 

“Calm down you big baby,” Romance mumbled, still half asleep, his hair falling against the shorter boy's neck. 

“What is wrong with you,” Abby grumbled, hands unconsciously trying to shield his chest from view. 

“You left the bed,” he murmured. Abby rolled his eyes before attempting to put on the shirt once more. 

“Why are you trying to hide the goods?” Mira spoke from the doorway. She too was half asleep, her hair tussled and frizzy. “I could eat a meal off those,” she yawned, hugging him from the front, leaving him sandwiched between the two. 

He couldn’t even get a word in, the two of them seemed to be double teaming him with affection. “You know they don’t deserve you, right? Your body’s not a product.” Mira reaffirmed, poking into his firm skin.

Romance nodded, breath hot against his neck, “We love you. Not your muscles. You.”

Abby tried not to cry but ultimately failed. Mira laughed, wiping the tears out of his eyes and cupping his face. “Lets go eat some junk food yea?”

Abby nodded. 

Romance trudged along behind them, “I still wanna go to bed you guys :( “

Mystery nearly threw up before his scheduled live stream. What was the live for? It was to clear his name. The groups had seen Rumi’s post of Jinu on her story and it gave many of them the courage to face their fans haters. 

It had taken some time, but the girls finally taught the boys that anyone who tried to dictate their lives or tell them how to live was a hater. Someone who constantly chose to criticize or try to bring them down was an absolute abomination of a human being. 

His palms were sweating. His heartbeat was erratic. Every nerve in his body screamed don’t do it. 

But Zoey was there.

She sat cross-legged on the practice room floor behind the camera, holding her phone and calmly listing reasons why he had every right to speak.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” she said. “Especially not the people who prioritized their own delusions over the truth.”

He nodded. She handed him the phone.

He went live.

When fans had gotten the notification of Mystery going live, they were quick to clock in and watch. The boys were still on hiatus, and this was the first form of social media presence anyone had received since Rumi and Jinu’s confirmed dating rumor.

“Hi everyone,” he said, voice quiet as he pulled on his hoodie sleeve. “This’ll be a short live. I’m only here to clarify a few things.”

He swallowed hard, but one glance at Zoey’s encouraging smile gave him the strength to continue. “I’m not dating anyone. The photos of me at the gym with a worker was just me accidentally bumping into her.” 

His voice grew more confident. “And even if I was dating someone, it's truly none of your business. My love life is exactly that. Mine. I’d still be the same person you liked yesterday. And if that’s not enough for you, you were never really my fan.”

With that, he ended the stream after just six minutes. The silence afterward was deafening. Then Zoey pulled him into a hug so tight, he finally let himself cry.

Baby didn’t come out of his room. He seemed to live there. He had seen his band mates' progression, the way they were slowly regaining their confidence. He was happy for them, they had people to motivate him. He didn't think he had that. He didn’t want to be a burden.

He lay on his bed, half-heartedly scrolling through random apps on his phone. He planned to take another nap and was already falling into that sleepy state when suddenly,  all three girls were knocking on his door, barging in with strawberry milk, a blanket, and spicy chips.

Before he knew it, they were already getting comfortable. Rumi sat on his bed, Zoey pulled him into a side hug and Mira crossed her arms as she sat on the floor.

“This is an intervention. Now talk,” the pink haired girl said bluntly.

“I don’t want to be annoying,” Baby muttered, eyes downcast. The girls swore their heart broke a little. The one Saja Boy that never seemed to let things get into his head sounded so dejected.

“You’re not,” Zoey replied immediately.

“I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“We know.”

He hesitated. Then it all poured out.

The paranoia. The self-consciousness. The way he couldn’t bring himself to do certain things on camera. The guilt of feeling like a burden on his hyungs. The crushing fear that he’d grown out of being the “cute one” and was now just… useless.

Rumi pet his hair. Mira nodded solemnly.

“We’ve all been there,” Zoey said. “Even us.”

“You’re not a doll, Baby,” Mira added. “You have your own personality and can be whoever you want”

“But I liked who I was already,” he frowned. He didn’t admit it but he kinda enjoyed playing into the baby act. Who didn’t enjoy being pampered? “What if they grow tired of me?”

“They’ll like you because you’re you. Or they’ll leave. And we’ll still be here.” Rumi smiled at him.

The hiatus was over. The boys were back with a new album and they felt better than ever. They had regained their confidence and the girls were proud. They were all sleeping over in the girls pent house, rewatching their old music videos and laughing  at the silliness of it all.

“I can’t believe the three of you flew out of a plane and onto stage and no one questioned it,” Baby chuckled as he sat between Rumi and Jinu. Jinu was glaring at him the entire time but he didn’t really care, just sending him a cocky smile.

“Yea well we also killed you all in front of millions of people and no one seems to care,” Mira shrugged. Abby had his hands wrapped around her waist as Romance fed them both. 

They stayed up too late that night, curled into piles of limbs and pillows. Their videos played quietly in the background as they laughed. There was no social media, no reading articles, just the eight of them having fun.

Things weren’t perfect. The boys were still afraid. The industry hadn’t changed. But something in them had.

They weren’t demons trying to be idols anymore. Matter of fact, they weren’t demons at all.

They were humans. They were loud, messy, anxious yet brave, creative humans who just so happened to be idols.

And together, they were ready to try again.

[mylovewasbulletproof]

Catalyst pt 1

Jack Abbot x female amputee R4 reader (can post a gn version if wanted!)

based off these thoughts here, part 2 will be focused on Pittfest & those after shocks

for the sake of the plot we’re pretending that this incident did not happen the same day as Pittfest, that it’s Jack in the room instead of Robby, and that the newbies started prior to Pittfest

I have some more thoughts on this pairing. I also have ideas for a Robby x amputee reader so let me know if you want more!

warnings: canon-typical violence/injuries, mentions of a different shooting incident, mention of explosions, death of a loved one, PTSD, hinting at depression, pining idiots, age gap (in my head but not specified so you do you), everyone else can see the mutual feelings except y’all, a little bit of hurt/comfort but more to come in the next part,

*let me know if I missed any warnings*

**not sure how I feel about this so if I delete it don’t be surprised. I haven’t decided if I want to rewrite it or not.**

——————————————————————

Present Day

When Jack had heard the mass casualty event being declared on the scanner, his thoughts jumped to you. It was only a couple of weeks ago that you had shared the story of how you lost your leg. His hand twitched over your contact in his phone as he got into his car. He eventually decided against it, vowing to check in with you at the hospital before things ramped up. That didn’t stop his thoughts from wandering on the drive over

——————————————————————

Night Shift - 3 weeks prior to Pittfest

“This is Silas Dunn, 45 years old, fell off an 8 foot ladder. No LOC, right chest hit the carpeted floor” the EMTs rattled off as they pushed in your next patient

“Hi Mr Dunn. My name is Dr. L/N, how are you doing?” You asked as you fell into step next to the gurney

“Fine. My wife called 911” he replied

“Well you’re here now so let’s get you checked out. Just to be safe”

You and Dr. Santos did your initial evaluations and continued working on other patients while waiting on lab work and imaging. You had just stopped Dr. Abbot to consult on a different patient when the alarms in Silas’ room started going off. You and Jack rush over, finding Santos already in the room.

“Thready carotid. His BP'S crashing.

