#I don’t really know if I should’ve posted this..? I don’t know if it was necessary to clarify where I am or what I’m doing.. but I realized

[vaginalvr]

Close Quarters, nsfw

spencer reid x reader

cw: rivals to lovers, degradation/praise kink, light dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, jealousy, hate sex vibe turning into affection, unprotected sex (p-in-v), name-calling, dirty talk, arguing, mutual obsession

a/n YAYAYAYAYAYA new post or wtv ik I already wrote a hotch one like this but I love my man spence ok leave me alone

You’d always admired Spencer Reid—brilliant, composed, infuriatingly correct Spencer Reid—right up until you joined the BAU and he made it his mission to prove just how much smarter he was than you.

From your very first case, it was clear he saw you as competition. Every quote you cited, he one-upped. Every theory you offered, he expanded, tweaked, made more “statistically accurate.” It wasn’t that he disliked you—if anything, that would’ve been easier. Instead, he hovered around you like a moth circling a flame, watching, pushing, challenging.

And you… you gave it right back. You matched him. Beat him, sometimes. The others found it amusing—Morgan even placed a bet once on which one of you would crack first.

No one expected it to happen the way it did.

It had been a rough case. Three children murdered in a small town outside Denver, the unsub a former teacher with a savior complex. You’d interviewed the parents, the victims’ classmates, the community.

You and Reid had argued in front of the team. You were convinced the unsub’s actions were ritualistic—symbolic. Reid disagreed. He cited statistical patterns, behavioral inconsistencies.

And then the unsub had targeted a fourth child. And you had been right.

The guilt was immediate, the grief even worse. No one blamed you—you had been right, after all—but it didn’t feel like a victory. Not when the little girl didn’t make it.

Hotch called it early that night. “We’ll head back tomorrow morning. Get some rest.”

The motel only had a few rooms left. You didn’t hear most of the conversation, only the part that mattered: “You’ll have to share.”

With Spencer.

Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth to protest, but Hotch gave you a look. You closed it.

The motel room was silent.

You stood on one side, arms crossed, jaw tight. Spencer Reid stood on the other, pacing like a caged animal.

The team had wrapped the case hours ago, and now you were stuck. The motel overbooked. Two twin beds, one room. You and him.

Perfect.

You watched him with narrowed eyes, simmering. “You always do this.”

Spencer turned. “Do what, exactly?”

“Undermine me. Talk over me. Use those stupid statistics to make everyone second-guess my instincts. You think you’re better than me.”

“I am better than you,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

You blinked. “Wow.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “No, I didn’t—That came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. You meant it.”

You stalked toward him, fury sharp in your throat. “God, you’re such a smug little know-it-all. You can memorize every fact in the world, but you can’t even read a room. We lost that girl because you couldn’t shut up and listen.”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t pin that on me. You knew the ritualistic signs. You should’ve fought harder.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“That’s not how this works,” you hissed.

“No,” he said, stepping into your space, “but maybe if you were less obsessed with trying to one-up me in front of everyone, you’d think more clearly.”

“Go to hell, Reid.”

“Already there,” he muttered. “Right here. With you.”

The air between you snapped like an electrical wire. Too close. Too angry. Too much.

“You really think I’m beneath you?” you bit out.

He looked down at you. “I know you want to be beneath me.”

That did it.

You slapped him.

It wasn’t hard—more of a sharp tap to the cheek—but it echoed in the tight room. His head turned slightly. Then he looked back at you with something dangerous in his eyes.

He surged forward and kissed you.

No, claimed you.

Teeth. Tongue. Frustration. Filth.

You kissed him back with equal fury, grabbing his collar, dragging him closer. His hands found your hips, slammed you back against the wall.

“Say it,” he growled into your mouth. “Say you want this.”

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped. “You’re still gonna beg.”

You didn’t make it to the bed right away.

He had your pants off before you could blink, spinning you toward the wall, one hand shoved between your thighs.

“Already wet,” he sneered. “Of course you are. You get off on fighting me, don’t you?”

You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Come on,” he hissed in your ear. “Be honest for once. You’ve been dying for this. For me to ruin you.”

You pushed back against his hand despite yourself. He was too good—those brilliant fingers weren’t just good at tying case files together. They knew exactly where to touch, how to curl, how to wreck.

“Fuck you,” you gasped.

“Oh, you will,” he said darkly. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

He yanked you away from the wall just long enough to throw you onto the nearest bed, stripping you with efficient hands. Then he stood above you, shirt undone, pants unzipped, eyes hungry.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low and cruel. “So desperate you’d fuck your rival just to feel something.”

You glared. “At least I feel something. You’re just a machine with a PhD.”

His lip curled. “A machine that’s about to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

You didn’t even get a retort out before he was on top of you, sliding between your thighs, lining himself up.

“No condom,” he muttered.

“I’m on the pill,” you breathed. “Are you clean?”

“Yes,” he growled, then sank into you with a guttural moan. “Fucking hell, you’re tight.”

You cried out—half from the stretch, half from the sheer power of the moment.

He didn’t move at first. Just held himself inside you, watching your face with a cruel smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he mocked. “Finally speechless?”

“Keep talking,” you gasped. “I want to see if I can make you shut up for once.”

That broke him.

He started thrusting hard, fast, brutal. The bed creaked under the force. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand and leaned close, breath hot against your cheek.

“You love this,” he hissed. “Being fucked like the little brat you are. Always mouthing off. Always trying to beat me.”

“Still could,” you choked, already close. “Even like this.”

“You can’t even think right now,” he said with a grin. “Can you feel how deep I am? You’re dripping. It’s pathetic.”

