#whose hoodie? idk

[shivsghost]

Thinking about Ghost in a hoodie she “borrowed” from someone but it’s way too big for her

For context: i was playing around with a headcanon creator earlier today and got this

[akalegos]

happy birthday ritsu *★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。

[hardware-sparks]

yes his hair is in fact technically Default and it's funny to me to think of it that way

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

��If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[troonwolf]

I played Disco Elysium and genuinely I think if I started to replace all my “I”s with “Cuno” there would be no difference in speech pattern a lot of the time

[lovelookspretty]

what would you do for love?

exboyfriend!rafe cameron x obsessed!exgirlfriend!reader

— in which y/n spirals into a possessive obsession over her ex-boyfriend rafe. she quietly pulls the strings from the shadows, creating accidents, bribing others, and doing whatever it takes to maintain control—believing she is the only one truly capable of loving him.

warnings: y/n acting like a subtle joe goldberg asf😭, drinking, smoking, y/n missing rafe

authors note: potential series??? THIS COULD BE ITS PROLOGUE. idk much about sofias background so i cant write out a full length “dive” on her like joe would in you, but ill do what i can!! im not abandoning “waking up to you” though, just trying to figure out ideas for how to play out the rest of the week ‘til the end LMFAOOO

if u are interested in being part of the tag list, please let me know through replies, anons, dms, or reblogs !! notifications are always on <33

next

you’re rummaging through your drawers, tossing clothes to the side in a desperate search for something that feels right. it’s one of those nights—some random party you’re not really excited for but can’t help going to because, well, everyone’s going. the young adults of the island, at least.

another night of sloppy, underage drinking, messy hookups, and pointless fights breaking out over nothing, the kind of chaos that seems to thrive in a place like this. you don’t even know whose party it is, but that hardly matters.

you’ve already pulled out a pile of tops, but none of them feel like the one. too tight, too loose, too boring, not the vibe. they’re scattered across your bed now as you dig deeper, hoping that the perfect top is somehow hiding at the very bottom. and that’s when your fingers brush against something familiar, soft yet slightly worn—his hoodie.

you freeze for a second, your hand gripping the fabric, and a wave of something bittersweet washes over you. you didn’t even remember it was still there, shoved in the farthest corner of the drawer like you were trying to forget about it. but now it’s right in front of you, and just holding it feels like opening an old wound.

it’s rafe’s hoodie. as in your ex-boyfriend’s hoodie. the one he never asked for after you broke up. it’s stupid, probably, keeping it like this, but a part of you always thought that meant something.

back then, you’d convinced yourself that him not asking for it back was a sign. like he was telling you, in some unspoken way, that it wasn’t really over. that he still wanted you to hold on, just for a little longer. you’d held onto that hope longer than you should’ve.

because now, things are different. you’ve seen him around the island, his arm draped around another girl, a pogue, of all people. the whole thing feels like a bad joke, doesn’t it? rafe cameron, the toxic kook from figure eight, running around with some girl from the cut.

you wonder what her deal is. maybe she’s living out some kind of romeo and juliet fantasy. is that it, rafe? is that what you’ve become—her tragic love story? maybe she’s the kind of girl who romanticizes the idea of being with someone she isn’t supposed to, thinking she’s special because she got him.

the thought makes you frown, a bitter taste rising in the back of your throat. she doesn’t even know him like you do. she doesn’t know the way his mind works, doesn’t know what he’s like when the charm fades, when he’s spiraling, when everything he tries to hold together starts to fall apart.

without thinking, you pull the hoodie closer, burying your face in it. his scent still lingers faintly in the fabric—his cologne. that familiar, warm smell that used to make you feel safe, even when things between you were anything but. it’s been a while since you broke up, but the cologne is still there, still clinging to the material like it’s holding on, just like you are.

you wonder if he still wears it. maybe he sprays it on for his new girl now. maybe she pulls his hoodies around herself the way you used to, breathing him in, thinking she’s the only one who gets to do that now. the thought actually makes your chest ache.

you blink a few times, your throat tight, and gently lower the hoodie back down to your lap. i miss you, you think, but the words never make it past your lips. they just hang there, heavy and silent, as you stare down at the hoodie, wishing things had ended differently.

eventually, you pull the drawer all the way open and spot a shirt hiding beneath where the hoodie had been—it’s perfect for tonight. you pick it up, placing it on the edge of the drawer, but your fingers linger on the hoodie for a moment longer. then, with a quiet sigh, you fold it back up, tucking it away into the corner of the drawer once more. out of sight but never really out of mind.

you shove everything else back in, trying to get rid of the clutter, both in your room and in your head. it’s just another party, another night to pretend everything’s fine. but the hoodie still sits there, waiting, like it always has.

you’re waiting as your friend pours you a drink, eyes drifting over the skatepark around you. the party is in full swing—some are crowded around ramps, a few on their boards showing off, others slouched on graffiti-covered benches, their laughter mixing with the pounding bass.

when your friend hands you the cup, you take it with a nod, cruising through the crowds as you chat. your gaze flicks from group to group—people are either dancing, downing drinks, or getting a little too close in the shadows. you’re only half-focused on the conversation as you weave between the bodies.

you end up hanging by a ramp, watching as a few people race to shotgun their drinks. it’s messy and ridiculous, the kind of thing you can’t help but get pulled into. someone challenges you, and before you know it, you’re joining in. you win—barely—but not without nearly choking yourself in the process, coughing and laughing at the same time. sure, you won, but at what cost? still, it’s funny enough to have you and your friends laughing about it after.

while your friends mess around, you drift away from the noise, leaning back against the railing near the top of the ramp. your phone dangles loosely in your hand, and you’re resting your head on one of your friend’s backs as they chatter on. you don’t really need to be involved in the conversation—it’s comfortable just being there.

you find yourself staring at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard as you type out a quick message: hey.

it’s to rafe. of course, it is. and you know it’s dumb, you know you shouldn’t send it, but for some reason, everything in you wants to. even though it won’t do anything, even though he’s probably not even thinking about you right now.

you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, hesitating for a beat longer before closing the app. you’re not gonna send it. you know you wouldn’t have anyway, you were just seeing if you’re drunk enough to go through with it. not this time. maybe another. maybe never. with a sigh, you turn your phone off and shove it into your pocket, trying to push the thought away.

but just then, there’s a commotion at the edge of the park, some people turning to look. a new car’s pulled up, headlights cutting through the dark, and as the doors open, your stomach drops.

yeah, of course, it’s him. rafe steps out, and your eyes lock onto him immediately. he’s got his girl by his side, and the sight alone makes you want to tilt your head back and groan. but instead, you just watch, waiting, seeing what they’ll do.

rafe moves through the crowd easily, that infamous smile on his face, flashing it at anyone who bothers to look. he looks . . . happy, which is great for him, really. it’s nice, or whatever. but as your gaze follows him, watching the way he’s moving with her, there’s a part of you that’s almost relieved. because no matter how content he looks, he doesn’t look happier. not happier than he did when he was with you. and somehow, that’s enough.