I think he might need a chest tube.” You call out, studying the monitor

“Check another hemocue” Jack instructed, standing back to observe

“He just dropped his stats. Put him on 100% non-rebreather. Normal head CT” You glanced again at the scans

“Small hemothorax on the right” Jack leaned over, pointing to the lung CT

“So chest tube it is” you confirm before asking Santos to prep for the chest tube

“I would love to do a chest tube” Santos remarks

“You got it. I’ll guide you” you encourage

You’re in the process of walking Santos through the steps when she drops the scalpel. You, Jack and Trinity watch as the scalpel lands right in the center of your sneaker

“Fuck. Oh my god are you okay?” Santos is panicking. She doesn’t even notice the expression you share with Jack

“Santos, I’m fine. Go take a breather. I’ll find you later” you speak calmly, already in the process of finishing the incision into the chest wall.

“But-“ Santos stopped herself short with the look you sent her. She darts out of the room without looking back

“That has got to hurt” Jack hums, acting oblivious

“Oh will you stop that. She’s halfway to the locker room by now. Just pull it out. I’m not even sure it pierced the prosthetic. It might just be in my sneaker” You send him a look, before grabbing the tubing and inserting it into the patient’s chest

“Are you going to tell her or just let her think she maimed you for the rest of her life” Jack asks as he leans down to pull the scalpel out

“For the rest of her life? No! That’s mean. But she can think that until at least the end of shift or until one of them gets the balls to ask me directly” you chuckle, nudging Jack with your elbow.

The rest of your shift had gone by without incident. You might’ve heard the interns gossiping about how badass you were for finishing the chest tube with a scalpel in your shoe. You’re headed to the park after shift change with Jack when you finally stop and address the gaggle

“Guys — she dropped it on my prosthetic” you suppress a laugh before lifting up your pant leg

You and Jack laugh about it until you’re settled on the park bench. It just so happened to only be the two of you tonight but neither of you seemed to mind. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and Jack to be spending time together. You’d become fast friends after he watched you convince a 5 year old that being an amputee made him a superhero. It was at that point when Jack realized you were going to make an incredible doctor. It also might’ve been when he realized he’d developed feelings for the first girl since his wife had died.

To his defense he had tried to create distance or at the very least stuff down his feelings. He knew how wildly inappropriate it would be to get involved with a resident, let alone one he was supposed to be mentoring.

What he didn’t realize was you had developed similar feelings after he had helped you through a panic attack after losing your first patient. Similarly to Jack, you pretended you were okay with being friends and that you felt nothing more than that. Everyone could see right through the both of you — well everyone except the two of you. Princess and Perlah have been betting on it for months. Half the Pitt staff was involved at this point.

Jack was broken out of his thoughts as you sighed, sliding off your prosthetic and sleeve.

“Sore?” He asks watching you rub what’s left of your leg

“Mm, a bit. I think Santos might’ve triggered a bit of phantom limb” you comment

Jack’s face deepens into a frown. He knows that pain all too well. It’s not something that you forget. It typically happens in the early stages after amputation. The brain doesn’t fully process that you’ve lost that part of your limb and it sends signals. It goes away for most amputees after rehabilitation. But it makes sense that watching the scalpel pierce your prosthesis triggered that same feeling.

“You’ve never asked how I lost it” you remark, thinking back to the few conversations you’ve had revolving your respective prostheses

Jack lets out a scoff before replying, “I think that’s frowned upon in most circumstances. Plus you’ve never asked me how I lost mine”

“True. But I know the gist. We’ve talked about your service before” you respond

You and Jack sit in the comfortable silence of the early morning dawn for a while before you start shuffling in an attempt to slide your prosthetic back

“It’s getting late. If I sit here any longer I might fall asleep on this bench” you explain as Jack watches with an unreadable expression

“Can you walk, let alone drive on that right now?” He asks, gesturing to your leg

“Walk, yes. Drivings more variable but my car is here. I have to drive home” you finish securing your prosthetic back on trying to ignore the way it burned

“Let’s go. I’ll drop you at home and pick you up later for shift change around 6:30” he states matter of factly before standing

“Jack-“ you try and refuse

“I’m either driving you home or you’re staying here. I already have your keys” he says holding up your key chain

You look down into your purse as if you don’t already know for a fact he is indeed holding them “that was not nice” you fake pout following his lead to his truck

“I’d argue it’s actually very nice. I’m trying to get you to take care of yourself” Jack shoots back, sliding your bag off your shoulder. You just sigh earning a slight smile from Jack knowing that he’s won this battle

On the ride towards your house, you doze off slightly, leaning against the window. The radio hums quietly in the background and for once his ride home doesn’t feel daunting. It’s peaceful. At least until you start to let out small whimpers.

He probably wouldn’t have even heard it but the song on the radio ended at exactly the right moment. Jack’s stomach twists. He knows almost immediately that you’re having a nightmare but he also knows it’s not good to jolt someone awake especially someone with PTSD.

Thankfully, you stir as he slows to a stop just outside of your house. You run your hands over your face before fully straightening up. You turn towards Jack with a smile that certainly doesn’t meet your eyes “Thank you for the ride. I’ll see you in a bit”

“Y/N” he calls, just as you reach for the handle. You turn back around trying not to look directly at him

“You’re not the only one that still dreams about what happened to you” he speaks softly, as if he’ll scare you away

He watches as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop any tears from falling. “I haven’t had one in months. I’ve been doing so good” you sound frustrated, like you’re angry at yourself for having lived through trauma

“If you want to tell me about it you can. But we can also talk about it later if you’re too tired” he sighs, hoping you’ll decide to confide in him

“It’s so stupid. I didn’t even want to go to the fair.” you sniffle “my parents asked me to take my younger brother because they were going to be working. It was actually a pretty nice day. We argued a lot but we were getting along that day. It was almost sunset but he wanted to get in one more ride on the Ferris wheel. We were waiting in line and these pops started going off. I thought it was fireworks”

Jack brushes his hand against yours, offering you a tether to your current world. He could tell you were watching it replay in your head. You let your fingers slot into his without even fully realizing it.

“Um. Well it wasn’t fireworks. When I realized that I pushed him behind me as we dropped towards the ground. It happened so fast. One of the bullets hit the motor for the Ferris wheel and it exploded. The rest of that day comes in pieces. The screaming. The smell. My little brother’s eyes staring right through me. He was gone before he even hit the ground. It felt like I laid there next to him for hours. Someone must’ve realized I was still alive because they picked me up and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed without 75% of my leg”

At this point you were fully sobbing, he had never seen you break like this. He squeezed your hand trying to remind you that he was right there

“It’s my fault. I pushed him closer to the explosion. It should’ve been me. Why wasn’t it me Jack?”

“Hey, hey look at me” Jack grabbed both sides of your face, forcing you to look at him, “that was not your fault. You were protecting him. I don’t know why it wasn’t you. But you deserve to be here just as much as anyone else. You survived and fought for it”

Your sobs slowly faded into hiccups. That’s when you both became acutely aware of just how close you were to each other. You straightened your spine and wiped at your face “I am so sorry. I don’t know what just happened. You didn’t need that after a long shift”

“Stop that. I’ve told you before that whenever you need me, I’ll be there”

You offered him one final squeeze on his hand, “Good night Jack. Thank you”

——————————————————————

Present Day

Things had shifted since that night. You seemed to pull back from him. It wasn’t that you were avoiding him but your personal conversations with Jack had become minimal, you didn’t come out often for drinks after your shifts.

Jack had thought a lot about that night since it happened. His heart broke watching you break down. It was getting harder to lie to himself about his feelings for you. His paranoia began to creep in as you pulled back. He was afraid he had crossed a line and ruined your friendship. Robby tried to comfort him, explaining that he had noticed you seemed off with everyone, not just Jack. That didn’t make him feel better because now it seemed like you were struggling.

To put it simply, you were struggling. But you worried that you had trauma dumped on your poor attending so you were determined to step back and remain as professional as possible. So you suffered in silence, alone, inside the comfort of your home away from prying eyes.

