#FIc

[frownyalfred]

the fact that I’ve actually had this happen multiple times when I’ve entered a new fandom is hilarious like what do you MEAN

[amelia-yap]

chappy 2! fic by @4powerd

[ginnyw-potter-archive]

Feel free to use, or message me for more banners

yes, I'm self-aware thank you

[delicatebaby777]

[emilys-bangs]

this prompt from the hydrangea list: “you should change out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold” with unit chief Emily and stubborn reader who fell into like a frozen lake or something during a case and reader makes up some sort of excuse so Emily lends her some of her own clothes which sparks something in Emily🤭

Not gonna lie, I giggled like an idiot when I read this, I'm obsessed 😭ty for participating!! Join my celebration here!

Tags: stubborn (lowkey annoying) bau!reader, reader wears emily's clothes, it's mentioned that they don't fit well but no descriptions of body type

Word count: 0.9k

Your hands shake so much you can hardly take your vest off. Emily does it for you, almost viciously, her nails ripping through velcro and separating it with loud screeches.

“I c-can—I can do it.” You pant, trying to push her away.

Emily’s eyes tell you to shut up. Her whole face does—lips tightly pressed, brows drawn and stiff. Her silence answers, as do her hands, slapping yours away and reaching for the straps under them. She rips them open, freeing you, and lugs your waterlogged vest off of your chest. You gasp, the frigid air tightening your lungs.

“Jesus, fuck.” You curse, clenching your teeth as your muscles lock.

The frown slips deeper between Emily’s brows.

“Take this off.” Her hands are shoving at your shoulders. Your windbreaker falls to the lake bank with a wet slap, joining your discarded vest. Emily sheds her own jacket; before you can blink, she’s wrapping it around you, her warm exhales puffing over your face. “C’mon. You should change out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

You might as well be wearing a sheet of paper. But at least Emily’s jacket has dry pockets. You let her help you up—hell, who are you kidding, she does all of the heavy lifting—and almost fall back down when you let go, your legs trembling and numb.

Emily’s arm firmly wraps around your waist. She tugs you in the opposite direction, back to the SUVs.

“No, no, no.” You strain against her arm. “W-We’re gonna lose him.”

“I don’t think the fifteen agents on his tail are gonna let that happen.”

“Emily—”

“Keep moving.” She snaps.

The look on her face makes you comply. 

Your boots squelch wetly with every step. Water sloshes over your ankles, dipping your socks in a fresh wave of ice, and you shiver. Emily’s arm around your waist, sticking your shirt to your skin, makes it worse. 

Her grip is steel. Unnecessary and heavy and telling of her palpable anger with the way her fingers grip your side. 

“So what, now you’re mad at me for f-falling into a fucking lake?”

Her jaw ticks. She lets your question hang in the air, lets silence seal over it before speaking. 

“I’m not mad at you because you fell in the lake.” She says evenly, her voice low and composed. “I’m mad at you because you’re still a fucking idiot after falling into the lake.”

You scoff, “Oh, sorry for trying to prioritize my job—”

“Over yourself. That’s just,” she shakes her head, irritated, “that’s just stupid.” 

Bold of you to say, you almost snap back. But you hold your tongue just in time, digging your molars in and cutting off that thought.

“I’m fine,” you say instead, uselessly, because the SUV comes into view. Your numb fingers cry out in relief. “I’m just cold and dripping, not mortally wounded.”

“Thank god,” she says dryly.

For all your protests, you really are grateful when she all but throws you into the car and turns the heat on max. You’re pretty sure it’s the wrong thing to do, but you still huddle closer to the vents, directing whatever part of your body you can to the hot blow of air. It doesn’t do much—neither does Emily’s jacket—but you still shake your head when she comes around your door with clothes and a blanket in her hand.

You take the blanket. “I’ve got clothes back at the motel, I’ll just change there.”

Emily looks at you like you’re insane. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“What? We’re not.”

She holds out the clothes—a thick fleece sweater and sweatpants. “Put these on.”

“There’s no need.”

Emily pulls out her phone, eyes narrowing. “Fine, I’ll just call an ambulance.”

You snatch the clothes from her hand.

“Chief Prentiss,” you grumble, “you’re a pain in my fucking ass.”

“Ditto.” The corners of her mouth tremble, then smoothen out. Her brows raise, a thinly veiled threat. “I’ll wait out back.”

She leaves, and you look down at the clothes. Soft and warm, obviously well made and probably tailored to fit her. They’re not your size, but the hospital is at least half an hour away. 

And it’s not like you’ve got any dignity left to spare. 

You get in the back and change, teeth chattering as you pull Emily’s clothes over your body and adjust them so that they don’t look too ridiculous. Not like you care at this point; they’re warm and dry, lying thick over your bones, so you don’t complain. You get back in the front when you’re done, call Emily over, and try to warm your blue nails with the blanket she gave you.

“Thank you,” you murmur when she gets in, shame blooming in your stomach when you see the dampness along the side of her sweater.

Emily’s eyes flick over to you. They drag over your huddled form, your legs gathered on the seat—she doesn’t scold you for that, thankfully—and she blinks a few times. 

Great. Even she can see what a horrible fit her clothes are. 

A burning starts in your cheeks. You gather the sides of the blanket over your chest, crossing your arms over it. Emily turns away.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” 

She starts the car, her voice softer. 

“And thanks for your jacket. It’s all wet now, sorry, but I can get it dried for you. Probably dry cleaned too,” you mutter, mostly to yourself now, “it’s soaked up all that gross lake water. And your clothes—”

“It’s okay.” Emily surprises you with a laugh, clicking on her seatbelt and driving off. “Just stay warm, I don’t care about any of that stuff.”

“I am warm.” It’s not really a lie. Emily throws you a skeptical look, her eyes dipping down your chest before they get back to the road. “Really! I, uh…I don’t think the hospital’s necessary anymore.” You say timidly.

She shakes her head, the barest hint of a smile softening her cheeks. “Don’t push it.”

“Fuck.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic@decadentcatcrusade@piiinco

[mediumgayitalian]

"You can go first."

"Are you sure?"

Nico smiles. "Yes, Will. It'll be fine."

There is something unbelievably sweet about the hunch of Will's shoulders, the too-tight grip on the handle of the practice sword. He even stands differently, on the sand of the ampitheatre, unbalanced and unsure. He chews on his bottom lip and Nico wants nothing more than to drop everything and tug it from his teeth, soothe away the worry lines with the press of his tongue.

