#domestic fluff fic

[dmitriene]

cw: age gap (legal but not specified), mentions of readers virginity, just two people in love.

simon ghost riley doesn't think he's ugly outside, but he does think he is inside, too rotting comparing to you, so much more sweeter when you flutter your eyelashes at him and brush your fingers against his biceps in fleeting touches, trying so sweetly to gain the attention he doesn't let himself give you.

you're younger, it's visible in the lines on your face and cheerful smiles you flash him, in polite behavior that you keep up when you talk with elders, not yet on the same line of age with them, in how you call him sir and make his whole body shudder as it slips from your plump lips, and it's shouldn't make his cock chub up.

simon knows you're not a baby, you're a capable young woman, and even his friends date girls looking like you, but he feels like his hand are too dirty, bloodstained and calloused from the years of military service, his face is rugged and he can't even keep his stubble shaved properly, a mess of a man.

but you gaze at him with heart shaped pupils and trail around him like affectionate kitten, rubbing yourself all over him for at least one bit of attention, and the way you erupt in giddy smiles and sincere giggles when he garners you these bits.

pats at your head or accepts some baked treats you made, and there's something acidic behind his ribs, little sparks that instead of smoking erupts in licking flames, burning scorching hot across his whole body, and he's so addicted it's embarrassing to voice out, forbidden fruit is always sweet.

you were throwing yourself willingly at simon, and when he accepts your shy invitation to keep you an evening company in some town pub, where you sit under dim light on plush leather couch, body adorned with tight fitting dress that is too revealing for your usual attires, simon let's himself snap.

he knows it's all for him, the fabric ridding up all the way your plush thighs, pressed together when you squirm and tug it down, just so you won't sit with you ass bare on the leather, simon fists his hands until they whiten on his thighs as he tugs at his jeans, suddenly too tight.

all for him, the way you lean against the table, as if to hear him better, teasing your teeth at the plump flesh of your lips, warm breath mingling with his, smoky, made to make you push away, but your eyes grow heavy, swallowed dark by dilating pupils, and simon is fucked up badly.

he barely makes it to the front door of his apartment, you're feisty, nipping little teeth's at his stubbled jaw, rubbing sloppy kisses against his skin that grows hot and itchy from want, from the feeling of your body pressed against his tightly, legs wrapped around his hips, for him, all for him, his.

your body is soft, welcoming his touch with small goosebumps and small shudders, supple under his fingers that he traces too carefully across your curves, shedding every piece of clothing off you, like a kid with christmas present, hands trembling when he tugs your panties to find them sodden.

you're wet, wanting, squirming on the cold sheets that soothe your burning flesh as you spread your thighs to trail your hand down beneath your navel, simon feels like a virgin, breath hitching loudly when you spread your glistening folds with obscene squelch, chanting that it's all his fault.

for neglecting your affection, making you fuck your pussy on your own fingers every night, dreaming of being stretched around his cock, of granting simon your virginity, your flesh and bones, everything he'll please, you'll give him, just as you show him your dripping hole that clenches in need.

simon is a fool for making you wait so long, for depraving himself from you, because you feel heavenly, thin skin stretching around his fat, veiny girth, dribbling precum that mixes with your cloying slick, easing the glide, letting him stuff you, inch by inch, plugged with fat cock that throbs inside.

you clench with each drag, with each shallow thrust simon gives you because he can't make it faster, not because you'll be hurt, but because he shudders at the feel of your gummy walls latching around his meaty shaft, because he wants to enjoy every second of this encounter.

to hear your punched mewls, to watch the way you knead at the sheets below you like a docile kitten, meeting his languid movements with careful rolls of your hips, chest to chest with him, his breath burning against your ear as he showers you with sloppy kisses.

you're sopping wet between your legs, supple flesh coated with saccharine slick, splayed on his bed with simon's scent so heady around you, with his tongue toying with yours, his palms pawing at your hips and tugging, making you bounce towards his pounding hips, rumbling when it makes you arch.

simon loses himself in you, he listens to your pitched, garbled chants of want to be filled up with his seed, and he grits his teeth until veins pop on his jaw, increasing his movements to jab his tip against your sweet spot, make your walls clutch and pulse rapidly with bubbling magma in your belly.