Which is where you were when you got the text from Dana: MCI: Shooting Pittfest All hands on deck

So you pulled yourself together. Promising to make it through this without absolutely losing your shit.

——————————————————————

Feedback welcome but please be nice it’s been years since I’ve written a fic

[kimstills]

i can see you

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader summary: "here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?” content warnings: jealous!hotch, reader is a panther (aren't we all), bathroom sex, mirror sex, p in v, sexual tension, unprotected sex (r mentions being on birth control but wrap it before you tap it!), rough sex, dirty talk, size kink if u squint, spanking, hair pulling, choking, dom!hotch, sub!reader. word count: 3.9k (y’all this was not supposed to be this long lmao) notes: day 18 of @hotchfiles marchhotchness 'self-image' but also HEAVILY inspired by this post from @softhairedhotch because it made me go FERAL and i love jealous hotch (but pls lmk if taking inspo was okay!!) this is also my first hotch fic ever so pls lmk ur thoughts or any other feedback <333

aaron hotchner was not a jealous man.

he had no right to be jealous over something that technically did not exist or someone that technically was not his.

and although he only had himself to blame for that, he really did wish that you were his. and as much as he was telling himself not to be, he was jealous.

but it wasn’t the typical jealous where he watched you be approached by someone much younger than him—someone your own age instead of his—and by someone who already had him beat in reciprocating that flirtatious energy you often used on aaron himself.

no, this type of jealousy was one that was boosting his ego and making him feel lightweight, albeit the fact that it still made him see red.

it was a typical night out with the rest of the team, all of you having agreed that the eight of you were in need of a couple of drinks after some long weeks of paperwork and back and forth cases.

you were all engrossed in the conversation, but you had left the table to get yourself another refill on your drink and had taken far too long than it normally would have, the rest of the younger members—all besides reid—having decided on hitting up the dance floor throughout the time you hadn’t returned to your seat.

it was practically natural for aaron to look for you in a crowd, but what he hadn’t expected to find was you, sitting in a bar stool on the right side of the bar, being hit up by a man who had to have been a couple of years older than aaron himself.

the front hairs of the man’s head were peeking of several grey hairs, paired with a matching grey beard and an overall radiance that screamed of that older man type that you were apparently into.

the sudden revelation made aaron feel dizzy, the confirmation of your attraction towards older men making his pants tighten as he watched the way you stared up at the man with that sultry look of yours—the one where you were somehow able to perfectly mix mischief and innocence seamlessly together.

while you had used that look on aaron countless times before, times where it had been only you and him alone in his office, way past working hours, he had never done anything about it. but, god, as he watched you do it to someone else, out on the open, there was nothing he was currently regretting more.

aaron’s train of thought was interrupted as he felt someone kick him from underneath the table he sat at, whipping his head to the person in front of him only to find rossi staring at him with a smug look on his face.

he cleared his throat, “what?”

aaron mentally cringed at the way his voice wavered.

“you gonna be done being jealous anytime soon and make a move or are you just gonna sit there throwing daggers at the guy?” dave asked, brows raised.

he took a long sip from his drink, trying to avoid the question for as long as he could as he tried to compose himself, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,”

rossi rolled his eyes, “oh, please, aaron. you don’t have to be a profiler to notice the way you can cut the tension that’s between the both of you with a butter knife,”

aaron’s brows furrowed.

“you have all the confirmation you need right there,” dave pointed his thumb behind him, signaling at you and the man, “if that’s not enough for you, then i’m declaring you helpless at this point,” he let out a sigh, standing from his seat, “i’m going to get another drink and if i find you still sitting here, wallowing in your thoughts after getting my refill, i’ll go up to them and encourage her to go home with the man.”

aaron’s fists clenched at the thought. at the thought of you sprawled on the bed of another man, wearing that same look you had on just now and staring up at him as you—

his body acted faster than his brain did, and before he even had the chance to process what he was doing, he stood from his own stool, not allowing for another moment to pass by as he stormed over to where you and the man were sitting.

from your side of the room, you can see aaron make his way over to you through the peripheral of your vision, the excitement of finally getting a reaction out of him making your heart skip and your thighs press together as you took into count the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

the pressure you put on your thighs didn’t do anything to relieve the ache you felt in your core as he reached where you sat, coming to stand behind—was his name michael? although the stranger you had began talking to was definitely older than him, aaron was a good several inches taller, towering over the both of you.

he cleared his throat, cutting michael off from whatever he had been talking to you about as he turned around with a raised brow. aaron’s expression didn’t falter, not sparing a single glance at the man as his eyes landed on you, “y/n, can i speak to you for a moment?”

you mentally rolled your eyes. ever the formal one.

michael scoffed from in front of him, angling his body so that he was able to properly glare daggers at your boss, “we were in the middle of a conversation here, if you don’t mind?”

although your attraction for aaron skyrocketed in comparison to the man you had just met, you were thriving off of the jealousy radiating off of the one you wanted the most, the ache in your stomach only growing.

before aaron had the chance to shoot out a reply, you set your hand on michael’s forearm, giving him a small, but sad smile, “i’m sorry, michael,” you butted in, jumping off of the bar stool, “i’ll be right back, okay?”

another scoff comes from michael’s direction, “whatever,” he grabs his drink and rolls his eyes, “don’t even bother coming back,”

ew.

this time you actually rolled your eyes, grabbing at your drink and drowning the rest of it. you shrug, “older men are always a hit or miss,” you mumble, setting the glass down.

aaron’s hand comes to wrap around your wrist, a firm but gentle grip on it as he pulls you close to him, “let’s go,” he seethes in your ear.

you hide a smirk as you follow behind him, letting your body practically flail as you struggle to keep up with him. when he notices your staggered pace, he matches his footsteps with yours, moving his hand from your wrist to your waist as he guides you through the crowd and towards the hallway that lead towards the bar’s restrooms.

the both of you gave a silent thanks at the fact that there was no line, the hallway scarce and dimly lit with the exception of a few people standing together against the walls, either flirting or talking.

“what are you doing?” you ask, standing behind him as he knocks on one of the doors, his grip on your waist still very much present.

“you’ll see,” he mumbles, yanking the door open by the knob after no one replies and pulling the both of you inside before slamming the door shut behind him.

you try to take a good look at the interior of the bathroom, trying to guess if it was a good enough place to do whatever the two of you were about to do.

a faint gasp escapes your lips as you feel something hard press into your ass, immediately melting as one of aaron’s big hands comes to rub at the side of your leg, right below your hip. his whole body comes up behind yours, his other free hand coming to your stomach to press you into him.

“aaron—” you try to speak but get cut off as you let out another gasp, one almost like a sigh, as the hand that was rubbing at your leg sneaks further up and wraps itself around your hip, aaron’s thick fingers digging into your skin despite the material of your shorts that blocked his hand.

aaron dips his head so that his mouth is right next to your ear, his breath and the faint touch of his lips against the lower part of your jawline sending shivers down your spine.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, a total contrast from the vice grip he had on both your front and hip.

you nod quickly, your hand coming up to your right where he held your hip to wrap around his own.

“use your words, honey,”

the pet name makes you whimper and your thighs clench in spite of the fact that you were standing up. you let out a ragged breath as he awaits for your answer, the hand that was pressed to your stomach furthering down until it was right above your pelvis but below your tummy, pushing you further back until you could feel how hard he actually was.

you whine, your other hand coming to wrap around that one, too, “yes,” you sigh, “it’s okay,”

aaron presses his lips into that same spot below your jaw, gently and lovingly before whipping you around so that you were facing him and pushing you up against the counter.

not even giving you a chance to process what he had just done, his lips crash onto yours roughly, making you moan directly into his mouth. your bring your arms up around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and tugging.

aaron hisses, slapping at your thigh in a firm way that had you let out another moan.

