#Matthew x oc

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Hey everyone, what turned out to be an off-hand remark and sending of a photo has turned out into a little "what-if" fic. "What if" three online friends from across the globe decide to take matters into their own hands to mend the fractured relationship between their favourite band members.

Author: @bnejovi

Submitter: @staringamasivemistakeintheface

Note from submitter: This one requires an account. It’s something between funny and angsty. BneJovi does a very good job of writing Jon and Richie, so there’s both your review and heads-up.

[venusbyline]

GUYS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! I NEED TO RIDE THIS MAN IMMEDIATELY

[thinkinonsense]

old man!logan x fem!reader

masterlist

— nothing was going right for logan tonight. work was shit and his body ached with indescribable pain. the only thing he wanted to do was crawl home to you.

"l-lo...?"

your sleepy voice was barely audible. logan tried to be quiet as he came into the house later than usual.

"hey, princess." he mutters, ridding himself of his suit jacket and slipping off his shoes.

"come lay down with me." you beg softly, wanting him to scoop you up into his big arms and cradle you like a delicate little thing.

"in a minute..." he replies, kneeling down at the foot of the bed. "wanna see my girl."

logan pulls the thin sheet off of your body; only covered by one of his shirts and a pair of lavender panties. nothing special but he adored them anyways.

"looks like she missed me too." he groans, swiping his thumb over the wet spot that grows in between your legs.

still half asleep but moaning quietly into one of the pillows next to you.

lately this is all he's been wanting to do when he returns home. lay in between your legs either slowly making out with your cunt or fingering you until you're on the verge of tears. not that you minded this sudden change, never rejecting logan from his acclaimed spot between your thighs.

"gonna let me spend some time with her, sweetheart?" he says, not expecting a verbal response.

you lazily nod your head and lift your hips a little so he can pull down your panties, tossing them aside.

"atta girl."

the low rumble in his voice left you whimpering. like a tease, logan spreads your folds, watching your arousal leak from within you. he loved splitting you open and seeing his affect on you.

"what's gotcha so soaked, baby?" he coos at your cunt, blowing a little air on it and watching how your body responds to it, hips wiggling and hole clenching for him.

"she's just cryin' for me, huh?" he chuckles, lifting your tired legs back near your head as he towers over you.

"p-please..." you whine, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

without saying a word, logan slips his middle and ring fingers inside of you, nudging that sweet spot of yours. a choked moan escapes you and your hands fly to his wrist. what's usually gentle soon turns vigorous at the pace he's moving.

"uh- fuck!" you gasp, fully awake now. " 's too much, lo."

"you can take it, sweetheart." he says sternly as his other hand draws circles on one of your legs, holding them in the air.

heat pools in your belly as you scratch your nails down logan's wrists. he can't help but adore the little 'uh-uh-uh's' spilling from your plump lips. the lewd slaps of slick fill the room as his pace picks up, bumping his fingertips against the spongy spot inside of you.

"d-don't stop, please." you beg, staring up at him with glossy, glazed over eyes. soft little mumbles of "pleasepleaseplease" ringing in logan's ears like his favorite song.

"fuck, practically cutting off my circulation." logan grunts before spitting on your button and using his thumb to stimulate you further.

all that can be heard are your incoherent babbles and logan's grunts of encouragement. his thick rough fingers stretch you in ways you didn't think were possible.

logan leans down to kiss your trembling lips, grunting at the little whimpers that escape. the fast slaps of his palm on your clit makes you bite down on his lower lip, healing so quickly that you don't even taste any blood.

"c'mon princess..." he groans, pulling apart just enough to speak. "be a good girl and soak my hand for me."

in that moment, his fingers inside of you are perfectly timed with the circles his thumb draws, sending you into a state of nirvana. panting and moaning against logan's lips while he praises you.

"that's it, sweetheart."

"there's my good girl."

once your heart rate returns to normal, logan cleans you up with a small rag before laying down in bed next to you. his muscular arms wrap around you and pull you in so he can spoon you.

"miss me that much?" you ask with a small chuckle as he kisses your neck.

"mhm, had another shitty day and needed to spend some time with my girl." he answers, words muffled by your hair.

"aw, i'm sorry baby." you turn over to face him, pecking his lips. "anything i can do to make it better?"

"it's already better now, honey." he reassures, brushing hair out of your face.

"too bad...." you smirk. "was gonna offer to ride you."

logan's eyes darken with lust as you move to straddle him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. warm hands roam around his shirtless torso, innocently drawing lazy outlines of his abs.

who could blame you for wanting to be an attentive girlfriend?

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Kiss

Spencer leans over you as he gets your attention. He’s gone from a germaphobe to an affectionate lover. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him softly, you shift on the couch in case he wants to join you. He knees the couch as he sighs into the kiss, deepening it as he gets closer. He leans more into you pushing you lower into the furniture. He tries to put a hand behind you to stop him from crushing you but you stop him pulling him against you. He yelps giving your tongue access, you grin against him, his blush growing. His knees are on either side of you.

“Angel…” he mutters against your lips. “ M’heavy.”

“Don’t,” kiss. “Care.” kiss.

Spencer’s tongue seems to explore every crevice in your mouth, his hands running up and down your sides. He pulls you slightly into him before setting you back down again.

“Your neck.” he explains but you can hardly care.

You try to move out of the kiss, the need for oxygen winning but he whines and slots his lips back on yours. He’s breathless as he ruts into your leg, his hands sneakily going under your shirt. He reminded you of an animal going into heat.

“Spencer?” you break off the kiss again, turning your head for air.

“M’yeah, need you, need you really really bad, please.” he kisses down your neck still rutting into your leg. “Please, Please, Please.”

“Where do you need me?” even though the answer is glaringly obvious.

“Stop teasing.” he whined into the crook of your neck.

“Alright.” you chuckled. He looked up at you, his hair was a mess, his glass were so lopsided that you took them off for fear of them falling, his face was flushed and his eyes glossy, his lips were swollen and he was a complete mess. You could feel his ‘need’ evident in his pants.

“Use my leg.”

[l0standn0tf0und]

Spencer Reid ☆ fic recs

♡ = smut, 18+ only 

take a picture, it'll last longer

different phone, who dis?

extraordinary measures

language of devotion

a drawn-out lullaby

wait until breakfast

five more minutes

lovely love letters

where hands lead

strawberry laces

first fall of snow

a little timid

sobriquet

♡angel

♡bambi

♡insatiable

♡addicted to you

♡bringing your work home with you

♡early season spencer and his first time

♡the enormity of my desire (disgusts me)

All credits and support to original authors: @mariasont @drowning-rabbit @enderlovez @pathologicalreid @nereidprinc3ss @re1dsb1xch @as-sweet-as-a @3verythingiknowaboutlove @gghostwriter @siriuslylantsov @spencerreidenjoyer @brattyspence @mggslover @vatelixx @amorre1989 @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

masterlist

[esote-rika]

derision as prelude to desire | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI, fluff if you squint

Summary: Spencer Reid’s new coworker is mean but one night doing overtime together leads to the two of them bonding.

Content: glasses!Spencer, workplace rivals if you squint, Spencer Reid vs technology, reader is kind of mean and based on Blair Waldorf (in background, looks, and personality), Spencer is petty, his mind is in the GUTTER, use of eye drops, making out, sub!Spencer, fingering, oral (male receiving), whining and begging glasses!Spencer. Let’s pretend the BAU doesn’t have any CCTV cameras for this one m’kay thanks

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: This is an ITCH in my brain, like I���ve been thinking about a Spencer Reid x Blair Waldorf crackship since August last year it’s actually concerning. One of my favorite ship dynamics is loser boy x popular girl, so it makes sense. Still in second person to make it immersive. This isn’t a crossover, so there will be no spoilers for Gossip Girl. The reader's personality, looks and background are just based on Blair. Let me know if you want to read more of this dynamic because I have so many ideas for it oh my god. I hope you enjoy it!

