#a spes thoughts

[a-spes]

I was thinking about what going out with Wanda and Nat' as an autistic person would be like, because I feel they would be such supportive and accommodating girlfriends.

I feel like they would be absolutely perfect at anticipating your meltdowns because they know you so well that they've learned to read the signs.

—

You went to the restaurant with them and a part of the team for a girls night. You were having a great time and everything was going fine, until it was not anymore.

Quickly, everything became too much. The sound of the cutlery, the people eating, walking, talking, .. it is all giving you the urge to rip your ears off so you could eventually be at peace. It is getting so loud, and so obsessing, that you can't think about anything else.

Obviously, they saw what was happening before you did. It always happens that way, because you keep pushing your boundaries, always refusing to acknowledge the signs of an upcoming meltdown.

But they do.

The women know the signs. There is no chance that they would miss the way you stopped talking a moment ago, how you are not eating anymore, you fork playing with your food without actually taking a bite. There is also that slight frown on your face that betrays your worries. It is obvious that you are getting more restless as the minutes go by — you wouldn't stop shifting in your seat, unable to find a comfortable position.

You were sitting in front of them. You are the one who insisted on taking this specific place, if it was up to them, you would have spent the dinner between them, but you wanted to be as close as possible from Kate and Yelena. They are funnier — but you wouldn't tell that to Wanda and Natasha, you don't want to get in trouble.

“Come here, baby. You should definitely have a bite of my meal, you would love it,” she calls, and you don't hesitate a second before joining her, sitting on her lap when she silently asks you to do it. The meal was just an excuse because the woman is aware that you would have never admitted your struggles if she had simply asked if you were fine.

She feeds you a first bite, then handing you the fork so you can take more of the meal by yourself. It allows her free hands to find a place on your ears that they are now covering. Her touch is soothing, especially with her thumb running circles on your scalp, and so is her gesture. It may doesn't dumb down the world completely but, at least, it makes everything a little more bearable.

In the meanwhile, Natasha left to buy some headphones at the nearest shop. Unfortunately, they have forgotten yours at home. Yet, she doesn't care about spending hundreds on new ones — partly because it is Tony's money, mainly because she thinks you deserve it. When she comes back, less than fifteen minutes later, and eventually put the headphones in your ears, it feels like bliss. The world is eventually quiet, and you feel like you can properly breathe for the first time in the past hour.

[spectral-phases]

Another thing I need people to stop just saying like it's the truth is that Bruce picked up Tim as Robin immediately after Jason died, or that Tim forced his way into being Robin.

Now, of course, there is the caveat that Jason can come back into town thinking that it was the case, he was dead and Talia informed him of the changes in Gotham, so we don't know how accurately he was informed. Another caveat is that Tim can grow up thinking he forced his way into it because he does argue for it at a point, but I need no one else who had a fully developed mind and was there saying it. Okay? Okay.

So, let's tackle the first one. Jason Todd gets an official death certificate in the Daedalus and Icarus Annual explaining how he came back showing his date of death as 4/27/19xx (since comics are always meant to be contemporary unless stated otherwise, we can just ignore the year). The DC Encyclopedia had a death certificate too, but it had a lot of odd details, not least his height and weight being more in line for a 10 year old than a 15 year old (the Titans comic put his height at 5'4" when he died), so I'm going to use the comics certificates over that when they conflict, but the Batman Annual also lists his date of death as 4/27 (why is it a Gotham City Death Certificate when he died in Ethiopia? I have no clue).

(Batman Annual 25)

(New Titans Vol 1 55)

(DC Encyclopedia)

Tim Drake appears after Jason dies when Bruce Wayne is going a little crazy as Batman. He specifically shows up during a break week from school.

(Batman 1940 #441)

Given that he could only have a Break Week feasibly in November for teacher conferences, December for Christmas/New Year's, or March/April for Easter, and the greenery outside show that it's neither November nor December, he's therefore shown up for his Spring Break. Since that would never be after April 27th, then he has to be there at least the first Spring Break following Jason's death, so about a year later.

He shows up and begs Dick to become Robin again to save Bruce from himself.

(Batman 1940 #441)

You see, this is interesting. He's explaining all his best qualities, not as a way to say "I'm right for the job" but to awkwardly (as only Tim Drake can) explain how much Batman and Robin mean to him, and how much they've influenced his life, to show how committed he is to this idea to back-up his assessment that Batman needs Dick as Robin again.

Dick is very adamant in his refusal to step back into the Robin role.

(Batman 1940 #441)

Both Alfred and Dick(Maybe? unless it's just Alfred being the drama again, but Dick did leave his old Robin costume out on the side before leaving) suggest Tim should pick up the costume. And he does only hours later, when Dick and Batman's signals have disappeared after going to confront Two-Face. Tim is feeling guilt over Nightwing possibly being dead because he got involved, he's worried sick about his heroes, and Tim has to go help because he is not built for sitting back and worrying.

(Batman 1940 #442)

At this point, he does start trying to convince both himself and Batman that he should be Robin, but only seriously after Alfred and Dick start hyping Tim up as well. Bruce is not having it. Like. At all.

(Batman 1940 #442)

They go to track down Two-Face and the confrontation ends with Tim nearly getting crushed to death as a pile of cars in the junkyard are toppled over onto the Batmobile, where he's been instructed to wait.

(Batman 1940 #442)

The confrontation ends with Bruce punching Two-Face and telling him that he can't kill Batman or Nightwing (Or Robin?) Or Robin!

Afterwards, after all the adrenaline has worn off and they're back in the manor in their normal clothes, Tim starts to back off of being Robin. He's still super stoked for having had the chance to fight criminals with his heroes, he's 13, give him a break. Please and thank you.

At this point it is Alfred, Dick, and Bruce who cement Tim going into training to become Robin. Yes, because of his logic, but also, like. I think Bruce knows deep down he needs someone to work with just as much as everyone else does. And Tim already knows his secret, and this is the easiest way to keep him quiet. Also, Bruce. Fucking. Communicate better. Jesus.

(Batman 1940 #442)

And then Tim's training begins, but he won't become Robin until the following Christmas. And only after he saves Bruce because he's been captured by Scarecrow and is being tortured with fear toxin with Vikki Vale. Tim was ordered to stay home, but again, he is incapable to standing back and not helping when he thinks there's a problem (this is a good and heroic character trait). This time, he doesn't wear the costume because he can't bear the idea of failing in it, so he dons a ski mask and comes in, gets dosed with fear toxin while saving Batman and beating Scarecrow and runs away before the cops show. Tim believes this means he'll never be Robin, that Bruce will fire him from training, but at least Bruce is alive. When Tim explains this all to Bruce, Bruce says the rules are there for a reason, but sometimes it's okay to break them when justified and gives Tim a new Robin costume.

(Batman 1940 #457)

[cheswirls]

looking @ old fic i started when i was 14/15 is so funny bc im realizing once again why i never mark fics as abandoned even if its been literal years since i've touched them. specifically i was checking docs for stuff i started and either did or didn't post to ffn.

and its like. nothing is bad??? like i can see where my outside-the-box ideal of fic writing comes from. not just fics but writing in general, i'm p sure. even if it's a total cliche plot setup, there are details on each that rly make it stand out like oh yeahhhhhh i did have this great idea once upon a time.

funny too bc was it executed well in prose??? no absolutely not i wrote like shit when i was 15. would i revive an idea one day and revise it to be less cliche or cringy while still keeping the stand-out elements??? yea maybe. i might. everything i'm currently working on that i started from 2021 up to now still holds my supreme interest, but like i'm not gonna say never.

esp since i write fic first and foremost for my own need and specifically what i like to read, it makes it impossible to consider an idea i've thought extensively about "not worth writing anymore". anyway not making this too long i jus found everything interesting to consider

[chiisana-lion]

havign briefly been overcome by the much love and nostalgia i have for a dearest actually kind of mid childhood pkmn manga its kind of funny to think abt that yeah. i did draw close to nothing but it exclusively for three or four years huh. maybe even more. and the amnt of people ive met and known through it that have either remained or long since moved on/lost touch with is nothing to scoff abt and i still talk to many on occassion

and then here i am now with a brand new different kind of people i interact with/that know of me who probably are unaware i was (am) kind of overly attached to this very specific manga that it was my personality for a good chunk of my online life til now. you have no idea

[mythgirlimagines]

Yellow, emerald and who are nb pokespe ocs?

the character revealed for the SV arc! Since they're not really based on the male or female protags- as OP points out- they can qualify as one of the (few) pokespe OCs!