"I don't want to -- hurt you."

"You won't."

"I -- could!"

"I know you could." Nico steps closer, his own practice sword held loosely in his hand. "But you won't."

Will shifts his feet, looking at the shortened space between them and swallowing. A cloud passes over the sun and his eyes darken, fluttering blond eyelashes blinking away the sweat beading on his brow.

"Will," Nico says again. He closes the final foot of space between them, wrapping his free hand around Will's wrist. His pulse hammers through his palm. "You are going to swing, I am going to block. Nothing is going to happen. Right?"

Will breathes in, then breathes out. He repeats, closing his eyes. The buzz of his heartrate slows, ever so slightly.

"Trust me, Will."

"I trust you."

It is automatic and speedy. Nico's breath catches in his throat, and he pushes it back before Will's opening eyes can track it, can track his slack jaw and sharp breath.

"Good," he says hastily. He steps back, clearing his throat. "Okay, like we talked about. One foot forward. Drop your center of gravity, that's it. And then swing.”

Will follows his instructions quickly and determinedly, and, finally, when it comes time, swings — he grips the sword in two large hands, tendons rippling over the handle, and arcs the heavy thing cleanly over his head, broad shoulders sparkling in the midday sun.

Nico almost does get hit. He yelps and lunges away at the last second, heart racing.

“Oh my gods!” Will shouts, dropping his sword to the ground like it had burned him and rushing over. “Oh my gods, are you okay, did I slice you —”

Nico shifts slightly away, trying not to groan. For fuck’s sake.

“We’re done,” says Will, pressing light-hot, glowing palms on his shoulders, his back. Nico shivers. “You’re okay, thank the gods, but that was way too close —”

Nico is going to go back in time and kick his own ass. He needs to learn to focus, apparently; he’s not sure when exactly his brain liquified and melted out of his godsdamn ears but he has a feeling it was sometime around Sunshine Smile #1.

“This isn’t over,” Nico says weakly. His chest still flutters. All he can feel is the heat of Will’s skin, and he is overwhelmed by the gentle scent of lavender. “We’re gonna — uh, we’re gonna. Come back to this.” Will’s eyes are just — wow, this amphitheatre is hot. Nico clears his throat. That’s a lot of blue for one person to have, right? It’s not just him? “This isn’t over, Solace.”

“It sure as shit is,” says Will firmly. He kicks his practice sword in disgust, sliding his oh gods oh gods oh gods wide palm across Nico’s shoulders, hovering on his neck. “Lemme check you over, okay? Just for my own peace of mind.”

“Your lessons,” Nico tries.

Will waves a hand. “Bah. I appreciate the effort, Nico, but I’m hopeless. You’ll protect me, anyway.”

He is not hopeless. He is strong. He is strong and he is quick and he is observant, maybe more than anyone Nico has ever met. He is new in clumsy, sure, but that doesn’t mean he is not capable.

He opens his mouth to say so. But there is a look in Will’s eye. So he holds it, and smiles, and leans into his friend’s touch.

He will protect him.

Even if it’s from his own disbelief.

[deanwithglasses]

!!!!!!!

“why would you write fics for small, unpopular fandoms? you’re not gonna reach that many hits in fandoms not many people know about” ?? because I’m not writing fics for hits or kudos, I’m writing them for me because these characters are my blorbos and I have so many ideas, so much thoughts about them that my brain might explode if I don’t write them out.

[rain-water-flowers]

Tangerine

Sub!Han x Dom!Reader

WC: 1502

Synopsis: Jisung is so desperate that he can't wait for y/n to get home. Without her there, the next best thing is his pillow but then he gets caught and has some slightly intense sex with y/n

Warnings: unprotected sex (be smart pls), pillow humping, sub!jisung, desperation, choking, slight hair pulling, dom!reader, begging, overstimulation, I was craving tangerines when I wrote this, crying, praise, fluff at the end if you squint rlly rlly hard

A/N: I promise I'm trying lmao. The writers block is SERIOUS for TSSOUL chapter 3. Be patient pleaseeeee. Please. Enjoy this Jisung fic while I try to finish chapter 3. Also writing sub skz is different for me sooo was it good? Thanks to my beta @midnighthazee

Jisung whimpered pathetically into his pillow, his hips jerking in a frantic, desperate rhythm. He’d been at this for an hour at this point, trying to relieve the constant ache of his cock. But no matter how hard he humped his poor, abused pillow, he couldn’t seem to get any closer to a sweet release. 

He was on the verge of tears at this point. Just when he started to get extra needy, his girlfriend had to be at work. It didn’t help that her sweet scent of fresh tangerines left on their sheets was surrounding him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted breathlessly, sweat beading on his forehead and hips roughly grinding against the pillow. “Need it, need it, please..”

Jisung was so far gone, so lost in his own desperate lust that he started to shut everything out but his own pleasure. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the needy movements of his hips against the soft fabric. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough to sate the hunger in his core, but it was all he had – all he could do to relieve himself. 

“Please,” he whimpered pathetically into the pillow again, his voice muffled and strained. Who was he even begging to at this point? “Please, I need it. Need it so bad. I can’t…I can’t take it anymore..” He trailed off into a strong moan, arousing himself at the sound of his begging. He sounded so out of it, so pathetic. 

He knew he should wait until y/n got home, knew that he was only supposed to seek out pleasure in her – she even told him to wait until she got home, but he couldn’t make his body stop, the need was too much. He was almost ashamed of how he humped the pillows like some sad, desperate slut. 

He was so caught up in his pleasure that he didn’t even hear the door opening. Nor did he hear it closing softly, followed by the sound of the lock clicking into place. He didn’t even hear the small scoff y/n let out at his shamelessness. 

He finally came to his senses when he felt her breath near his ear. He flinched slightly and whimpered as she placed kisses around it, riling him up more. 

“What do we have here, hm?” Her teasing tone cut through the heat in the room. Jisung felt like he might burst into pieces just from seeing her. 

He couldn’t even stop the movement of his hips – if anything, seeing her made him more desperate to rub himself onto the poor pillow. 

“Please, y/n please, I need…” He couldn’t even figure out what he wanted to say, couldn’t figure out how to beg her properly for what he wanted. 