Spencer Reid often muses on the series of events that had brought you from the streets of the Upper East Side to work in Quantico, Virginia. It would be easy to ask, of course, or even have Penelope do a quick background check on you, but he’s made a game of it instead, piecing together what he knows of your history, filling in the blanks of what would have gone wrong, what decisions you would have taken, in order to leave the privileged life you led and enter public service.

As far as he had been concerned, you don’t belong anywhere near the FBI, let alone the BAU. Spoiled, rich, with a mean streak he is all too familiar with from his time in school.  

He had been so sure you wouldn’t fit in when you first joined the team. You had been, and continue to be, perfectly made, every single hair shiny and curled just so, heels always so shiny and matching whatever designer bag you have slung over your shoulder. Everything about you screams high maintenance, and his profiler instincts point to several things: uncooperative, wants everything handed to you, ditzy.

But then you had shown your cards, had proved his assessment so wrong and he could never forgive you for the sting of that defeat.

It doesn’t help that you seem to enjoy riling him up as well. Every case is an opportunity to one up him, an attempt to claim his spot and it’s unfair. You already have everything, yet you still refuse to yield the title of team genius to him, the one thing he can cling to, the thing he knows is his. 

He is still glowering today, four months into your employment, passive aggressively hitting the keys on his keyboard. He’s a slow typist, and he’d agreed to write Morgan’s reports for him this week, a favor between friends he’s now beginning to regret. You are the only one keeping him company. The rest of the team has already left hours ago, but you’re typing away at your desk, fingers flying through the keyboard without even a glance. His own skills seem laughable in comparison, going at the keys one by one, with the speed of an old grandparent squinting over a typewriter instead of a man in his twenties. 

“Take a picture, Reid, it’ll last longer.”

He blinks, forcing his eyes back to the monitor. “You’re so original.” he mutters, pushing his glasses up to nestle on top of his head. He rubs his eyes, already despising the glare of the screen.

“Aw, what, the genius can’t handle a little blue light?”

He doesn’t bother with a response, blinking at the screen instead. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can leave. Sounds of tapping keys fill the air again, but he stops after a few moments again, rubbing at his eyes. He hears a sigh, and then your voice again, haughty but somehow concerned.

“You’re not supposed to rub your eyes, it makes it worse.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, “I don’t need you lecturing me about the importance of eye health.”

“It seems like you do, since you’re still doing it.” you reply derisively. He’d be rolling his eyes if he isn’t too busy rubbing them.

“Here,” you say, “Catch.”

Confused, he lifts his head, only to flinch as something hurls right at him. “What-” it hits his desk, then bounces off.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, genius.”

“You threw it at me.” his lips are pulled into a tight line of disapproval, “A head’s up would have been nice.”

“I did, genius, I said catch. You just have the reflexes of an eighty year old.” your voice is tinged with annoyance.

To his surprise, you’re up and walking to his desk, heels echoing in the empty bullpen. He watches as you gingerly kneel on the ground, bending down, and his eyes grow wide. The image of you bent down like this is surprisingly enticing, your skirt straining against the soft curve of your hips, hair falling down your shoulders like a curtain of the night sky. You’ve gotten close enough that he can smell your perfume, something citrusy and clean, and he subconsciously leans closer.

Mouth dry, he manages to croak out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn eye drops.” you snap, an arm extending towards him and for a moment he holds his breath, waiting for contact. Instead, you grab something from the ground, “There it is.” 

He watches as you straighten, lifting your torso upright, but still kneeling in front of him. An image flashes through his mind, your face between his thighs, those large eyes staring up at him, but he banishes it quickly lest his thoughts begin to stir his body. 

“Here, these should help.” You say, finally standing back up and placing the tiny bottle on his desk. A filthy part of him wishes you’d get back on your knees. He catches the tilt of your head, the confusion in your eyes, “Reid. Are you still with me? Has your brain finally short circuited from all those statistics?”

Oh his brain is short circuiting, all right, just from a different cause.

“I’m - yeah.” he replies, and then he rattles off the first thought his frazzled mind could come up with, “Did you know some people have used eye drops as a method for murder? Not these ones, but there are specific brands that contain—”

“Tetrahydrozoline,” you finish for him, “Yeah, I know.”

He blinks. There you go again, proving your intellect, your value, somehow matching his even though he’s pretty sure you are no genius, not in the same way he is. Still, perhaps it’s the late night, or your offer of relief, but the sting of being bested doesn’t resonate tonight. A softer feeling unfurls in his chest, something warm and addictive, something like understanding. He smiles, “That’s right.”

You nod, curls spilling over your shoulders again, “Mhm. Well… These are for your eyes, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

A scoff, “Please, I’m not dumb enough to attempt murder in the office.”

His brows lift and he finds himself grinning, “So you’ve thought about it?”

“I will neither deny nor confirm.” you’re smiling now too, and he lets his eyes roam over the pretty lines of your face, memorizing how lovely you look in this moment, guards lowered and smiling at him with ease. He thinks he sees something flash in those pretty eyes of yours but he’s not sure. Reading people has never been his strong suit, regardless of his profession.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” you gesture at his glasses, and he immediately obeys, pushing it back up to nestle on his hair. He holds his breath as you come closer, bites his lips when your hand comes to his chin. It’s soft, unbelievably gentle, and you tilt his head back. From this angle, he can see the way your lashes curl, the soft hint of shimmer swept across your lids. Eyeshadow, he remembers from what Penelope and JJ have told him, and it highlights the shape of your eyes, making them appear brighter.  

He blinks as coolness hits his eye, and then you’re tilting his head to the other side, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to be a creep, but in reality, he hasn’t been this close, this intimate to a woman in so long that it’s messing up his ability to inhale, to think, to function. Your hair flutters gently around his face, and the scent of citrus is stronger now, heady, and he feels so light headed he’s afraid he’ll faint.

The same coolness hits the other eye, and before you can pull away, before he can think it through, he’s curling his own hand over your wrist. He lifts it up, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, admonishing any thoughts of germs and bacteria, and instead relishing at the tender flesh beneath his lips. He kisses your palm again, lips gently tracing the lines, before moving down to the inside of your wrist, before pausing.

He dares to peer up, waiting for a reprimand, a cutting sentence that would have him lashing back at you, but there’s none. There it is again, the flicker in your eyes, and now he finally knows the word to attach to it: desire.

He kisses the inside of your wrist again, and feels you pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Fast, to his surprise, almost matching the quick succession of thudding in his chest. 

“Reid,” you whisper, and he waits again, allows you time to pull away. You don’t, but he’s apprehensive now, afraid he’s crossed a boundary. He definitely has, but he would do it again if you express the desire to do so, to tumble into whatever this is with him. He just needs confirmation, one verbal acknowledgement that you want this too, because he doesn’t trust his ability to read you yet, not when he’s spent so much time despising you.

But you’re just looking at him, and the embarrassment is almost painful. His cheeks heat up, and he drops your hand.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs, sinking back on his seat. He’s about to turn to his monitor, intent to forget about this, forget everything even though his memory would make that impossible, but he finds his face being tilted up again, cradled between impossibly soft hands, and then there’s lips against his own, your lips, oh god you are kissing him.

He wraps his arms around your waist, following the movement of your mouth to the best of his limited ability. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lets out an involuntary whimper, his body jerking at the sting. He feels you smiling against his mouth, cocky even in the midst of a kiss, in the midst of the most heated kiss he’s had since - since - he can’t even remember her, the brief dalliance he had with an actress once upon a time, because all he can think of is your mouth, and your hands, nails scratching at his scalp, and every single thought is expelled from his mind when you climb on his lap.