I'm really excited for this arc and to learn more about them :D

[r4zzberry-reblogz]

@cisher-galathem @rvbyaoi @sheepiemenace @exbo @salty-herba-mystica

Hey, don't cry. Five thousand fanfic daydream scenarios inside your head about the super-obscure fictional character you've latched onto like an orphaned duckling, okay?

[a-spes]

So.. guess who is back with more thoughts about Wanda's really nice hands, and long nails?

Me.

I am the one who can't think about anything else but those perfect hands 🙆

You have many bad habits. You would bite your nails — or your lips, depending on your current mood — and skip meals sometimes. The woman hates that, but there is one bad habit of yours that she doesn't want to fix because she finds it absolutely endearing, and it is the way you are always avoiding her gaze.

She had quickly noticed that you were unable to hold eye contact with her for more than a few seconds, crumbling under a simple glance. She loves to slowly drag her index all the way up your neck until it finds a place under your chin. She loves to apply a slight pressure here, forcing you to tilt your head back until you have no choice but look at her, directly in the eyes. She loves the embarrassment she can read on your face.

—

Sometimes, you forget to think, and words you regret eventually fall past your pretty lips. Words that you do not mean, but would still get you in trouble with the woman — “Shut it, before you say something I'll make you regret,” she reprimands, and you can feel her nails slowly digging into your cheeks.

She is right. You don't want to suffer the consequences of your own actions, you were just craving for some of her attention. She has been so busy with her job lately that you've been feeling left out. Eventually, her thumb would find its way in your mouth, and you would just accept it.

“Isn't it what you wanted, honey? My whole attention? No, don't get shy now that you have it, and use your words to tell mommy what you want,” she teases, and suddenly you find yourself unable to speak — god, there is nothing she likes more than seeing how fast she can make you shut the fuck up and how quick she can turn you into her perfect, and obedient, little girl. One that would do anything she asks without thinking twice about it.

—

She does it on purpose, and you know it. The woman keeps pretending that she left these marks by accident, but you can see in her smile that she meant every one of them.

She loves them.

She loves to see those red crescents that decorate your skin. They are the reminder of who you are belonging to. They are the memory of the nights you've shared, and her not so gentle touches. Most of those are left when you try to squirm out of her grasp, when she has to dig her nails into your hips in order to keep you still while she ruins her precious baby.

—

That is something she loves to do, grabbing you by the hips whenever she is given the chance to. It is not her fault that you are looking so adorable that it gives her the urge to have her hands on your body, and to slowly draw pattern on your skin.

Most of the time, the woman would just sneak up behind you when you are busy, and you would have no idea that she was coming before you could feel her nails slightly digging into your skin and her soft breath brushing your neck.

[mariasont]

i loved lipgloss!!! i was wondering if i could pls request smth where spencer walks in the BAU unaware of the lipgloss on his lips from kissing bimbo!receptionist or on his cheeks from being kissed then everyone's like "👀☝️🤨" (english isnt my first language im sorry😭)

STICKY SITUATIONS - S.R

a/n: back with the lipstick trope yeehaw, can't tell you all how much i appreicate u all and how patient u guys are with me when i ghost for like 5 months at a time. thank you so much for the request sug <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: spencer daydreaming about inappropriate things! PDA!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer woke up feeling untouchable, like nothing in the world could shake him. The kind of invincible where even the sky didn't seem like a limit. You had stayed the night, as you often did, and yet every time he woke up with you beside him, it felt like walking on air. Today was no exception.

You made sure he was late today--both of you were. He blamed you entirely, though he didn't mind. You pinned him down with a thousand little kisses, laughing as you insisted that it's essential for a day filled with good luck, and how else was he going to catch all the bad guys without a little charm from you?

Spencer's body vibrated like it was attuned to some invisible, higher frequency, one you alone could set. The smile threatening to break free felt inevitable, like a law of nature, as his mind drifted to thoughts of you--so unavoidable it was as if trying to pinpoint an electron's exact position and momentum in time. 

He had half a mind to swing by the reception desk just to see you. Just for a second. He'd convince himself it was enough, even though it never really was. Today, though? There was no chance he'd make it to his meeting. Not when you were wearing that skirt--his favorite. The one that fit you like it had been hand-stitched by hand for you alone, showing off your thighs in a way that made him picture them around his--

"Reid, you're—," Hotch's voice snapped him back into reality, his brows down turning as he regarded Spencer with a curious frown before shaking his head. "Late. C'mon."

Spencer followed Hotch into the conference room, their entrance as routine as ever--or so he assumed. But the moment they stepped inside, something shifted. The air crackled with stifled laughter, a ripple of poorly contained snickers breaking out across the team.

He froze mid-step, confusion knitting his brow as he scanned the room. His gaze flitted from face to face, trying to uncover the source of their amusement. The laughter, he realized with growing bewilderment, was somehow aimed squarely at him.

His pulse quickened as self-awareness kicked in, and his eyes darted downward, trying to detect the anomaly that had captured everyone's damn attention. A loose thread? A stain? Panic bloomed in his chest as he mentally ticked through a list of possibilities. His sweater seemed intact--no wayward strings. His pants were fine, no errant coffee stains or wrinkles. And his hair--well, his hair always had a mind of its own, but it wasn't that unruly today. Right?

Bastards.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, what did I miss?"

Emily tried--and failed--to stifle her laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "I think you might need to go to look in the mirror, lover boy."

Spencer didn't bother questioning her. No explanation would be offered, at least not freely. He knew he'd get no real answers from this group, and honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted them at this point. Instead, he slipped out of the conference room and headed down the hall, his mind a muddled tangle of confusion.

He was so distracted--so consumed with trying to figure out what he'd missed--that he nearly missed the sound of quick, approaching footsteps. It was only at the last second that he looked up, just in time for you to collide with him. His hands moved instinctively, catching your waist as you stumbled forward, stopping you from toppling over.

Spencer's breath caught. Gods know if you'd fallen in those heels, you'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle. But you didn't fall. Instead, you let out a startled giggle as you looked up at him wide-eyed.

"Whoopsie," you said with a smile. "Hi there, handsome."

The instant the words left your lips, you clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting back a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

Spencer, even more bewildered, furrowed his brows in confusion. "Okay, what?"

"Hold still," you instructed, though your voice wavered between stifled giggles. You reached up for him, your fingertips hovering near his face.

He followed your hand with his eyes, still clueless, until you gently cupped his cheek. Whatever it was on his skin drew another wave of laughter from you, and in response, he prodded at your sides, each poke sending you into another fit of delighted squeals.

"Hey, that's not holding still, Dr.!" you gasped, halfheartedly swatting at his hands while you finished wiping away the last bit of whatever had clung to his face.

"Whoopsie daisy," you said again, still brushing invisible flecks from his cheek, your voice reminding him of what he envisioned sunshine poured into a teacup would manifest as. "Aw, Spence, looks like I kinda-sorta-maybe left a tiny little lipstick stain behind."

Your tone was drenched in honeyed innocence, as if this kind of thing just happened and you had no earthly clue how.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "Is that why I've been subjected to my team's thinly veiled harassment?"

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped as if you'd just witnessed a high crime. "They were giving you trouble? Oh my gosh!" You pressed your fingertips to your lips. "Do I need to have a word with them?"

The determination in your voice sounded all too serious, and he was a little scared that you were actually prepared to march back to that conference room in your pretty heels and give the entire BAU a piece of your mind.