“don’t look now,” one of your girl friends mutters as she approaches, her voice low and careful. her back is to the rest of the party, which includes rafe and sofia, not that they’d even glance your way.

“you’re too late,” you say, leaning back against the railing, gripping it with a small smile. normally, you’d be dropping dead right about now, but if you did that, your friend would worry. and really, you’re not bothered. or at least, not too bothered.

“they look good together,” you add casually, waving a hand toward the crowd where rafe and sofia stand. you’re trying to sell it, trying to convince your friend that this is all good with you.

your friend gives you a skeptical look, her brow raised, and you nod, like you’re insisting she believe you. “i’m serious,” you tell her. “they’re perfect for each other.”

she rolls her eyes and glances over her shoulder to check them out herself, hand on her hip as she grimaces. “yeah, she’s perfect if he’s into . . .” she trails off, eyeing sofia's outfit—one of those looks where it’s obvious rafe bought the clothes for her, but none of it quite fits her style. “knock-off country club chic?”

it’s not that funny, but the resemblance is a little accurate. “stop,” you murmur, nudging her. you can’t help the faint smile that pulls at the corner of your lips as you lift your cup, pretending to hide it by taking a sip.

your friend's not wrong, and she catches the smirk you’re trying to hide. “told you,” she teases, a grin spreading across her face as you take the joint from her hand.

inhaling deeply, you let the smoke linger in your lungs before you exhale it in a slow, straight line. as the haze clears, your eyes fix on rafe and sofia, standing together in the middle of the skatepark. your face softens, the humor from earlier fading like something inside you has switched off. no more laughing, no more games.

just them.

just her.

you take sofia in for what she is—pretty. sure, you can give her that. you understand why rafe might’ve been drawn to her at first. she’s the kind of girl who stays close to him, like she’s tethered, like she can’t stand alone unless rafe has to excuse himself. and when he leaves, she fades into the background. disappears.

you watch her now, standing awkwardly off to the side while rafe talks to someone, looking small, unimportant. oh. interesting.

she must like attention. no, not attention, rafe’s attention. she clings to it like it’s the only thing that makes her visible. and yeah, she’s done up nice—dressed in new clothes, no doubt bought with rafe’s money. she cleans up well for a pogue.

but there’s something about the way she fidgets, like her skin doesn’t quite fit right in the fabric. you can tell she’s not used to it, this life. it’s too big for her. she’s nervous, uncomfortable, trying to blend in with the kind of people who were born into this world.

and her smile. you can see it from here, that ‘just to be kind’ smile. practiced, polite. probably something her parents taught her. good for her, really. that’s good.

she works at the pelican yacht club, doesn’t she? you live right by it. the idea that she works so close to your home, that rafe goes by your house just to see her . . . it makes your stomach twist.

she’s short, shorter than most. short hair, short bangs, and so this relationship will be short too.

just a phase. it has to be. or you’ll make it.

whatever it takes.

early tags: @iissza @lotuslovers @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @yootvi @skyslowalking @ariiwritess @beebeerockknot

[lixbf]

the connection btwn lotte world and goethe just continues to confuse me whenever i think abt it

[freyaphoria]

hi! i was wondering if you could maybe write ateez reaction when they are getting intimate with their s/o for the first time and she's like... inseucre so she wants to keep her hoodie/t-shirt on? thank you!

Hi hello! I changed Seonghwa's part a little bit in a way that is different from your request and made it not their first time because I felt like every member was the same. I hope you don't mind. Love u♡

Ateez Reactions: You want to keep your hoodie/t-shirt on (hyung line)

maknae line

tw: insecurities!, how can i state this but she/he doesn't like their body, idk ugh i am bad at doing this part, yunho's part kinda hurt comfort

taglist: @aim-blossom

Hongjoong

You and Hongjoong were in the early stages of your relationship and were just getting to know each other. Of course, you occasionally talked about your likes and dislikes, but you have never expressed that you are insecure with your body.

"Thanks for today Joong, I'm really happy now." You were unhappy at work and Hongjoong noticed your bad mood and invited you to watch your favorite movie to cheer you up.

Hongjoong approached you. "I'm glad I could make you happy." He tucked a strand of hair from your face behind your ear. "You're so beautiful when you're happy." He moved a little closer to your lips but he stopped before kissing you. "May I kiss you?" Your heart started to race, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You nod your head and moved a little closer to him, and Hongjoong took control by kissing you first. His lips were so soft that if you didn't pull yourself together, you would melt into his lips. His kiss made your head spin and make you wanting more.

His kiss slowly moved to your neck, you wanted to throw your neck back and help him, but he couldn't reach too much because of your hoodie. He moved his head away from your neck, looked at your hoodie and tried to pull it up by grabbing the waist. "Can I take this off?" You looked away from him, grabbed the waistband of your hoodie and pulled it down. As you shook your head slowly, you cursed yourself for ruining the mood. Hongjoong looked at you confused. "You don't want me to take it off?" Your cheeks were red and you wanted to disappear. "Angel, can you talk to me? We don't have to go forward if you don't want to. I don't want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable." It warmed your heart that he was so understanding. "I... I don't like my body. I don't want you to see it because-" He interrupted you by kissing you. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. I don't care what your body looks like or doesn't look like. What matters is you." He kissed you on the nose one last time and leaned back on the couch again. "But if you're not ready, I can wait for you whenever you want. Let's not rush it." You shook your head. “No just… Can I keep my hoodie on?” Hongjoong smiled at you. "Of course Angel. However you like."

Seonghwa

You have always avoided taking intimacy further in your relationship with Seonghwa. The most you did was kiss or help him. You've never shown him your full body.

One day, on your lego date, Seonghwa got hard because you moved too much on his lap. "Seriously Hwa?" You rolled your eyes at him playfully and looked at he trace of his cock which was visible through his gray sweatpants. "I wonder whose fault this is?" He shrugged, picking you up in his arms and laying you on the bed. His hands started to wander around your body.

Seonghwa knew that you were insecure with your body and he would always adore you and tell you how beautiful you were, but when it came to make love, you would either have sex in the dark and where he couldn't see you, or he would make you come by pulling your underwear to the side with all your clothes on.