you purr in delight when he fills you, coating your velvety walls with spurts of warm, thick cum, leaking past your clenching muscles, with simon's cock drived impossibly deep, enough to feel full despite how it dribbles down in creamy mess to stain the sheets.

pleased enough to let your body drift into drowsy state, sated to the point of your eyes slipping shut from minute to minute, enough time for simon to ease himself from you and go fetch a warm cloth to clean you both, just a bit to be comfortable while curled in each other during night.

simon ain't sure to which point this sex had drove you both, but he doesn't want to push you away, he enjoys the feeling of your naked body pressed against his, cradled against his brawny chest, soft breath tickling his skin and your eyelashes quivering in peaceful slumber, and he wants to remain there.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[wonderthor]

dangerous and domestic sukuna🥺🥺

he’s a notorious man in the yakuza. always hunts and kills whoever his boss tells him to. everyone in the underground world is scared of him, and even those that are not usually are as well, with his tattoos all over his body and constantly bruised and scarred knuckles from beating information out of his victims.

but somehow, you’re not. although you’re so innocent you probably wouldn’t know a murderer if you see one. even though you know nothing about his work, yet notice the way others cower in fear around him. you’re not scared of him at all.

maybe it’s the way he comes home, quietly walking into the house and coming up to you. giving you a small, sweet smile as he ruffles your hair or pets your head. let’s out a gruff, “hey sweetheart,” before kissing you on your head. maybe that’s why you don’t understand how dangerous he is. i mean, how could he be? when he comes home and looks at you like you’re the sun that is the center of his world. even though he looks at everyone else like their existence alone bothers him sometimes.

and sometimes he cooks dinner when he comes home. you can’t argue with him on that, he’s surprisingly a great cook. you hand him the plates for him to put the food on and place them nicely on the table. and even though most couples like to sit across from each other, you like to sit next to him and eat while your head rests on his shoulder. when you sit next to him and place your silverware next to the plates, he looks down at you for a minute and grabs your chin to make you face him. for a moment, all you do is stare at each other, studying each other’s face.

“hey, you know you’re mine right?”

it catches you off guard, but you smile back up at him anyway.

“yes sukuna, i know. you tell me all the time.”

he chuckles down at you, moving his hand to softly rub along on your cheek.

“yeah well i just want to make sure you know it, and never forget.”

you kiss his hand when it makes its way to your lips.

“yeah well, i’ll never forget. i’ll always be yours.”

he stares down at you again, darker this time, before clearing his throat and moving to eat his dinner.

“alright baby, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

you giggle and follow his actions, eating your dinner and dropping your head on his shoulder where it belongs.

[buckyalpine]

Bucky's baby girl who loves his metal arm.

She runs hot just like her daddy, the serum also coursing through her keeping her extra warm. She's all fussy until Bucky cradles her in his left arm and the content sigh she lets out feeling his cool metal against her warm, chubby cheek is unmatched.

It's also perfect when she starts teething. No other toys do it like daddy's thumb. She's happily tucked in the crook of his arm, two tiny hands holding onto his much larger one so she can get a proper grip and chew on his fingers. The coldness soothes her gums.

Bucky's babygirl who only falls asleep when he holds her. It's not that she doesn't fall asleep with her mommy, but she's clearly picked up this habit directly from you. Her daddy's chest is her favourite place to be and you can't complain because you feel the exact same way. There's nothing cuter than her little gummy smile while sleeping contently on daddy's chest, his metal fingers rubbing her back in soothing circles. She practically gets lost in him when he holds her, such a tiny bundle wrapped up around metal and muscle. Of course he gives you the exact same treatment after she's around asleep in her crib and you're also softly snoring moments later.

(Just a rogue thought but imagine Bucky doesn't get the playful pout you make whenever his daughter whines to cuddle up with him, taking away from his snuggle time from you. He so very clearly has time for you both. Then you have a son. The places have been switched as he watches his babyboy coo and giggle in your arms between nursing and Bucky isn't jealous of his own son but he 100% ready for his turn to be in your lap with your boobs in his face. When his son only sleeps on mommy's warm chest with all the skin to skin contact, he's side eyeing you with his shirt off, ready for cuddles immediately after. He's a menace and it's the cutest thing)

[lexiene]

Megumi's growing habit or rather his fatherly instinct kicks in whenever he sees or hears you walking up or going down the stairs he would quickly offer his hand for you to hold so he can gently guide you without bumping your growing tummy because he doesn't want you to get hurt.