He let go of your wrists just to yank your leg over his shoulder and ram in deeper. You sobbed his name.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Come on my cock. Right now.”

You did.

It hit you like a freight train, legs shaking, back arching, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—you feel insane—”

He didn’t stop. He kept going, chasing his own release while you whimpered under him, overstimulated, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growled. “Look at you. So dumb on my cock. You gonna cry?”

You did. A little. From how good it was.

He moaned, full-throated and raw, and came inside you hard, hips stuttering, voice breaking with it.

For a moment, all you could hear was panting.

Spencer collapsed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, still breathless.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, mind wiped clean.

“Wow,” you muttered.

He turned to look at you, his voice rough. “You okay?”

You blinked at him.

That was soft. Unexpected.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “You?”

He nodded. “Didn’t mean to be that rough.”

You turned toward him, still flushed, still naked. “Didn’t hear me complaining.”

He gave you a smirk. A real one this time. No venom. No defense.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I hate how much I want you.”

You reached over, brushed your fingers over his stomach. “Same.”

“I don’t want it to just be this.”

You looked up.

That was vulnerable.

“You want more?” you asked, voice soft.

“I want everything,” he said simply.

You smiled.

“Then you better keep up, Doctor Reid.”

[strangerexee]

ʟᴀᴛᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴇᴀʜ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘᴛ.3 ᴏꜰ ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ)

Set in 1932

Reader x Bo Chow

(Smut | Explicit sexual content | soft but rough Bo | possessive behavior | missionary position | chain kink (necklace watching) | moaning | smoking | slightly obsessive energy | post-sex vulnerability | reader being down bad | praise | 18+ only | domestic affection | morning kisses | reader so down bad for arms/hands )

ᴡᴄ: 2.9ᴋ

A/N: spaced it out this time…sorry

Time Skip: Some Months Later

The store had changed.

Not in the way it looked, really — the wooden beams still groaned in the morning, the floors still creaked when the sun shifted, and the same old glass jars of penny candy still sparkled near the front register.

But you had changed.

And Bo had changed with you.

You’d been working there full-time for a few months now. Steady pay, cash in hand every Friday, and your name on the list of employees — right under his.

He let you do nearly everything now. Trusted you with the books. With the money box. With the spare key.

And with him — more than anything else.

Bo still looked like sin itself every time he rolled up his sleeves — forearms thick and dusted with hair, veins strong under that golden-tan skin — and he still touched you in ways that made your knees weak and your cheeks hot.

But now, he touched you like you belonged to him.

A hand on your back while you rang someone up.

A brush of his fingers under your chin when no one was looking.

And that little look he gave you, every time you passed too close —

like he was two seconds from hauling you into the storeroom again.

Everything was good.

Until she came in.

Two weeks after your birthday —

You were nineteen now —

Her name was Lisa.

She came through the front door one quiet Monday afternoon — silent as a shadow — with dark eyes and a book pressed to her chest.

She was younger than you — maybe sixteen? Seventeen? — and she looked up at Bo like she already knew him.

Which, as it turned out, she did.

“This is Lisa,” Bo said, like it was casual. “My daughter.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t even known he had a daughter.

Lisa didn’t say much — barely looked at you, actually — just nodded in that stiff way teenagers do and wandered off to stock shelves.

Bo hadn’t told you everything — but you didn’t press him.

You knew what you were.

You knew what you weren’t, too.

That night, though — when the store closed and Lisa had gone back to wherever she stayed — Bo kissed you like he was scared you’d walk away.

And you didn’t.

The ex-wife came two days later.

Grace.

She worked across the street — same store but for the whites — and when she crossed that dirt road and stepped into Bo Chow & Co., the sunlight caught her hair like a damn halo.

She was tall. Not that much taller than you, but enough.

Beautiful. Put-together. Nails done. Cheeks pinched with rouge.

And her mouth curled up when she looked at you, like she already knew she could ruin you.

“You’re cute,” Grace said, in a voice too smooth for the middle of the day. “Did Bo pick you out himself?”

You laughed it off.

Bo didn’t.

He came out from the back, wiping his hands on a rag, eyes narrowing.

“Grace,” he said flatly. “Don’t start.”

Grace just smiled, walked over to you, and brushed a speck of lint off your apron.

“Just saying hi, Bo,” she said sweetly, eyes flicking down your body.

“Your new hire’s a little snack, is all.”

Bo didn’t say anything. Just stood there — jaw tight, arms crossed — watching as Grace winked at you and then strolled out of the store like she owned the whole damn town.

It kept happening.

Every couple of days, Grace would stop by —

Always with something to say.

Always lingering by your side too long.

Always close enough for Bo to hear.

Sometimes, she’d whisper things when she knew he couldn’t see —

“You really like it here, huh?”

“Bo treatin’ you sweet?”

“You know I had him first, right?”

It should’ve made you mad.

But the way Bo looked at you after?

The way he grabbed your hips at the register and pulled you into the backroom…

The way he told you, smirking, “She don’t know how good I be fuckin’ you…”

The way his hands were all over you when he kissed you…

It made something in you burn.

Lisa never said much.

She came in, she worked, she read.

She didn’t talk about her mom.

She didn’t ask about you and Bo.

She didn’t flinch when Grace flirted or when Bo ignored her completely.

But sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, she’d glance at the two of you —

Bo with his hand on your back, you laughing into his chest —

and you swore you saw something soft in her eyes.

Just for a second.

And you?

You were still working.

Still flirting.

Still keeping Bo’s bed warm and his books straight and his hands full.

But there was a new tension in the air now.