While he was kissing you, he started pulling your shirt up slowly like he was testing the waters. But he broke the kiss when you grabbed his wrist with your hands and made a grumpy noise. "Hwa..." He pulled your t-shirt down and covered your exposed belly. "I know I know, I was just testing you." You ran your hands through his hair. "You don't need to test me, my answer will always be no." Seonghwa sighed. "You don't need to hide yourself from me either. My answer will always be how perfect and flawless you are.”

And after that night, your insecurities about yourself would change because Seonghwa made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

Yunho

While you were cooking in the kitchen, you jumped because of the arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "What are you cooking? It smells so good." He said as he buried his head into your neck and breathed in your scent. "Me or the food?" you giggled and reached as far to the side as Yunho's big body would allow to grab some spices. "Hmm.. Both of you." Yunho loosened his arms around your waist and tried to tuck them into your shirt. His body was tightly pressed against you, and if you paid a little attention, you could feel a weight pressing on your hips. His hands were about to touch your body when you suddenly moved to the side and away from his grip. To make sure it didn't seem weird, you pretended to be searching for something on the counter behind. But Yunho came behind you again, picked you up, sat you on the counter, and started pulling your shirt up while kissing you.

"Yunho... don't." He didn't understand that you didn't really want it because you said it in a moaning tone, so he pulled it up a little more. "Yunho! I said don't!" He froze when you yelled at him and grabbed his wrists, trying to pull him away from you. "Tiny? I'm sorry, I-" You interrupted him. "No, Yunho, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I just don't like my body and I'm ashamed." Yunho looked at you like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his life. "But I love you like this." He said while kissing you. "You don't need to hide your body from me. Because you are hiding something that I love very much from me." He leaned down again and kissed your chin. "But if you're comfortable like this, we can keep what you're wearing, tiny. It's more important for me that you feel comfortable." You grabbed Yunho's neck and pulled him towards you, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Thank you for being understanding, Yuyu." He chuckled at you. "Thank you for being so beautiful too."

Yeosang

The first 3 months of your relationship with Yeosang was a long distance relationship. You talked every day and tried to get to know each other, but you couldn't make physical things. The first time you got physically close was when Yeosang came to your city for a few months.

Things happened very quickly; You were having a play fight before going to sleep at night, while you were tickling Yeosang while on his lap, your leg pressed too much on his crotch, causing a fireball to form inside Yeosang. The game fight suddenly became serious and Yeosang took you off his lap, laid you on the bed and got on top of you. "Are you doing it on purpose?" He spread your legs wide and brought his body closer to you. As your laughing subsided, you stopped panting and tried to breathe. "What am I doing on purpose?" You knew what he was talking about when he started getting closer to your face. "Do you want this?"

There were still question marks in your mind: What if he doesn't like me? What if my body doesn't appeal to him? What if I'm not what he expects? You nodded hesitantly as piles of questions flew through your mind. "Love, we don't have to do anything you don't want. Can you answer me with your words?" He looked at you as if you were the only person in the world. You loved Yeosang very much and you had no doubt that he loved you too, but you were still hesitant because it was your first time. "I want to, but I'm little shy." Yeosang chuckled warmly at you. "It doesn't matter, we can turn off the lights or keep your clothes on if you want. I just want you to feel comfortable with me."

a/n: Could you please give me some feedback? I feel like I can't give the feeling I want. Also sorry for the bad english.

[thehusbandoden]

Alpha!Bakugo Katsuki x Female!Omega!Reader Headcannons

A/n: aha I'm alive! Let see how long it lasts this time :P

Besides all the smutty stuff others write (which I don't and won't read), I actually like A/B/O dynamics. I would love it if there was more fluffy goodness (and angst 😋).

Let me know if you want more A/B/O and I will happily deliver <3

Genral info:

Genre: fluff/comfort(??) \\ wc: 653 \\ format: headcannons \\ posted: 03/13/24

Warnings!: A/B/O (alpha, beta, omega) dynamics, extreme jealousy, tsundere in the beginning (it's Bakugo.. what do you expect lol), umm mentions of pregnancy? Mentions of marking (not detailed), mentions of y/n's father/father figure, slightly traditional values, idk what else? Ohhh nvm, Bakugo hurting himself (briefly), brief mention of crying, umm extreme guilt? Pls let me know if I miss any! I don't want to accidentally trigger anyone!! <33

Alpha!Bakugo who said that he would never claim an omega.

Alpha!Bakugo who almost fell apart when he first smelt your sweet scent.

Alpha!Bakugo who would glare at any other alpha who dared look at you.

Alpha!Bakugo who smells like sweet caramel.

Alpha!Bakugo whose sweet caramel scent turned into a nasty scent of burning sugar when he saw another alpha ask you out.

Alpha!Bakugo who basically sprinted to the scene, growling and glaring at the other alpha, pushing himself in-between the two of you.

Alpha!Bakugo who almost threw a punch at the smug man’s face.

Alpha!Bakugo who immediately calmed down when he felt your gentle touch on his shoulder.

Alpha!Bakugo whose scent immediately went back to normal when you cooed at him, telling him it was okay.

Alpha!Bakugo who couldn’t do anything but stare at your gorgeous e/c eyes.

Alpha!Bakugo who fell harder than he thought possible.

Alpha!Bakugo who gave you his hoodies and shirts to use in your nest.

Alpha!Bakugo who “accidentally” bumps into you, spreading his scent on top of yours.

Alpha!Bakugo who left a hand crafted “hunting” knife on your desk –with a note- as a courting gift.

“Protect my girl no matter what, you hear? I would hate to kill anyone in my way to get to you and those scoundrels who I would end up torturing to death.”

Alpha!Bakguo who would do anything for his little omega.

Alpha!Bakugo who beat the group of alphas who made fun of you.

Alpha!Bakugo who gave you his everything before you even became his.

Alpha!Bakugo who purred when you officially accepted his courtship.

Alpha!Bakugo who sweat like crazy when he was meeting your parents.

Alpha!Bakugo who made an amazing impression on your father/father figure.

Alpha!Bakugo who asked permission before officially marking you as is.

Alpha!Bakugo who proudly stared at your bond mark.

Alpha!Bakugo who caressed the mark on your neck fondly, kissing your forehead as a thank you for being his.

Alpha!Bakugo who gave you his entire soul.

Alpha!Bakugo who refused to let either of you leave without drowning in the other’s scent.

Alpha!Bakugo who drowned you in his scent when he got jealous.

Alpha!Bakugo who would growl and pull you to his chest whenever he sees another alpha looking at you for too long.

Alpha!Bakugo who got in several fights over other alphas staring at you and/or commenting on your figure.