“God,” he moans in between kisses, his breaths ragged, but he would gladly drown in you before stopping.

“Not god,” you correct him and nip at his lower lip with more force this time.

“Mhm.” he whines, and kisses you again, shifting so you’re more comfortable on his lap. He wonders if the chair is creaking from your combined weight, but then you’re grinding directly on his cock and he’s lost in a haze of white hot pleasure. 

Apparently, Spencer Reid cannot multitask, because his lips fall slack as you grind against his hardening cock. Your laughter tinkles in his ear, before your mouth latches on his jaw, down his neck, open and wet and sticky. He knows you said you aren’t god, and he’s never been religious, but he swears this must be heaven. Fitting too, in the same way he’s never thought he’d reach some place he doesn’t even believe in, he’s also never thought he would have you—beautiful, infuriating, untouchable you—grinding on his lap with a desperation that borders frenzy.

Recognizing that your need burns you just as his is making him reckless, he manages to whisper, “Tell me— tell me what to do. How do I make you feel good?”

You giggle, taking one of his hands away from your waist and leading it under your skirt. The fabric has bunched up over your thighs, and he grips the smooth flesh greedily. But you have other ideas, and he’s eager to learn, so he lets you move his hand higher, until the tips of his fingers brush against moist fabric.

His mouth goes dry. You’ve soaked through your panties. 

“Like this?” he dips his fingers past the lace, his mouth falling open at the slick that’s gathered at your core. You have your face buried at his neck, lips and tongue still assaulting the tender skin there, but he feels you nod, feels the shudder that runs through you, and he takes those as a good sign. His touch is exploratory, gentle, fueled by an intoxication over the fact that you’re here and you’re enjoying it, you’re making those sounds for him. 

He’s awestruck rather than cocky, and when he slides his fingers into your pussy, he’s immediately trying to figure out a rhythm that would draw out those pretty noises from your lips. When he finds it, he sticks to it, greedily drinking in your moans, no matter how muffled they are against his neck.

There’s a sense of degeneracy to this whole thing. Fingering his coworker in the office, right there on his desk, he could get fired should this get out, they both could. Still, he’s never truly had anyone want him so unabashedly and he simply cannot stop. You had been the one to kiss him, after all, the lines in the sand had been completely trampled by the time you had climbed on his lap. 

“You feel so good,” you whisper, and he feels you move, riding his hand shamelessly, and he has to bite your shoulder to keep himself from whining again. The sight alone nearly undoes him, and you’ve barely done anything. He’s been actively providing you with stimulation this whole time, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing. 

“Yeah?” he asks, pupils blown wide, wanting, needing the assurance that he’s doing good, he’s making you feel good.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” your voice grows sharper as he curls his fingers with every thrust. After a few moments of fumbling with your panties, his thumb presses against your clit and he’s rewarded by another groan from you. 

He draws figure eights against your slick core, finding a rhythm that has you tugging at his hair wildly, and he’s whispering into your ear, pleading, “That’s it, please come for me, please, let me see how good you feel, please, please—”

“Spencer!” you groan, and then you’re shuddering in his lap, and his fingers down to his knuckles are wet with your slick. 

He grins, helping you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your hair, the FBI issued office chair creaking so much he’s afraid the two of you would break it if you don’t stop. The image is hilarious in its absurdity, making his grin widen, and you must have taken it for arrogance because he feels a slight smack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get cocky.” you mutter.

He takes you in, the flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, mascara now smudged along your lash lines, and he’s reverential instead of arrogant, grateful that he has brought someone so stunning and capable to the throes of pleasure, has taken you apart so much you’ve ruined your normally perfect facade. 

“You’re beautiful.” he tells you, his own eyes glistening with an unfocused daze. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and he’s seized with a desire to keep you hear and bury his fingers inside you over and over again until you believe him.

“Your turn.” You chuckle, hands unwinding from his neck and travelling down the length of his abdomen, coming to the buckle on his belt.

“Wait, I—uh,” he turns beet red once again, clearing his throat, “Are you on the pill? I don’t have—”

You tilt your head, as if the idea of a man walking around without a condom is foreign. Perhaps it is, but Spencer simply never assumed he would have any use for it. He turns away, teeth worrying his lower lip, but you pull his face to you again.

“I have hands.” you say as you resume undoing his pants. You shift, then slink away from him, and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but he sees you on your knees once again, and this time it’s not just his brain making up lewd, inappropriate thoughts, “And a mouth.”

“Y-you really don’t have to.”

“I know,” you grin, pretty as the devil and twice as tempting, and as your hands wrap around his engorged length, thumb circling at the tip, “But how can I not, when you’re this pretty?”

He blacks out, he swears he does, there’s no way this isn’t a perverted dream, no way that you’re actually stroking up and down his throbbing cock. Somehow he comes to, only to feel a warmth, a wetness, enveloping the swollen tip, and his hips buck up instinctively. He whines when your hands push at his thighs, holding him in place. 

“Please,” he gasps, babbles, really, “Please, oh god, that feels so good.” 

You take him further down and he throws his head back so violently the glasses slip past his ears and clatter onto the floor. He feels your laughter vibrating against his cock and it almost has him keening. He whines, wriggles against your hold with no real desire to break free. He finds that likes the force of your hands on him, nails leaving harsh indents on his flesh as he struggles. The pain is delicious, heightening his already frazzled senses.

You bob your head up and down, your hair swaying gently, and he manages to will his hands to move, gathering the soft tresses in his hand so they won’t impede your movement. Your eyes flicker up, meet his own, and he swears there’s a thank you in the glint of them. He cannot do anything else. 

Slack jawed, he watches you hollow your cheeks, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth as you give him the best head he’s ever experienced. Never mind that it’s his first one, and that he doesn’t have a point of comparison. He’s convinced this is the best, you are the best, and he’s never been more thankful for his eidetic memory until this night, knowing that he cannot, will never, ever forget the way you look as you knelt down and sucked his cock like you were being paid to do it. 

“God, you’re so pretty, oh my god, yes, just like that, please, please, yes.” he’s aware that he’s whining, and there’s an amused twinkle in your eye that tells him he would never hear the end of this after. 

He knows you well enough to know that you would dangle this over his head any chance you get, that you aren’t above playing dirty. Instead of dread, it makes his stomach roil with another gush of desire, and he knows that that is even more concerning than whatever you were going to do.

(It never occurs to him to do the same, that he could tease you back and point out that he has had you on your knees and sucking on his cock like you were made for it simply because his brain cannot fathom ever associating the sight of you kneeling before him as something to be ashamed of.)

He’s drawn from his thoughts as he feels your hands cupping his balls, stimulating an entirely new area that has him thrusting up. He feels his cock brush against the back of your throat, and he pulls back immediately, eyes wide with worry as you gag around his length.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby you can stop if—”

But you do it again, soldiering past your gag reflex and taking him all the way, and he can hear someone saying oh fuck oh fuck I’m cumming agh, please, I’m cumming, and he thinks its his own voice but he’s unsure. His eyes are squeezed shut, colors exploding behind his lids as he feels your tongue swirling over and over his sensitive cock, before the cool air surrounds it, telling him you’ve stopped completely.

When he opens his eyes, you have your head on his thigh, cheek pressed against the fabric, a lazy smile on your ruined lips.

“God,” he whispers, reaching for you, wanting you close, “That was—wow, you—come here, please.”

He watches as a flicker of surprise flits over your face, before you mask it with a giggle, “Good?” you murmur, tucking his soft cock into his pants before climbing on his lap again.

“Incredible.” He holds you tight, your slick only half dry on his fingers, the taste of him still on your tongue, “You’re incredible.”

You’re quiet, contemplative, and he presses a kiss to your neck, wanting to bring you out of whatever funk you’ve gone into, “Hey, what is it?” He’s almost terrified of the answer, worried you would pull away and leave him cold.