Not bad —

Just heavy

You wiped your hands on your apron and leaned against the counter, watching Bo scribble something in the inventory log with that same pencil he always used.

Lisa left a few hours ago.

You should’ve gone ten minutes ago.

But you hadn’t told him yet.

Bo didn’t look up when he said it:

“You stayin’ tonight?”

You shifted, biting your lip.

He finally did glance up — those honey-dark eyes still soft from a long day of stealing touches and grazing your waist every time he passed you in the store.

“Can’t,” you murmured. “I gotta go home. My neighbor’s letting me borrow her washer before sundown. It’s the only time she ain’t using it.”

Bo didn’t say anything for a beat — just tapped the pencil twice on the page and nodded, jaw flexing like he didn’t want to be annoyed but was anyway.

Then he got up — walked over — real slow, like always.

His arms slipped around your waist.

And then his lips — warm, smelling faintly like tobacco and soap — pressed against the side of your neck.

“You comin’ back after?” he asked, voice rough from smoke and restraint.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

“Late,” you whispered, “but yeah.”

His breath ghosted down the back of your neck.

And he didn’t say anything else.

Just let you go.

It was damn near midnight by the time you let yourself into his house.

Bo was already in bed, propped up on one elbow — shirtless, chain glinting against his chest — and a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled around him in thin silver trails, glowing orange when he brought it back to his lips.

The whole room smelled like him.

Like firewood.

Like skin.

Like home.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come back,” he said, smoke trailing from his mouth.

You didn’t answer.

You just walked right over — boots off, dress loose — and climbed straight into his lap like you belonged there.

And you did.

Bo handed you the cigarette — eyes never leaving yours — and you took a slow drag, blowing the smoke out past his ear as you leaned in.

“Missed me?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Bo’s hand slid up the back of your thighs, grabbed your ass — hard — and then flipped you under him like you weighed nothing, plucking the cigarette from your fingers and putting it in the ashtray on the nightstand before coming back to you.

And then he kissed you.

Not quick.

Not polite.

It was hot and wet and slow, his hands everywhere — sliding your dress up, pulling your panties down, spreading you open under him like he couldn’t wait another second.

He only groaned.

And then he was inside you — deep, slow, hard — and all you could do was moan.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, tight.

Bo braced one arm beside your head and grabbed your jaw with the other — forcing you to look at him while he fucked you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

The chain around his neck swung gently above you — catching in the light every time he thrust deeper — hypnotizing.

“You feel that?” he grunted, voice ragged against your cheek. “That’s mine, baby. This body. This fuckin’ pussy. Mine.”

You nodded. Because of course you did.

You couldn’t talk — only moan.

Again and again — choked and high and needy — until it was all that filled the room.

“Bo—”

“Bo, oh god—”

“Don’t stop—”

Your nails raked down his back.

He hissed.

And then he smiled.

“Ain’t stoppin’,” he said darkly. “Not ‘til I’m done.”

And he wasn’t.

He kept going — slow, full strokes that had you shaking, eyes rolling — until the only thing you could think, hear, or feel was him.

He kissed you when you came.

Hard. Deep.

Like he wanted to swallow the sound of it.

You moaned into his mouth.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until you were crying out his name like a prayer.

He collapsed on top of you after — sweat-soaked, panting — and nuzzled his face into your neck— had you chuckling lazily, still holding you like he couldn’t stand to let go.

You laid there for a long moment — skin stuck together, chests rising and falling in rhythm — until your fingers wandered up to his chain.

You toyed with it.

He watched.

And then you whispered, low:

“Bo…what are we?”

The silence hit heavy.

Thick.

But not cold.

Bo pulled back just enough to look down at you — his eyes all sleepy heat and dark promise.

“You askin’ if you’re mine?” he murmured.

You swallowed.

“Yeah.”

His mouth curled.

“You been mine,” he said simply. “Been mine since you walked into that store and didn’t look away when I stared.”

He leaned down.

Kissed your mouth, soft and possessive.

“But if you need me to say it out loud, I will.”

“You’re my girl, sugar.”

“Ain’t nobody else touchin’ you.”

Your breath caught.

Bo smiled against your mouth.

“Now go to sleep,” he whispered. “Gotta be up early for work.”

It was early.

The kind of early where the light coming through the windows was still a soft gold — not full sun yet, just the glow before it. The town outside hadn’t quite woken up, but Bo’s house was already warm, filled with the smell of coffee and fresh bread that someone must’ve left cooling next door.

You stretched slow, like a cat, body still sore in all the right places.

Bo wasn’t in bed anymore.

But he wasn’t far.

You found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter in nothing but his trousers — suspenders hanging loose at his sides, his chest bare and golden in the soft light. His hair was a little messy, like he hadn’t done it yet. There was a mug in his hand, and a newspaper tucked under his arm, though he wasn’t reading it. Just watching the window.

When he heard your bare feet on the floor, he turned.

“Mornin’, sugar.”

His voice was low. Raspy. Still waking up.

You padded across the floor and stepped into his space, and he didn’t hesitate — set the mug down and wrapped both arms around you, pulling you in against his chest like you were the thing he needed most in the world.

“You sleep okay?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, pressing your cheek to his collarbone.

“Sore,” you whispered. “Good sore.”

Bo huffed a warm laugh. You could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed your temple.

“Told you I wasn’t done with you. Still not.”

You tilted your head back just enough to look at him.

The chain around his neck was still there — glinting softly — and your fingers reached up to toy with it.

“You always up this early?”

“Only on days that end in Y,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over your back. “Got a lotta work to do today. Truck’s comin’ with the new sacks of rice and coffee. Gotta clear space in the storeroom.”