“You didn’t wanna wait for me, baby?” she purred, trailing a finger down his spine. “Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of you when I got home?” 

Jisung shivered at her tone and bit his lip, his cock throbbing painfully at how softly she was speaking. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I just…I needed…”

Y/n tsked and gripped his throat hard enough to make him gasp. His hips bucked and his cock twitched at the sudden treatment. “You needed what, baby? Tell me.”

“Y-you,” Jisung sobbed, curling in on himself as she brought the hand that wasn’t on his throat down to his red and swollen cock. “Ah-ahh..please, n-needed you, needed to feel you.”

Y/n sighed heavily, almost sounding bored, and moved her hand from his throat to his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back. “Begging won’t really get you anywhere, baby. You didn’t listen to me, humping your pillow so pathetically. I don’t think you deserve it.” 

Jisung’s eyes widened in desperation and he let out a high-pitched whine. “Please, please. I’ll do anything!”

Y/n smirked and pushed him onto his back, pushing the pillow out of the way and straddling his waist. She ground her hips down, rubbing her clothed pussy against his aching cock. 

“You wanna feel me wrapped around you, baby? You’re so needy..” Y/n said teasingly, grounding harder against him. 

Jisung bucked up against her, soaking her pants with how wet he was. “Yeah y/n…please I need it! I swear I’ll be so so good for you.” 

“That’s a good boy. Now listen. You’re gonna fuck me until I cum on your desperate, needy cock. And if you’re extra good for me, maybe I’ll let you fill me up, hm?” 

Jisungs eyes rolled back at the thought and he let out a strangled moan. “T-thank you..thank you.” He whimpered out. 

Y/n shuffled out of her clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. She grabbed Jisungs wrists and pinned them above his head as she positioned herself over him. 

She rubbed herself on him, the teasing making Jisung more and more desperate. “Beg for it,” she demanded, biting her lip and smirking down at him. 

“Please y/n, please!” Jisung wailed. “Please let me feel you, I’ll be good, please…I’ll make you feel so good, baby.” The small tears in his eyes started to spill over. 

Y/n let out a soft chuckle and sank down onto him with a low moan. They both gasped as she enveloped him into her tight pussy, Jisungs back arching off of the bed. 

“Fuck..” Y/n moaned, started to bounce on his cock. “Such a good boy for me. Gonna ruin you.”

Jisung could only moan incoherently in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of finally being inside her after waiting for what felt like forever. He thrust up to meet her movement, desperately trying to get deeper. 

“Y-y/n,” he sobbed, feeling himself getting close already. “I’m gonna, ahh-ah..I’m-” He cut himself off with a loud moan as y/n gripped his throat. 

“That’s it, baby,” she muttered. “You can cum. Fill me up.” She started to bounce on him faster, and as she saw him getting even closer, about to burst, she laughed to herself at what she was about to say. 

“I won’t stop though, baby. I’m not gonna stop until I’ve had my fill.”

And when Jisung heard that, he felt his stomach clench, eyes rolling back into his head as he let out a long moan, tapering off into a whimper as he felt himself cum inside her. He shuddered as the intense orgasm hit him, leaving him with more tears in his eyes and his back arching up off of the bed. 

Y/n pushed him back down and held him when he started squirming at the oversensitivity. The only relief he had was the fact that she slowed down slightly as the aftershocks of his orgasm still ran through him. 

“P-please, y/n, I don’t know if I can…I’m so sensitive.” He begged weakly, the whininess in his tone making her clench around him. 

Y/n scoffed lightly and brought her hand to his nipples, brushing over them slightly and making him gasp. “Oh, baby. I think you can,” she purred. “I know how much you love pleasing me, and I’m not done with you yet.” 

She started riding him harder again, impaling herself on his, not-surprisingly, still-hard cock. Jisung cried out at the sensation, his back arching again at her pace. 

“Fuck, you’re still so hard,” y/n gasped, pounding down onto him. “Such a good boy for me, hm? Always ready to make me feel good.” 

Jisung could only moan again in response. At this point his mind was blanking and he was so hot he felt like his thoughts were melting out of his brain. 

His spent cock throbbed painfully as y/n used him for her pleasure. She rode him hard and fast, driving him toward another intense orgasm even as his cock ached with overstimulation. 

“Cum for me again, baby.” She demanded breathlessly. “Fill me up with every last drop, I know you can do it.”

Jisung sobbed and shook beneath her, overwhelmed by the intense sensation. With a hoarse cry of her name, he obeyed, filling her up with his cum. If he was any less overcome with intense arousal and exhaustion he’d be surprised at how much there was. 

Y/n finally cried out and shook above him at the sight of his orgasm, grinding down to prolong her pleasure. She let out a loud moan at the feeling of their cum mixed together and dripping out of her. 

She collapsed on top of him, the both of them completely spent and utterly satisfied. Y/n cuddled into Jisungs chest with a contented sigh, running her fingers through his hair gently. 

“Such a good boy,” she praised sleepily. “So obedient for me… so eager to please.” 

Jisung could only hum in agreement, feeling sleepy, but also happy and content. The last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep sleep was the feel of y/n’s lips pressing against him and her sweet tangerine scent.

[spicycinnabun]

There's a sugar daddy au??!!!

Also let me be greedy and request my fave 🐺 🤭🤭🤭

there is!

have some werewolf courtship 🐺❤️

Buck set the heavy bag on his dining room table. It was filled with tomatoes, carrots, eggplant and zucchini, bits of dirt still clinging to the stems and leaves. There were also plump strawberries and a bundle of thyme. The aromas were strong under Buck’s sensitive nose. 

He had discovered it outside his door and wondered if someone had accidentally delivered their groceries to the wrong address—until he saw a note peeking out between some colorful bell peppers. It had familiar handwriting.

Buck picked it up and read it.

I have more than I know what to do with. Figured you could probably find a good use for them.

- Tommy

A trio of sunflowers were hanging over the side of the bag. Buck found a vase for them and gave them some water to drink. 

Nobody had ever given him flowers before. 

And nobody was around to see him stick his face in them like a lovesick dummy wolf. 

His emotions were being goofy. He was probably making a bigger deal over this than he should’ve. 

Everything was from Tommy’s garden, though. He had planted, tended, and hand-picked it all. They were the literal fruits of his labor, and he was giving them to Buck, of all people.

What did it mean?