“aaron,” you whine, pushing up into his chest out of desperation.

he hums, “do you want my attention now?” he asks through the kiss, “don’t wanna go back and talk to that guy you were all over just a couple of minutes ago?”

“no,” you mumble, huffing as he breaks away from you to wrap his fingers around your chin.

he chuckles as your lips form into a puffy pout, “here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?”

“no!” you whine again, your arms dropping from around his neck to wrap around his bicep, squeezing at the muscle to try and pull him closer to you, “just you!”

his confidence was beyond what it normally was, feeling you squirm from against him yet still wanting his touch, “really? so you weren’t planning on going home with that man? all those times you touched his shoulder or the times he would touch your thigh meant nothing?”

“yes, they didn’t mean anything!” you huff, “you’re the one i want to go home with all the time!”

aaron’s heart clenched at your confession, knowing that deep down you really did mean all the time. he had just never been sure if you truly were interested in living a joint life with him. up until now, that is.

he brings his hands to your back, right by your shoulder blades as he connects your lips once more. your shoulders relax and you lean into him with earnest, squeezing at the muscle from his bicep.

you hum, satisfied as he begins to run his hands up and down, resulting in the fabric of your shirt lifting with every time he went up, eventually ending up in nothing but rolled up fabric under his palm. he breaks the kiss once more to toss your shirt over your head and near the sink’s counter, leaving you in only your shorts.

aaron stared at your bare breasts, not expecting you to have not been wearing a bra despite the tight shirt you just had on.

you shiver under his gaze, opening your mouth to say something before he lowered himself and quickly attached a mouth to one of your breasts, the other one coming up to grab and squeeze at it. you moan, gripping onto the marble counter for support as he presses sloppy and wet kisses to each breast.

his fingers come to undo the button of your shorts, hooking them inside your panties before shoving both articles of clothing down your legs, signaling you to kick them off of you. you toed your shoes off as well, leaving you completely naked and bare for him while he remained fully clothed.

he turns you around gently, bringing you face to face with the sight of you completely stripped in the mirror, the image making you clench your thighs together once more as you stabilized yourself on the sink.

aaron’s hands soothed all around your body, a whimper leaving you at the feeling of his calloused hands groping at your breasts before moving down to your soaking pussy.

as if on instinct, you spread your legs open for him, practically inviting him to dip his fingers into your folds and inside your entrance. the thickness of both his index and middle fingers stretching you out. you knew you had always loved his hands for a reason.

a moan bounced off the walls as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, moving torturously slow before he began to pick up the pace. you could feel your slick drip onto the floor and probably onto the rest of his hand, but all you could focus on was shamelessly bucking your hips into your hand and spreading your legs for even more access.

“you’re soaking, honey,” aaron says, hand coming back around to squeeze at your breast again, leaving you gasping as he pinched your nipples.

you whimpered, “just for you,”

“‘just for me?’” he repeats, “not for anyone else, right?”

you shake your head no, pussy clenching around his fingers, “j-just for you, aaron,”

his hand left your breast to smack at your ass, making you jump, “good girl,”

with that, he takes his fingers out of you, a throaty whine leaving your lips at the empty feeling. you arched your back into him, but immediately stilled at the sound of him removing his belt filled the room. you watched from the mirror in front of you as he undid his pants button, reaching past his boxers to pull out his cock.

oh shit.

your mouth dropped at the sight of his dick spring out from where it had been confined, your slick hole clenching at nothing at how big he was. you knew that aaron hotchner was definition of big dick energy, always wondered what he was secretly packing, but now you wondered if you were going to be able to take it all.

he was thick, veiny all around with girth too thick that it hurt just looking at him. as much as you could tell you wouldn’t be able to walk after this, it excited you far too much.

you gulped, meeting his eyes in the mirror, landing on his hungry gaze, “is it going to fit?” you ask quietly, trying to bring your legs back together.

“we’ll make it fit,” he says, sounding confident of himself, a hand coming to stop you from closing your legs, “will you let me know if it’s too much?”

you take another look at his cock before giving him a determined look, “i will,” you nod.

he nods back, angling your head with his hand so he could press a kiss to your mouth.

you give into him easily, arching into him until you feel the tip of his cock slip through your wet folds and line up with your entrance. you had taken dick before, but never this big, so as he gave you one last look, you took a deep breath before feeling him sink into you.

you gasp, already feeling full by just the tip, though the slickness of your pussy helping you in adjust.

“still good, honey?”

you nod again, too busy focusing on how his length was stretching you out further than his fingers had.

smack!

aaron’s hand landed another spank on your ass, making you snap your heads toward him with a confused, dumbfounded expression. he glared, “use your words.”

you huffed, doing your best to not roll your eyes, “still good,” you replied, going back to focusing on how full your pussy already felt, “is it in yet?”

“almost, baby,” you whined again, pushing your ass back onto him and earning yourself another inch inside.

humming in delight, you felt aaron begin to move, setting a slow pace as he inched himself in and out to get you used to the length that was already inside you.

“aaron,” you sighed, “give it all to me,” you pleaded at him through the mirror, “i can take it,”

he studied your expression, all needy and flushed as you tried to buck your hips further back to fill yourself up more, “let me know if it’s too much,” he warned.

you nodded eagerly but didn’t get a chance to reply as he shoved the rest of his length inside, the tip immediately hitting that one spot. you gasped loudly, the feeling of his whole cock inside you awakening a hunger inside of you, “fuck,” you moaned, dropping your hands so that you were resting with your elbows on the counter, “please, aaron. move,”

he hesitated for another moment, and just as you were about to look behind you, you felt him begin to move, pistoling his hips into your ass roughly.

you let out a shriek, your hands grabbing at anything you could reach in order to stabilize yourself as he began to mercilessly pound into you from behind. he slipped his dick in and out of you each time, your pussy hugging the veiny length each time he did.

the sounds your juices made due to you being soaked vibrated against the room each time his hips hit your ass roughly, and it only edged you on further.

“a-aaron,” you moan, breasts jiggling against the cold sink as the girth of his cock stretched you out, “aaron! oh, fuck!”

you thought you had felt good getting his attention when you were back flirting with the guy, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his dick slamming into you.

from above, aaron grunted and groaned, fingers and nails digging into your hips harshly as he pounded into your perfect pussy. he loved the way you clenched around him, taking it back perfectly each time he slipped back in.

his hand reached for your hair, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against him with your back still perfectly arched. he dropped his hand from your head to wrap around your neck, fingers digging into the sides.

you gasped, not having a choice as you looked at him through the now foggy mirror, the image of your body rocking with every smack against your body only adding onto the sensation.

“such a perfect pussy,” aaron grumbled into your ear, “this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it sweetheart?”

you did your best to nod regardless of how weak your body felt, of the way you could feel your slick drip down to your thighs or the way you were drooling from your open mouth, “belongs to you, aaron,” you mumble, surprisingly coherently despite the way he was choking you.

“yeah, it does,” he grunts, free hand coming to grab at your stomach again before pushing against the spot where his cock was evidently sliding in and out of you, making you squirm, “this greedy pussy belongs to me. not to that bastard you were flirting with, right, honey?”

you nod again, eyes stuck on the tummy bulge you currently displayed, your hole clenching at aaron’s cock even tighter at the way the indent disappeared when he slipped out versus when it reappeared when slipping back in.

“feels so good, aaron,” you mumble, saliva dropping from your lips and onto your pointy, practically rock hard nipples that jiggled with each thrust.