“I can help,” you offered.

He gave you a long look.

“You sure you don’t need a few more hours in bed?” He asked. “You were walkin’ like a baby deer just now.”

You flushed and lightly smacked his chest, and he caught your wrist, grinning — pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles one by one.

“I’m serious,” he said more softly. “You help me too much. Spoilin’ me.”

“That’s the point, I work for you.”

“Eh.”

He smiled again — wider this time — and leaned down to kiss you properly. Slow. Lazy. Sweet.

His fingers slipped under the hem of the old shirt you’d thrown on — one of his, of course — and rested on the curve of your waist like he just needed the touch.

“You make me feel like a damn husband again,” he said, voice rough.

“Like I got a real home.”

You blinked up at him.

That was…

A big thing to say…

Bo must’ve felt you stiffen a little, because he gently cupped your cheek and pulled your face back to his, brushing your nose with his.

“Don’t panic,” he murmured. “Ain’t askin’ for a ring. Just like havin’ you here. That’s all.”

You didn’t panic.

Not really.

You just…leaned into it.

Let him kiss you again.

Let him pour you some coffee with that crooked grin of his.

Let him stand behind you while you sipped.

The coffee was hot in your hand, but his body was hotter.

You leaned your back against the counter, holding the chipped ceramic mug with both hands like it was anchoring you, while Bo turned to the old gas stove and twisted the knob with a quiet hiss. Flame gone. Just like that.

Then he reached up to open the window slightly — bare chest catching the pale early morning light, muscles shifting beneath smooth skin and the slope of his shoulders stretching under his warm tan skin like God took his time.

You watched the whole thing like a film reel slowed down just for you.

The way his forearm flexed, veins visible but not harsh — his fingers long, thick at the base, a little rough, strong like they knew what to do with every part of you. His hands looked like they were made to build and fix and lift you with one arm.

And God help you, you’d let him.

He turned, caught you staring. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat.

Just gave you this sleepy little smile that said I know what you’re looking at.

And then he crossed the room with that walk — you knew the one — like every part of him was just slightly too powerful to be casual but too smooth to show it off.

And then he was in front of you.

Warm. Big. Bare.

Smelling like skin and fire and smoke.

“You like lookin’ at me?” he asked, voice low, scratchy — soft with affection, not teasing.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hummed into your coffee, not looking away. “I like the show. Think it’s why I spend the night.”

“Not my charm?”

“No, sir.”

Bo huffed — and then leaned down, kissed your forehead real quick, then your cheek, then lower — mouth brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your fingers found the waist of his trousers. Just rested there. Nothing more.

He didn’t stop kissing.

Didn’t rush it either.

Just pressed his lips against your skin, trailing them down the side of your neck like he needed to taste you before the world turned the lights on outside. It wasn’t sex. Wasn’t leading there either. Just a mouth. And a moment.

And his hands — god, his hands — one on your hip, the other sliding up your back slowly. His thumb caught the hem of the big shirt you wore, and pushed it up just enough to touch the skin of your lower back.

It was soft. Subtle.

But it burned like it mattered.

“You smell good,” he mumbled against your skin. “That my soap again?”

“Maybe,” you murmured. “Maybe I like smellin’ like you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You dangerous,” he whispered.“Don’t even got to touch me to drive me crazy.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Your free hand trailed up his chest — slow — fingertips dancing along his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, until they found the chain he never took off. You loved that thing. Loved the way it caught the light, the way it swung when he was above you.

You kissed him there.

Right on the center of his chest.

Then again.

A little lower.

Right over his heart.

Bo stilled — body tensing for a breath — then sighed and slid both arms around you, holding you tight against him like he needed it more than his morning smoke.

“You soft this morning,” you whispered into his skin.

“I always been soft for you.”

You looked up.

That was not a line. He meant it.

You blinked, touched his jaw with your fingertips.

“You tryna wife me up already, Mr. Chow?”

He arched a brow.

“Ain’t gotta try.”

The air between you felt golden.

Like honey melting into warm bread.

Bo reached past you to take your mug and finished the rest of your coffee — like he always did — then set it down and kissed your temple again. His hands stayed at your waist for a long moment, thumbs stroking soft circles, like maybe he’d forgotten there was a store to open at all.

“We got fifteen minutes ‘til Lisa shows up,” he said eventually.

“That’s enough time,” you said.

“For what?”

You smiled.

“Nothin’. Just wanna look at you more.”

And so you did.

A/N: raw, next CHAPTER…get it? Because the…I’ll shut up now.

[mercvry-glow]

Influencer!wifey hearing about a new trending show that takes place in a hospital's emergency department and deciding to do a quick small video on tiktok recording her and hubby (who is just barley off camera) reacting to it and having him confirm or criticize the supposed accuracy that ends up turning into a series of videos cause the people wanted more 🤭

“Do people actually watch this bullshit?” Jack had his arm thrown over your shoulders so that you could cuddle in close to him. It was one of those rare nights where he wasn’t working, and a close friend had recommended a new medical drama to watch.

They were certainly a touchy subject in the Abbot household.

You had already been banned from watching Grey’s Anatomy around him—less for the actual medical stuff, and more for the McSteamy comments.

It was something you teased him about endlessly, when you first got together. Greys was a show you grew up on, so of course you had to know how true to life it was.

“I may not be a surgeon,” he had told you one night after watching a few of the bigger arcs, “But I know damn well they should’ve been fired a long time ago��� Bombs and plane crashes are one thing—illegal autopsies and cutting fuckin’ LVAD wires is another!”