Spencer nearly chocked on a laugh. Of all possible reactions, yours was the sweetest, most fiercely protective--and downright hilarious. He held up a hand in a placating gesture, lips curving into a boyish grin. 

"Hmm, I appreciate the offer," he murmured, gently tapping his chin with a finger as if considering it. "However, I think you might need to have a word with the real culprit who decided my face should double as her personal canvas this morning."

"Me?" You pressed a hand dramatically to your heart. "I would never! I mean, sure, I might've given you a million good-luck kisses before you left, and maybe one or two... or three of my lip gloss stains decided to stick around, but that's hardly my fault!"

You shifted your weight to the balls of your feet and wiggled your fingers in a helpless sort of gesture. "That's just how good my gloss is, y'know?"

"Right," he replied, voice quieter now, eyes warm as they traced your face. "Clearly the lip gloss is at fault. We'll have to issue it a stern warning later."

"Exactly! Don't blame poor, innocent me." You paused, lowering your voice conspiratorially, leaning close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume. "And if any of the team give you grief again, you know where to find me!"

Spencer hummed, placing a light hand on the small of your back, steering you gently away from the corridor.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, smiling as if the world had just aligned perfectly in that very hallway. "But for now, maybe we should try to make sure I get back to my meeting... gloss-free."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72

join my taglist here!

[lemonbaloni]

@daylightwarriorfan05

in small fandoms you need to be grateful to the person who only accidentally hit you twice with a frying pan while trying to make you breakfast. in big fandoms you can block people for wearing a shirt you don’t like

[seasprincess]

JJ fic. I'm thinking sweet smut. Like almost goofy because that's just who he is, rarely super serious. And he and reader just know each other so well that things can be goofy, even during sex and neither of them care. Unprotected (if you're good with that). Then maybe reader finds out she's pregnant. Worried to tell JJ. But he's so thrilled.

bf!jj

a/n: I loveeed this ask

warnings: smut, pregnancy, unprotected s3x (wrap it pookies), brain rot.

“Have you got a condom?” As soon as the words leave your mouth the blonde, that’s on top of you, head pops up. He looks at you slightly confused. His hands stoping the rubbing against your lacy panties.

“I thought you were bringing them?” JJ says, his blue eyes looking into yours as he suddenly remembers.

He was supposed to bring them.

“Fuck sake.” He sighs as he runs his head, this isn’t the first time he’s had to run out and buy them during this intimate moments. He just a forgetful guy.

“Fuck it.” You say, not even thinking about it twice. You need this. He’s been touching you for too long. “You’ve been edging me f-“

“Edging.” He cuts off with a little snort and a smile. He’s so unserious it’s insane.

“Stop.”

“Sorry.”

You look up at him and lean up, pressing your soft lips against his. Slowly his slips his tongue into your mouth as his hands continue to touch, rub and caress you. He’s being soft today.

But the way he’s fiddling with the zipper of his jeans is not soft nor slow. Of course it gets stuck, and he’s just there trying to rip it open. Trying to unjam it with some huffs and puffs.

While he’s doing that you’re pulling down your panties, the fold air against your core making you flinch a bit. Before you lay back down and he lays back on top of you.

“Are you sure?” He asks as he looks at you. This isn’t the first time you’ve done it without protection but every time he checks. Make sure you’re certain.

“Yes.” You say with a nod of your head. You just can’t wait any longer.

Slowly JJ enters your cunt, your tight walls sucking him in as you let at a moan. JJ jokes about his size to everyone. Saying how big he is. But they weren’t jokes.

“Fuck mama. So tight.” He says before placing a kiss on your neck. His thrusts picking up. His hand coming to your neck, not to choke you. But to make it easier to pick up his speed. “Such a good girl.”

Your walls clench around him as your eyes screw shut. Whimpers filling the space of your bedroom.

“Please don’t stop.” You breathe out as you instinctively grab onto the duvet, knuckles turning white as you look at him. His stupid face smirking down at you before reattaching to your neck.

His face practically lives there now. Hes always kissing and sucking on your neck.

JJ’s free hand slips between your legs and starts rubbing. Rubbing that sensitive bud of yours. His cock twitching inside your pussy.

It doesn’t take long for both you and JJ to cum. His thrust slowing down as he looks at you.

Both of you panting before the blonde just has to open his stupid mouth.

“That was so skibidi.”

“Oh my god.”

You can’t believe it.

‘This can’t be real.’ You think to yourself as you look at those two lines. The two lines that can either be a blessing or a curse.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sat on the bath mat of your bathroom. I mean you can’t have a baby. Can you? You’re only eighteen living at your parents house dating a guy who only recently learnt the difference between there, their and they’re.

You can’t be parents.

You just can’t.

“Baby I’m here to hang.” The sound interrupts your thoughts. the very guy you were just thinking about. Knocking a tune on your bathroom door.

You sniff and dry your eyes, trying to get rid of any sign that you were crying.

But JJ heard everything.

“Hey, yn? You okay?” His concern is evident in his tone. He cares about you more than you’d ever know.

The bathroom door slowly opens and your eyes meet the blondes. Slowly making his way to you, crouching down and placing his hands on your knees. You’re silent. You can’t speak. Don’t know what to say if you were to open your mouth.

So you just hold the test.

JJ’s eyes follow your gaze to the test. His breath catching in the back of his throat.

You want to know how he feels, is he angry? Upset? Disappointed?

Actually he’s none of them.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He says excitedly. Immediately you look at him. Shocked by this response. He’s happy?

“Yeah.” You say quietly.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He says louder and takes off his hat before standing up. Pacing the bathroom and smiling. Yapping about all the things he’s going to do. How excited he is to have a child.

You should’ve never been worried. You’re going to be parents.

[nereidprinc3ss]

please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them. 

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now. 

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate. 

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut. 

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination. 

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you. 

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.” 

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze. 

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists. 

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room. 

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer. 

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other. 

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat. 

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot. 

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi. 

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now? 

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks. 

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down. 

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances. 

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level. 

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago. 

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time. 

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction. 

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out. 

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion. 

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you. 

“Which part?”

All of it. 

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to. 

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts. 

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth. 

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment. 

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose. 

You never meant to like him so much. 

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore. 

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer. 

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave. 

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away. 

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse. 

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it. 

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear.  He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man. 

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly. 

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs. 

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it. 

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it. 

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on. 

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper. 

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse. 

A long moment goes by. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now. 

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears. 

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you. 

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door. 

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse. 

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder. 

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app. 

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features. 

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his. 

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe. 

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed. 

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks. 

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear. 

Just as he’d said. 

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid. 

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right. 

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant. 

You want to be fine. Constantly. 

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care. 

But you always have. And so fucking deeply. 

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed. 

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time. 

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat. 

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore. 

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again. 

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to. 

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now. 

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand. 

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be. 

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite. 

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both. 

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall. 

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

[illubean]

Walk Him Like a Dog!

In which Nerdjo is your roommate (eventually boyfriend) who will do anything for you <3

Characters: Satoru Gojo Type: Oneshot, Fem!Reader, can u tell I'm a sucker for College!AU

ignore the unserious ass images idk what to use for this 😭

Warnings: descriptions of reader's appearance (stuff like smooth skin or long lashes, nothing too specific), NSFW Reader discretion is advised (it’s probably skippable)

Gojo doesn't know how he's going to survive having you as a roommate.

He doesn't do all that well when it comes to the social scene. Sure, he's nice and accidentally charismatic, but he's only found few people who will listen to him talk about his hobbies without judgement. That being said though doesn't mean he's anti-social. Quite the opposite actually.

When Gojo posted about the vacancy in his apartment, it was because his previous roommate and best friend transferred schools, leaving him all alone in the space. The snowy haired male could easily afford to live on his own, but he couldn't stand to be completely by himself. Initially, he just expected some random guy would take the room, someone who he could be at least somewhat friends with (because lets be real, he can never and will never replace his moody bestie).