“yeah?” he asks, breath hot against your ear, “taking it so well for me, such a good girl,” he praises, hand leaving from your stomach to slither down to where your bodies connected.

you let out a squeal as his middle finger slipped through your finger and his index began to rub furiously at your swollen clit, the feeling making the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten.

you babbled aaron’s name like a loose mantra, bodies rocking together as he quickened his pace after realizing that you were close to orgasming, hand tightening around your neck and finger rubbing even faster than before.

“c’mon, honey, come for me,” he encouraged, “come all over my cock, pretty girl,”

it was all the confirmation you need to let yourself go, body shaking and aaron’s name being repeated as you chased the high, glad that he was holding you up with his hands as your whole body stuttered.

the feeling of your pussy clenching and unclenching around him violently made aaron groan, sweat dripping down his body as he began to reach his own high just from the way your body reacted to orgasming from his dick. from the way he was fucking you and from the way he was naming you as his own.

you could feel his pace falter from behind you, lazily meeting his pace as you tried to encourage him to finish, “come in me, aaron, please,” you whined, needing to feel him fill you up to the point where his come would leak out of you, “fill up my pussy, aaron,”

he gave you a look of unsureness through the mirror before you nodded at him, “i’m on the pill. it’s okay. please,”

that had been all the confirmation he need for him to finish inside you, his cock twitching inside you as his seed filled you up, making you moan as you rode out your own orgasm, still clenching tightly around him.

you giggled at the way his body practically toppled onto yours as he tried to catch himself, bodies pressed together as he held onto the counter with his dick still inside you.

he snaked his hand around the side of your face as his breath evened, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and shutting up your whines as he pulled out from inside you with a kiss to your mouth.

“jack’s at a sleepover today,” he says after a few moments of silence.

you inch an eyebrow at him, watching as he leaned over to grab some toilet paper, snatching some off the holder before wiping himself clean of you and wincing at the sensitivity as he wiped gently at your own folds and thighs, “is he now?”

he hums, tucking himself back into his boxers and quickly buttoning his pants to help you put your own clothes on, “he is,” he grabbed your discarded shorts and parties from the floor and signaled you to lift your legs, “we can go home and i’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed and ask you to be go on an official date with me in the morning,”

your heart pulls as he buttons up your shorts for you, reaching for your shirt, too, “i’ll only say yes if we keep going when we get home,” you admit, making him freeze in his movements.

he pinched your nipple.

[shadowfoxsilver]

Some tips on how to spot a blog that’s trying to scam you by pretending to be in Palestine:

Check the date of the pinned post if they have one. It likely is only a few hours old at best or a few days old.

Check how many posts the account has and if they’re all just reblogs of a trending post or popular post. Usually scammers reblog just a few then nothing else. Their only original post is the pinned one and maybe a few asks they answered.

Search the contents of their pinned post/aid post and see if it comes up on a real fundraiser site. Scammers tend to steal their info off of real people and real fundraisers hoping no one will notice. They’ll claim their fundraiser is pending but they don’t run or own anything they’re taking from. Some will even steal names to impersonate people.

You’ll only get these asks if you actively post about Palestine or share Palestine related posts. These accounts will often share the same posts then contact you via asks asking you to share their post. They will continue asking even if you tell them you don’t have money. They won’t read your blog so even having a ‘don’t sent donation asks’ in the bio or pinned won’t stop them. They just want you to share their post and won’t take no for an answer.

Often times you’ll get the same ask from entirely different accounts or the ask is tweaked by using parts of another ask. But the post itself will always be the same as the previous account before it was removed for being a scam. These scammers reuse the same exact ask so often searching the ask will pull up past accounts who sent it.

The pfp and images are often stolen from the real fundraiser that the scammers have copied. When you call them out on it, they’ll usually send you hate mail instead of explaining anything. And then block you only to send you the same mutual aid ask from another blog because they think you won’t notice.

If you answer these asks, and know it’s a scam, call out the scammer and link to legitimate fundraisers or useful links to verified charities. This way the scammers ask will be seen if searched and people who see it will find sources for supporting actual people.

Not all mutual aid posts for Palestine is a scam. It’s just suggested to do some research into a brand new account asking you for money. Please support verified charities and fundraisers made by people who have confirmed their legitimacy in some way or have proved they are the person that it was made for. It’s unfortunate these scams are happening, but they do exist.

[whisperedmeg]

SYNODIC CURVE ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part iv

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: under the stars, spencer lets her in. what follows is not a leap, but a quiet circling toward something steady.

genre: fluff, smut, a bit of hurt/comfort I guess?

w/c: 5.7k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, talk of prison and intimacy issues, brief maeve mention, discussion of past relationship trauma, spencer being an adorable nerd, lots of astronomy talk, just two cuties on their first official date, glasses reid YUM, fingering, handjob, oral (both f/m receiving), 18+ MDNI

a/n: this is my favorite part thus far 🥹. as always, I appreciate anyone who reads this little story of mine so, so much 🫶🏼. part 5 is mostly written already, so it’ll be up later this week, and in the meantime, I might post a one shot unrelated to this series if I can find the time to finish it

series masterlist

synodic (adj.) — describing the period between successive conjunctions of celestial bodies; the cycle of return, when two objects moving through space appear to realign.

—

Spencer’s door was already unlocked when I arrived, as if he’d been checking the hallway every five minutes. His hair was slightly damp from a recent shower, and he’d changed into a t-shirt I hadn’t seen before — navy with a faded print of Saturn and a little ring of stars around it. I couldn’t tell if it was old or just designed to look that way, but either way, it suited him.

“Hope you’re in the mood for popcorn and 1950s melodrama,” he said by way of greeting, holding up the DVD case like it was a peace offering. I grinned and set my things down, padding over to him and greeting him with a quick kiss.

The night started easy. Comfortable. A rhythm we’d already half-settled into. He let me rummage through his kitchen for the popcorn while he dug around for the remote, and soon the apartment was filled with the scent of butter as black-and-white images flickered across the screen. We sat on the couch with the bowl between us, our shoulders brushing, knees nudging.

Halfway through the movie — somewhere between a dramatic monologue and a string-heavy score — I turned to him, catching him already watching me instead of the screen.

“We should probably talk,” I said softly.

He didn’t flinch, just nodded once. “About yesterday.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

We didn’t pause the movie. Just let it play in the background as we navigated the parts we hadn’t gotten to over the phone — the strange, lingering discomfort tied to my job, the way it felt like Millburn would always be a third presence in the room. He was honest about how he didn’t like thinking about that place, about the way it’s wired into him now like a faulty line in a circuit he can’t replace. I told him I understood — really understood — and that I never wanted to be one more thing he had to brace himself around. “But I don’t want to avoid it either,” I admitted. “Or you.”

“I know,” he said. “I know you being there probably made it survivable for me. But sometimes, it’s hard to hold that truth next to the version of you I’m still trying to believe I get to have outside of all that.”

That quieted me. I nodded and turned back to the movie, feeling his eyes still lingering on me.

The second half of the movie passed in fragments, but I don’t think either of us really followed it. His hand stayed on my knee most of the time, fingers idly tracing circles, the popcorn bucket long since moved to the coffee table so more of us could touch. When the credits rolled, we didn’t get up.

Eventually, I turned toward him, leaned in a little. He met me halfway.

The kiss started slow, familiar, but deepened fast — the kind of shift that felt like dropping into a current I hadn’t realized I was swimming alongside. His hands found my waist, then under the hem of my shirt, palms warm and steady. Mine were already tugging at the back of his neck, threading into his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him over me.

I felt him start to ease me down onto the couch, his body pressing into mine, and I didn’t stop him. His hips rolled against mine, his mouth on my neck. God, I didn’t want him to stop.

But then — he did.