“But Izzie loved him!”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this,”

“But what if it was me who needed the new heart?”

He could only scoff, “This hypothetical is bullshit, just like the show.”

After that you tried to stay clear of medical dramas, most of them were cruddy anyway. McKenzie swore up and down it was worth the watch though, and Jack would be the final say.

The two of you made it through the pilot and a few episodes after that. Jack hadn’t said much beyond a few comments here and there—hazel eyes glued to the big screen as he played with the ends of your hair.

It was actually Jacks idea to film the TikTok. He was all for education and if the show was solid he wanted people to know. Besides he’d been lacking on the mysterious husband thing lately, you both had been busy and there was just no time to be in any of your stuff like he usually was.

“So what’s the verdict Dr. Abbot?” You asked teasingly, phone pointed towards your face and half of his chest as the TV prompted you to click on the next episode.

“It’s not the worst thing- I’ll probably get a headache if keep hearing the words code and IV.”

You gave a small nod, “And what do you think of the characters?”

He let out a scoff, “look, I don’t know how other hospitals run—but if we had half the amount of people hooking up in our on call rooms, and it wasn’t being called out by the guys upstairs there’d be a massive problem.”

“Any other comments or concerns?”

“Yeah, why their scrub vending machines are dispensing Figs when they’re in a budget crisis?”

And while you didn’t really know what that meant, people in the comments ate it up. Just like the rest of the Jack content you posted.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ DAD!DEAN HEADCANONS

⭑.ᐟso.. Dean as a dad? Wanted to post something cute before I start my new job tomorrow in case I can’t post as much this week🤭 please interact and send requests if u have any<3

supernatural masterlist /full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

⭑.ᐟ dean’s never valued sleep much until he became a dad. The nightmares aren’t gone-not really. But now he actually enjoys sleeping. The nightmares don’t matter so much knowing what he’ll wake up to. Joy, happiness, safety and love. So much of it.

⭑.ᐟhe’s never craved your touch as much as he does now. He doesn’t know why- or when the switch happened exactly but seeing you as a mom is the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed. The way you’re with the baby, the way you’re with him. You’re more grounded, happier, you actually glow and he’s obsessed. He won’t go one day without touching you in some type of way, sexually or not. He just needs to touch you.

⭑.ᐟuntil you came along, but mostly since the little one’s arrived, Dean didn’t think he deserved happiness, or safety. He thought he’d never get away from that life that reeked of danger, old motel rooms, or even the bunker. But now? He cherishes it with everything he has. He’s never been more grateful, and now he knows he actually deserves it. He knows he got out and he’ll never step a foot back in it because he has two people to protect now.

⭑.ᐟhe’s worried 24/7 though. Whenever the baby cries, which thankfully isn’t that much because it’s a great baby- he worries. Every cry, every whimper or sound that doesn’t feel right- he’s right by the baby’s side, examining it. You tell him to stop worrying so much. You tell him that your baby will be okay because it has him to protect both you and him/her.

⭑.ᐟhe starts chilling a bit more as your kid grows older. And oh my god your genes didn’t even try. It’s just Dean. The way he/she talks, walks, the music taste, movie taste. It’s all him. You’re okay with that though, because you couldn’t love Dean more- and now you basically have another one.

⭑.ᐟI think he’s such a girl dad. He obviously would LOVE a son, but a daughter? Yeah he’s so incredible. He’s even more protective with her, and he worries too much, but he knows she’ll be alright because she has both you and him.

⭑.ᐟfor you, dean’s never been hotter. The way he holds himself now, the way he smiles- genuinely and not like he feels that he has to. The way his laugh sounds even better now, because he actually does enjoy laughing now, he doesn’t have any of that weight holding him down anymore. He’s free, lighter, happier.

⭑.ᐟhe fully cries sometimes because he can’t believe how lucky he is. You could be feeding the baby breakfast and he’d have a full mental breakdown over it because he’s just so happy and he can’t believe any of it is real. Like it’s a dream he’s gonna wake up from and he’ll be back in the bunker chasing demons and shadows.

⭑.ᐟhe loves late night stories, where you both lay in bed with your kid,taking turns telling the story to him/her. It’s fun, and you’re all together, silence surrounds you, it’s freeing, and it’s just so beautiful.

⭑.ᐟhe swears he didn’t know he had so much love in him. The way he loves you- the way he loves this kid- his heart could burst it’s so crazy to him. Like his heart is full of love and he never thought that’d be possible.

⭑.ᐟhe doesn’t mind being vulnerable anymore. When he needs to talk, to say something, to let everything out, you let him. You let him cry, you let him lash out, you let him talk. You know a part of him misses it, mostly because he feels guilty that he can’t help people anymore and because he was conditioned to feel that way by his father. You try telling him that he never belonged in that life in the first place because his father had no business training and raising him as a soldier. He should’ve been a normal kid/teenager. And then he promises himself to never give that life to his child. To be there through everything. To accept them no matter what they choose to do with their life. To be the father John never was to him.

⭑.ᐟhe still has a bad habit of self destructing though. Not often- but sometimes he’ll wake up and hate what he wakes up to because he doesn’t understand why him. Why he deserves this- it’s like an impostor syndrome. He feels like a monster, his demons still follow him although he tries to swallow them down for you. You’re not stupid though. You see it- you try to help. You know that whatever you do it’ll happen again, one day every couple of months where it’ll be bad- but all the other days are so wonderful you figure he needs that one day where he hates everything and everyone- including himself.