“I just didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.” you reply, eventually sinking into his arms. Your voice is soft when you say, “Most men aren’t.”

The thought of her having experiences doesn’t bother him; it’s the fact that they callously left her after that makes him tighten his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

“For the entirety of shitty men? You’d need more apologies than that,” you chuckle, fingers absently curling into his hair, “But thank you. This is— this is nice.”

“It is,” Spencer nods, leaning into your touch, eyes shut.

“You lost your glasses.”

“I did.”

Your laughter fills the air, “Hey, are you sleepy? You still have Morgan’s reports to finish.”

His eyes flutter open, a sheepish smile on his lips, “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can do this again.”

Spencer laughs, kissing your shoulder as he relents, “All right, all right.” That’s more than enough incentive to brave staring at the monitor again.

[secretsofafangirll]

oral fixation - m.s.

summary: matts girlfriend loves to have things in her mouth. when she gets home after a day of minor inconveniences, she seeks comfort from her boyfriend, in a rather, unconventional way.

warnings: oral (male receiving), praising, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), soft!dom matt, sub!fem, talk of anxiety,

a/n: couple of things; one, the girl doesn't have a name so you can imagine whomever you'd like, two, i've started planning my Matt series...anyways, hope you guys like it! :)))

"A touch / From your real love / Is like heaven takin' the place of somethin' evil"

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

For my entire life, I’ve loved having things in my mouth. 

When I was younger, it was impossible for my parents to get my thumb or my pacifier out of my mouth. The comfort that came from having the object resting in my mouth was too intense for me to leave behind. Behaviors like that followed me into childhood with things like gum or lollipops. In high school, I chewed copious amounts of gum, always had a pen or pencil in my mouth and played with my lips all the time. 

Naturally, when I managed to find myself a boyfriend, he became aware of my oral fixation in many ways. He would always notice how often I had things in my mouth or if I was biting my lips, he would offer me something else so I didn’t tear up the delicate skin. It got to a point where, if he and I were laying down together and one of his hands was unoccupied, I would simply reach down and grab his hand, bringing it to my mouth and wrapping my lips around one of his fingers and playing with it in my mouth. Of course Matt enjoyed this himself, but there were other ...situations, where this oral fixation benefitted him much more than putting a finger in my mouth. 

Matt also understood why I do what I do. Him and I both struggle with anxiety, and we both have for years. In high school, I was medicated for it and had a hard time getting through the day. However, I hated the way that the meds made me feel and I swore to my parents that I wasn’t going to take them anymore and that I’d find another way to cope. Matt copes with alone time and silence but I get more overstimulated than he does and when I do, all I want is to have something in my mouth and someone to touch. 

Which is why on days like these, anxiety ridden and insane days, I need my boyfriend and one of his extremities to rest between my lips. 

After several cars cutting me off on the road and almost hitting me on the way to the gym this morning, I was already slightly shaken up and worried for my safety. When I got to the gym, there was a man somewhat following me around, conveniently using all of the machines next to me. After that, I went to the grocery store in hopes that they had some grapes and snacks for me to feel better, they were out of seedless grapes which sent me into a frenzy about the way that the seeds feel in my mouth, and the self-checkout lanes were under renovation and I had to talk to the cashier to check out. 

I took shallow and quick breaths as I walked swiftly out to my car. I tossed the bag into the back seat and swung open the driver door. The second that I was enclosed in my car, in my space, I was able to calm myself down. Once I had myself under control, I started the car and drove home. When I arrived, I grabbed my things from the car and headed inside. I used my house key to unlock the front door, using my foot to close it behind me. I tossed my keys in the dish and heard Matt typing on the couch. 

“Hi baby,” He said without looking up. I didn’t respond because I just wanted to put the groceries I picked up away and sit with him. “Alright,” He said and continued typing away. 

I put the cold stuff in the refrigerator and the dry stuff in the pantry and cabinets before heading to his room to slide out my dirty and uncomfortable gym clothes and into one of his shirts. Once I was comfortable and the smell of his cologne filled my nostrils, I was finally ready to lay down next to him on the couch. 

“Sorry,” I murmured quietly, gently taking a seat next to him and pulling a blanket over my legs, curling into his side and latching onto one of his arms, “I just wanted to put those away so that I could sit with you.” 

I sat there looking for something of his to grab onto but his hands were occupied and I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I put anything else, if you know what I mean, in my mouth at the moment. I sighed quietly to myself and began to bite on my lips. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” He said, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. 

I continued my assault on my lips and I felt the skin tear and the metallic taste of my own blood rested on my tongue. When it started to hurt too bad to bite my lips, one of my hands found my mouth and I started to bite and suck on that instead, the other arm wrapping impossibly tighter around his. His elbow nudged my side and he looked over at me. 

“You doin’ okay?” He asked without looking away from his computer where he was replying to emails and taking notes in a Google Doc. I only hummed, unwilling to take my fingers out of my mouth. My lack of a real response, which I know he hated, made him finally look up at me. My eyes blinked guiltily at him when his brows went from furrowed to concerned, “Sweetheart,” He sighed and reached up to pull my hand away from my mouth. I flexed all of my muscles to keep it in my mouth but he tilted his head at me and pulled harder, his strength easily overpowering mine. 

“I’m sorry,” I sighed, relaxing my muscles and looking down my hands with guilt and embarrassment written all over my face. 

“Hey,” He said softly, reaching out to grab my jaw and gently pull my head up to look at him, “You don’t have to say sorry. There’s nothing to apologize for.” He shook his head and looked into my eyes for an explanation, “D’you have a bad day?” He asked and closed his computer screen ¾ of the way down. 

“Kind of,” I said, questioning in my tone, “I don’t even know. It’s just been, like, too much.” I tried to spit it out but I struggled to pin-point how, exactly, I felt. It was just too much.

“That’s okay, baby,” He cooed, “You want my hand?” My eyes widened in excitement and I nodded before correcting myself with a ‘Yes, please’. 

He brought his left forearm up to my mouth and I played with his long fingers trying to pick which one I wanted. I decided on the pointer first, but planned to use every finger but the pinky. He used his other hand to scroll through emails and business inquiries, also scrolling through pinterest to find inspiration for future videos. 

I, on the other hand, swirled my tongue mindlessly around his fingers, taking them all the way into my mouth and then back out, my saliva coating his fingers down the knuckle. Every so often, he would shift his hips slightly or clear his throat and scratch his neck. I knew how this was affecting him, but he also respected my needs more than his and wouldn’t want to make me uncomfortable. After close to twenty minutes had passed of my sucking on his fingers, he looked at the time on his computer and closed it all the way. He leaned back against the couch, his hand still in my mouth and he turned his head as it laid against the top of the couch and he watched me mindlessly play with his fingers. When I fully pulled off his middle finger alone, I pushed his ring finger to meet it and took them both fully into my mouth. He groaned and I snapped my eyes to meet him and worked my mouth around his fingers. 

“God, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that when you’ve got my fingers down your throat, honey,” He instructed gently, understanding of my rather fragile nature. I pulled off his fingers, letting my tongue teasingly drag across the length of them. 

“Sorry,” I swallowed to clear my throat and scooted closer to him. He reached across himself and wrapped his dry hand around my thigh and under my knee to pull me onto his lap. I squealed at the sudden movement but settled and nuzzled into his lap. 

“How many times are you gonna apologize, hm?” He questioned with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ears. 

“You know how I am, Matt,” I laughed and grabbed his wrists and put them on top of my thighs, encouraging him to tickle them. 

“Yeah, I do,” He smiled, “But that means that I know you’re gonna keep saying sorry until you feel better.” He accused me and I smiled like I’d been caught stealing, “What else do you need, baby?”