Abruptly.

It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t bolt upright or say anything cutting. He just stilled, every muscle in him going tense beneath my hands. I opened my eyes and found him already up, running both hands through his hair as he stood.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pacing once toward the window and back again. “I’m— I thought I could.”

I sat up slowly, pulling my shirt back into place. The air between us had gone from warm to thin, and I hated how much of that change I immediately blamed on myself. Like I’d misread something. Like I’d offered too much.

“It’s totally fine,” I said, and the words came out more insecure-sounding than I meant them to.

He paused, analyzing my expression. “No, it’s not,” he said, sitting back down beside me, but this time with a little space between us. “I want to. It’s not you. Not at all. I want you, I— God, I want you so much sometimes it scares me.”

That didn’t help as much as he probably thought it would.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his mouth like the words might line up better if he kept pushing.

“It’s just… that place rewired everything. I used to know how to be in my body. How to feel desire without it twisting. But now…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, jaw tight. “Now I get close to you like that, and something inside me just short-circuits.” He looked at me like he was half expecting me to up and leave.

My chest ached — not from rejection, not even really from disappointment, but from how much I suddenly wanted to stay.

Because there was something about the way he spoke to me that stripped everything bare — no performance, no pretense. Just this raw, unfiltered honesty that somehow made me feel steadier, not smaller. I felt the weight of what it meant to be trusted with the part of him that still didn’t feel safe in its own skin.

And maybe that’s what shifted — realizing that whatever this was, it wasn’t about chasing a moment. It was about showing up. Again and again, even when it was messy. Especially when it was messy.

So, I didn’t leave. I just reached over and took his hand. He looked down at our intertwined fingers, then back at me like he couldn’t believe I was still here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, knowing he needed to hear it. “And I’m not going to push you. I’m completely okay with us taking our time with the physical stuff, going as slow as we need. But… I can’t keep guessing where the line is.” I paused, sighing softly. “I’m not asking you to be okay right now. I’m not asking you to give me more than you can,” I added. “But if you pull back and shut me out… I’ll start wondering if I did something wrong. Or if I made you feel cornered or coerced. I just need a little clarity. I need to know it’s not always going to feel like I’m walking a tightrope.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low. “None of this is your fault. I think part of me thought that when I got out, I’d just… snap back into who I was before. That everything I shut down to survive in there would just flip back on like a switch.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “But it doesn’t work like that. So until I can get my body and mind to realign on that stuff, I’ll tell you when it’s too much. I don’t want you to be second-guessing yourself.”

I nodded, squeezing his hand. That was enough for me right now — just the promise that he’d try.

We didn’t talk much more after that. The rest of the night was quiet, just two people still learning how to navigate each other’s gravity. Eventually, he stood and reached a hand out to me without a word, guiding me into his bedroom like it was muscle memory now. He pulled out a fresh t-shirt from his drawer and handed it over without comment, just a small, almost sheepish smile. I took it, changed in the bathroom, and when I came back, he was already under the blanket, waiting.

He didn’t make a move toward me when I slipped in beside him, just let me come to him. I turned into his chest, and he curled his arm around my waist, breath warm against my forehead.

And even though the ache inside me didn’t leave entirely, it settled. Enough to let me sleep. Enough to stay.

—

The next week and a half blurred in that strange, elastic way time does when you’re learning someone new — stretching and snapping back, full of moments that didn’t feel like milestones until they’d already passed. I worked five shifts at Millburn and left sore and exhausted each time, but never alone. Spencer was waiting for me after every one — sometimes in person, sometimes just a text saying, Door’s open if you want it to be.

He kept busy, too. Chipping away at the mountain of paperwork it would take to get his badge back, fielding calls from the Bureau and his union rep, scheduling psych evals and meetings that sounded endless and exhausting. But he never made me feel like I was intruding on all that. Somehow, without either of us trying, we’d fallen into a rhythm.

We slept in the same bed almost every night now, though sleep wasn’t always the first thing on the agenda. There was more touching — more learning the boundaries, more of him reaching for me. His hands began to linger longer at my waist, his mouth began to pause just a beat more against my collarbone, sucking and licking and tasting. Some nights we talked until the room went dark around us. Others we barely said a word, content to just exist in the same quiet air, our legs tangled under the sheets.

Before I knew it and without even trying, I had memorized the way he made coffee and he had started keeping my brand of toothpaste in his bathroom drawer.

—

“I booked it,” he said one morning, voice soft but unmistakably pleased as he leaned against the kitchen counter in his flannel pajama pants and NASA tee. “The planetarium show. Thursday.”

I smiled, padding up to him and looping my arms around his waist. “Really?”

He grinned. “Seven o’clock. Stars and music. Pie afterward, if you’re still up for it.”

Something about the smile he gave me then made my heart pull in my chest — not the sharp kind, but the warm, stretching kind that always took a few extra seconds to settle.

Later that night, we lay facing each other, his fingers brushing absently over the inside of my wrist. He’d been quiet for a while, lost in thought, and when he finally spoke, it was with that same cadence he used when telling me facts I didn’t ask for but always wanted to hear.

“I haven’t dated much,” he said. “Not before the BAU, and only sporadically since I joined. Maeve was…different.”

I nodded gently, giving him space. I knew bits and pieces about Maeve already, little fragments of his past he’d laid bare inside the infirmary.

“She made me feel like I wasn’t too much. Even when I talked too fast or spiraled out with a thousand thoughts at once, she stayed on the phone with me. Answered every one of my letters. And then she was just…gone. And I couldn’t save her.”

His hand moved from my wrist to my jaw, brushing lightly as if grounding himself.

“Since then, I think some part of me has never fully let go of the idea that loving someone automatically means losing them. Or hurting them. Or both.”

My chest ached for him — not with pity, but with understanding. “I know that feeling,” I said. “I mean, not exactly. I can never relate to the pain you were in after what happened to her, but I know how it feels to conflate love with loss. My last relationship… It wasn't good for me. He constantly told me I was too much. Too emotional, too reactive, too needy. Everything about me was just a little too inconvenient.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharper now.

“I spent a long time trying to turn it off. Trying to be easier. Softer. Less. And when I couldn’t be what he wanted emotionally, I just…tried to be what he wanted physically.” I didn’t look away. “Sex became the only way I could feel close to him. Or useful.”

He exhaled, slow and low. “He sounds like an idiot.”

That made me laugh a little. “He was. But he was also just… human. And so was I. And I stayed too long. Started feeling like love always came at a cost, both to me and to them. But I’ve done a lot of work since then to be full again. To let go of that feeling, and to get back to myself.”

“You are,” Spencer said, fingers sliding carefully beneath the hem of my shirt. “You’re so full of life, I don’t know how I ever functioned before I met you.”

His kiss came gently, but it deepened quickly — hands finding each other, breath catching in the dark. For a while we didn’t speak, just moved together under the covers, slow and attentive. His mouth trailed along my throat like a map he wanted to memorize, and I let my hands explore the slope of his back, the curve of his waist, the sharp lines softened by sleep and stillness.

When his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, I held still — not in fear, but in awe of the quiet question he asked with just the brush of his fingertips. He traced the edge of me like he was waiting for my breath to steady, like he was listening for the yes in the way my hips tilted toward him.

When I gasped, soft, and involuntary, he didn’t freeze like he had in the times before. He stayed with me. Kept moving gently, slowly, two fingers slipping through slick heat as his eyes searched mine. Steady and careful. His pupils were blown wide, mouth parted like he’d forgotten to breathe, chest rising and falling as if trying to keep pace with something invisible between us. His thumb brushed over my clit deliberately, once, then again, and the sound I made curled his lips into the tiniest smile, like he was learning something sacred.