⭑.ᐟthe day you give birth…. Dean’s never cried like that. He hates seeing you hurt- no matter what it is. But the moment he lays eyes on your baby, on you cradling him/her, his life doesn’t matter so much anymore. He’ll give that kid the best chance as a great life because he never had that. And god help him If he dares repeating the cycle.

⭑.ᐟhe’ll never dare going one single day without telling you he loves you. Without thanking you for giving him the most incredible kid, and for being his rock. He holds you, he loves you so strongly. He always has- but it’s different now because you’re not the only one he loves.

⭑.ᐟlastly… yes the sex has always been mind blowing, it’s Dean Winchester dammit. BUT! He worships you even more now. The way he’s obsessed with your body, with touching you everywhere. It’s just so crazy. You’re obsessed with each other and the sex has never been this good.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @lov3-audz @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme (comment to be added!)

[livesbetweenpages]

It’s early so I don’t know if this makes sense but I was thinking about this post again. It’s weird that they spent an entire episode driving home the point of how hard it was that Eddie was leaving and then another episode of how strange it was that it was always Eddie’s house and just. Isn’t it weird that we didn’t get even one minute of how strange this reversal is, that Eddie was back in his house that’s not his but still kinda is. How he’s also a guest in this house but also not really because his name is on the main lease and nowhere where Buck lives will Eddie ever be a guest. How everything looks different but it’s the same. I’m not even mad we didn’t get an airport reunion (I’m still hoping for front porch Eddie and Chris at the door Buck opens when they’re back permanently). But it is weird to me that they spent all that time with Ravi and Eddie instead of Buck and Eddie and the awkwardness of it all, specifically to tie back to those earlier episodes. They missed each other so much and then Bobby died and it’s the only reason Eddie came back and in the back of both of their minds has to be the knowledge that Eddie has to go back to Texas soon but now this huge thing reminding them how fleeting life is happened but they’ll have to be apart again. That’s not to say I would ever expect that much to happen in the forefront of this episode in particular BUT it didn’t even seem like it was playing out internally, in part because the dynamic seemed more Buck here while Eddie and Ravi are over there. I got him from the airport. I’m stress eating his stress baking. And that’s it. Like this is just another day and it isn’t our captain died and I’ve missed you so fucking much and this is the first time I’ve been in the same room as you breathing the same air and I maybe love you. And all of this just reminds me how isolated everyone seems (for 2 seasons imo) not just from each other but the storylines themselves.

And now that I’m thinking about it more, what purpose did Ravi serve in those two scenes? The only real thing that came out of it was Eddie’s regret and Buck’s reassurance both of which could’ve and should’ve happened without Ravi there. And I know we needed to see Ravi grieving, so if they couldn’t have all of them on that roof with Chim, why not have it be Ravi instead of Buck, to have it be a call back to you sent me to get the kid. Ravi being that rational, steady pillar for Chim the way Chim was for him when he was grieving and felt lost?

[therealslimshakespeare]

i know that we won’t ever be in lus head in the stalag but now that you’ve posted the little part postwar that is from her pov i wanted to ask if you’d ever consider writing in some thoughts of hers regarding sanchez? i loved all the asks people sent about the two of them and their relationship and again i know that can’t really be incorporated in real time since we aren’t in lus head so i just thought i’d ask for it in the aftermath, if you’re planning on writing more from her :)

Ooh interesting question. Because, as you’ve seen my answer- we will still get many of Lu’s thoughts on and even her memories of that timeline so, yeah it’s totally plausible. In honestly I don’t have one with Sanchez planned but maybe I should’ve? Like yeah?? And I like to know what yall want, so i shall keep it tucked in my mind for an organic moment.

I do miss my Mexican baddie so badly. I love her for it and get how and why she peaced out so fast after liberation, but I really miss her all the same.

And some anon on here (kudos to you anon!!!) filled me in on some cultural history, and suggested it as her potential postwar lore, and its got me obsessed and giving the canon stamp: that is, Sanchez became a comic writer after the war. I legit was quite ignorant of the golden age that art form experienced in Mexico after the war but now I have been told, and that suggestion made, I am obsessed. And I think her style would be to use a pseudonym, but all the same, some of her stories and characters are recognizable to her camp mates all the same. And the main characters are badass mini Sanchezs, as they should be. And I just know she got filthy rich off of that and never did have to have no man bother her for all her days after and I love that for her

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Little!Mel x Cg!Van - Hidden

Notes -> accidents, pull ups, cg!van, cg!tai, little!all the other yellowjackets, medication mentioned, post!crash au

This idea came to me in a dream while I was taking the most disorienting nap of my life today. So if it doesn’t make sense I don’t know what to tell you. It’s set post rescue ? but they all survive ? and they all end up living together in a big house (thank you mr matthews). Considering doing a pt.2 but we’ll see how I feel.

Word count: 1841

—————————

Keeping track of all the littles was a task and a half on a good day. Van liked to believe she was pretty good at it, keeping everyone fed, clean and for the most part happy. But no one could exactly blame her if sometimes someone managed to slip through the cracks while her back was turned. She should’ve noticed earlier, really. When she came downstairs and saw Mari, Akilah and Gen squished up on the couch playing Mario Kart with no Melissa in sight, Van should’ve realised something was wrong. It wasn’t like Melissa couldn’t have been playing with Shauna or even by herself. So Van didn’t think too hard about it. She didn’t, that was, until she went to check everyone had taken their medication for that morning. Coming back from their unplanned trip to the wilderness, most of the girls suffered from some form of deficiency or illness that required medication, vitamins or supplements. Outside of that, the psych examinations they’d been subject to upon their return had unearthed a whole host of diagnoses which had resulted in medicinal treatment for some. It ranged a lot - iron and vitamin deficiencies, PTSD, depression. You name it, at least one of the girls were being treated for it.