Alpha!Bakugo who could and would tear the throat out of anyone who dared touch his omega.

Alpha!Bakugo who purred loudly as he watched you nest for the first time.

Alpha!Bakugo who treated your nest with the utter most respect when you let him in your nest for the first time.

Alpha!Bakugo who purred, scenting you lightly in gratitude as he curled up with you in your newly built nest.

Alpha!Bakugo who gave you his pups, purring proudly as he watched your belly grow.

Alpha!Bakugo who would simply lay with you, caressing your swollen belly as he scents you fondly.

Alpha!Bakugo who grew even more protective when you were pregnant with his pups.

Alpha!Bakugo who went overboard when it came to protecting you.

Alpha!Bakugo who would do anything and everything for you.

Alpha!Bakugo who whimpers and begs for forgiveness when he messes up.

Alpha!Bakugo who punched his own jaw when he saw your beautiful e/c eyes fill with tears.

Alpha!Bakugo who backed away from your tender touch, saying he didn’t deserve your concern as you try to check his jaw for bruising.

Alpha!Bakugo who begged for your forgiveness, tears in his own eyes.

Alpha!Bakugo who grew even more concerned as you sobbed into his chest.

Alpha!Bakugo who comforts you whenever and however you need.

Alpha!Bakugo who fired his omega assistant for looking at him too intimately.

Alpha!Bakugo who would rather die a horrid death than ever even look at another omega the way he looks at you.