Buck picked up his phone, opting for something silly instead of serious. 

This is a pretty big🍆

They had established a routine of texting each other. Tommy never left him hanging; he always seemed willing to talk. Not once had Buck ever felt brushed off. Tommy was witty as hell. His sarcastic remarks were sharp, but often offset by something sweet and genuine in the next minute. 

Buck was overdoing it—he knew he was, and the Alpha would eventually get sick of him—but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so interested. 

It didn’t take long for Tommy to answer. 

Thanks. Intimidated? 

Buck laughed. Nope. I like a challenge. Can already think of a whole bunch of fun things I wanna do with it. 

He sent a photo of himself holding the eggplant, quirking an eyebrow impishly.

Evan. We’re talking about cooking, right?

Of course. What else? :)

You’re a menace.

Buck laughed again. Wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. Thank you, by the way. 

You’re welcome. If you want more, just let me know. 

Buck bit his lip. We’re still talking about vegetables, right?

Tommy didn’t immediately bubble him, and Buck worried he’d pushed too far. It was a few minutes before his phone lit up.

What else? 

So, the ball was officially in his court. 

Buck swallowed, bouncing on his feet a few times to gear himself up. (Contrary to what Chim claimed, doing that wasn’t tippy tappies.) 

Maybe I want more of you?

The lack of bubbles that time was deafening. Buck smacked his forehead, then nearly dropped his phone as it started ringing. 

Tommy was FaceTiming him.

“Oh!”

Buck hastily ran fingers through his curls and propped his phone up against the fruit bowl on the island, accepting the call.

Tommy appeared on his screen. He was in his turnouts, rows of lockers behind him. His face was sooty, his eyes tired, but he looked content to see Buck.

“Hey,” Buck said, smiling. 

“Evan.”

Something about Tommy’s soft gaze and his tone, warm and low, made Buck’s belly squirm happily. “Just got back from a call?”

“Yeah. I’m about to clean up and have some dinner.” 

Buck put his chin in his palm. “What’s on the menu?” 

Tommy gave him an unreadable look, then smiled back. “Some jerky. Probably something on Wonder Bread. Hopefully, not Freddie’s chicken salad.” 

Some of them had contracted food poisoning from that in the past, Tommy had said. Tommy’s was brief, thanks to his fast healing. Still, Buck groaned in sympathy, a near whine hitting the edge of it. “Tommy, that hurts my culinary soul.”

Tommy chuckled. “It hurts my stomach more, I promise.” He sighed. Buck wanted to press his thumb against Tommy’s cleft and kiss him through the screen. He tried to dispel the thought. “I’ll admit, I miss Bobby’s meals.”

Buck had learned that the 217’s idea of crew dinner was abysmal at best. They rarely ate together, and the only time they had somewhat healthy food was when one of the guys’ wives brought something in.

Buck wondered if Tommy would like his cooking as much as Bobby’s. He was almost as good of a chef as Bobby now, though he excelled a bit more at baking. 

“You’re wearing my clothes again.” 

Tommy’s observation pulled Buck back to the conversation quickly. 

It had become a habit for him to wear the hoodie at home. Embarrassing that Tommy had caught him.

“Yeah. It—it—it’s comfortable.” It was more than that. Buck tugged on the strings, fighting a blush and losing. He attempted more playful banter. “I don’t think I’m going to give it back. In fact, the next time I see you, I’m going to steal another.”

Did werewolves share clothes? Buck didn’t have any other furry friendships to compare this to. He was probably way out of line.

A few of his old girlfriends had liked wearing his stuff. He’d always thought it was cute seeing them dwarfed in his baggy sweaters. He was starting to understand the appeal from the other side. 

But Tommy wasn't his boyfriend, and he bet it was only okay to share within a wolf pack, and he was acting like a total clingy weirdo, and Tommy was probably super skeeved out, and—

“I don’t want it back,” Tommy said. His eyes had darkened, zeroing in on Buck. “It’s yours.”

Buck swore he could hear—feel—Tommy’s heartbeat thudding powerfully in sync with his own. He had an insane and confusing desire to drop to his knees and offer up his bite mark like the Alpha was in the room with him.

You’re mine, Buck heard.

The fire bell ringing on Tommy’s end interrupted them, and whatever spell they were under broke.

Buck straightened up. His legs felt unsteady.

“Guess dinner will have to wait.”

…Why did Buck feel like he was dinner?

“Y-yeah.” 

Tommy smirked. “Talk to you later. Be good.”

Buck made a noise.

The call ended. 

⏾

Buck went to the grocery store. He loaded his cart, checked out without looking too hard at the total, and hauled his stand mixer out of the cupboard as soon as he returned. His kitchen soon became a disaster zone.

Tommy had fed him so well when he’d been bane sick. Though he’d said all he could really do was roast, grill, and dehydrate, it had been more than enough. 

It was Buck’s turn to take care of the Alpha. Not repayment, just appreciation. It wouldn’t be as good as a fresh kill, but Buck hoped Tommy would enjoy the transformation his produce had undergone. 

And Freddie’s chicken salmonella salad could be tossed in the trash where it belonged.

Buck wanted Tommy to feel his gratitude. Buck could fill his stomach and satisfy him. Win him over. 

It could make the Alpha see Buck as a potential mate.

…That was his wolf butting in again, of course.

Buck made spiced carrot cake, thyme and honey focaccia, a massive meaty lasagna with rich tomato sauce, and a ratatouille he spent an excessive amount of time making beautifully layered. 

The last thing he popped in the oven was a batch of strawberry muffins stuffed with homemade strawberry jam. Only the center muffin he decorated with vanilla buttercream and red sprinkles. He left a note in his chicken scratch on top of the tupperware.

The special one is for you. Don’t let anyone else have it.

- Evan

It was almost three AM when he finally shut the refrigerator doors and collapsed into bed with a grin on his face. 

⏾

The following day, Buck carefully loaded everything into an empty box he’d saved from a past delivery and stuck it in the back seat of his Jeep. (Maddie teased him for his millennial urge to save every box he acquired, but she couldn’t deny they were useful.)

Then, Buck set off for the harbor station. 