I was unraveling. I could feel it in every nerve ending, the coiled tension winding tighter, the heat in my belly flaring under his touch. He watched me fall apart with that same patient awe, like each flick of his fingers was another word in a language he was still studying but somehow already fluent in. He wasn’t just memorizing what made me shake — he was trying to understand why. Watching the way I arched, the way I bit my lip to keep quiet, the way I clung to his shoulder like I was trying not to drown. I tried to keep from being too much too fast, but it didn’t matter. He saw all of it.

And when I came, trembling around his hand, his eyes never left mine. He leaned his forehead against mine, breathing hard, and kissed me — my cheek, my temple, my brow, my lips. He looked at me as if witnessing me let go was as much a gift for him as it was for me.

When I rolled towards him after, still catching my breath, I reached for the hem of his shirt and felt him stiffen — not from discomfort, but something more fragile. Vulnerability, maybe. Or hesitation edged with want. I moved slowly, pressing a hand to his chest, and he let me, nodding.

My fingers drifted lower, across the trail of soft hair down his stomach, past the waistband of his boxers. He sucked in a breath, loud in the hush of the room, and buried his face in my neck when I wrapped my hand around him.

It wasn’t the way he groaned that undid me — it was the way he tried not to, like even now he was afraid to take up too much space in the room. I cupped his face with my free hand and whispered, “You can let go,” and he did — with a broken, quiet sound that made my chest tighten. He came with his forehead pressed to mine, whispering my name like it was the only tether he had to the present. Like he needed me more than air.

After, he collapsed into me, breath still ragged, hands trembling just slightly as they found my waist. I pressed my face into his neck and let my fingers trace over the long scar on his palm — the one I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask about yet. He let me touch it, didn’t flinch, and let out a breath that felt like surrender.

He changed into clean boxers and then came back to bed, wrapping me up in his arms with a kiss to my forehead. We stayed tangled up like that for a long time, neither of us talking, just sharing warmth, skin, silence. A kind of quiet I hadn’t known I needed until I had it. The kind that said, this is safe. This is yours.

And when we finally stilled beneath the covers, his arms tightened around me as he let his eyes close. It felt like he was holding onto more than just my body — we were carving out space for each other between fear and trust, between what he’d survived and what we were building now. And maybe he hadn’t remembered how to feel this kind of intimacy before — but here, in the hush of the dark, it felt like he was trying.

—

He picked me up at 6:30pm sharp on Thursday in a dusty old Volvo that looked like it had survived multiple timelines and maybe a few natural disasters. I loved it instantly.

I was locking my apartment door when I saw it idle at the curb through the window, a boxy relic with dull blue paint and mismatched hubcaps. Of course this was his car. Of course it smelled faintly like books and peppermint and had a crumpled copy of Scientific American wedged between the passenger seat and the center console.

“You ready?” he asked through the open window, smiling. I sucked in a sharp breath when I noticed he was wearing glasses I hadn’t seen him in before. God, did that man look good in glasses.

I nodded and climbed in. “This thing still runs?”

He scoffed, mock-offended. “Runs brilliantly. It’s a classic.”

“It’s a heap, Spence.” Spence. I’d never called him that before. It just slipped out, and it tasted good when it did.

“It’s a heap with soul,” he countered, pulling into traffic. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the nickname, but I noticed his cheeks blush a little bit. He settled his right palm against the warm skin of my thigh, filling the space above my knee but below the hem of my skirt.

The Smithsonian Planetarium was quiet by the time we got there — just a handful of couples and tourists milling around the lobby, murmuring over ticket stubs and constellation maps. Spencer whispered trivia in my ear while we waited for the doors to open, soft things like, “The light we’re seeing tonight left those stars before Shakespeare was born,” and “That one’s called the Winter Hexagon — six stars, all tied together.”

He was giddy in that understated, Spencer way — rambling facts under his breath and pushing his glasses up his nose with two fingers every time they slipped. I couldn’t stop smiling.

Once the doors opened and we settled in our seats inside, a comfortable silence fell between us. The lights dimmed so slowly I barely noticed it happening — first the dome above us went navy, then charcoal, then a black so deep it made me feel like I was floating. And then the stars came.

Thousands of them, blooming across the ceiling like a slow explosion — faint pinpricks at first, then constellations, galaxies, supernovas flaring to life as the narrator began to speak.

Soft music hummed in the background — a playlist full of Max Richter, Ólafur Arnalds, one movement of Spiegel im Spiegel sliding into a mournful cello piece that made the back of my eyes sting.

He leaned over, his breath warm against my ear. “That one,” he whispered, pointing up as a spiral galaxy rotated above us, “is Messier 51 — the Whirlpool Galaxy. It’s interacting with a smaller galaxy, which is slowly being absorbed. It’s been happening for millions of years.”

“So they’re crashing into each other?”

“Kind of. More like merging. It’s violent, but also… inevitable. They’ll become one galaxy eventually.”

“You’re making this sound romantic.”

He glanced at me, his crooked smile just barely visible in the dark. “A little destruction is romantic, sometimes.”

I swallowed hard and looked back up at the dome. The narrator was talking about stardust now — about how every element in our bodies was forged in the cores of long-dead stars, scattered by ancient explosions. “The calcium in your teeth,” she said, “the iron in your blood — all of it began in the heart of a dying star.”

“That always gets me,” Spencer whispered. “Stardust. It sounds cheesy, but it’s real. Every single atom in your body came from something ancient and violent.”

“Explains a lot about me,” I murmured.

He laughed softly. “You’re made of much better star stuff than you give yourself credit for.”

The stars kept moving. We drifted past Orion, past the Pleiades. Spencer leaned close again. “You know the story behind Andromeda?”

I shook my head.

“She was chained to a rock as a sacrifice, because her mother bragged she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. So the gods demanded a punishment. But Perseus shows up, slays the sea monster, and saves her.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “And also… kind of hot.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Slaying a monster to save someone?”

“No,” I smirked. “The part where she’s chained to a rock,” I deadpanned, joking.

He choked on his own muted laughter and quickly looked around, half-convinced someone had overheard.

“I’m kidding,” I whispered, nudging his thigh with mine.

His hand found mine again in the dark, fingers interlacing gently but with that same thread of electricity running through it. Something sparking between us that no supernova could outshine.

Afterward, we walked slowly back to his car, and he didn’t let go. Not even when we passed a group of teenagers huddled around the fountain, or when I made a joke about him being the only man alive who would get teary-eyed over a projected simulation of Saturn’s rings.

“It’s the Cassini Division,” he said, feigning indignance. “It’s iconic.”

“Your brain is iconic,” I teased, bumping his shoulder.

He blushed down to his collar.

We ended up at the diner he’d mentioned in the infirmary — the one with chipped mugs and a neon clock on the wall, the kind of place that smelled like coffee creamer and buttered toast and hadn’t changed its menu since 1977. We each ordered pie: I got cherry; he got apple.

“You’ve got some whipped cream on your lip,” I giggled after a few bites.

He licked the wrong side.

“No, other side—” I leaned forward across the table and wiped it with my thumb. “You’re a disaster.”

“A disaster with excellent taste in desserts,” he corrected.

“Debatable.”

“Please. I did research. I picked this place based on data.”

“Oh my god, you ran an analysis on pie, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said, completely serious. “And this one scored highest in texture, balance of sweetness, and mouthfeel.”

I cringed. “You just said mouthfeel in public. I hope you know I can never un-hear that.”

He laughed, full and genuine, and I thought to myself: god, I’m so screwed. Because somewhere between the stars and the whipped cream and the hand-holding in the dark, I realized I was falling. Not crashing. Not spiraling. Not in the violent way two galaxies merge. Just… falling. Falling for every part of him, every side he’d given me the privilege of seeing.