Alpha!Bakugo who would truly put his life on the line for you in a heartbeat.

~~~~~

Bakugo's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here <3

Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

Don't be afraid to request anything at any time. I'm always free to message if you need to vent/talk. <3

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Big!TokRev Men x Short!Goth!Reader w/ Size Kink

♡ SFW->NSFW, fem reader, fluff, reader wears makeup, reader has piercings, size kink obvi, fingering, unintentionally rough sex, generalized headcanons ♡

Characters in mind: Draken, Taiju, South, Mucho, Mochi, Benkai, Kakucho, Hanma

note: I hope you two anons don't mind me merging your requests into one, it just felt simpler since your ideas weren't that different. So I hope you enjoy, anon 1 and anon 2 🩵

note 2: these are generalized just like the Big Men HCs I did, except tokrev oriented and reader is more detailed/personified (Idk the word I'm looking for I'm sorry 🥲)

note 3, last one I swear: I had so much fun writing these, I just really love big, burly men lmao

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who stand in the doorway while you spend forever looking for the perfect outfit for your date with them

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who sit next to you and watch while you do your makeup, admiring your patience and dedication to each look you create

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who help you in and out of your shoes, even if it means almost hitting themselves in the face with it when it flies off your foot

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who love when you walk around the house in their clothes, even if they're not really your style, because you look so tiny in their big shirts and hoodies

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who lean down to hear you better when you're talking

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who sit you in their lap and knead your thighs because it helps them relax

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who playfully tug on your piercings and help you put in new ones when you inevitably buy more

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who almost cum in their pants when they hear you talking on the phone to your friend, gushing about how big and strong your boyfriend is

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who are extra gentle when they help you slip out of your clothes, their eyes trailing over your entire body

🍬 Big!TokRev Men whose girthy fingers always stretch you out deliciously, whether it's in the comfort of your bedroom, at a gang meeting, or during a surprise visit to your workplace

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who try to be gentle with you but still end up unintentionally wrecking your shit in the best ways

🍬 Big!TokRev Men who feel more than confident being rougher with you when you start moaning and whining about how big they are and how much you love their dick

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten

[wileys-russo]

could you maybe write about following scenario? it’s reader x leah x lessi 

imagine sleeping on the couch peacefully in lessis arms and leah comes back from grocery shopping or whatever (she likes going bc then she can pick out the most plain ass meals for herself without any teasing from you two) and sees it and wants to take over, complaining that she didn’t get to cuddle you all day and alessia shooting back that leah had you all to herself yesterday as she was out with ella or sth and they start bickering and pulling you back and forth into their arms so ofc you wake up and are really pissed and just lock yourself into your bedroom so you can take a nap and sleep in peace and they make it up to you somehow by being nice and sweet idk 

flu season II a.russo & l.williamson

"oh come on!" leah groaned to herself, struggling to balance the shopping bags hanging off her wrists while she tried to jam the key in the front door. "for fuck sakes." she huffed as the door popped open and she stumbled inside.

making a beeline for the kitchen she dumped the bags on the counter with a sigh of relief, quick to put everything away before either one of her girlfriends appeared and made fun of her 'childlike' choices.

closing the fridge leah stretched, rolling around her tense and knotted neck. surprised that she was still alone she followed the sound of the television in the living room, finding her two lovers curled up together on the sofa.

"sorry i didn't come help babe, was a little preoccupied." alessia smiled apologetically, nodding down to the sleeping girl on her chest, hands playing absentmindedly with her hair. "s'okay my love it's all put away now." leah bent down to affectionately peck the strikers lips a few times.

"has she been out long?" leah asked, taking a seat beside her relieved to be off her feet, having been running around doing errands almost all day. "she's been in and out napping, but she's been properly passed out for about an hour or two?" alessia answered softly, both girls watching your body gently rise and fall in her arms.

"her temperature's back to normal now too, i think we're out of the worst of it." alessia added on, affectionately kissing the back of your neck as your face was smooshed into her chest. "flu season mm." leah chuckled, the younger girl being a kindergarten teacher meant whenever it was cold or flu season she always came down with something passed on from her students.

both her and alessia had taken turns looking after you, forcing you to take the last few days off work and utilise your sick leave as they swapped shifts of who would miss training to stay home with you, much to your insistent demands that you were fine.

"okay well, my turn." leah made a shooing motion, gesturing for alessia to move so that she could replace her position. "what? no! she's all comfortable and asleep, leave her be." alessia chatsized quietly with a frown, tightening her arms around you.

"less you've been home with her all day, don't be selfish." leah scowled, tugging on her hoodie as she used one hand to push the older blonde away, the two of them beginning to bicker back and forth.

at the disturbance your eyes fluttered open, squinting tiredly as your head raised slightly off the comfortable pillow which had been your girlfriends stomach. waking up a little more and tuning into what exactly it was that had woken you, your eyes narrowed tiredly.

"now look what you did lee, you woke her up!" alessia huffed, punching leah whose scowl deepened, features melting as her eyes flickered to you. "hi baby, cuddle?" leah offered, opening her arms with a soft smile.

"she is getting a cuddle, back off williamson you had her all day yesterday." alessia grunted posessively, hand coming to rest on the back of your head as she gently pushed you back down to lay on top of her. "thats not my fault you chose to go out shopping with tooney, you know that girl takes hours!" leah scoffed indignantly, one hand tugging on your hoodie.

"she came down all the way from manchester to visit, i'm not gonna ditch her!" alessia huffed back as you pulled off her hand which held you down on top of her. "baby what-" you ignored the both of them, standing up to your feet with a tired glare sent both girls way, turning on your heel and padding off toward your shared bedroom, door closing with a slam.

"that was your fault!" both blondes yelled, pointing to each other with a glare. "you're so needy, we were perfectly comfortable before you had to come stomping on in." alessia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "oh i'm needy?" leah cried out with a look of disbelief.

"okay maybe we're both a little needy." alessia mumbled with a roll of her eyes, slight pout forming on her lips. "the two of you are needy, i'm the rock of this relationship." leah puffed out her chest as alessia gave her a look before letting out a loud peal of laughter.

"you're the neediest of all of us love, and the most in denial about it." alessia patted her shoulder with a knowing smile, moving up and off the lounge with a grunt. "time to apologize to sleepy for waking her up with a stupid argument." alessia held out her hand toward the shorter girl.

"come on needy, then you can get your cuddles." alessia teased wiggling her fingers impatiently, leah mocking her under her breath but accepting her outstretched hand none the less, being pulled up to her feet.

"see, knew it." alessia grinned as leah hugged her tightly, having missed both her girls today, the captain pinching her side for the comment before the two of them made their way to the bedroom.

"she locked us out." alessia sighed, trying the door handle as it jiggled but didn't move, leah disapearing to get the key before letting the two of them in. the taller blonde smiled seeing you'd not been bothered to draw the blinds, instead tucking yourself completely under the duvet leaving a person size lump in the middle of the bed.

"if you're gonna argue again go away, i'm tired." your head popped out, hair sprawled messily along the pillow as you fixed them both with a glare. "we won't, sorry sweets." leah apologised softly, coming around to the other side of the bed as alessia nudged for you to move over.