What he didn't expect, though, was a pretty thing like you messaging him to ask about the room. When you met at the campus cafe to chat before you made the final decision to move in, his jaw dropped as you settled in the seat across from him. It was like a scene out of a cheesy romance movie, or even that part in Lego Batman where he sees Barbara for the first time. Your hairstyle suited you perfectly, long lashes batting as he watched how your perfectly glossed lips moved when you spoke. He was so entranced he almost didn't catch what you said.

"Hey! Thanks for meeting up with me. I seriously need to move ASAP, I'm glad I saw your post before anyone else asked about it!"

"Uhm.......wow you're so...I mean yeah, how lucky!"

The poor guy practically had heart eyes while everything around you turned to glitter, emphasizing your features. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Gojo focused on you. It wasn't the first time he's seen you around. Often times you'd pass him on the way to class or around the dining hall, always with a friend. He always knew you were gorgeous but never bothered to approach you, concluding that you were way out of his league. And you were so much prettier up close.

You pretended not to notice his very obvious gawking. If it were any other man, you would've probably cussed him out and walked away by now. But it wasn't a secret that Gojo was cute; he also seemed pretty sweet in comparison to the douchey guys who approached you most of the time. You spent 15-20 minutes chatting with him before you had to run to your next class. He was happy things went well and you decided to take him up on his offer, arranging to move all of your stuff into his apartment the upcoming weekend.

About a month or so after you settled into your new living arrangement, Gojo was able to see sides of you no one but your closest friends know about. He got to learn more about your hobbies and little habits, like how on occasion you partake in what you call "floor time". He even got to watch how you stumbled out of your room and padded your way to the kitchen in the morning, sporting an atrocious bedhead and your cartoon pj pants. Even with eye crusties and sleep lines on your face, he still thought you were adorable.

The more time that passed by, Gojo fell harder and harder for you. He never planned to tell you about his feelings though; just seeing you go about your life in the shared space and having you around was enough. He couldn't risk the good thing he had going over a silly not so little crush.

Aside from being in love with you, living together and having you as a roommate was very pleasant. You made sure to keep things clean and never shied away from spending quality roommate time with Gojo. You also made it so that Gojo himself took better care of the space and his well being. All just by being there.

You guys grew to become pretty close friends. He would walk you to your classes whenever he had the chance, you would sit with him while he studies or plays his games and the two of you even had weekly movie and or TV show binge nights. Gojo always chose some nerdy superhero or fantasy movie with the occasional anime series, but you never really minded. During his free time, your tall companion rarely left the apartment. And if he did, it was usually just to accompany you. And you quickly realized that he rarely ever said no to you. Any time you asked him to drive you to the grocery store, hold your bag while you were out or even just simple things like helping you open a pickle jar he always did so with enthusiasm. He has never once complained about any of the tasks you ask of him, even if it was something ridiculous like rearranging the layout of your room ten times just to put everything back to the way it was before. He was always happy to help. After realizing how good he treats you, you quickly started falling for the man yourself. He really was a sweet boy, ever so helpful and kind and not to mention the cutest thing ever. You never missed the way his cheeks would dust a rosy shade whenever you were too close, or how he fidgets with his clothes when he’s feeling nervous. Even the light and passion in his eyes whenever he would geek out about the marvel franchise or whatever video game he was currently into was adorable. It was obvious there was mutual attraction between the two of you, but in order to have some fun you decided to see how far you could push his limits before everything would come out into the open.

You started by asking him for his opinion on small things, like what color shirt he liked better on you or if you should wear blue or black jeans. Then from there, it went to asking him about things on your computer (which you may or may not already know how to do). This would force him to either lean next to or above you while you sat in your desk chair, watching your screen and taking your mouse from you to fix whatever needed fixing. Then, you started asking for more risqué things, like helping you zip up the back of a dress or bringing you a towel that you so coincidentally forgot. You were always sure to thank him genuinely, which escalated from words, to hugs then to pecks on the cheek.

Every time you physically expressed your gratitude, Gojo would freeze up momentarily before offering a quiet “no problem” and retreating to whatever it was he was doing before. On one of your TV nights, you decided to amp things up a bit. Typically, the two of you sat a normal distance away from each other, but as the movie went on you would scootch closer and closer to him. The TV was currently playing whichever part of the Starwars trilogy; Gojo’s pick of course.

“Hey Toru, can you do me a favor?”

He glanced over at you, momentarily turning his attention away from the film to answer you with a smile.

“Yeah, whats up?”

“I’m kind of cold. Can we cuddle?”

His body stiffened as he turned a complete 90 degrees to face you, shoulders tense while he stammered out his response.

“ARE YOU SURE!? I mean- ahem…we can…if you want.”

You giggled at his response before sliding even closer to him, gently pushing him to lay against the armrest of the couch and settling atop him. You could hear his heartbeat quicken while his hands froze in the air for a moment, before awkwardly resting against your back.

“Why’re you so tense? I don’t bite.”

“Right.”

He let out a shaky breath before trying to relax into the couch, lanky limbs entangled with your own. Without tearing your eyes away from the TV screen, you readjusted yourself as well as Gojo, leading his arms to rest around your waist instead of awkwardly against your shoulder blades. You tucked your own arms around and underneath his midsection while you laid comfortably against his broad chest. For someone who didn’t go outside much, he was well built. You weren’t too interested in the movie choice for tonight, but pretended to be for Gojo’s sake. Allas, your attempts were futile as halfway through you ended up falling asleep, lulled by the soft badump badump badump of his hearbeat.

(nsfw below)

After that night, Gojo avoided you like the plague. You were beginning to worry that you may have pushed his boundaries too far. Maybe you read him wrong and he wasn’t interested in you the way you thought. But in reality, that couldn’t be any farther from the case. After getting to cuddle with who Gojo swears is the most beautiful woman on the planet, he couldn’t think about anything else. You were on his mind constantly, often invading his dreams at night and he was too embarrassed to face you. Especially when those dreams became…not so wholesome. He felt bad about thinking of you in this way, he really did. But he just couldn’t help himself. Especially when the weather was shifting and getting warmer. Now, you often opted to sleep in tiny tank tops or shorts, 99% of the time without a bra. This left little to the imagination.

In the late hours of the night, Satoru would pathetically stroke his cock to the thought of you; his pretty little roommate sleeping in the next room. A small part of him thinks you know what you do to him, but the greater portion chalks it all up to you just being friendly, and he was just some disgusting pervert. Satoru whimpers, feeling unimaginably guilty but he just can’t stop. Every night since you watched Starwars together, he would retreat to his room and rub his sad, weeping dick raw to the thought of you. Tonight, his fantasies were running particularly wild. He imagined it were your hand working him instead of his own, imagining the way you would plant kisses against him and tell him how good he’s doing. With a needy whine, Satoru erupted all over his hand and lower abdomen, panting as he leaned against the headboard of his bed.

His body relaxed while he came down from his high, only to tense up again at the sound of his door being slammed open.

“Toru, are you okay!? I heard a-“

You stopped in your tracks as the both of you stared at each other, wide eyed. Satoru was frozen in horror as your eyes trailed down from his own, settling on the pretty length between his legs as it began to stiffen back up again. The initial shock on your face wore off and turned into a sly smirk, causing Satoru to stutter out some lame excuse while he felt heat creep up his neck and engulf his face.

“I’m sorry- it’s not what it looks like!”

Ignoring his embarrassed rambling, you made your way into the room and settled on the bed next to him. Your thigh was pressed flush against his own as you leaned closer to his ear, hand gently grasping his shaft. You felt it twitch beneath your touch, smiling while you whisper into his ear.

“Aww, is this why you’ve been so awkward around me? Y’know, all you had to do was ask.”

Satoru shivered, feeling the way your breath fanned against his face, lips moving to press fluttering kisses against his neck. Pathetic mewls spilled from his lips, feeling jolts of pleasure course through his body at the feeling of your soft hand slowly caressing the angry, pink tip of his cock.

Was this really happening?

His half lidded eyes watched your hand leisurely move up and down as his mind turned to mush. He was broken out of his trance by the feeling of your other hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, turning him to face you before swallowing every noise that came from him. Your lips felt so good against his, so soft.