His instincts are accurately true, because you tend to get yourself into trouble everytime as sample like reaching up to grab your hidden cravings inside of a small box but your husband instantly reached it for you before it it falls on top of your head and scolds you in soft gentle manner without making you cry because of your hormones tend to mixed up.

He sighed and leaned down pulling up your shirt or rather his shirt because you kept on stealing it from his wardrobe but he finds it cute kissing your sweet sprouting beautiful belly full of your and his love baby talking to his sweet little angel to not to get your clinginess but rather your beautiful face.

Because everytime he sees you he swear to himself that he will always make you laugh to see those smiles all over again.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Yours - 18+

Main masterlist | AU Masterlist

Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, but he has. You have all his devotion and all he hopes for in return is for you to let him stay yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: softdom! Spencer, grinding, hickies, penetration, PinV, unprotected sex (this can lead to babies & stds btw, avoid this by being fivehead and using a condom), creampie. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 5.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The question regarding the existence of soulmates is not a question that can be answered using science. Any individual’s answer to the question is more of a personal belief than a factual answer. And as a man of science, one would think that Spencer Reid would at least attempt to refute the ideology when asked. 

The ideology that he himself is not whole, but only half of an intertwined soul. That another person is not only his other half, but also his better half. Somebody with whom he shares such a natural, deep understanding, that he feels complete simply by existing in their presence. It’s one of those phenomena he can’t explain, but only this one, he’s confident is true. 

“Spence?” A light nudge accompanied by the whisper of his name breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, focusing his eyesight on your curious face with a matching look.

The light from a singular bedside lamp only reaches half of his face. It casts a beautiful, soft contrast on his sharp features. The gold that’s usually hidden by the brown makes his irises look like sparkling pools of honey. Ethereal -not a word you would use when normally describing a man- but that’s how he looks. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” 

He hadn’t ever thought he could believe in such a thing. Mostly because he’d always been sure that he would never experience it. 

“Do you?” His voice carries your question back to you. 

You can hear the city buzzing outside. Cars honking angrily in a futile attempt to speed up the pace of the traffic. People conversing, arguing, laughing. Loud thuds of music from the upstairs neighbour who cares little about the piling noise complaints. Somehow, the hum of Spencer’s words is the only sound that your ears register. 

“I asked first.” You playfully scoff, breaking eye contact and swivelling your head straight.

Spencer mirrors your motions, both of you now facing the ceiling as you remain side by side on his bed. 

“Yes.” His answer is barely above a whisper. 

It seems that your bodies want to make up for lost contact. You can feel his pinky reaching out to touch yours as you meet him halfway. 

“Me too.” 

A comfortable silence takes over the conversation. Everything feels still. The only movement is that of his fingers grazing against yours. He’s touched you in far more personal places tonight alone, and this is still one of your most intimate moments. There are no expectations or hidden agendas. This is simply the two of you existing in each other's presence; his preferred way to exist. It stretches until another inane question makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll get to meet them in this lifetime?” 

He pushes his frame up and rotates to face you as he sinks back down to the mattress. His head rests on the arm folded below it. You turn your head back to him so that you’re both holding eye contact again. 

“No.” He mouths the answer, his voice hesitant to raise at first. “I wonder whether mine is a romantic bond or platonic.” 

Your stomach flutters at the insinuation and you shift to mirror his position this time. In the midst of shuffling, the two of you seem to have closed a good chunk of the distance between you. 

“What do you want it to be?” You whisper, entranced by his gaze. 

Two of his knuckles lightly skim your cheek before those fingers brush your hair away from you. The act alone is enough to make your face heat up, no matter how many times he’s done it before. He begins to lazily stroke your hair, scratching your head in the process. It gives you the same tingling sensation you get from some rare ASMR videos. 

You don’t follow up on your question, unable to remember anything that was on your mind beforehand. His touch, combined with the minimal lighting and close proximity provides you with a sense of security you rarely feel otherwise. Your lids begin to grow heavy and you're forced to break eye contact when the weight of them becomes too much. 