leah slipping in on one side you rolled so your head rested on her thigh, the blonde choosing to sit up not particularly tired as she stretched out to grab the remote off the bedside table. alessia slotted in behind you, her arms moving to wrap around your torso as her head tucked into your neck, leahs free hand moving to tangle in your hair as she flicked through trying to find something to watch.

"see how much nicer it is when you both know how to share." you mumbled, eyes closed making both of your girlfriends smile and exchange a look.

all was well as leah settled in to watch a movie, switching her hand to play with both yours and alessia's hair, until she heard it, a sneeze. though this time it wasn't from you as the striker behind you lifted up her head guiltily.

flu season had struck again.

[yorshie]

Heyy idk if you've already done it but can I request clothes that the bayverse boys just love seeing you in? Like besides lingerie (though who doesn't like a cute lingerie) I mean like more mundanish things. A certain pair of shorts/pants/skirt, a certain dress or top, a certain color of clothing. Something along those lines, yk?

Maybe it accentuates a certain part of your body, maybe he just thinks it looks cute. Idk. It doesn't necessarily turn him on (although... hehe) He just can't tear his eyes away/stop stealing glances the second he sees it, and you just know he's getting extra flustered if you catch him gawking 🤭

Hey Nonnie! Thank you for sending this in, I had a lot of fun imagining what each one of the turtles would like- I even asked some other writers what their thoughts were because it was such a fun ask!

The ask I sent to another writer - oops forgot to add this so the context makes sense lol

Donatello

DonBon gets flustered whenever he sees you in his color. He’s not partial to a particular way of dress in the grand scheme of things, as long as it’s some shade of purple, you’ve got his attention. But the thing that would really draw him to a complete stop, is glasses. Even if you donned a lens free pair, he’s going to stop and do a double glance, taken by the way the frames bring attention to your eyes. If you coupled the glasses with a purple shirt or an oversized hoodie, he’s going to go out of his way to get his hands on the material, though don’t be fooled, his real goal is studying you. 

Raph

Raphie’s weakness is anything feminine. If it's floofy and a more "girlie" color, he's all on board. While he does love seeing you in his color, the one time you managed to get him to walk head first into a door because he wasn’t paying attention was while wearing a pastel skirt with a petticoat underneath. He likes the way the fabric swishes when you walk, likes how he gets a peek at thighs and calves when you move. He’s an absolute sucker for embroidered patterns and soft fabrics that give him an excuse to study the way your clothes drape and fall on your figure.

Mikey

Angelo likes your comfy clothes. He loves matching PJ sets and lounge wear, the kind that lets him catch a glimpse of your stomach when you raise your hands up over your head, whose sleeves you have to either constantly push up or the tanks that leave your shoulders bare. He’s going to get possessive if it’s any shade of orange, but he’s not too picky. If it’s your favorite, it’s his favorite by proxy, and he revels in the fact that you’re feeling good enough to be comfortable around him. Bonus points if he gets to feel how soft and well worn the fabric is during cuddling.

Leo

Blue likes it when you dress up, likes silk and velvet and tactile fabric that clings to you, loves it when you wear dresses and blouses. If it’s his color, from the darkest navy to a light robin’s egg blue, he’s going to make it a point to inform you how beautiful you look, going to use the praise as cover to rest his hand low on your back. If you’ve dressed up especially for him, he’s not going to even try and hide the way he’s got his eyes on you. Splinter finds it amusing that even his voice can’t shake his eldest out of his thoughts when his attention is centered on you.

All Four

Alright, listen, this Is probably the part that’s a little more risqué than the rest of these, but those that know, will understand what I’m talking about. 

There’s a certain type of nightgown, modest in itself, that usually has a scoop collar and hits somewhere around the mid thigh length. It can be a lighter, warm weather fabric that floats around you, or a denser, winter weave that clings more to trap heat. Patterned, or solid color, it doesn’t matter, but everyone that has one of these knows exactly what I’m talking about. There is no faster way to make a man sit up and pay attention, then to wear it, and the turtles are no exception. It’s not sexy, at least not by today’s standards, but there’s just something about it that draws their eyes and will have them following after you.

[joshusten]

kiss and make up

In which Honey wants a makeover and Guy gladly helps. (lots of kisses, fluff, makeover time!!!)

2.7k+ words [ao3 will be added when im not lazy lmao] [masterlist]

[CW and notes: typical guy innuendoes, honey doesn't know how to do makeup and they get a lil insecure about that fact, that being said i'm not really a makeup expert too LMAO, theres also lots of grammar mistakes probably ;--; and since like, makeup styles and visuals vary between people i tried to make it as vague and gender neutral as possible but idk if i really achieved that so keep that in mind and please let me know if i should change some wordings etc. ! oh and lmk about typos too hehe tysm!]

thank you so so much to my dearest friend @slushiepizza !! this wip is literally a year long and they've been a HUGE HUGE (x1000) help to me finishing (and convincing to post) this fic!! this fic's also inspired by fanart they made before and this yt short from that one anthony padilla interview. also yes theres a lil 2024 hbs guy AAAND jin (his gamer friend in that second hoodie video i think) reference too lmao HAHAHAH hope you enjoy!! :D "Ugh! Why can't I fucking–" 

“Piece of—!”

“Fuck!”

Another frustrated groan cuts Honey off. For the past few minutes, Guy had been hearing his partner's muffled frustrations from their room all the way to their humble kitchenette and he was seriously starting to get worried about what could possibly be troubling their usually well-composed lover.

He quickly turned off the stove, wiping his hands on the piercingly hot pink apron with the words "Please Do More than Kiss the Chef" embroidered on its body (a joke gift, courtesy of Rosa being his Secret Santa last year, that Guy legitimately used in his every day, much to his friend’s amusement). Fortunately, the lunch he was making was done by the time he decided to check up on them (and, really, it was just a simple one-pot pasta recipe he stumbled on Tiktok at 3 AM.)

Guy haphazardly hung the apron by a chair nearby—future Guy can worry about all of the mess later—and made his way to the hallway that led to their small shared bedroom.

He gently knocked a little melody on the door,  announcing his presence through the painted wood. "Honey?”

A thump was heard, as if something suddenly dropped out of surprise, followed by a faint “Shit!”

The man knocked again, this time with a furrowed brow.

“Honey dearest? Lover of mine? Is someone botherin’ you? Need to kick someone’s ass?” He joked, clearing his throat afterward for a more sincere tone. “But for real, do you need any help there, baby?”

The silence that followed almost tempted Guy to ask again before a loud sigh came from the other side.

"Yeah…It's unlocked. You can come in..." 

They almost sounded embarrassed. A little shy even. The man couldn’t help but grin at how comfortable Honey had become showing him their more vulnerable sides throughout their time together. 

Guy opened the door slowly to reveal their usual semi-tidy bedroom save for the mess that seemed only to be contained around Honey, whose head was currently hanging low in shame. Alarms went off in his mind once he processed the potential severity of the situation with how distressed his partner looked.

He rushed to where Honey sat, in front of the vanity where a variety of make-up products were strewn across the dark oak wood. Upon closer inspection, he could see that—

Oh. Uhm. This was interesting.

His partner’s frustrated face seemed to be an amalgamation of different cosmetics that looked like they were hastily smeared on and rubbed off multiple times. 

Patchy foundation, unblended blush, shaky eyeliner. 

Guy can practically feel the heat coming off their tinted face, furrowing their brows and averting their glare to the side.

“Look, I know what this looks like but—" Honey was never able to finish their sentence as a very, very poor attempt of stifled giggles reached their burning ears. Oh my god, he's never gonna let them live this down, is he? 

“Guy.”

“Wh-whaaaat? N-no, you look f-fine Honey! Pfft–” A snort interrupted the man's words of reassurance. 

“Guy, stop laughing, you asshole!” They groaned, sending a flurry of light slaps to Guy's shoulders, snickering along to indicate that they weren’t actually mad at him because, yeah, they did look a little silly (and his laugh was too damn cute to distract them from their predicament) but that still didn't make them any less self-conscious about it.

“I-I–OW! I don’t know what you mean, baby!”

Honey crossed their arms and made a face, looking away in a pretend-but-not-really sulk. 

“Fine, so I’m horrible at makeup ha-ha! Pack it up, jackass!”