⏾

tag list: @justahumblecabbagemerchant @loulou-land @harmonic-intervention @sweaters-and-silly @theallyandhisbeast @brassm-tagged @scuderiadebauchery @chococara25 @darkqueen458 @cinderellarhea @setmeatopthepyre @buffaluff @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @figuringitoutaloud @cannibalhellhound @i-dont-even-know-anymore976 @ambernotember @the-omniscient-narrator @zeraparker @cometconnector @fenrirscarsback @moonydanny @espressopatronum454

previous parts

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Strange as Fiction 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, delulu behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your visit to the library results in more than borrowing books.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Deluluverse is ever growing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Three books. That’s not too much right. You will read them after all but it feels a bit greedy. Well, you wouldn’t consider imagination a vice. 

You browse the spines and nearly hop in your boots. That would be embarrassing. You put a finger up, hovering it in front of the book that caught your eye, the touch it. You ease it from between its neighbours carefully. Like an artifact being uncovered from deep in the earth.     

You read the back. You know this one! It’s back in stock. You’ve been dying to read this. Not many authors write about this particular figure. It’s always Marie Antoinette or Victoria I. They can be fun but the genre quickly grows repetitive with the same cast of characters. 

You add it to the pile. Four. That’s more than enough. It won’t be but you tell yourself that. You accept yourself, your tendency to shut yourself in, to lose yourself in other worlds, other times, but you try to believe you could be more than that. 

You turn and lift your head. You keep from squeaking in surprise, recalling the rules of the library. The man at the end startles you. You blink and wipe the mindless smile from your face. That was for the books, not him. 

You look back to the shelf, weighing your options. You stand there for a moment, pretending to continue your perusal. He doesn’t go. You thought he would. These fictions aren’t necessarily written for his demographic. Well, maybe the ones about Arthur and his knights. 

You could sidle along, excuse yourself, and be on your way. Or you can double back and go down the next aisle. The latter is safest. 

You’re not used to company. Not even at the library. You like it because people keep to themselves. Also, the books. All free as long as you bring them back. 

You shuffle to the end, stopping to read over another summary, before you go to the next row. As you turn down it, the man does the same from the other side. You hesitate but keep going. You can’t go back now. That would be too obvious. 

You get closer and keep to the right side, hoping to pass him without bother. He stretches his arm across the breadth of the aisle and pens you in. You stop and reel back. You look him in the face. 

He’s not unattractive. Blue eyes, square jaw, thick hair. Though the grey patched in his beard suggests he has some years on you. And his suit... he has no tie. The jacket is a grey plaid that’s a bit too loud. The men you see here button up to their chin or wear hoodies with anime characters. 

“Hey, you ever read this author?” He taps a book without looking. You open your eyes wide and follow his finger. His silver watch peeks out from beneath his sleeve. You wonder why a man with such nice jewelry doesn’t just buy his books. 

You nod. Then you turn and lean to see around him, “excuse me.” 

He doesn’t move. “Hey,” he chuckles, “I was hoping for some advice. They any good?” 

You suck in your lip and look down at your armful. You shake your head. “Not my taste.” 

“Ah, well, I’m open to suggestion,” he dips his chin and runs his finger along the top of the book at the front of your stack. “What’s that? Shanawdithit? Never heard of that.” 

You stare at his lapel and take a deep breath. “She was Beothuk.” 

“Ah,” he nods. “Interesting.” 

“Didn’t see any other books about her...” you trail off as you look over your shoulder. “Erm, I gotta go--” 

“You got quite the stockpile. Let me help,” he offers. 

“No, that’s--” 

Too late. His large hands grasp the stack and he takes it from you without a struggle. You stare, slightly shocked at his brazenness. “You headed for the desk?” 

Your eyes flick back and forth. You nod, speechless. 

“Right, well, let’s go.” 

He turns and struts out of the aisle. He pivots and looks back at you. You chew on your cheek. 

“Well,” he prompts. 

You come forward slowly, confused. You stop right beside him. 

“Sir, I—I'll take those--” 

You reach to take them back and he marches ahead of you. You stumble to follow after him. You clear your throat.  

“Um, hello. I can carry them.” 

“What kinda guy would let you do that?” He asks. 

“Well, erm, it’s nice and all but I—I don’t know you.” 

“I’m Nick.” He says, matter-of-fact.  

“Oh... okay. But.” 

“You have a long day at work? Unwinding with some reading?” He asks. 

You don’t understand. He’s acting like he knows you. You open and close your mouth as you search for words. 

“Um, I don’t think I am who you think--” 

“You’re exactly who I think you are,” he stops at the empty desk and puts the books down. He turns and plants his hand on the wood, leaning on one foot as he bends a leg and digs the leather toe of his shoe into the floor. “You’re the prettiest girl in this place.” 

You sway back and forth, twisting to look around. You face him again. He arches a brow coyly. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He asks as he steps closer. 

“You’re... joking.” 

“No.” 

“Who’s...” you peer around him. 

“It’s just me. I got no reason to lie.” He stands straight and taps the books. “Looks, brains, what more could a guy ask for?” 

He cranes to see behind the desk again, “now where the hell is everyone?” 

“It’s self-checkout,” you point at the sign. 

He reads it and snorts, “looks like I need to work on my own reading skills.” He looks at the screen and squints, “you got a card?” 

You slip out your card and scan it quickly. You reach for the first book but he’s faster. He swoops it under the scanner and it beeps. He does the other three and puts them neatly out of your grasp. It’s a very deliberate move. 

“Alright,” he takes the receipt as it prints out and reads it, “three weeks.” 

He tucks it under the cover of the top book and picks them up again. Your heart thumps. What is he doing? Better yet, who is he? 

He says your name and you flinch. You take a step back, “How--” 

“It’s on your card,” he smirks. “So, going home?” 

You frown. You don’t like this. He presumes a lot. You steel yourself and grab the books. He keeps them locked in his grip, your hands tiny next to his. 

“Sir, give me my books.” 

He snickers, “I’m being a nice guy. Let me carry them home for you.” 

“But I don’t want you to,” you say. “I want my books.” 

“Why not?” He asks. 

You huff, “I don’t-- you’re confusing me. I don’t know you.” 

“You haven’t even tried,” he says. 

You let go of the books and throw your hands up. “Fine, I guess. Keep them.” 

You try to step past him but he moves with you. He blocks you as you continue to try to evade him. You stop and stomp your foot in frustration. 

“Why?” You slump in defeat. 