His palm found my thigh again on the drive home. Something about the energy in his car felt charged, and at one point, I caught him staring at me when he hadn’t realized the traffic light had turned green and a BMW behind us honked.

Once we got back to his apartment, the air shifted the second the door closed behind us. I’m not sure if his hands were on me first or the other way around, but however it happened, I was grateful.

We barely made it to the couch without stumbling into something. His hands found my hips and I pulled him in by the collar of his shirt, kissing him with a low, smoldering urgency I’d been sitting on since his lips brushed my ear in the planetarium. He responded just as hungrily — no hesitation, no nerves, just Spencer, warm and wanting, mouth on mine like he was starving for it. It felt like I could see his walls crumbling before my eyes.

I straddled him, settling into his lap on the couch like I belonged there, and he moaned low in his throat like he agreed. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me down harder against him, and I could feel him already through his pants — hard, insistent, twitching under me every time I rolled my hips.

“Fuck—”

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked, pausing my movements.

“No” he breathed. “God, no, I don’t want you to stop.”

We kissed deeper, rougher. I untucked his crisp buttoned shirt and let my hands slide up his skin underneath it, mapping his ribs, the slope of his chest. He gasped when I pinched his nipple playfully. “Sensitive, huh?”

“Apparently,” he chuckled.

His hands weren’t idle either — one sliding up my spine under my shirt and over my bra, the other gripping my ass with real purpose. I let him touch me like that — unselfconsciously, eagerly — because I wanted to be wanted like this. By him.

I rocked against him again, slower this time, and his head fell back against the cushions. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, eyes fluttering closed.

I kissed the side of his neck. “Not yet.”

He opened his eyes again, dazed but focused, as his fingers drifted under the lace covering my breasts. “Can I?” he whispered, already thumbing lightly at the fabric.

I nodded an immediate yes, and he tugged my shirt up over my head and then the bra down just enough to bare me to the room. He looked at me for a moment — really looked, like I was the most beautiful, bewildering thing he’d ever seen. I felt that look low in my belly and behind my ribs for hours after the fact.

His hands on my breasts were warm, gentle, reverent. Then his mouth followed.

He licked, kissed, sucked — slow and focused — like he was solving a riddle, unlocking pieces of a puzzle one by one. I was panting by the time he switched sides, tugging his hair, grinding down on him because I couldn’t help it.

When I reached between us and undid his belt, unzipping him, he didn’t stop me. Just let his head fall back again and hissed through his teeth when I palmed him through his briefs.

“You’re so hard,” I whispered. “Is this all from the stars, or me?”

He looked at me with a half-smile, eyes blown wide. “You.”

“Good answer,” I giggled.

I tugged at the waistband just enough to slip my hand inside. He was warm, heavy, and twitching under my palm as I started to stroke him properly. He bucked up against my palm, one hand clutching my hip now, the other digging into the couch cushion like he was trying desperately to hold onto something real.

When he slipped a hand down the front of my panties under my skirt, I gasped — not from surprise, but from how confident he was about it. It felt like he’d been imagining this for weeks. Practicing it in his mind, going over it in his head frame by frame.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, fingers sliding between my folds.

He lifted me off his lap and laid me down on the couch, settling between my thighs as he pressed soft kisses down my body. The second his tongue touched me over my panties, I arched. He locked his fingers around the waistband and pulled the fabric down, kissing my inner thighs as he did, and once they were off, he looked up at me. I tangled a hand in his hair and took a steadying breath, offering silent permission for him to continue.

His mouth met my center without hesitation, and he licked with the kind of precision I should’ve expected from him — methodical, slow strokes that built pressure, then faster ones that made my thighs tremble. His hands gripped my hips hard, keeping me right where he wanted me.

“Fuck, Spencer,” I whined, tugging on his hair, breath catching, thighs tightening around his shoulders.

He moaned into me like he liked the way I sounded, like he wanted me loud. It only made it better — vibration deep and indulgent as he worked me harder, faster, then slowed again just to tease me. The kind of rhythm that bordered on cruelty. By the third time he worked me up, I was writhing.

“I’m close,” I warned, voice tight.

“Come for me,” he murmured against me, voice ruined. “Please.”

He wrapped is lips around my clit and I came with a cry that I couldn’t stifle, hips jerking, thighs clamped tight around his face as he worked me through it — greedy and gentle, like he didn’t want to stop, like he was still starved for my taste. One of his hands left my hip to tangle his fingers with mine as if to say I’m here, I’ve got you.

I was still catching my breath when I pulled him up to kiss me. He hesitated for a second, maybe out of courtesy, but I didn’t care. I wanted to taste myself on his lips. I needed tangible evidence that I hadn’t just imagined that entire experience.

“You’re perfect,” I murmured against his mouth. I didn’t give him a chance to answer — just shoved his boxers down the rest of the way and dropped to my knees on the carpet in front of him.

I looked up at him, asking with my eyes if I could keep going, and he took a shaky breath, nodding. He made a strangled sound the second I wrapped my hand around him, and a louder one when my mouth followed. His hands immediately gathered my hair out of my face and held it against the back of my head.

“Oh, fuck, baby—”

Baby. He’d never used any nickname or pet name for me before, let alone something as intimate as baby. I hummed around him in response.

I took him in slow at first, then deeper — flattening my tongue, hollowing my cheeks, working my hand where my mouth couldn’t reach. He was already so hard, leaking, twitching against my tongue. I moaned around him just to feel him pulse in response, and continued my ministrations with enthusiasm.

“You’re gonna make me—” One of his hands left my hair and hit the back of the couch, grasping blindly. “Jesus, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Good,” I whispered, pulling off just enough to meet his eyes, stroking him with my fingers. “I want to feel you.”

He grabbed my hair again, not rough — just holding on like he needed something to ground him — and I took him back into my mouth, fast and focused. I let his cock hit the back of my throat, eliciting a soft gag, and he groaned, deep and rumbly.

He came with a shudder and a broken gasp of my name, hips stuttering, fingers tightening in my hair as he spilled down my throat. I didn’t release him until he was gasping for breath, the sharp edge of his orgasm dissolving into something loose and messy and soft.

When I crawled back up to sit beside him, we didn’t talk right away. He pulled me close, kissed the side of my face, my shoulder, my temple. Eventually, I tucked my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, still dazed.

I smiled into his skin. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hand slid slowly up my spine, fingertips trailing along my neck like he never wanted to stop touching me.

We just stayed like that for a while — tangled, flushed, quiet — the air thick with everything we weren’t saying, and everything we already knew:

That this was becoming something. That the flirtation that started in the prison infirmary wasn’t just flirtation. That we fit together, both in the way my body curled into his and in the way our lives had started to intersect and weave into one.

He looked at me like I was already his, and it scared the hell out of me — not because I didn’t want to be, but because I really, really did. I just hadn’t actually voiced that desire yet, and neither had he. It felt too big, too important, too fragile. He was still trying to re-enter society without breaking, and I was still finding my footing beside him.

Eventually, we made it to his bed, and he helped me dress in yet another one of his soft, worn t-shirts. We brushed our teeth side by side, and when he pulled me into him under the covers, I could’ve sworn my heart literally skipped a beat.

I was halfway asleep when I felt his lips brush my shoulder.

“I’m really glad you came with me tonight,” he said softly.

I turned my head back to look at him and smiled. “I’m really glad you asked. Best first date I’ve ever had,” I murmured back. His hand found mine beneath the blanket.

And as we drifted off together, the stars we’d watched earlier — the ones that had burned for centuries before humans ever noticed them — somehow felt a little less far away.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part v