To that, their boyfriend's laughter slowly died down, leaving him with a soft, sympathetic smile. 

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! C’mere,” He apologized, beckoning them to come closer to which Honey begrudgingly complied. His smile brightened, pressing numerous quick kisses against his partner’s grumpy face, pulling away with a string of giddy giggles.

“Ew, I got your foundation on my lips.”

“Serves you right,” Honey huffed, unable to hold in a chuckle as they saw the faint splotches of the coating in their skin color on their boyfriend’s stubbled chin and pouted lips.

“So, uh, mind telling me what actually happened over here? ‘Cuz, Honey, you’re as pretty as a painting…given that it’s a painting my baby cousin can do, which I’m assuming isn’t what you were going for?” Guy asked, his full attention to his partner's make-up Frankenstein of a face.

The embarrassment rushed back to Honey tenfold but they masked it up with a shrug that looked timid regardless. “I dunno…there’s this event in the evening with my company and I just…wanted to try something new with my look. I-it's stupid. I started a lot earlier because I knew I’d need some time to learn but…I just can't get the hang of it!”

Sure, they know make-up isn’t all that easy to do but managing to tremendously fuck up something as seemingly simple as putting color on their face despite the amount of tutorials they’ve watched was just embarrassing to admit (especially to someone they’ve grown to care about what he thinks of them). They braced themself for more mocking laughter yet the teasing never came. Instead, they heard an excited gasp.

"Oh, I can do your makeup for you!"

…What?

"Uhm– I– You–?"

Guy picked up the wiped near Honey and started pulling a few from the already-opened plastic pack. The subtle clean scent of aloe vera wafted into their nostrils.

"I can do your make-up!" The man repeated happily, oblivious to Honey's quizzical stare. He gently grabbed their chin with one hand while the other one held the cleanser-soaked napkin inches closer to their cheek before he stopped and gazed into their eyes, "Can I?"

"Uh…Y-yeah. Sure." They felt their breath hitch at the sudden intimacy of the distance between them.

Guy beamed at that and started removing the product on their face but the confused expression never leaves it. He discarded the used wipes in the trash can under the vanity table and started sifting through their shopping spree's worth of cosmetics.

“I suggest you buy micellar water or cleansers instead of those wipes. They do a better job!”

“Uh, Guy?”

"Oh, you got this one! Yeah, I really like their formula, it doesn't feel too heavy on the skin. Well at least on my skin. Let me know if it doesn't feel comfy and–"

"Guy…"

"Woah, you got your shade just right with this one! Ah, but I think this brand oxidizes so the color might change–"

"Guy."

"Ooh, I haven’t seen this product before! Is this newly released or—”

"Guy!” Honey exclaimed, finally capturing their boyfriend’s ever-so-dwindling attention. “Babe. How…I mean, not that I'm doubting your skills or anything but–" 

By this time, Guy had already cleaned all of the makeup off from his partner and was now left with the face he was more used to seeing (and admiring).

"It's just…I've never seen you wear makeup. At all. Besides Halloween, I guess?”

The man simply grinned at that and continued rummaging through the cases of eyeshadows and face creams. “If you must know, a performer was moi!” 

“Oh, trust me, I'm familiar with your theatrics.”

“I’m just gonna pretend you meant that as a compliment,” He huffed, averting his gaze to the products that lay between them both. “Anyway, I did a lot of shows back then and, well, with constantly getting your face painted on, you pick up a few techniques, y'know? I even get to do my own makeup!”

The click and clatter of glass and plastic fills the room as Guy carefully examines each container with the same look he gets when he proofreads a revision of a script he made. It was almost weird to see how his eyes scanned the text of the labels and his habit of biting the inside of his cheek while focusing on the context other than the familiar blue light of his laptop.

“Got interested, asked my friends, then watched a few vids. I got to…’secretly borrow’ some of my mom's makeup to test out some looks.” The image of a teenage Guy experimenting with makeup much like what Honey was doing a while ago tickled their mind.

“But eh, college got in the way and I never really got the time to play around with some flashier makeup styles between delivering greasy ass pizzas and delivering exquisite screenplays that excite the mind and bewitch the heart.”

He held up a circular blush pot near a dumbfounded Honey. His eyes squinted with focus until he finally determined the blush matched their skin tone just fine. 

“Anyway, let's get some moisturizer to prep that cute face of yours!”

After Honey described what they wanted for their look, scrolled through Pinterest to get some inspiration, and watched a few more tutorials, the pair eventually got started with the process.

Guy put on an even layer of foundation, and concealer that he tried his best to match their skin, added contour, eyeshadow and blush according to the style they had requested, and painstakingly drew on some eyeliner (“Because everybody looks hotter with eyeliner!”). He had even let them try a few brush strokes of their own to get the feel of it.

Honey, on the other hand, felt like they were going to explode from the attention they’d been getting from him. Granted, they were no stranger to his affections yet something about the way he was so close—to the point where they could feel the warmth emanating from him, where the way his breath ghosts their neck made them tremble—it was a whole different experience.

The man added some finishing details to Honey’s face before announcing the final step: lipstick.

“Hm, let’s try these colors. Maybe it’s more your style.” He brought up a few plastic tubes with one hand closer to them, awaiting their input on his selection.

“Have you tried these brands before?”

“Uh, not really…I don’t think I’ve actually tried the liquid ones or the twisty ones. What’s the difference anyway? They both color your lips, right?”

Guy laughed at the sheer creativity of the nickname his partner had appointed to the lipsticks in his hand.  “Ah well, I’m glad you asked, Honey!”

He twisted up the matte tube and swiped the creamy formula on his lips, smacking them to spread it evenly. The color on his lips only emphasizes the smirk it formed, amused by the hitched breath Honey lets out as he gently cradled their face and brought it closer to his.

“Solid lipstick doesn't last long. See?” 

He demonstrated this by pressing his mouth on the back of his hand a few times to reveal pigmented marks against his skin. The man even gestured toward his face to show that the tint of the lipstick had significantly faded.

“Huh.” 

Honey was definitely studying his lips, alright. It formed into the same old smile they never got tired of, this time with its edges slightly smeared from what he had done moments ago. They were so entranced that they didn't even notice Guy reaching for a clear tube, this time twisting it to reveal an application wand with a different hue of the lipstick before, quickly applying it on his lightened lips.

“While liquid lipstick—” His quip breaks Honey’s lip-centered daydream and with a sudden movement, Guy pressed his colored lips gently against Honey's bare ones,  the latter letting out a quiet squeak that made the man eagerly press down harder. He slowly pulled away, close enough to have just an inch of space between their mouths.

“...Is kissproof!” 

He was right. Honey could see that Guy’s lips still looked the same with no sign of smudging or transferring of the product. Not that the efficiency of the lipstick is what’s on the forefront of their mind at the moment.

“O-oh,” their voice cracked rather pathetically but Guy only let out a laugh, holding up the twisted-up tube of the lipstick he first used near the other’s visibly quivering lips.

“Hm…now that I see it, I think the shade on the ‘twisty one’ fits your look better. Let’s use that!” 

A wide-eyed Honey simply nodded in response.

—

“...And then here’s your make-up bag, just in case you need to retouch! So, what do ya think? Stunning? Iconic? Gorgeous? Oh, oh! Pulchritudinous? Ehh?”

Honey turned to the vanity mirror for the first time in a while and gaped in the reflection. 

“It's…” They raised their hand, opting to feel their face before deciding otherwise as they realized it might waste all of their boyfriend’s hard work. Honey racked in every corner of their brain for a word to encompass the awe they’re in right now, wishing they had even just a fraction of Guy’s mind to express it in words. 

But for now, they’re just Honey—who isn’t particularly known for their expertise in saying what they mean and they settle for the answer they weren’t satisfied with at all.

“It’s pretty.” 

The person staring back at them looked so different yet still the same. It felt like looking at themselves from a different perspective. Pretty was hardly an adequate descriptor for what they were looking at but it’s all they could think about in their dazed state (the way their partner beamed at their compliment told them he didn’t mind).

“You’re the pretty one, hon! With or without make-up! I mean, c’mon! Look at that smile!”