“That’s really distracting y’know.” You mumble, eyes closed and voice hazy. 

“I know.” He mutters, almost without sound. 

He can’t help his smile as he watches you drift to sleep. He’s studied every feature on your face at least a hundred times and he’s yet to find a single flaw. The fact that you’re okay with being this vulnerable with him is a privilege that he’ll thank any and every deity he doesn’t even believe in for. Faint snoring indicates that you’re now dead to the world, but he can’t let your previous question go unanswered. 

“Whichever one allows me to be yours forever.”

Waking up to the warmth of your body pressed against his is by no means a recent development in your relationship with Spencer. Your back is to his chest and his arm is draped across your stomach, trapping you against him. Not that you mind. You’ve been lying still as you are for almost a while now, your thumb caressing the side of his wrist. With a yawn nuzzled into your neck, Spencer attempts to pull you closer to him, closing distance that was never there to begin with. 

He can feel the rise and drop of your chest; you can feel the beating of his heart behind yours. Neither of you is fully awake yet, opting to enjoy the silence and comfort of the other's presence. Your bodies are so closely tangled that your skin is almost melding with each other. 

Almost. 

The unexpected brushing of his hardness against your ass sends a jolt of electricity passing through you, waking you up in an instant. If it were anybody else, perhaps you would’ve felt ashamed of how that passing moment made your insides jump. You definitely wouldn’t have arched your barely clothed cunt towards the obstruction. A sharp exhale fans across the back of your neck, and you can practically feel the corners of his lips pull into a lazy smirk. 

“Well, good morning.” A groggy voice leans into your ear and the grip on your belly tightens.

“Morning.” You breathe out, barely audible.

You feel yourself clench around nothing when a hot, sticky kiss lands just behind your ear. Your arch intensifies when another one lands below your jaw and you unintentionally grind against him. It earns you a low grunt from him, which only prompts you to repeat the motion without thinking. His head drops in the nook of your shoulder, taken slightly off guard. He meets you halfway the third time, and it sets both your hips in a slow motion of rubbing against each other.

He can hear you hum each time his confined erection strokes your bundle of nerves and it sparks a determination in him to get more out of you. His hand trails from your abdomen to your pelvis, stopping just at the band of your underwear. He tugs the fabric, not making any further moves until you allow him to. You know that if you don’t take control now he’s going to prolong his foreplay, something you don’t have the patience for right now. He always makes it a point to make you finish at least once before he even considers himself. 

Out of the four times you came the night before, three of them were with his head between your thighs. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased him about how he probably gets off on pleasing you more than you do. You surprise him when you grab his hand and push it away from you, swinging yourself around to straddle him. Your hands land on either side of his head and you lower your forehead to rest against his. 

“Nuh-uh!” You taunt and it makes him snort. 

His palms trace your sides, arms wrapping around you, pulling your torso down to him.

“You’re not allowed to touch me this time.” You add in a hushed tone.

“No?” His brows raise in amusement.

“No.” 

You barely breathe out the word when his arms drop from around you. A slight chill takes over the area.

“No!” You repeat in a whiny tone, pushing yourself to sit up. 

You’re looking down on him from this angle, and God, does he look beautiful. His fluffy, sleep-tousled hair frames his face beautifully, the faint light of the rising sun only adding to the sight. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” 

“I don’t know. You need to be clearer with what you want.” He chuckles. 

“I want you to stop being a little shit.” You retort, reaching for his hands.

You attempt to settle them on your thighs, but he removes them again. 

“I’m not allowed to touch you. Remember?” He emphasises the word allowed on purpose.

Both of you know that he’s the only one allowed to touch you and vice versa. Even if it wasn't something you both agreed upon, you’d never let anybody else touch you like him. If they even knew how to.

“You can touch me.” You roll your eyes, pulling his hands back to your skin. “But you can’t fuck me with anything other than your dick.”

Your curt tone doesn’t surprise him. He’s used to your boldness. Using your hips, he pulls you down onto his bulge completely. You don’t anticipate the sudden friction and it takes everything in you to not topple over on him. Spencer wasn’t prepared for the impact of his actions either, his head lolling back as he hisses sharply. 

“Yeah?” He questions through half gritted teeth. 