I blushed and looked down at my hands, “I don’t wanna-,”

“Oh, you’re gonna.” He said sternly. 

“I want you.”

“You have me.” He said and nudged my chin with his knuckle, “What do you need?”

“Need your cock,” I said quietly. 

“What was that?” He turned his ear toward me. 

“I need your cock, Matthew.” I said louder. 

“There she is.” He said and gently moved my thighs to allow me to sink to my knees in front of him. “See? Wasn’t that hard, no?” 

When I was comfortable at his feet, I worked to remove his belt and unbuckle his pants. He did the work of actually pushing them down. His hard cock sprung out of his pants and he hissed as the cool air penetrated the sensitive and tacky skin. His tip was lathered in a small amount of pre-cum and he pulsed and twitched slightly. I pouted at the sight for two reasons; one being that it made me want him in my mouth even more, and two, I felt bad for the state I’d put him in. 

“Matty,” I whined, tracing circles with the fingernails on his knees, “I didn’t know it was this bad. I’m sorry.” 

“If you say sorry one more time, all you’re getting is my fingers,” He tutted. My eyes widened in fear. 

“Okay, I’ll stop.” I promised and he smiled down at me. 

“Good girl.” 

I got to quick work pumping his cock in my hand to get him ready. His cock looked so big compared to my smaller hand. It didn’t even fit around the entire thing. He groaned and hissed at the stimulation, his breathing getting heavier and slightly more labored. Soon, I leaned down and gently licked the tip before wrapping my lips around the tip. Pleasure and comfort washed over me and I continued to sink my head down onto his dick. His hands gathered my hair in a make-shift ponytail on my head and he held my hair out of my face. He didn’t push my head down, he just simply aided me in my quest for comfort, which I was most definitely finding. 

“There you go baby,” He praised, “So fuckin’ good,” He whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 

I took his cock down my throat slowly, suppressing the slight gag reflex I still have, though it’s not too bad. I whined around his dick with comfort and need. 

“What baby?” He asked breathlessly, pulling me off him, “Why’re you whinin’? You got what you wanted, no?” 

“No!,” I protested, pushing his hands away, “I’m fine! I just love having you, s’all.” I explained with a smile before going back down on him. As I continued to work his cock, my body visibly relaxed and the sighs of content that left my mouth. Matt simply closed his eyes above me, opening them periodically to watch me take him down my throat. 

Matt started to get close, his hips becoming restless under me and his hands that were in my hair started to guide me down his cock faster. He moaned and whimpered as he grew closer and closer to the edge. 

“Oh fuck-,” He whimpered, “God, so good, baby. So close.”

His stutters and whimpers encouraged me to work with him faster, yet take my time on all of his sensitive bits. I relied on the relief that accompanied the weight of his cock on my tongue. I worked him until hips stuttered and bucked off the couch and he moaned my name and praises into the air.  

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum.” He whispered, bucking his hips into my throat making me choke slightly but I didn’t care, “M Sorry. Fuck,” He whispered and then e shot his load down my throat. I felt the warm liquid hit the back of my throat and I swallowed it down. “Show me,” He demanded, once he caught his breath and he pulled me off him all the way. I stuck my tongue out to show him that I swallowed it and he smiled at me in response, lightly tapping my cheek with the hand that held my jaw. 

“Thank you,” I sighed, my throat somewhat sore. 

“No, thank you, my beautiful girl.” He leaned down and kissed me gently, rubbing my cheeks with his thumbs. When I pulled away, I bit the inside of my lip and looked into his eyes, silently yearning for more. His brows pinched together and his mouth opened slightly, “What, baby? Not enough?” I looked at him with a guilty smile and shook my head. 

“I just want more,” I said quietly. He opened his mouth to respond but as soon as he did, his laptop and phone dinged several times, he looked at his phone and saw what it was. 

“Look, sweetheart, I’ve got more work shit to do,” I groaned and sat back on my heels below him but he pressed a finger to my lips, “But, if you’d let me finish you impatient little baby,” he teased, “if you’re good and hold me without moving your tongue at all, you can stay where you are.” 

“Yes please. I promise I’ll be good,” I nodded my head and sat back up right. He nodded at me and grabbed everything he needed to continue working and I took him back into my mouth. I zoned out with him in my mouth but it was still exciting to be getting what I’d been craving all day and my tongue jerked against a few times. 

“Ah, ah,” He asked, “Settle, sweetheart. You promised me.” He directed and when I calmed down around his cock, his hand patted my head softly and he went back to typing away. 

//

a/n: i'd been working on this for about a week or so. hope you guys liked it!!

[alana-reid-2005]

mgg’s eras

model pretty

baby reid 🥹

glasses reid 😍

doe eyed baby deer reid 🥹

literal prince charming 🫅

jesus hair reid on crutches

boyband cut reid 🥵

daddy reid

rumple buttercup gubler 🥰

[carisc4pshaw]

Showers of Love

In which Spencer Reid comes home from work late after being away for 5 days and finds himself joining his girlfriend (female OC) in the shower the next morning.

word count: 1.7k

tags: shower sex, morning sex, smut, little fluff, smut&fluff, domestic fluff, love, oral sex, vaginal sex, PinV sex, home, showers, original character, original female character, bisexual female character, spencer reid/ fem!reader, bisexual spencer reid, spencer reid fluff, spencer reid smut, sub spencer reid, dom spencer reid, choking, rough sex, late night, working late, criminal minds

warning: little nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), choking, unprotected PinV sex (I think that’s it)

notes: Also posted on Ao3 I hope you enjoy this however, it may not be the best as I haven’t written smut involving men for a couple of years.

—————————————————❤️‍🔥——————————————————

Spencer had gotten home from work after a case had run on longer than any of them would have liked, Sofia was pretty sure she heard him climbing into bed at 3:30 am so she took that as a chance to have a lay-in with him until 11 am the next morning before deciding it really was time to get up.

The blonde went into the bathroom twisting the shower on warm and stripping out of her clothes. She got into the shower and closed the door meaning she didn’t hear the knock coming from the door to the bathroom just a minute later.

The couple had been together a long time but Spencer wanted to be respectful by knocking first however he was sure on this occasion she wouldn’t mind the surprise I mean he had been away for almost 5 days after all.

He opened the door and took in her body, her head was tilted back under the shower head as the water ran down her slightly tanned skin. Spencer knew he wasn’t going to be able to enter the shower undetected so he knocked on the glass, her head quickly turned to him a shocked expression on her face before realising it was him.

“Are you okay?” Sofia asked him.

“Can I join? You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes trailing her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and breasts ending at the end of her ribs.

“Hm yes you can join,” She giggled pushing the glass door open for him.

He got rid of his clothes and entered the shower standing behind her wrapping his arms around her midsection and smelling the clean skin on her shoulder, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She said twisting her head round to meet his lips in a very awkward angled kiss.

Spencer began leaving kisses at the side of her neck, sucking lightly leaving what would become faint marks on her skin.

“Mmm baby I’m trying to shower,” Sofia spoke pushing further back against him feeling his cock hardening against her ass.

“Sorry about that… but it has been well 5 days,” He rubbed the back of his neck swallowing nervously.

“It’s fine I like knowing I still turn you on.”

“You’ll always turn me on darling,” Spencer’s hands travelled to her breasts grabbing both of them in his hands, his thumbs rubbing her nipples.

“Oh baby, that feels so nice,” Sofia said under her breath.

“Did you miss having me here?” He asked running his hands from her breasts and down the sides of her waist.

“Mhm, you shouldn’t leave for work all the time.”

“I’ll suggest it to Hotch,” He turned her around so he was now facing her and left kisses on her chest and the top of her cleavage.

“Good plan,” Sofia reached one hand down wrapping it around his cock resulting in him moaning into her chest.

He pulled back and shook his head, “No, this is about you for now, hands off.”