“Aw, sweetheart, please, don’t be upset. I don’t like to see you sad,” he nears and holds out the books. “I’m not trying to ruin your night. I just wanted to introduce myself.” He offers the books and you reach for them warily. As you do, your eyes meet his. You can’t look away. “I’m your future husband.” 

He lets you take the books at last and he backs away, palms out. He slips his hands into his pockets and dips his head. 

“You’ll be seeing me,” he promises and twists on his heel.  

He struts to the doors as you watch, stunned. There’s a bounce in his step as he disappears, as if he might just start whistling. You look down at the books and up again. This is why you prefer fiction. 

📖

The strange encounter follows you home. Not literally. Yet, you can’t help but double check the door and twitch at every random noise through the wall. Apartment living is rarely peaceful. 

You don’t dive into your new haul. You don’t have the focus. Your mind keeps wandering to that man. Surely, he was messing with you. It all sounds like a joke, albeit not a very funny one. 

The next day greets you with a patter against the window pane. You yawn as you dismiss your alarm and ready to face work. Hair, face, clothes. You do enough. You’re not Katie and her perfect swooshy waves or Sara and her sharp sleek bob. You’re just you. 

You tuck on of the borrowed books into your bag and set out. You wait for the train with hands clasped together. You’ve never been fond of the platform. It smells of things you don’t want to think about and the darkness of the tunnel unsettles you. 

You board the train when it comes and find a seat. You take out the book and settle into the prose. The rails thrum beneath you as you hurtle beneath the city. When your stop chimes over the intercom, you get up to wait by the door. 

You flow through with the rush and head for the turnstiles. You’re nearly crushed in the morning stampede. Once you’re above ground, you can breathe again. 

Work is down the next street. You peer up at the large windows, filled with those white corporate blinds, and deflate. Your first day at the publishing house, you were agog. Now, you’re indifferent. 

It’s not that you don’t aspire for more, it’s only that you’re not sure there is more. You’ve been an assistant for three years now. You have a degree in editing and long to move beyond the dull admin. You want to be in one of the big offices. You want to be meeting with authors and reviewing manuscripts. Yet that thought feels as fantastical as all those plots you read. Based on a true story but not quite real. 

You head inside, resigned to another slog through your nine to five. It’s just like it is every day. Starbucks cups, chittering gossip, and clacking keys. You take your place among the zoo of assistants and interns. 

“I’m looking for Drysdale,” a deep voice drifts over and tugs at your brain. It’s familiar. Not someone from around here... 

“Oh, yes, I think he’s expecting you, um....” Felicity, the young intern manning reception, cheeps. “Mr. Fowler?” 

“That’s me.” He intones. 

You turn your chair slightly to see around your monitor. Trina isn’t so subtle as she spins her whole chair to see the man. You recoil and hunch down to hide away from the visitor. 

It’s that man! Nick. The attempted book thief. You can’t believe this. You don’t believe in coincidences, this isn’t a story book. Yet, how could he be here? The odds are against him. 

It takes Felicity three tries to get the right extension. She finally gets the junior editor on the line and her punctuated ‘oh’ assures you that he hung up before she even finished. 

The office door opens and you shy away. Shoot. You forgot how close you are to Mr. Drysdale’s door. How could you? Not with how many times he comes out to flirt with Trina or Lora. 

“Nick,” he greets boisterously as he emerges. “Since when are you a morning person?” 

“Since I got business to do,” the other man crosses the office floor as those seated chitter to each other in curiousity. “Better make it worth my time.” 

“Don’t I always?” Drysdale scoffs. "You know, assholes like you usually wait a month to get in my office." 

Nick hums dully. Drysdale looks around and his eyes fall on you. You quickly look down and pretend to be busy. Too late. 

He traipses over and rests his hand on your monitor. “Hey you, how about you run down and get us some coffee?” He looks back at the other man, “Fowler, what do you take in your coffee? You a latte man?” 

Nick nears and clucks. He smirks as he steps up next to Drysdale. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he purrs. “Ransom, you gotta show a little more respect.” 

Drysdale snorts, “Oh, you’re telling me how to do my job?” 

“No,” Nick says and calmly moves Drysdale’s hand off of your computer. “I’m telling you to treat my future wife with respect.” 

“Huh?” You gurgle as he lets go of the editor. 

“Understood?” Nick postures as he faces Drysdale. 

“Future? Her? The desk jockey?” 

“Didn’t wanna say so, conflict of interest and all,” Nick tuts. “But hey, she’s worth more than a book deal.” He looks over at you and winks, “aren’t ya, honey?” 

[wrenthewriterishere]

I need filters in real life

"i'm tired of seeing-" use your filters.

"but there was an icky ship-!" use your filters.

"i don't like that tag-" use your filters.

don't like what you're seeing? use. your. filters.

[smatterbrained]

Sooo my hand slipped and I wrote a thing

[bucktommyyendgame]

Fuck it Friday

tagged by @hyperfocusthusly *MWUAH*

yay, I got tagged and actually have something to share! Most of my ideas aren't fleshed out but I'm just getting started on this idea about Maddie not approving of Tommy when Buck and Tommy get back together.

When things finally blow up, Buck feels like he should have seen it coming, but in the relief and gratitude of working things out with Tommy, he hadn't. Now his boyfriend and his sister are staring at each other over their Chinese food and Maddie and Chim's dining room table like they're going to break out their swords at any second and Buck feels like he's in the middle. "This chicken is so, so...so good," Chimney says slowly when Maddie and Tommy continue their staring contest. Buck winces and looks at him helplessly. Chimney shrugs, looking sympathetic, but not like he has a solution either. "Is there something I should know here?" Tommy says, sounding cool and composed but Buck can see the emotion in his eyes. He should have listened to Tommy, should have listened to both of them and he could have headed this off before it began but now it's too late. "You do know actually," Maddie says, crossing her arms over her chest. "You left him. Three times. How do I know four, five and six aren't going to happen too?" Buck feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. "Maddie, that's not-" But Tommy lays a hand over Buck's and shoots him a look before turning his gaze back to Maddie. "You're right," Tommy says and that cool composure is replaced by a soft sadness. "I did. I could...I could tell you my reasoning behind it, if you want."

no tags: @desert--moonchild, @lovetommyactually, @beanarie, @ambernotember, @sad-girl-hours23

[toxicgutz69]

Visual recreation of simon shoving the poor guy outta the way

Ghost Gets No Bitches Part 2:

second part to THIS

Word count 1400

Content warning: suggestive, alcohol

When ghost finally texted you the message was something along the lines of: 

Hello. This is the man from (insert specific grocery store name followed by the exact address of said grocery store). 