This was better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. From the minute you barged into his room, Satoru was completely engulfed in you. Engulfed in your presence, your stare, and now your touch. The sweet scent of your body wash was comforting as he listened to himself moan against your lips. Taking advantage of this, you pushed your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his own. Everything felt hot. Everything from the burning of his ears, to the warmth where your skin touched his, and now, the fire within his abdomen running its course to his second orgasm of the night. Satoru’s hips bucked up into your gentle fist, stuttering as ropes of white hot cum shot from his shaft. This time around, it landed higher onto his tummy than it did before, a broken and muffled “mnffhh” buzzing against your lips. Pulling away from the kiss, you didn’t miss how his lips seemed to chase yours nor the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes.

Letting go of his softening length, your finger swiped up some of the cooling cum off of his sticky tip and brought it to your lips for a taste. Satoru watched you with his ocean colored eyes, glazed over with more than just lust. Your other hand caressed soothing circles at the nape of his neck, fingers threaded through his undercut.

“Toru baby, can you do another favor for me?”

Feeling weak in his post nut haze, all he can muster is a small nod as his swollen lips quivered.

“Only let me see you like this. No one else.”

The next morning, Gojo was almost convinced everything that happened was all a dream. He woke up alone in his bed, the only proof that you could’ve been there was that he was cleaned up and tucked under his covers. Groggily, he swung his legs over the side of his way and dragged himself to the kitchen. The smell of miso soup wafted towards him and he saw you stood in front of the stove.

“G’morning Toru,” you greeted softly, smiling over your shoulder. “Breakfast should be done soon. Come, taste this for me.”

The male blinked a couple of times, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. How could you be so normal right now? Ignoring his inner thoughts, he’s quick to obey you as you spoon fed him some of the soup.

‘S’good,” he says, yawning and making his way to sit at the table. If you were going to play it cool and pretend things didn’t happen last night, then so would he.

After breakfast the two of you went about your days like you normally would. No matter how much Gojo told himself he was fine with not talking about last night, it was eating him alive as time passed by. It wasn’t until the two of you were getting ready for bed that his resolve snapped. He slowly peeked his head into your room, spotting you doing your skincare routine at your vanity.

“You need something?” you asked, offhandedly, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror.

“About last night…did that….mean anything to you?”

His cheeks flushed as he recalled the events from before. He cursed his body for getting worked up again. He was trying to have a serious conversation with you, damn it!

Finishing up the application of your moisturizer, you stood from in front of your vanity to make your way to the door and pull Satoru inside.

“Of course it did,” you respond, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “I’m just waiting on you, big guy.”

Satoru practically melted upon the feeling of your lips against his again, expression switching from worried to a lovestruck, dopey smile. It wasn’t for a few moments did the actually process what you said last.

Waiting on me? For what?

You watched as the gears turned in that pretty head of his, his puzzled face quickly lighting up in realization as if a lightbulb were turned on above him.

“Oh, right! Can I please be your boyfriend!?”

You laughed at his excitement, giving him the answer he wanted to hear for so long. You could almost imagine a pair of fluffy ears perking up from the top of his head and a tail wagging happily behind him. You pressed one last kiss against his lips before pushing him out your room door.

“See you tomorrow, boyfriend.”

As time passed, Satoru started to go out more and more, never once leaving your side. This resulted in him being around your friends as well, which caused him to gain more attention and popularity. Your group wasn’t the most stereotypical popular kids; most just being known from sports or student organizations. Even though you weren’t that known, now that Satoru was part of the rather large friend group, other people began to notice him.

Especially other girls.

It wasn’t a secret that the two of you dating, but you also didn’t make it a point to go around and announce it twenty-four seven either. Anyone with a brain and eyes would be able to tell you were together though, especially with the way Satoru always seemed to be attached to your hip and looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That didn’t stop certain girls though.

One of them was feeling particularly ballsy today, approaching where he sat in the dining hall while waiting for you to come back from the bathroom. To anyone else, she was obviously flirting with him. But poor, little, no-experience-with-other-girls Satoru didn’t pick up on it. He held conversation with her until you came back, an eyebrow raised and scowl on your face.

“Oh, hey baby! This is (random name) she’s a transfer student,” he said, beaming as if nothing were wrong. Turning to the other girl, he said “This is my amazing, beautiful girlfriend who I love so much! Maybe the two of you can be friends.”

The girl blinked a couple of times before stiffening under your intense glare. She stammered out some cheap excuse before leaving, which Satoru bought with no questions. The rest of lunch went on normal save for the bitterness you were feeling. You couldn’t even be that mad at your clueless boyfriend; it’s not his fault he was so kind and couldn’t pick up on social ques! He noticed your unusual quietness, asking you if you were alright. You dismissed him, saying you were just tired and you were going to head back to the apartment while he attended his next class.

When Satoru got home, he was expecting you to greet him like you do every time, but the only thing he was greeted by was silence. Around this time you’d usually be on the couch watching your favorite show or maybe doing work on the floor next to the coffee table. Confused for a moment, he concluded that maybe you were sleeping. You did say you were tired, right? You were probably just napping. He quietly crept towards your room and pushed the door open to see you wrapped up in your blankets. Your phone was propped up in front of you playing whatever random youtube video you found after doomscrolling for who knows how long. Happy to see you, your white haired boyfriend was quick to jump into bed next to you and hold your blanket-cocooned body close to him.

“Hi baby!”

“Hi, Satoru,” you grumbled, not doing as much as turning to look at him.

Wait.

‘SATORU’!?

After hearing what you called him, the man screams. Genuinely screams. Who are you and what did you do to his loving, doting girlfriend!? He wasted no time in flipping you over on to your back, hovering above you and looking into your eyes. You were caged beneath him, still sulking and pouting about what happened at lunch today.

“SATORU!!?!?!? What did I ever do to my beautiful, wonderful princess with a disorder to be called by such a name!?”

“That stupid girl from earlier was totally hitting on you!” you whined.

You swear his head could’ve popped like a balloon right now and immediately grown back with how quickly his expression shifted from concerned, to shocked then appalled.

“Oh hell no! How dare she hit on me when I have my pookie right here!? I will literally get your face tattooed on my chest so if a woman ever dare to approach me I’d rip my shirt open like superman to show it off then start barking! ‘Stay away, I’m taken!!!!!’”

“…then they would get to see your chest.”

“Okay nevermind, maybe that’s not a good idea.”

You laughed at him before wiggling your arms out of the blanket cocoon to hug him. How could you stay mad when he was so cute? A wide smile stretched across Satoru’s face as he stopped supporting his own body weight, flopping on top of you and returning your embrace.

“You’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“M’not mad anymore. I might have to get you a collar though, make sure everyone knows you’re mine,” you joked.

Little did you know that Satoru was now plotting something.

It’s been a while since that girl approached Satoru, never returning and thus causing you to forget all about it. Your boyfriend stayed true to his word, screaming and barking at whatever girl tried to hit on him after that like a lunatic. You really couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing at this point. Unfortunately for you, it was a friday and you had class while Satoru was off for the week. He walked with you to your first class of the day like he always does then returned home to do whatever it is he spends his time on while you’re away.

Typically, he would laze around the apartment, yelling at people online while playing first person shooters or rewatching every single Batman movie for the billionth time. But today, he had something else in mind. Today happened to be your 3-monthaversary. Very middle school esque, but Satoru couldn’t help it. You were his first everything and the only girl on his mind. He spent the day decorating his room, scattering rose petals down the hall and setting his LED lights to red, aka the freaky color.

“Toru, I’m home-“ you stopped in your tracks after walking through the door. All the lights in the house were off, save for the little battery operated tea candles leading to your boyfriend’s room. You were confused, but followed the candles and rose petals nonetheless. Upon entering his room, you saw heart shaped balloons floating about the space, more rose petals on his bed with your Toru lying propped up on his side in the middle of it all. He’s shirtless with a rose between his teeth and a gift basket in front of him. You couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at the sight.