For the most part everyone was pretty good at keeping themselves accountable for their own medication. Outside of Lottie who was usually just too young to do things of that nature on her own, and Jackie who still insisted on a full blown tantrum every time someone tried to get her to take a pill. Still, Van always made sure to check the girl’s pill organisers each day to make sure they were all up to date. Today, Melissa was not. Now this was a warning sign that Van couldn’t ignore. Melissa was forgetful, Van wouldn’t argue that, but Gen was not. The two girls always had their breakfast and their morning medications together. A heavy frown crossed over Van’s face as she closed the still full Saturday pill container and put it back in its place. She moved back into the lounge room where Gen was playfully shoving Mari to sabotage her win. “Do you girls know where Melissa is?” Van asked, earning an outraged whine from Mari when the distraction caused her to lose the round. At the question, Gen suddenly became very interested in her controller, looking down as her fingers twisted and pulled at the wrist strap. “Gen?” Van pressed, noticing the girl’s poorly masked anxiety. Gen didn’t look up so Van crouched onto the balls of her feet in front of her. “What’s the matter kid?”

Gen’s teeth warred against her bottom lip for a moment, clearly contemplating whether or not to tell Van whatever it was she knew. “Mel’s hiding under her bed,” She finally admitted, slumping down against the back of the couch in defeat. Van nodded in understanding.

“Ok, thank you.” She squeezed Gen’s knee gently as she got up, thanking the girl for her honesty.

Van knocked on the door of Melissa’s bedroom, not really expecting a response. The door was open, revealing the seemingly empty bedroom. Van would’ve thought maybe Melissa wasn’t even in the room if it wasn’t for the tiny slither of socked foot poking out from underneath the girl’s bed. “Mel, it’s Van,” She called out in warning as she entered the room and sat down by the side of the bed. “Could you come out for me?” No reply - expected. Van sighed, leaning her back against the bed and fixing her eyes on the opposite side of the room. Gen and Melissa shared a bedroom. It was relatively big and indeliberately had been split visually down the middle with Gen’s side supporting an array of pastel pinks and purples whilst Melissa’s looked like a scene straight out of Jurassic Park. Van would never say it but she liked Melissa’s side more. “Bud, whatever you’re hiding for we can figure it out,” Van promised. There was a soft sniffle from under the bed, a slight shuffling, but still, no Melissa emerged. “You must be hungry, it’s almost lunch time and I know you haven’t had breakfast.” When there was still no reply, Van reluctantly slid down onto her stomach. She pressed her face against the floorboards and lifted up the edge of Melissa’s duvet form where it hung over the edge so she could see the other girl. Melissa was laid out on her stomach in a position which practically mirrored Van. Her face was stricken with dried up tears and her body was predominantly covered by darkness.

“Hi,” She mumbled meekly when she was face to face with Van.

“Hey kid.” Van smiled, trying to make herself seem as least threatening as possible. “Do you think you want to come out for me?”

“No.”

Van sighed, trying to keep her patience. “Look, you’re not going to be in trouble and I won’t be upset with you, whatever has happened.” Van was starting to catch onto what might have happened now that her face was pressed up under Melissa’s bed and the smell of ammonia was making itself clear. “But I can’t imagine you’re very comfortable, so why don’t you come out here and we can figure it out, ok?” Melissa took a shaky breath, trying to muster up some courage before she began to slowly shuffle her way out from under the bed. Relieved, Van moved back so Melissa had room to slide out of her hiding spot. Once in the light, Van’s theories were confirmed by the damp spot already beginning to dry on the legs of Melissa’s pajama pants. “Bad night?” Van offered as Melissa sat up with a resigned look on her face. She nodded courtly, keeping her eyes locked tightly on the rug in the middle of the room. “Do you want to talk about it?” Melissa only shrugged - clearly not big enough for words. She looked smaller than she usually did, plaits which were messy from sleep, eyes which were almost imperceptibly watering, shoulders hunched over like she wanted to curl in on herself. It hurt Van to see the younger girl so filled with shame, especially for something she couldn’t control. They’d spoken about this before - Melissa’s accidents and the fact that they weren’t anything to be ashamed of - but this one seemed to be weighing on Melissa a little more than usual. Van didn’t think she’d be able to get Melissa into talking until she was cleaned up so they’d have to start there. “Is the bed wet too?” Van asked gently. Melissa nodded, glancing up at her green dinosaur patterned bed sheets which now Van could tell were quite deliberately bunched up to cover the centre of the bed. “Alright, you go hop in the shower and I’ll handle the bed.”

It was a routine Van was pretty used to. If it wasn’t Melissa it was Nat or Lottie (Or Jackie but she was not allowed to talk about that). Given the trauma the girl’s had been through and the ages they tended to regress to, it was no surprise that accidents were a common occurrence in the house. It was different with Melissa though - she was older than most of the other girl’s who struggled with accidents and while Van promised her there was nothing wrong with that, Melissa took it as a pretty big ego hit. Whilst she was taking the sheets to the laundry Van ran into Tai, they shared a knowing glance at the sight of Mel’s sheets bundled up in Van’s arms. “Is she alright?” Tai asked, following Van towards the laundry.