You: Do I get to know your name or am I just supposed to call you Man From Grocery Store?

Ghost: Simon

Wow ok not a talker but we can work through that. Simon knew he should take you to a proper dinner but you made him so anxious he needed somewhere safe. Comfortable. Ah yes the closest bar to his base that he goes to almost daily. When you agreed to the date the panic really set in. He’s gonna be alone with you again (he ran to Price to ask for help on what to do. “You can’t wear the fucking mask” “but why?”)

The second Ghost got out of his car he noticed Soap had followed him to the bar (how could he not, Ghost had been sweating all day about meeting his lil lass again) “you walk in that bar and I’ll put a bullet in you, Mohawk”

“Aye come on. Jus wanna see a little more of the pretty bird that’s got ya all nervous”

 Soap knew he was bluffing about shooting him until Ghost pulled up his shirt enough to show his gun and the silencer attached to it. Yup ok he really would shoot him. Suddenly Soap is back in his car.

And then there you were, picture of perfection walking towards him. Big smile and small dress oh he was fucked. He opened the door for you and you let out a “good boy” as you walked through, an audible gulp came from him. Making your way to the bar to order, you told the bartender your drink, turning to ask Simon what he wanted only to find him standing 4 feet from you, scared to get too close. “Come here.” A command. One giant step and he was by your side. You moved closer until your shoulder was touching him. Control your breathing Ghost. “What do you want big boy?” You looked up at him and he should be embarrassed that you just called him that in front of his favorite bartender but he is definitely not. He said the beer he wanted and you added “two please. He’s nervous” the bartender was trying not to laugh.

“Tab Open or closed?” The bartender asked to which you quickly said open and began sliding your card over. 

“No.” Simon’s voice was deep and gravely and his sudden outburst caught you off guard. He may let you walk all over him but there was no way he, a gentleman would let you pay. 

You turned to him, eyebrows raised, “did you just tell me no?” Voice laced with genuine surprise and his eyes got wide, fuck was he in trouble? He nodded too afraid of how to properly respond but he continued to hand his card over and return yours to you. 

“You only get to tell me that once and that was it.” You scolded him as the barkeep slid the drinks over to you. You grabbed his two beers, one in each hand to hand to your date. He nodded again in response but did not miss the way your eyes were glued to his giant hands when he easily held the two bottles in one hand. 

Making your way over to a booth to sit, someone bumped into you, slightly spilling your drink down your hand. The man kept walking until a large (big sexy) hand grabbed his shoulder. Terrified apologies stumbled from his lips at the sight of Simon. But your hand quickly found its way onto Simon’s chest. 

“It’s not a big deal. Right Simon?” He looked down at you just in time to see you put your fingers in your mouth sucking the spilled drink from them. Christ’s sake woman. Your hand on his chest could feel his racing heart beat. 

“Not a big deal mate.” He let go of (pushed) the man as he watched you finish the walk to the table you wanted. He followed but when he got to the table he just stood there so awkwardly. 

“Simon, sit down. This is a date you know.” He’s sat. You decided that if he wasn’t going to talk then you wouldn’t either. You just sat there watching this giant muscle man fidget in his seat, emotional support beer being held so tightly in front of him. Your eyes taking in all of his features, pretty brown eyes and chiseled facial features. After however many minutes of silence (Simon squirming) you decided it was time for billiards. This is a bar after all. 

“Let’s go play” your head nodding to the empty pool table. The sudden sound of your voice made him jump. For goodness sakes man chill. He downed his second beer as he stood beginning to relax slightly. The bar was starting to get crowded so you reached for his hand before making your way to the table, pulling him behind you. You’re touching him. Fuck your hands are so soft, small compared to his. How would they look holding his…  A small and disappointed “oh” came from your lips as you neared the table. A group of men had gotten to it first but with a quick clear of his throat and deadly stare from Simon they gently handed you the cue ball. You turned to face him and god you were so close to him. He thought you holding his hand was bad? Now your chest is touching his. 

“Ready to lose?” You questioned batting your lashes at him, watching his pupils dilate. 

“I was gonna ask you the same.” You bit your lip at his response, excited to finally get somewhere with this man. There was a stare down for a few moments before you turned to begin the game. 

Were you bad at pool? No. Were you good? Also no. But Simon? Never missed a shot. No no this won’t do. Quickly realizing that you are losing (you only got one turn) you changed the game. Now you’re just standing at the edge of the table, looking pretty, moving the balls around with your hands, demanding trick shots. 

“Orange here to here then this pocket.” Hands pointing around before being placed palms down on the table, cleavage exposed and Simon can’t breathe. He does it and you praise him with another “good boy.” Two more planned shots and now you’re curling your finger, beckoning him closer. 

“8 ball. Corner pocket.” Simon begins to bend to line up his shot when you move so you are sandwiched between him and the table. Breathe Simon breathe. “Go on handsome.” Fuck ok he can do this. His large body easily envelopes yours, slowly bending at the waist and you are pushed down slightly, his chest pressed against your back. Your ass pressed exactly where you want it. Simon’s arms wrap around you to place his hand under the stick to steady it. You wiggled your ass back against his crotch and you could hear him stifle a groan. You can tell he’s trying to focus on the task at hand, but let's make it more fun. You turn your head until your lips are brushing against his jaw, sliding their way up to his ear and the whine that escapes this man at the contact. His hands glued to where they were placed on the table, too scared to move them where he actually wanted them.

“If you make this, you’ll get a reward.” You pressed your body into him more, feeling what was starting to form in his pants and you could feel the vibrations in his chest from a suppressed growl. “But.” you paused for a moment and he thought he was going to break the pool stick from holding on so hard. “But if you miss, your friend from the parking lot is allowed to come play too next time. So whats it gonna be?” You removed your lips from his ear, signalling him to take the shot. A breathy and accidental “fuck me” came from him as he lined up his shot. There was no way he was going to miss this, but when you added “thats the plan” after his last comment he missed the ball all together, pool cue scratching the green fabric on the table. He stood quickly cursing every god there ever was as you spun in his arms now face to face. Your arms reached up to wrap themselves around his neck. “What was his name again?”