“You dork, what’s this all about?”

"Today marks three months of us being together. Now come get your present!"

You laughed again, this time amused by his enthusiasm, and sat in front of him on the bed. There were so many different things in the gift basket he so lovingly put together for you. There were snacks, refills of your favorite makeup and skincare products, your favorite scented candle and a cute little plushy. In between all those things was a long, short box that you couldn't even begin to guess what was in it.

You glanced up at your boyfriend who was buzzing with excitement before opening it. Upon removing the lid, inside was a baby blue collar with a heart shaped tag on it. You raised an eyebrow in confusion before flipping the tag over to read what it said.

'If lost please return to Y/n L/n'

Your gaze switched between the collar and your boyfriend a couple times before putting two and two together.

“Well…that one’s kind of for me….but it’s still your gift!”

“C’mere then! Let me put it on you,” you beckoned him closer with a smirk.

Satoru wastes no time in leaning closer to you, head tilted up slightly so you can wrap the collar around his neck and buckle it at the front. You sat back to admire the sight of it around his neck, the blue leather matching the very shade of his eyes. You caressed his hair and moved your hand down to his cheek, cooing while he leaned into your touch. After a while of this, your hand moves down to his new collar, giving it a gentle tug towards yourself which elicits a whimper from the male before you. Amused by this, you pressed your lips against his own, keeping your grip around the leather adorning his pretty neck.

Satoru continued to whine and moan into your lips, always being this vocal whenever he’s feeling hot and bothered. You pulled away from him, looking into his half lidded, pleading eyes.

“Oh, my sweet boy. I can’t believe you’d actually wear this for me.”

“Mmmh, I’d do anything for you,” he responds, trying desperately to press his lips back against your own, only to be stopped by the force of your grip around his collar. You chuckled at his needy yelp, lying down on the bed and gently ushering him on top of you. His hands roamed your body while you pulled him back into a kiss, pawing at your tummy, chest or whatever bare skin he could get his hands on. Growing even more needy by the second, Satoru decided that wasn’t enough and started to tug all of your clothes off. You let the white haired man do his thing before helping him shimmy his own remaining clothes off, leaving the both of your bare bodies pressed against each other. Satoru rested his body weight atop of you, slowly rutting his hips against your thigh, silently begging you for what he should do next. His head was resting against your chest, glossy blue orbs looking up at you through his long lashes that batted at you every time he blinked.

Grabbing him by his collar again, this time with both hands, you yanked him back up to be eye level with you once more. The man before you yelped in surprise, cock twitching against you at your newfound roughness.

“Go on, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice as he wasted no time into slipping inside of you. He shivered at the feeling of your slick walls engulfing him, shutting his eyes tight as he focused on building a rhythm. His mouth fell open into an ‘o’ shape, thrusting himself into you slow and soft. Unsatisfied with this, you decided you had to bring your boyfriend back down to earth. Satoru’s eyes snapped open and he was awoken from his daze by the sharp sound of a ‘slap!’ and the stinging sensation in his left cheek. He let out a loud moan and his hips bucked up into you before stilling completely, trying his hardest not to cum then and there.

“Eyes on me, pretty boy.”

Shifting his gaze back up to you and seeing that pretty smirk you always wore, he couldn’t help himself for much longer. Wrapping his arms around your waist he quickly began plowing himself into your dripping cunt, doing nothing to contain the breathy ‘aah’s and ‘ohh’s slipping past his kiss bitten lips. He did as he was told, holding eye contact with you as long as he could. Every time his gaze began to slip away or fade out of focus, he was always brought back by the warm buzz each time your palm struck him. Despite your rough behavior, you continued to let out loud moans of your own as a way to let your darling boyfriend know he was doing a good job.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the rhythmic squeaking of his bed frame and the sticky ‘plap! plap! plap!’ of his hips meeting yours. Satoru’s body was flushed a pretty shade of pink, skin coated in a sheen of sweat that clung to your own. A mischievous grin spread across your face, letting out an amused laugh when you pinched one of his pert nipples and his hips began to stutter.

“Mmmnh! Noooo, do that and I’ll cum!”

Ignoring his plea you continued your ministrations, legs locking around his hips and trapping him against you. His moans began to grow both in volume and pitch, signaling that he won’t last much longer.

“Cum with me! Fill me up, Toru!”

His pelvis snapped against you one last time, pressing his cock so deep inside you he might puncture a lung. Hot, sticky spurts of seed spilled into you as his back arched into you, head leaning back as far as your grip on his new collar allowed it to. Your legs tightened around him as well, keeping him pressed flushed against you as your weepy pussy gushed around him. Your juices mixed with his load, slowly dripping out from around the base of Satoru’s cock, leaving a creamy mess between your legs.

You let go of his collar and brought both hands up to cup his cheeks, whispering soft praises as you peppered kisses around his face.

“You did so well. My Toru always knows how to please.”

____________________________________________________________________________

taglist :) @sorenflyinn @ilovesugurugeto69 @iheartpotatoes @shutuppeter

it wasn't working for mobile sooo hopefully switching to my computer worked

[a-spes]

And you are not hard to love, no one is.

You are lovable.

[therealpie02]

Caleb as dad and lovely husband ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡⋆

my headcanons//fluff, pregnancy, slight smut

Caleb was waiting and afraid of your pregnancy, but hugging you after the positive test, he promised himself and you that he would never leave you.

It was hard for Caleb to watch you suffer from hourly toxicosis. When you were feeling a little better for a couple of minutes, he would bare your stomach and talk to the baby, asking him to be gentle with you.

He realized with renewed vigor that he was going to become a father when you put on a black fitted dress that accentuated your rounded tummy. You didn't go anywhere that night. From then on, Caleb kissed your tummy whenever he could.

Oh yeah, he went out at three o'clock in the morning to the store for pickles, ice cream, hot sauce, chocolate and others just because you wanted to eat it all together. Caleb watched how delicious you were eating a pickle dipped in ice cream and smiled.

Caleb was almost late for your son's birth because of his job. He came running to you and apologized many times, stroking your head with his hand, pressing his forehead against yours.

He tried to ease your pain by kissing your hand, cheek, forehead, nose, but he was ready to cry from how much you were in pain.

Caleb didn't want to leave your side, even when the midwives asked him to take the baby. He took his son only after your request and felt like the happiest man in the world.

When the baby was sleeping in his room, Caleb thanked you for your efforts while he was deep inside you. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want more children.

So you were arguing in the kitchen about how many children you were going to have. You fed Arthur yogurt and insisted that you have one child, to which Caleb grinned and held up five fingers. You agreed with him in your heart, but a spoonful of yogurt landed on his face faster than you thought. And you didn't expect that you were already pregnant.

When you found out, you were 3 months pregnant. Caleb was standing next to you with son in his arms, hugging you tightly. He didn't say a word, it was written all over his face how grateful he was to you.

Arthur was a real mom's boy. And it was ironic, he was a replica of Caleb and apparently loved you as much as his father did. Sometimes the son attacked Caleb with his small hands and toothless mouth. Okay, he almost always did that. Caleb just smiled and said, "It's all the genes. And he doesn't get the urge to fight from me."

During your second pregnancy, you could eat anything and not feel sick. You started worrying about your body, but Caleb pushed all these bad thoughts away. His passion for you was still the same, even more so. Sometimes you had to drive him away from your breast when lactation started again.

"Stop it, or my son will have nothing left!" you begged him as he sucked on your sensitive nipple while his fingers teased the other. Caleb was thrilled to see the plaid ruined by your juices between your legs and your milk. "Good girl, you fed me well, please do it again when you cum on my face.”

When you went into labor, Caleb had the day off. He was almost not nervous, collecting your bags and Arthur. "Go, go, go, hurry up, you'll get in the car, I'll get in the car.. Arthur, don't bite daddy, you're getting in the car too, despite the second degree bite."

Asher was also born a copy of his father. Caleb once joked that you give birth to children like a printer.