She immediately obeyed him moving her hand before being pushed up against the wall of the shower.

Spencer kissed a trail down her body as he got onto his knees and began kissing her inner thighs.

Sofia reached down sliding her fingers into his damp curls her hand tightening in them when he ran his tongue up her slit.

The blonde let out a few sighs of pleasure as he gripped onto her thighs spreading them further apart.

Spencer angled his head to latch his lips onto her clit, sucking at it gently. He moved one hand from her thigh to grip onto her hip.

Sofia’s hands tightened in his hair as he ran his tongue in circles over her clit before running it down to her entrance and plunging it into her wasting no time to get it as deep as he could twisting it further inside.

The moans, sighs and the look of pleasure on Sofia’s face he was hearing and seeing had made him harder than he was before if it was even possible. He knew it took the blonde a little while to reach her first orgasm and at this point, he didn’t know if he would be able to wait that long.

Sofia’s eyes were closed and her mouth was parted open as strings of moans came out of her mouth that only got louder as he splayed his right hand over her lower stomach so his thumb could reach down to her clit rubbing it in firm fast circles. Maybe this wouldn’t take as long he thought.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” she shouted gripping his hair impossibly tight and pulling it so hard it was hurting but he would not say anything about it.

Sofia sighed heavily, one of her hands leaving his hair and slamming against the tiled wall and her legs threatening to close around his head as she climaxed, her juice spilling out onto his tongue.

Spencer removed his tongue from inside of her but kept his thumb lightly brushing against her clit while she came down from her orgasm.

He stopped his actions with his thumb when he heard her breathing slowing down and placed both his hands on her hips rubbing them comfortingly. He stayed on his knees and looked up at her, “Are you okay darling?”

The younger woman nodded her head ‘yes’ until her breath had returned to talk, “Yeah thank you, so good. God, you’re so good at that Spence.”

Spencer smiled, standing up from the floor and pressing his lips against her, it was a loving kiss made more passionate by her being able to taste herself on him.

He pulled back after a minute and ran a hand down her hair, “You’re gorgeous honey.”

“Do you want my help with this?” She reached down and took the length of his cock in her hand.

Spencer groaned at the touch, “Can you go again?”

“Yeah,” She nods, “Always.”

He kissed her lips once before roughly connecting his lips to her pulse point on her neck.

His hand moved from the side of her face to her collarbone rubbing his hand across it and down between her breasts.

“I don’t need any more teasing baby you’ve warmed me up enough,” she said pulling his head back up from her neck so their lips could join again.

“From the front or back?” Spencer asked.

“If I say back will you pull my hair?” Sofia smirked at him.

“No I don’t want to hurt you,” He pecked her lips.

Sofia rolled her eyes, “You choke me but you won’t pull my hair?”

“It’s different.”

“Fine, we will work on this, front then and choke me.”

“Okay,” Spencer waited for her to adjust her position for it to be easier for him to slip inside of her.

Spencer eased into her slowly, he was large and while they had done this many times he always wanted to be careful not to hurt her.

Adjusting to him didn’t take long due to her previous orgasm and already being used to his size.

“Move,” Sofia ordered with a moan.

Spencer complied pulling out a little and pushing back in earning a louder moan from his girlfriend.

“More please,” she breathed out wrapping her arms around his waist.

Spencer quickened his pace earning moans from him when he thrusted in and out of her.

Sofia's nails scraped down Spencer’s back while her eyes rolled in pleasure, “Oh fuck. Yes!” She said between moans.

He could feel himself getting closer to his climax as her walls tightened around his cock more with each thrust. Spencer moved his hand to her neck squeezing lightly against her pulse point.

“Keep going please,” Sofia begged

“I’m not stopping babe,” Spencer thrust at a different angle hitting a point inside her he hadn’t hit before.

That movement mixed with the choking sent her toppling over the edge for the second for the second time that evening.

He wasn’t far behind after seeing her orgasm washing over her face.

“I need to pull out baby,” he spoke rather softly, loosening the hand from around her neck.

Sofia groaned, “Why? You never usually do?”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Spencer grunts.

“Yeah,” She kissed his lips slowly running one of her hands down her chest.

With one more thrust Spencer finished inside of her, moaning into her mouth as they kissed.

He pulled away from her breathing heavily. His brown eyes met her blue ones just staring at her as he got his breath back.

“You okay honey?” Sofia giggled at his flushed cheeks and scattered breaths.

“Yes, more than okay. I’m going to pull out now.”

The blonde nodded but still let a small whiney moan out as she felt the loss of him from inside of her.

The sweet sound made Spencer’s heart beat a little faster than it already was from the physical activity they had just participated in. He took her face in his hands and smiled at her before placing a peck on her lip, “I love you,” he spoke between the kisses.

“I love you too Spence,” Sofia said stepping further under the water from the shower head.

“Can I wash your hair?” He asked moving closer to her again wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She leaned back into his touch so their bodies were pressed together, “Of course, you know I’ll never say no to that.”

Spencer took the shampoo bottle from the small shelf and squirted some into the palm of his hand. The smell of sex in the shower was quickly drowned out by the thick smell of Sofia’s lavender-scented oil that she’d mixed into her shampoo.

As he rubbed it into her hair he spent a fair amount of time massaging her scalp, “I love the smell of your shampoo.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, It makes me feel calm I miss smelling it when I’m away.”

“You’re so adorable, I’m giving you so many kisses when you’re finished washing my hair.”

“How about you do that after we put pyjamas on and get into bed to watch a movie?”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Sofia quickly turned around in his arms and pecked his lips despite the fact his hands were still threaded in her hair.

—————————————————————————————————————

[piqtescue]

this photo is rewiring my brain

[xoxoch3rry]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℙ𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥

@ xoxoch3rry do not steal or translate my work.

ᴳᴵᶠ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ~

Word count: 1,005

────

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, torture, regular criminal minds stuff.

Summary: The case goes wrong and Spencer's there to save you.

────⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˖ ࣪⊹────

The case had seemed straightforward: infiltrate a suspected trafficking ring, gather intel, and leave without raising suspicion. You were one of the FBI's finest undercover agents, and this wasn’t your first high stakes assignment. But something about this one felt…off. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Spencer Reid asked, leaning against your desk in the bullpen. His concern was evident, his hazel eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You smiled, trying to lighten the tension. “I’ll be fine, Spence. It’s just another day at work.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Be careful,” he said softly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

The plan unraveled faster than you could have imagined. Your cover was blown within hours, and before you knew it, you were blindfolded and thrown into the back of a van. The next few days were a blur of pain and terror. The room where they kept you was cold, damp, and reeked of mildew. Your captors weren’t interested in negotiations or even interrogations—they wanted to break you. Torture was their game, and they played it well. “You think your team will save you?” one of them sneered, leaning close. “They don’t even know where you are.” You bit back a retort, refusing to give them the satisfaction of your fear. But inside, doubt crept in. Did they know where you were? Were they even looking?

Back at the BAU, Spencer was unraveling. The team had realized something was wrong when your scheduled check-in never came. The unsub’s profile was already on the board, but without knowing your location, they were running out of time. “She’s strong,” Emily Prentiss said, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “She’ll hold on until we get to her.” Spencer nodded, but his heart was heavy. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think clearly. The thought of you in danger consumed him. It wasn’t just worry. It was something deeper, something he’d been too afraid to acknowledge. But now, faced with the possibility of losing you, he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

The pain was unbearable, but you clung to hope. Your team was the best, and if anyone could find you, it was them. Still, the days stretched on, each one darker than the last. One of your captors, a wiry man with a cruel smile, had taken a particular interest in you. “What’s it going to take, Agent?” he taunted during another grueling session. “How much more can you handle?” You didn’t answer, but the tears streaming down your face betrayed your resolve.