That earned a wider smile from Honey with Guy giddily matching it.

“I’d have to thank my handsome make-up artist for that. He did such a wonderful job after all.” 

“How do you suppose you’ll do that then, Honey?”

This time, Honey was the one to surprise their lover with a kiss.

BONUS SCENE:

“Do you really have to go?” Guy whined though he already knew the answer. That didn’t stop him from snaking a hand around Honey’s waist, who was just leaving through the door of their shared apartment.

“Yes, Guy. I really have to, especially with how long you’ve been painting on my face, there’s a possibility I might get late,” they explained, giving him an apologetic look despite the scolding tone of their voice. 

“Well, who can blame me when my Honey’s looking absolutely ravishing,” He pulls Honey closer with his usual goofy smile, though this time they notice a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Besides, just a while ago it seems like you wanted your face to be painted with something else, ehh—mmph!”

Honey had cut him off by pressing their lips tenderly against his once more, eliciting a relaxed sigh from him. They pulled back to see a pouty expression plastered on Guy’s face.

“Fuck. Y-you’re enjoying that stunt way too much, it’s not fair!”

“I wasn’t the one that started it!”

“Fine, whatever!” Guy lamented loudly, complete with his hand clutching overdramatically on his chest. “Be like that, go to your party, then! See if I care!”

Honey just rolled their eyes with a smile. “One last goodbye kiss?” 

And how could he ever say no to that?

So after a quick peck on Guy’s cheek (maybe two or three more), Honey finally made their way out the door, leaving him a bit lightheaded than before. 

Despite his lovesick state, he was quick to make his way over to the couch and started setting up his game console connected to their T.V. Since his Honey would be out for most of the night, he decided to invite a friend over to play video games and kill some time.

Knock, knock. Ah, speak of the devil. “Jin! Come in, man!”

Guy swung the door open to reveal a man his age, carrying a paper bag full of chips on one arm and a game controller on the other. He set down the snacks on the second-hand coffee table before settling himself on the couch his friend was sitting on. 

“Sorry for being a little late, just had to do a few things. So, what game are we…Oh.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” “Dude. I think you should look at a mirror.” --

yes jin like one of guys friends that he plays with in that one hoodie video. with no voice line or anything at all. that jin. LMAO

anyway i rlly hope u enjoy this :")) i honestly dont think its my best work LMAO but eh! im here 2 have fun man,,, and this probably would be my last fic (atleast in a while but aughh idk if i'll be active again here HAHAJHAD) so yeah!! hope u liked it tysm have a good night/day!!

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

More half baked ideas idk what to do with

1. Danny is singing along to the instrumental version of a broadway musical song (I was thinking "the other side" from the greatest show on earth) in an old abandoned-ish theater he found while exploring the Infinite Realms.

He gets startled by a guy in a red domino mask when he starts singing the second person in the duet.

Danny: *surprised Pikachu face*

Danny: *Happily singing the duet with this guy with a red bat symbol on his chest. It probably means nothing. Probably*

Meanwhile RR watches from the shadows, recording everything for blackmail

2. Dick has been having a reoccurring nightmare about a boy who looks just like him wearing a white and black hazmat outfit.

The boy always screams in terror or pain as he falls into a Lazarus green void, hand outstretched as if he were reaching out for Dick to save him as he falls into oblivion. Then the large metal doors to an octagonal doorway slam shut, blocking Dicks view.

Dick wakes up in a cold sweat

3. Danny, as a civilian in Gotham, trusts his local vigilantes way too much. It may be a byproduct of him being a former vigilante himself, but if he has a problem he thinks a bat would like to know about, he tells them and is generally happy to vibe with them

Aka he leads Robin to injured/stuck animals that Danny himself -as a totally normal non-meta teen who totally has parents and a safe place to live- can't free/cure.

Hes an informant to Red Hood

Hes practically seducing Red Robin with new inventions

The Batgirls check up on him every so often for the tea and to raid his snacks

Oracle saw him using his powers and has decided to mentor him on the down low. They exchange favors often.

Ect.

Oh, and he's doing this all while "disguised" with an over-sized hoodie whose hood no one can see into the darkness of.

4. The League of Assassins think Danny is some type of god/miracle child and will do anything to get thier hands on him.

Danny thinks this would be fine if not for the stabby nature of the cult chasing him around. He doesn't want to be tortured for his sass. No thank you.

5. Danny finds a clone baby in a tube, and upon realizing it was braindead and had no soul he overshadowed the tiny body. He didn't really have much of a choice. He had taken massive damage in a fight against a monster in the IR and didn't really wanna find out how far his "die and resurrect self at will" powers went.

He did not expect to sleep for years and years in that tiny tube in that abandoned lab.

Aka one of Tims friends find a younger version of Tim sunning himself on a beach drinking lemonade

[wordsinhaled]

was talking about this with @ghostboyjules --

children's reading circle librarian!dream ("mister dream"!!! with lil star doodles on his name tag...??? yes???) and single dad!hob whose son is in dream's reading circle AU still lives in my head rent free

thinking about hob being a regular at the library and trying to work up the courage to ask dream out but also not wanting to be creepy because this is dream's place of work??? and dream not wanting to approach hob because his son is in the reading group and that would be out of line!!! so they spend a long time both secretly liking each other

then they actually run into each other somewhere else innocuous (checkout at the grocery store? hob sees dream in a t-shirt and jeans for the first time - not what he usually wears at the library - and dream sees hob in a hoodie with his hair up in a messy bun and they're both like OH MY GOODNESS HEART EYES??? IT'S HIM

hob actually spots him first and he has robyn with him and of course robyn (who loves dream) is all, MISTER DREAAAM! and drags them over to the same checkout. of course dream then crouches down to speak to robyn in a very serious and proper way about whether he has finished the book on greek mythology they just checked out yet. and then dream looks up at hob before straightening up and he's still smiling in a totally disarming way and hob is like oh okay, so if i don't take my chances i might actually perish

and so hob jumps on the opportunity to ask dream out for coffee or drinks... dream is SUPREMELY thrilled to be asked out but also totally blindsided... ends up putting his foot in his mouth and accidentally declines somehow??? cites propriety or whatever and hob is all, "oh, that's alright of course, well - we'll see you on sunday - " and then they have to both wait in the checkout queue before hob can go home to lick his wounds in peace...

that night death calls dream up to see how he's doing and coaxes the story out of him... and takes it upon herself to arrange a re-do for them... and she insists dream has to be the one doing the asking out this time... in the end dream ends up asking hob to go to like ??? a museum exhibit opening with him? an exhibit on fancy antique books perhaps? something fancy like that. idk there's wine and passed hors d'oeuvres and fancy outfits and it's TOTALLY kind of high stakes as first dates go but the rest is history ok????

fast forward to dream reading robyn a bedtime story before tucking him in at night because robyn INSISTS on being tucked in by mister dream and hob standing in the doorway like "you're so good with him *heart eyes*"

ahhh, i just love them your honor

[raythekiller]

Hii uh- Hoodie with a gn s/o whose sarcastic and mean? But shes kinda nice when around him?- idk if u rake request like these if not sorry-

🗒 ❛ Mean S/O With A Soft Spot For Him ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Hoodie

#Notes: "relatable" I say as if I'm not one of the nicest people I know

pronouns used: they/them

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He's actually a little like that. I like to think Brian is a little of everything all at once - nice but mean, compassionate but apathetic, comforting but cruel. He's the whole package.

That being said, doesn't take him long to notice you're only nice to him and he thrives off of that shit. He's actually a lot more arrogant than he's given credit for and your behavior seriously feeds into his ego.

Will brag to everyone about it, and I mean everyone. Especially people you tend to have heated discussions with, like Masky (cause he's a bastard). You two finish screaming at each other and he'll just sign to his friend "They like me, though" and get smacked on the head while laughing.

Loves seeing you sass other people only to turn to him being all soft-like. He'll beam under your attention while staring at the other person with a cocky look on his face.