“She’ll be right, just needs a bit of time to calm down.” Van threw the sheets in the laundry and grabbed new ones to replace them, making sure to choose ones that Melissa would actually like. It ended up being a set which she was pretty sure belonged to Shauna, thick white and navy stripes. Tai put the new sheets on the bed while Van went to check on Melissa. The sound of shower water had stopped when she knocked on the door and a few moments later Melissa appeared, wrapped in a green towel with dripping blonde hair sticking to her face and neck. “Hey Bud,” Van smiled, trying to keep her voice as positive as she could so as not to worry Melissa. She squeezed Melissa’s bare shoulder comfortingly. “Let’s get you into something nice and clean, hm?” She offered, guiding the girl back to her room. Thankfully Lottie was the only one who passed by the hallway and she was far too occupied trying to balance the armful of stuffies she was taking into Nat’s room to pay any mind to Melissa and Van.

Melissa showed no interest in picking out her clothes, her mind clearly somewhere far away as she dropped down onto the side of her bed, damp towel colliding with fresh sheets. Tai ruffled Melissa’s damp hair gently. “Feeling any better?” She asked. Melissa flushed red at the realisation someone else was privy to her accident but she nodded politely anyway. Van picked out an outfit she knew would probably go down ok with Mel, denim wash overalls and a rainbow stripy top for underneath. Comfortable and practical. She took the clothes over to Melissa, dropping them down on the bed. “Do you want some help?” She asked, knowing Melissa’s headspace could change drastically with very little notice. Melissa only shrugged, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. “Mel?” Van hummed, her voice gentle in an attempt to call Mel back to the present. She crouched down, hands on Melissa’s bare knees to stabilise herself. “What’s going on in your head?” She asked, gently tucking some of Melissa’s hair back behind her ear. Melissa took a deep breath, clearly something was bubbling in the edge of her mind that she wanted to say but couldn’t quite get out. Van waited quietly, gently stroking Melissa’s hair until she finally got the courage to speak up.

“Pull ups,” She whispered, barely audible at all. Pull ups. It was a conversation they’d had a few times in the past. Melissa’s accidents were frequent enough to worry Van but she’d always adamantly denied the need for any sort of protection. Van understood why Melissa would be hesitant to wear protection when the only other littles who wore it regressed significantly younger than she did. “I think I should… try.” Van could’ve sworn her chest actually swelled with pride at the admission.

“I think that’s a really good idea, Mels,” Van praised, rubbing Melissa’s knee comfortingly. “I’m really proud of you.” Melissa beamed a little at this, a pleasant warmth taking over from the shameful blush.

“Just for bedtime,” Melissa added quickly, suddenly flustered. She squeezed the edge of her towel in her fist for comfort. “I don’t want to… I don’t want anyone else to know… maybe Tai can.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s ok,” Van promised. “No one else needs to know.”

[salt-bun]

Orange Soda

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

Caitlyn literally went to war for the cooch. Caitlyn LOST AN EYE FOR THE COOCH. She set the bar imo.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Rafal likely had a Celestium, and while I know no one was truly thinking rationally in Fall, he could have saved his own life by “leaving” yet again. He could have just quickly popped into his Celestium, assuming no one would be able to follow and emerge after Rhian’s been pacified or has cooled down on his own. Done, solved.

[malenjoyer]

Sorry I’m not replying to messages. I do see them. I’m answering some asks and posting a bit of random thought stuff on twitter but I’m feeling kind of like I’m retreating to my old hermit state of internet usage.

These past few weeks I haven’t had energy to do a lot of stuff. It currently takes a lot out of me to reply individually because I’m trying to secure a job for myself again. So a lot of my energy is put there and worrying about my finances and future…

Thank you for the support as always and I’ll try to respond as soon as I feel I can give a decent response to DMs.

As for art stuff, I thought about starting to post again but due to the recent AI stuff that was released about sketches being converted to lineart easily, I got a bit paranoid again so it might take a while. I’m reading comics between breaks and rediscovering my love for stories so that’s good

[rhytmrocket]

hey all

i did another one

there’s some fast transitions, so caution if you’re really sensitive to flashing lights!!

i also sorta figured out how to intro an edit yay!

i have not seen any disco kid edits in my short time of being here which is an absolute travesty, so i decided to be the change i want to see in the world

i spent like 3 hours and 70% of my phone battery on this and im pretty proud of how it came out, so i really hope you all like it enough to rb it

it’s fine if not though, i get it

[janasdiary]

so i recently moved out of my b6 papertess designs planner because it was too big and instead i started using an a6 leuchtturm1917.

tell me why i just ordered a 2024 spring start cousin..??

[hsslilly-blog]

in my beautiful version i think hunt offered claire the lead role in the last duchess in 2016. i love nepotism and cronyism <- that’s their entire relationship if you think about it. but she refused it because: 1. she’s very proud and 2. she actually wanted to build her career first. i think her acting career is literally the only thing in her life that she would not take the easy road. it’s something too dear to her. and well it’s basically all she has. i think claire would hate to have her career defined as a director’s lead actress from that point on instead of a lead actress in a movie period. maybe when she’s more established he can put her in whatever film he wants to. and he will. but anyway she only accepts the role after she gets her first oscar nom in 2018. notice how his loser ass waited three years (release date in 2019)

related to this as well, i think claire would hate to be known as hunt’s something in general. that’s one of the issues she had with marrying him. i mean barely anyone knows they’re together anyway before they get engaged. i do think this is something that kinda stems from the genesis of their relationship, but it’s also a claire thing. like i said, she’s very proud. she gets his surname but you will Never see her referring to herself as Claire H*nt or using his surname in any shape or form. i won’t either. it feels super weird who even is this person. not my beautiful princess Claire Swanson

[rainbowpufflez]

Fine, I’ll admit that I like Lysandre 😔

[seineevee]

Not a Likodotter but I believe in their beliefs