The breakthrough came on the fourth day. Garcia had hacked into a security feed from a remote warehouse in the middle of nowhere, and the footage showed a glimpse of you being dragged inside. “That’s it,” Spencer said, his voice sharp. “That’s where she is.” Hotch nodded. “We go in tonight.” Spencer insisted on going with the extraction team, despite Hotch’s initial hesitation. “I need to be there,” he argued. “For her.” Hotch finally relented. “Stay close, and don’t take unnecessary risks.”

The sound of the explosion was deafening, shaking the walls of your prison. Shouts and gunfire echoed through the building, and you barely had the strength to lift your head. You heard the unmistakable command: “FBI! Drop your weapons!” Hope flared in your chest, but your body was too weak to react. You slumped against the wall, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. “Where is she?” Spencer’s voice rang out, frantic and desperate. Footsteps pounded closer, and then, there he was. Spencer Reid stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with worry. “Spence,” you croaked, your voice barely audible. In an instant, he was at your side, his hands gently cradling your face. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re safe now.” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he untied your restraints. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, as if saying it would make it true.

At the hospital, the team hovered around your room, each offering words of encouragement. But Spencer never left your side. “You should rest,” you said weakly, your voice hoarse from days of screaming. “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied firmly, his hand clasping yours. You studied him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his jaw. “Spence, I’m okay.” “You’re not,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re not okay. And it’s my fault.” “What? No—” “I should have stopped you,” he interrupted. “I should have—” You squeezed his hand, cutting him off. “Spencer, listen to me. This wasn’t your fault. You saved me.” He looked away, his shoulders shaking. “I almost lost you,” he whispered. “But you didn’t,” you said firmly. “I’m here. Because of you.” He hesitated, then turned back to you, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I love you,” he confessed, the words tumbling out as if he’d been holding them back for years. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I was too afraid to say anything. But when I thought I might never see you again…” Your breath caught, and tears filled your eyes. “Spencer…” “I know this isn’t the right time,” he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “But I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in anymore.” You reached for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. “It’s the perfect time,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Because I love you too.” The relief on his face was palpable, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile broke through the tension. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he promised, his forehead resting against yours.

And at that moment, despite everything you’d been through, you knew it was true. With Spencer by your side, you felt unbreakable.

[holy-puckslibrary]

─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~ 

I. it’s getting so much clearer… 

Matthew regrets making you a key. 

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble. 

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring. 

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage. 

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home. 

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane. 

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare. 

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is. 

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?” 

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood. 

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven. 

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange. 

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load. 

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone. 

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it. 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand. 

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course. 

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line. 

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist." 

And he does. 

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head. 

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list. 

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one. 

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate. 

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly. 

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.” 

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard. 

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future. 

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor. 

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently. 

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did. 

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.” 

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection. 

“—looks so fucking stupid.” 

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey. 

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind. 

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day. 

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?” 

“Of course, it fucking do—” 

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting. 

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…” 

“It looks, what?” 

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you. 

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.” 

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup. 

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you. 

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat. 

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you. 

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep. 

What’s gotten into him? 

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.) 

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself. 

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge. 

Not with you looking like that.  

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.” 

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes. 

You snort. “Funny." 

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you. 

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge. 

Matthew turns you to face him without warning. 

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later. 

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest. 

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates. 

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible. 

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.  

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way. 

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey. 

“W-We need to be quick—” 

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good? 

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.  

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse. 

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.” 

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.” 

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds. 

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is. 

A robbery, if you ask him. 

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites. 

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles. 

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused. 

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes. 

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”  

“I'm not.” 

“You've never been a good liar.” 

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect. 

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams. 

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you. 

“Don't change the subject.” 

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither. 

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.” 

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you. 

“So?” 

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive. 

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.” 

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony. 

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard. 

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance. 

And you do.  

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser. 

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time. 

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade. 

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.  

Mathew smiles. 

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough. 

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.” 

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now. 

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic. 

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed. 

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life. 

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.” 

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice. 

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”  

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?” 

“They aren’t!” 

They absolutely are. 

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles. 

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple. 

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears. 

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay. 

And he doesn’t hate it. 

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

⬸ back to the catalog  (masterlist) 

⬸ back to the main blog 

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

patrons gained access to this piece on MAY 15, 2024 as part of their early bird perks. learn more HERE!

[thenickgirl]

“boyfriend chats” pt 1

bf!nick x bf!oc!jalen

summary: messages between jalen and nick

type: texts pov: jalen’s

warnings: some suggestive, swearing

a/n: these were so so fun to make! i love creating nick dialogue, i feel like i know exactly what he would say 😭. i have more that will be in part 2, but that’s all that tumblr allowed me to add on this post. if you guys want me to do texts for x reader as well, just let me know! (i already have two locked and loaded 🤭)

🏷️: @freshloveee @freshloveforthefit @muwapsturniolo @mattslolita @sturnioloslvtt @soursturniolo @nicksbestie @asherrisrandom @dumbf2ck

[angelicwh1spers]

— ⋅˚₊‧ 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ‧₊˚ ⋅ —

— 𝐀cademic 𝐑ival 𝐂hristopher x 𝐀cademic 𝐑ival 𝐑eader

𝐈n 𝐜onclusion… before taking a very important test, you and Chris decided to make a bet on who would get the higher score, the person with the lower score would have to do anything the person with the higher score wanted them to do, and unfortunately you got one percent lower than Chris…

𝐖arnings… [ SUGGESTIVE&ANGST ] , swearing , allergic reaction , burning stuff , steamy makeout session ,

⚠︎ 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐒 - English is not my first language so excuse and dismiss any minor mistakes in my writing, I’m fairly new to writing on tumblr but it’s always been my passion to create stories and envelop myself inside of the world of fiction.

⟡ ݁₊ “𝐘ou seriously think you can beat me?” You huff, holding in your laughter as the chill autumn breeze hits your skin as Chris tries to claim he can beat you at the upcoming test today by getting a higher grade, it almost felt pathetic to be hearing such words even dare to be spoken by him in your presence. “Scared you’ll loose the bet?” He taunts, leaning his back against the railing of the staircase located at the entrance to the campus, one of his many favorite brown leather jacket protecting him from the soft breeze. You chuckle at his immediate assumption, you loosing a silly little bet for the higher score? “Me? Scared? Who do you think I am, a dumbass like you?”

“Oh you’re so high and mighty, I can’t wait to see your face when you loose.” A mocking smirk tugs on the corner of his mouth as you just roll your eyes at his smartass remark, maybe he isn’t a total dumbass but definitely is a goddamn bastard. And why does he have to look so good in that jacket today? “You wish, I never loose. Why do you think I’m on top of the class? I earned it, get ready to do whatever I say after this test, loser.” I state, he chuckles softly before running a hand through his brown messy hair, you could see the slight shift in his demeanor, now appearing more determined and set on one obvious goal. “Yeah, I think you meant you were getting ready to do whatever I say, hm?”

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

During the remainder of the day, you two made it each others mission to sabotage the other in anyway possible so they would fail the test, first it started harmless with distracting each other from studying but progressively got more intense and rude but to you two it felt as if it was just another day…

— allergic reaction.

You finally have sat down with your friends, chatting and laughing as jokes and stories were thrown between the group, while you were taking out your already prepared lunch, out of the corner of your eye you noticed Chris smirking ear to ear right at you while talking with his own friend group at their table. You brushed off his stare and continued with your lunch, but when you took the first bite and it went down your throat, something didn’t feel right, your throat started to close up and your breath coming in short puffs and then you realized you were having an allergic reaction, a million questions rise inside of your mind on how this could have happened, you precisely made sure there was nothing you were allergic to inside of your lunch. Then Chris’s little smirk flashes in your mind and already know who was behind this, thank god you had your epipen in your bag. You knew you couldn’t go to the nurse since she would send you home, so you had to live through the pain for the remainder of the day until the test, one day you swear you will not hesitate to kill him.