Part 2.5 Part 3

[emilys-bangs]

hiiii this was under the hydrangea list and i thought it was cute but okay what if it was new agent reader and season 12 emily (maybe they arent super young but ykwim) and reader gets drunk for whatever reason, and emily has to take care of them. like take them back home or whatever and she said “you should get some rest kid” and then reader is like “pls dont call me that im so attracted to you and it makes it weird if you call me that” this is a mess of a sentence but im sleepy and i have read all of your work and im starving okay im done love u bye

This made me laugh, ty for requesting! I love love love it (and you). Join my celebration here <3

Tags: drunk!reader, bau!reader, flustered emily

Word count: 1.1k

Being Unit Chief comes with responsibilities. Taking drunk subordinates home is not one of them. 

And yet here she stands, stepping out of the rowdy bustle of the bar and hailing down a cab, half an eye on you and half on the car as it pulls up to the curb. 

Emily’s fingers curl around the handle. She pulls open the backseat door and nudges you in, cushioning the sharp carving above your head with her palm. And for good reason, because seconds later, your forehead bumps into the back of her hand.

“Emily, Ma’am,” you say politely when she gets in, your fingers fumbling with your seatbelt, “y’don’t have to take me home, you know.”

Emily ignores the Ma’am.

“It’s on the way to mine,” she replies, her eyes tracking your struggle with the seatbelt. She’s about to intervene when it slides home with a click.

“But it’s so early!” You huff, sinking back against the seat. “You can’t have wanted to leave yet. You like to party, I think. You look like a partier.” Your eyes lock with hers, serious despite the glazed shine to them. Still ever the profiler, even with alcohol humming in your blood.

Emily’s lips tingle with the need to smile. It’s nice to see you loose and easy; in the few months since you started at the BAU, you’ve been polite but detached, quiet unless it contributes to a case, and meticulous in your work. Emily saw the way you kept your distance, but she knew it’d fade with time.

Tonight is proof of that. A few drinks in, an hour or so of Garcia’s lively chatter, and you shed all professionalism off your shoulders. In the span of a few hours, the floodgates have opened wide. 

Emily isn’t sure she wants them to fall back closed.

“Y’know, you need a break from all that paperwork,” you say sagely. “Too much paperwork, and all of it’s on your plate.” 

It can’t be comfortable, the way you rest your head on the edge of the window. Your outline shudders with every bump in the road, but you seem perfectly content. Comfortable, even, your legs stretched out near hers and crossed at the ankles.

“Somebody’s gotta do it.” Emily murmurs. 

“Shame it’s you,” you say. The soft slide of your slur is strangely endearing. “You’re far too pretty to spend so much time in the office.”

Her brows arch in surprise. Emily lets out a short laugh, her neck growing hot, the strands of her hair suddenly poking into her skin. She doesn’t reply—can’t, really, because you go on a ramble, seemingly unbothered by the bomb you’ve dropped on her and turning your fleeting attention to some topic she isn’t really able to focus on.

Her cheeks are still warm as your voice fills the silence of the car. Soft and lilting in uneven slopes, your thoughts unwinding like pools of thread, trailing from one topic to another with hardly a pause. It’s nice, Emily thinks, to hear your tongue wrap around unmarred, bloodless words for once. Her ears hardly get reprieve from your rambling until the car stops and you once again fumble with the seatbelt. 

Streetlight pours in through the window. All at once, you’re gold. Your nails, the tips of your lashes, the frown you direct to the buckle.

Emily leans over, her own belt cutting across her chest, and undoes it for you.

You melt with relief. A beam lights up your face, lips stretched wide over your teeth. The sight is still unusual; she stares a little.

“Thanks.”

Emily swallows. Nods. 

“I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh no, no, it’s—”

“I’ll walk you up. C’mon.” Her voice falls softer than she wanted it to. Emily moves almost on autopilot: undoing her belt, getting out of the car, reaching for your elbow when you teeter above the sidewalk.

“You really are a top notch boss.” You mumble, pushing open the door of your apartment building.

Emily presses her lips against a smile. “Don’t expect this treatment every time. One time service only.”

“Part of the newbie package?”

She’d never walked anyone up to their door. A shared ride and a misspelled text minutes later was enough to make her rest easy. 

“Something like that.”

You hum and rub your eye, taking halting steps down the hallway. Emily’s eyes carefully watch for any stumbles, but you lead them safely to your door. 

The key is unsteady in your hand when you pull it out. She watches it thunk loudly against the lock as you try to slot it in, gives you three seconds, then gently takes it. Your mumbled protest goes ignored.

Emily undoes the lock and swings the door open into warm light. Her eyes instinctively flit over your home, inquisitive—nosy—before she catches herself and averts her gaze. She pulls the key out and places it in your palm, then gently nudges you in.

“C’mon. You should get some rest, kid.”

Emily doesn’t fully realize what she’s said until you pause over the threshold, a violent shudder rocking your shoulders. “God, please don’t call me that,” you grimace, face scrunched up with animated disgust. “’M so—god I’m so attracted to you, makes me feel weird to hear you call me that. Please don’t call me that.” You reiterate.

She can’t look away from the scrunch of your nose. The silence rings, and your face crumples into a frown.

“You don’t think of me as a kid, do you?”

Emily’s mouth is dry. 

“No, god no. You certainly aren’t…no, I don’t, I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly. Her skin itches with embarrassment, flaming hot where your slow eyes track. “I see JJ’s kids a lot,” she blurts, “and, you know, take them out to parks and stuff…and sometimes with Reid—you know…” 

God, somebody shut her up.

“Force of habit. I promise. I don’t see you as a kid, far from it—”

“Oh, she’s a rambler,” you laugh, something airy and feather-light. “I believe you, Chief Prentiss. But only if you’ll call me something else.” You say, a touch coy.

“What do you want me to call you?” Her voice comes out breathless.

“My name.” Your blink is slow, lashes kissing your cheeks. “M’first name, not that…L/N bullshit.”

Before tonight, she would’ve thought you preferred it. 

Emily’s glad that’s not the case. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, yeah. Y/N.” She tests it out. Your face brightens; her lips curve up before she feels it. “Please get some sleep.”

Still spilling laughter, you touch two fingers to your temple. “Yes, Ma’am. G’night, bye.”

The door thuds closed.

“Emily.” She murmurs to it.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic@decadentcatcrusade @piiinco