He’s painfully hard and the current view isn’t helping. He can clearly make out the shape of your curves under your flimsy t-shirt. How it drapes on the apex of your breasts, how the hem pools just above your thighs. His grip tightens against the plush of your skin. 

“Mhm.” You breathe out, eyes fluttering as you keep your core pressed to him. 

“Words, sweet girl. Use your words.” His breathing is laboured and it’s taking all of his willpower to not rut his dick back up against you.

The praise breaks you. You can no longer hold yourself up, falling into his chest. 

“Please fuck me.” You can only whisper in his ear, sending chills down his spine. 

He groans, grabbing you by the waist and flipping both of you around so you’re the one lying on the bed. It seems that he’s become just as impatient as you, if not more. He captures your lips in a deep, demanding kiss as he tugs his boxers just enough for his length to spring free. His tongue swipes your lips, seeking entrance and you grant it to him. He finds your kisses addicting. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to break them, but he does, sitting up on his knees. 

He parts your legs, placing one on either side of him and yanking you closer to him. You squeak in response, not processing the action until your cores are once again pressed together. You sigh when he pushes your panties to the side and runs a finger up your slit. A satisfied hum escapes him when he learns just how aroused you are. You sigh when runs his tip against you next, lining himself up with your cunt and pushing just the tip inside. Each of his hands intertwine with yours as he moves them above your head. He then leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on your cheek. 

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear.

He pushes in a little more and pulls out just enough for him to stay lined.

“More!” You whine, breathlessly, brows furrowing from anticipation.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t properly acknowledge your desperation and instead latches onto the skin under your jaw, sucking gently. 

You sigh at the sensation, arching more as his shaft pushes in again. This time, he doesn’t stop until he’s completely bottomed out. You moan and squeeze his hands, still intertwined with yours above your head. You never expect how full he makes you feel. Spencer squeezes your hands in return, still reeling in from how well your cunt accommodates him. He takes a minute, resting himself inside you to allow time for both of you to adjust to the feeling. 

He releases your skin with a small pop and moves a new spot on your neck. You think about how you’re going to have to use concealer to hide the marks he’s surely leaving behind and it makes you clench around him. The effect on him is instantaneous, a harsh groan vibrating against your throat and he sucks harder. The sound only makes your walls tighten more and it cues him to start thrusting. 

The initial pace is slow, but calculated; the kind that makes your joints loosen and jaw slack. He takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another long and consuming kiss. A loud moan ripples out from both of you and your hands deepen their hold on each other. Spencer’s not shy about letting you hear how good you make him feel and that drives you insane. 

Your hands instinctively try to reach for his hair, but he’s pinned you down tight. You whine into his mouth, pressing your fingers between his knuckles. Your whine fizzles out into a series of smaller whines when his hips speed up, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. 

“Mm–Spence–mmph–”

You try to break the kiss to speak, but he simply drops a quick kiss on your jaw before reclaiming his place against your lips. He’s too lost in the taste of you to pay full attention. It takes you a moment to find the willingness to try again, but you do. You arch your hips too high for him to be able to follow from this position, forcing him to slip out from you and try to remove your hands from his grip. His focus is brought back to you and he lifts himself back on his knees, releasing you. 

“What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?” 

“M-mm” You shake your head and push yourself up on your hands.

You then shift into his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives you a curious look, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I want to be able to hold you.” You admit with a slight shyness in your tone.

A light smile spreads across his face, brows arching in surprise. Being a genius and all, he’s always known he was needed in some way or another. You’re the first person who’s ever made him feel wanted, truly wanted. With no motive other than simply existing with him. It sparks a new desire, one you see light up behind his eyes. He leans into your lips, his hold on your waist tightening and he moves one arm to cradle the back of your head. 

You pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together once more. He lifts you up and places you back down against the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You feel his palm raise one of your legs by the back of your knee and he’s entering you again. He rests that leg on his shoulder, while the other hangs by his waist and begins to build an unrelenting pace. 

You wail into his mouth at the intensity of his thrusts, eyes rolling behind closed eyes. It’s almost brutal, the way he’s slamming into you. Your hands desperately cling onto his bicep and shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His grunts and groans increase each time he gets deeper, if that’s even physically possible and it only makes you desperate for more. Your kiss breaks with a slight sting against Spencer’s lip. You didn’t realise how hard you were biting it in an attempt to stay grounded. 