You've been a great team, and Caleb has been a wonderful father. However, sometimes you would come into the room and watch Caleb fall asleep before the children. You laughed a lot about how he fell asleep with Arthur's favorite teddy bear in his arms, and Arthur tried his best to take the toy back.

You liked watching Asher, having learned to walk, rush to meet his dad. It was a touching moment when Caleb squatted down and opened his arms for him, hugging him tightly afterwards. Arthur usually stood next to you and continued to eat his apple.

You rarely spent nights together without the whims of the children. When the nights were calm, Caleb let you rest and sleep without insisting on sex. One day you really wanted to feel his warmth, his scent, his length inside you. He was playing a console game when you approached him in just your bathrobe.

You opened your robe and said, "I'm tired, let's go to bed." Without looking at you, he replied: "Sure, pipsqueak, I'll look after the ki-" At that moment, he saw you naked and, throwing the remote aside, jumped up to you.

You weren't surprised by the third pregnancy, you were surprised by the ultrasound result. The twins. Boys. You slowly turned your head towards Caleb, on whose lap your sons were sitting. He dared to look at you with apologetic eyes.

During this pregnancy, you didn't want to hear logical solutions to problems from him, you just wanted to cry into his chest a lot, and it was better for him to keep quiet.

Arthur came up to you and asked, "Mommy, why do you have such a huge belly?" You glared at Caleb, who was playing dice with Asher, and replied, "He fed me a double portion of dumplings." Caleb, hearing your answer, giggled, but stopped when he saw Arthur running at him with a toy gun, who shouted "Dad, why did you feed mommy?!"

Of course, you later explained to Arthur that there are two more brothers inside his Mom.

Daniel and David were like you. Caleb, picking them up for the first time, was glad to notice your hair color on their little heads.

You've been watching the twins on a video camera mounted above their crib. One night, you noticed Daniel climbing over the side of the crib and playing with David. Caleb gently ruffled your hair and said that he climbed over to you in much the same way to be near and protect you. You hugged him back and didn't let go for a very long time.

That night, everyone except the twins lay down on your huge bed. Arthur fell asleep, hugging Caleb and snoring into his chest. Caleb pointed at him with his eyes, saying, "Look, we have a truce." You giggled, stroking Asher's head. Then you touched Caleb's cheek and said, "I love you." He took your hand in his and replied, "I love you." A small tear flowed down your cheek from happiness that he and your children are all together. That you're alive and in love with each other.

The time came when all the children went to kindergarten. It was the first time you returned to an empty apartment, and it was unusual for both of you to be in complete silence. "I miss them," Caleb blurted out. You turned to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long kiss. "Is this a hint that it's time for us to start making a daughter?" Caleb asked with a sly grin, after which you began to undress.

You were sitting on the couch and stroking your pregnant tummy. You were eating ice cream and watching Caleb, who was sincerely trying to calm the fighting twins. "Oh, you know what, whatever you want, one two three fight," he raised his hand and stood up, leaving the twins. The twins did not fight among themselves, they went to fight with their older brothers.

Caleb settled himself comfortably next to you, his nose nuzzling your neck. "How are my girls?" his hand stroked your stomach. "Your daughter wants another ice cream," Caleb sighed heavily, but obeyed your order and pulled out a 10 pack of ice cream from the freezer.

Caleb fell in love with Iris at first sight. She had his hair, your eyes, your nose, and his ears. He couldn't get enough of his long-awaited daughter and even cried when he picked her up in his arms.

Caleb was sitting on the floor, his legs were numb, glitter was getting into his eyes, and lipstick was sticking to his lips, but he continued to smile at his two-year-old daughter, who was pouring him an impromptu cup of tea. He heard Arthur's laughter and looked in his direction. Arthur stood with his phone and said, "This will become the main meme." However, it wasn't just Caleb who noticed Arthur.

Arthur, with pink lips and flower-shaped hairpins, sat next to his father and asked for more tea from Iris. Then Asher and the twins joined in, and they were also unlucky enough to catch their sister's eye. You stood in the back and giggled, taking pictures of them. Definitely, Iris was the leader of your family.

[peaceqi]

giving zayne head :3

pairing: zayne x afab!reader (fem)

genre: smut, pwp, oneshot

warnings: MDNI (18+), oral sex (m!receiving), rough sex, face fucking, hair pulling, dubcon if you squint, cum eating, established relationship

word count: ~1k

guys i just want to suck this man's dick idk what to tell you

zayne is much more of a giver than a receiver, hence why he never lets you go down on him. "i don't wanna hurt you," is always the excuse he uses. and to his credit, he was big, so his concern was kind of warranted. but tonight, he came home from the hospital particularly stressed out. plus, there was something about him when his hair is disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and his tie slightly loosened that drove you feral. how could you watch your poor zayne, who is always serving you—eating you out until you're gasping for air and pleading him to stop—in such a state, and not want to...relieve some of his stess.

so after a bit of convincing (begging), he gave in. despite his surface level resistance, it was hard to say no to the thought of you looking up at him with his cock stuffed in your mouth, eyes watering as you're barely able to wrap your lips around his thick shaft.

you sit on top of him, straddling his hips. you gently bite down on his bottom lip, running your tongue along the sensitive skin. you hold back a moan as you feel his erection press up against your clit. you move down, kissing his neck and defined chest, his shirt long gone at this point.

you inch downwards towards his crotch to find his erection tenting at the restrictive fabric. you stare hungrily at his clothed cock, gulping in anticipation. unable to contain your excitement, you start unbuckling his belt. zayne chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and slides out of his pants.

now in his underwear, his bulge was much more apparent. you press against his erection with your palm, teasing him with slow strokes through his underwear. he lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine.

you remove your hand and playfully give him a few pecks through the thin fabric, before slipping your fingers underneath the waistband. you tug at his underwear, pulling it downwards until his painfully erect cock springs out. he was big. you wonder for a second how you’ve ever been able to fit it all inside you. he was already leaking precum and practically twitching with arousal. if he wasn’t so tired, he’d love to fuck you into the morning.

you wrap your hands around his thick shaft, bringing his cock towards your mouth. zayne shivers as he feels your breath graze his sensitive tip. “don’t strain yourself too much,” he warns.

“you worry too much," you reply.

you proceed to lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, your tongue sliding across the slit, tasting the slight saltiness of his precum. he lets out a deep sigh, as if all the tension that had been building throughout the day melted away. you wrap your lips around the tip, slowly sinking down on his shaft. your mouth is stretched as wide as possible as you stuff it full of his girth. you continue to push down on his length until his tip is pushing against the back of your throat.

you let out a muffled moan. "fuck," he sighs, shuttering in response to the vibrations on his dick. his fingers comb through your hair and grasp at the roots.

you slide back up and your lips release their grip on his cock. "look at me," he demands. he pulls your hair backwards, raising your head towards him. you look up at him through lidded eyes, lips glistening from saliva. "such as pretty girl," he coos.

he brings your head back to his cock and you start to bob up and down. you move agonizing slow at first. partly to tease him, but also to let your mouth adjust to his size. his hand follows your rhythm, applying gentle pressure. the feeling of your warm, wet mouth slipping up and down his cock was to die for. it took everything in him not to just fuck your face.

as your mouth gets accustom to the stretch his thick cock, you speed up your pace. you maintain a tight suction on his dick, making it hard for him to last long. you slide your tongue across the tip, the stimulation making him buck his hips up.

he watches you with his mouth slightly agape as you make his cock disappear into your mouth. his grip on your hair gets tighter, "fuck, you take me so well." you feel a flutter in your lower stomach in response to his praise. as you slide upwards on his shaft, you take his dick out of your mouth. you make eye contact with him as you gently tap his tip on your bottom lip, before sliding your mouth back down. you hum in response as you continue bobbing your head.

he wants to be gentle, but he can’t help but to thrust shallowly into your mouth. your eyes water as you take his length deep inside your throat. he can tell by the shuttering of his hips that he’s close.

you feel a familiar stickiness in between your legs as you soak through your panties. it drove you crazy seeing him come undone in your mouth. both of your hands were occupied, stroking zayne's cock. it felt like torture not being able to touch yourself.

his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. "i-i'm gonna cum," he strains, "you're such a dirty fucking girl. you want me to cum in that pretty little mouth?"

you moan and nod your head as you chase his release, taking his length faster and deeper. all you can think about it tasting his spend on your tongue.

his grip on your hair is tight in his fist as he pushes your head down roughly. the movement of his hips get more erratic before he lets out a loud groan, reaching his peak. his cock throbs as he spills his seed into your mouth. you taste the warm, salty liquid as it hits your tongue. he continues to thrust, fucking his cum into your mouth.

his movement slows to a stop as he comes down from his high. his breathing is heavy, like he just ran a marathon. you slide your lips off of his cock, struggling to contain all of his seed. you make eye contact with him as you swallow, wiping the excess cum on the side of your mouth.

he smiles at you, pulling you upwards and into a kiss. "i'm sorry i was so rough. this is why i always refuse you." he cups your face and turning it to inspect each side.

you shoo his hand away, "see, i'm fine! i'm tough, you know."