— burning pile.

Throwing in the last piece of paper you needed to be complete, you watched as the hot flames immediately roared to life, intensifying the already big fire created from Chris’s important notes he had ready for todays test and you also decided to burn some other ones he had in his book bag, from your taken spot you could hear most of the things happening in the school, especially where Chris currently was from the open window and could hear frustrated footsteps stomping throughout the school and just laugh at his immediate reaction, waiting for him to make it to where you were. A half-finished lit cigarette hanging from the corner of your mouth as you see a familiar voice call out your name and already knowing who it is, "Y/n! Give me my notes back, you know those are—" He cuts off his own words by the sight of his notes being a burning pile right in front of him, a mocking smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth, taking the last drag of my cigarette and throwing it into the flames to disintegrate, "Ups! I thought these were useless" you say with fake "I'm gonna literally gonna murder you."

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

Chris won the stupid bet, getting a 100% overpowering your 99% on the test and him waving the test in your face, but the thing he asked you to do wasnt something you expected at the very least…

His hands rest on your waist as you two stumble into the kitchen, being all over each other as an intense make out was currently happening between you two, he softly pushes your back into the counter before they tighten its grip and lift you up to sit you down on the counter for better access as your lips which never separate from each other and don’t seem like they will any time soon, your arms wrap around his neck while his rest right above your hips but they keep wandering all over your lower body. Somehow you two ended up in this situation, but you’re certainly not complaining much, the way the feeling of his lips on yours and how your tongues danced together just made a shiver run down your spine, it almost felt like a drug that you felt you needed more of each second.

“Still bitter about loosing that bet? Princess was finally pushed off her high and mighty stool?” He teases, speaking between kisses which became slight messy as he talked but soon gone back to normal, “Maybe, but you have to make it up to me for that allergic reaction.” I answer, still feeling the bitter-sweet taste of losing now being overpowered by the taste of Chris’s mouth on mine. The only time we would pull away from each other was for short breaths before returning right back, you didn’t know for how long you two were like this but it’s not like someone was counting your time nor rushing you. “What about you first making up for burning my notes and looking absolutely delicious smoking that cigarette?” “I think I already did, by doing whatever you want” he smirks into the long kiss, it somehow remaining eager and passionate even after the long duration of it.

His hands squeezed your hips tightly, wandering downwards to rest down on your thighs, dangerously close to the waistband of your skirt as our own hands wandered to tangle into his brown messy locks, the long make out session soon came to an end, leaving you two complete panting messes before Chris attacks the sensitive soft flesh of your neck, peppering it with open-mouthed kisses while his hot breath fans over them, causing a soft whimper escape past your lips alongside quick puffs of air, still trying to regain your flow of breath. "Like how your rival is all over you, huh? How he just can't resist the little princess no more." He mumbles against your neck while leaving a significant hickey behind which is going to be not so easy to cover up tomorrow for my classes, "What will I say after someone sees all these marks on my neck?" I question in a playful tone as he raises his head to glance up at my face, appearing almost serious if it wasnt for his eyes which were driven entirely by desire in that moment. "Tell them who you fuckin' belong to, little princess."

— 🩵 𝐓aglist

• @sweetshuga @giveheavensomehell @delilahsturniolo @marrykisskilled @purpledragon222 @nickgurl4life @thenickgirl …

⋅˚₊‧ 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒... heloheloheloo!! the start of the au has now began and surprisingly this is the first thing im writing for it but its not gonna be all smut all the time so bear with me guys for now, thanks for over 200 notes on my first fic im so grateful guys it feels so insane to me!! 🩵

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Birthday

It's his birthday today, 12 October. He'd just turned 30 and no one had blinked. Emily was gone and the team was still reeling from her death and he didn't want to make them force smiles and tell him happy birthday. He locked up all the emotions, everyone was mourning they didn't need that, although he knew deep down that wasn't true.

He slide his key into his door but paused as he heard a ruckus from his pretty neighbour. Sure enough you wrenched your door open wearing a paper birthday hat. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPENCE was scrawled over a small cake in your hand. 

He grinned before opening his door and letting you in. You placed the cake on a small table before running back to your apartment and getting the candles and the lighter. With a goofy smile on your face you put the 3 and the 0 on the cake and lit it up

You then slipped another paper hat on his head before picking up the cake again. He had dropped his things a long time ago giving him freedom to bend down slightly to your height and having said a short wish and he blew up the candles. Ecstatic.

���Happy birthday sweatheart, do you want one of your gifts?” he nodded wildly eyes glossed over from so much happiness you giggle leaning over and pecking his cheek, his nose, his other cheek and after a split second on his lips far longer than the others. He’s seeing stars. He's glad he has you, he's never really believed in a god but you have him thanking one.

[cheeksofstars]

s. reid as ur boyfriend! ೨ৎ

𐙚˚ my headcanons on how i think spence would show his love for u.

✦ spencer shows his love by being thoughtful: spencer is really thoughtful and always pays attention to the little things you mention. if you mention a book you want to read or a movie you like, he’ll surprise you with it later.

spencer shows his love by taking you out on dates: he loves planning dates that involve learning together. whether it's going to a museum, attending a lecture, or solving puzzles.

spencer shows his love by being sweetly awkward: spencer is a bit awkward at first, especially when it comes to expressing his feelings, but his nervousness is endearing, and you can always tell how much he cares, even if he stumbles over his words.

spencer shows his love by being protective: spencer is very protective of you. he’ll use his intelligence to keep you safe, whether it’s by being hyper aware of your surroundings or giving you advice on staying safe. in public, he'll gravitate toward standing close to you, especially in crowded or unfamiliar places. he’s protective and wants to make sure you feel safe and secure at all times.

spencer shows his love by being gentle and patient: spencer is incredibly patient and always takes the time to listen to you. he never rushes you to talk about things you’re not ready to, and he’s always there to support you.

spencer shows his love by telling you random facts: he has a habit of sharing random facts with you. at first, it catches you off guard, but over time, you find it adorable how excited he gets about sharing his knowledge.

spencer shows his love by being supportive of your interests: even if your interests are completely different from his, spencer takes the time to learn about them and support you. he listens attentively when you talk about your hobbies and would surprise you by getting involved.

spencer shows his love by being romantic unexpectedly: spencer isn't traditionally romantic, but he surprises you with his own form of romance. whether it’s writing you a heartfelt letter or taking you to a hidden gem of a bookstore, he always knows how to make you feel special.

spencer shows his love by always being there for you: he’s the type of boyfriend who will drop everything if you need him. no matter how busy he is, he’ll make time for you, especially when you’re going through something.

spencer shows his love by encouraging your growth: spencer believes in your potential and is always encouraging you to pursue your dreams. he’ll support you in any way he can, whether it’s helping you study for an exam or just being your biggest cheerleader.

spencer shows his love by giving you subtle touches: spencer prefers small, discreet gestures like holding your hand, a quick squeeze on your arm, or brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. these small touches mean a lot to him and are his way of staying connected to you without drawing too much attention.

spencer shows his love by showing you private affection: when you’re alone, spencer is much more open with his affection. he’ll cuddle up to you, give you kisses, and express how much he loves you in a way that feels natural and comfortable for both of you.

spencer shows his love by being affectionate: he expresses his love verbally in public, whispering sweet things or complimenting you quietly. his words are heartfelt, and even though he’s not overly demonstrative, his affection comes through in the way he talks to you.

spencer shows his love by being attentive: spencer isn't for grand public gestures, but he’s always attentive to your needs. he’ll open doors for you, offer his jacket if you’re cold, and be there to support you in any way that he can!