"hmm, i don't know. i think i'm gonna have to check every inch of you just to make sure," he gives your neck a few pecks on each side before trailing downwards.

he notices the wet patch on your underwear and kisses your cunt through the fabric, breathing you in. he slides his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties.

"i thought you were feeling tired!" you whine in protest.

"well, someone was able to replenish my energy." he presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in circles. your cunt throbs and you inhale sharply at the stimulation.

"plus," he smirks, "i'm someone who always repays his debts."

[luveline]

WOULD LOOOVE to see badass reader get jealous over someone flirting with spencer

ty for requesting ♡ —spencer reassures you when he catches the eye of a receptionist at the ocean city precinct. fem!reader, 1.3k

Hotch lives on coffee lately. Any type from any source, he doesn't care what it tastes like so long as it keeps him awake. You're similar, in that even if you hated it, you'd keep it to yourself. 

But you're frowning in disgust at your cup. Eyebrows wrinkled, lips in a fierce line. Hotch sighs and puts his hand on the back of your chair. "Are you alright?" he asks. 

You've never told him otherwise. "Fine. Thank you." 

"There's water in my bag," he offers. You won't meet his eyes. You probably have a headache. "And aspirin." 

For as long as he's known you and worked with you, you've been as you are now, quiet, stern, with little sense of humour at work and not much more outside of it. The only evidence of your soft heart is how you work like a dog, and how you treat your coworker, Spencer. He's your achilles heel, your tender spot in all the tough scarring. Hotch knows there's nothing anyone can do to make you feel better if they aren't him. 

Hotch turns on the spot to look for him. The case you're working on here in Maryland has hit a lul, and exhausted faces peek out from behind their desks at Hotch's looking. He searches for the short mop of brown hair that's required and finds it in an unusual place. 

Spencer has been waylaid by a receptionist. Glimmering eyes, shiny silver fingernails that tap the desk in front of her as she speaks, the receptionist clearly has Spencer hanging on. He takes a step back and she doubles down, her storytelling audible from across the room. 

"You'll have to see it for yourself, Dr. Reid, it's a sight!" 

Hotch looks at you from the corner of his eye. "I see." 

"Don't know what you're talking about," you mutter. You stand and tip your coffee into the bin, letting the cup fall in after it morosely. 

"Why don't you go and help Reid?" Hotch asks. 

"Help Reid what?" you ask. Your tone betrays you —jealousy, sure, that slight crisp to your words that must hurt on the way out, but worse is the weakness as your sentence ends. You're jealous, and it's upsetting you. "I don't think I want to help him with that." 

Derek swings into the sequestered space you've been using to operate and beams at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking. 

"Isn't it surprising how quiet he can be? Years of catching bad guys and he can't say no to a pretty woman," Derek says, giving you a knowing look.

You and Derek have a half-hearted rivalry in that he loves to flirt and you disapprove. Your soft spot extends solely to Spencer no matter how hard Derek tries to sway you, though as you and Spencer have gotten closer, you've softened.

Hotch thinks that Derek's teasing might erase any progress that's been made. 

"Morgan," he says reproachfully. 

Derek makes a who, me? face but quickly gives in. "Why don't you go save him?" he asks you. 

"He doesn't need saving. Spencer is a grown man who can make his own choices," you say quietly. 

Hotch bites his tongue. Thankfully, Derek speaks up, without any teasing. "Spencer's been expected to  know how to do things without any help since he was a kid. I really think he just doesn't know how to walk away." 

You look down at your hands. Hotch has been doing his job for a long time, and he can guess what you're thinking from a misaligned finger. You don't feel like you measure up to the woman at reception. You're insecure about Spencer's affection for you, because you can't understand why he likes you so much to begin with. Hotch has thought it about Haley, Derek of Savannah. It's a very human doubt.

"Spencer tends to stand straight," Hotch says, bringing the lip of his paper cup up. "Right now, he's leaning away." 

It's in as simple terms as he can put it without outright telling you that he really, truly believes that Spencer wouldn't bother with anyone who isn't you. That Spencer loves you in the young, all encompassing way, even though neither of you seems to have realised the depth of it yet. 

Confident, no air of the girl frowning down at her hands, you leave the nook to approach Spencer from behind. 

"Hi," Hotch hears you say, "you okay?" 

Spencer visibly relaxes. "Hey, I'm fine. Uh, Y/N, this is Anabelle. Annabelle, this is my partner, Y/N." 

"Partner?" Derek asks. 

It's news to Hotch. Perhaps news to you, if the way you take his hand is any hint. It's like you've never held it before, and Hotch knows you have, he's seen you linking pinkies under tables. 

You strangle his fingers with yours. Spencer doesn't move an inch.

"She was just telling me about the sightseeing you can do here. Have you ever seen the world's longest worm on a string?" he asks you. 

"Hi, Annabelle," you say, turning to Spencer with poorly masked whiplash. "We're gonna try narrowing the search radius." 

"Oh, right." Spencer lets go of your hand in favour of putting a hand behind your shoulder, saying his thank yous and goodbyes to Annabelle before guiding you back to the makeshift BAU base camp. "What took you so long?" 

"What took me so long?" you ask.

"I thought you liked me!" Spencer says, teasing, his voice pitching higher. "I didn't know how to tell her I've already read the pamphlet she was quoting. She seemed nice though, right?" 

"She seemed nice, Spence," you agree, a little wobbly still but a thousand times less sullen than before. "I– of course I like you, you know I like you. Right?" 

Hotch is proud of Spencer for how remarkably he responds. Spencer puts his body between you and Hotch and Derek where they're standing to offer you the privacy you prefer, dropping his voice to match your tentativeness. "Yeah, I know. I was kidding. I think they'd have to reassess my position on this team if I didn't know that." He grabs your arm, thumb pressing into the crook of your elbow. "Are you okay?"

"I thought maybe she was flirting with you." 

Spencer shrugs uneasily. "Maybe. It wouldn't make a difference to me. Do you know that?" 

Your head dips down. Hotch can't hear what you say, honestly, he doesn't want to know. Eavesdropping on the people he cares about in their unhappy moments isn't something he makes a habit of, but it's hard not to hear Spencer's response. "Don't say that," he murmurs. "That's not true… We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You clear your throat. "Yeah. Whatever you want."

Derek doesn't hide that he's been listening very well, pulling a crime scene document up to his eye line as you and Spencer pull apart. Your eyebrows furrow into a glare, but it's Spencer who says, "What?" 

Hotch bites back a smile. Derek grins and holds his hands up in surrender. 

"Just nice to see you taking care of my favourite girl," he smarms.

"Stop. You're extremely unprofessional," Spencer says, helping you into your seat unnecessarily.

"And you're not?" Derek asks, gesturing to his hand where it lingers behind your shoulders. 

You finally chip in, apparently back to your regular self. "Only one of us was responsible for a unit wide HR mandate about inappropriate behaviour." 

"You cannot keep bringing that up." 

"Why not?" 

Hotch takes a sip of his tepid coffee. He'd rather not get involved.