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that you can’t explain. Even though Spencer was railing you so hard that even the bed had begun to cry out, there was an overwhelming sense of longing between you two. An ache to express how you belong to the other, hidden behind an uncouth sight. It’s compensation for those lack of words, a physical exchange expressing your biggest secret. He’s everywhere; your current position has you feeling Spencer in places you didn’t deem possible. 

His mouth works over whatever exposed skin it can access along your jaw and throat, leaving goosebumps and bruising stains in its wake. His cock is driving into you so fast that you swear it’s going to imprint on your walls. There’s a fire in you, one that only he can put out. Every inch of him can be felt within every inch of you. Now you’re truly melded with each other. 

“Fuck–oh my God!” You scream out, your nails digging harder into his flesh. 

He’s consuming all of your senses, at this moment you don’t know anything other than him. Eyes open or closed, all you can see is his sculpted face. You’re drowning in his scent. Melting at his touch. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your tongue. Your ears are flooded with the slaps of his skin meeting yours and your mixed moans and grunts. 

“Spen��fuck–gon–fu–cum!” 

He hasn’t even spared your ability to speak. With a short kiss, he brings his forehead back to rest on yours in a firm manner. 

“Me too, pretty girl.” He pants his sentence in broken pauses. “Me too.” 

He secures the leg on his shoulder from the back of your thigh and then brings the other leg on his other shoulder. It gives him room to drive himself deeper and makes you lose all control, every joint in your body threatening to fall limp. Your face contorts and you bite your lip, trying to control the flurry of screams. It results in high-pitched whines forcing their way out. 

“Spencer! I can’t–I can’t–I can’t” 

You can’t hold on any longer. 

“I know. I know.” There’s barely any voice accompanying his words. “We’ll do it together, okay? Where do you want me?”

“Inside–inside–ins-shitshitshit…” 

“Inside? Inside.” He struggles to keep himself together while talking you through it. “Ready?” 

You nod fervently and he steals one long, final kiss from you as he finally empties himself in your spent cunt. Your own orgasm crashes through in a long passing wave. You feel like you’re floating in the ocean with millions of stars as your only view for miles. He follows up with a few final thrusts, burying himself as far in you as possible. 

When you finally come to, Spencer’s pulled out and is lying right next to you. Peppering kisses over your face in intervals and muttering praises as strokes away hair glued to your face. 

“Did so well.”

“So good to me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

For some reason, the water always feels nicer running down your body when you use Spencer’s shower. He’s a simple man; he doesn’t really have a lot of products to use besides the basic shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body wash. The exfoliators, masks and such were your initial additions that he keeps topping up after they run out. 

You haven’t said much since coming out of your euphoric state, only showing your gratitude and appreciation through small touches. Brushing a hand against his cheek, leaving a peck on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He doesn’t mind your silence. It doesn’t deter him from showering you with praise while he looks after you. You’re so disorientated that you’re letting yourself be guided from one instruction to the next. 

“Lift your leg for me, sweet girl. Hand on my shoulder.” 

He helps you act out his command, grabbing your wrist and draping it on his shoulder while helping you lift your leg. His touch is tender, but he’s careful to cover every area with body wash. 

“Good girl.” 

You don’t physically react, but his approval makes you swell with pride. Sex is the least intimate part of your time with Spencer. What you really enjoy is how safe he makes you feel. You know that even if you show him your worst and ugliest moments, he won’t reject you. You trust him with parts of you that you barely trust yourself with. 

Anybody who’s touched your naked body before him doesn’t matter, because not one of them has gotten to touch it past the realm of physical pleasure. To you, the act of washing one’s body is so private, so sacred that it can’t be trusted with just anybody. How many are able to look past the lens of sexual release and view your skin and bones as something to cherish? Not even you can claim to view yourself in such a precious way. 

But Spencer does. 

Even as pats you dry and wraps you safely in a warm towel, he doesn’t demean your worth. They’d be thoughts he could easily keep hidden in the comfort of his own mind, but the thoughts simply don’t occur. You don’t realise how long the two of you are standing there, leaning into each other's arms against the counter. Nor do you realise how long it’s taken you to mentally return to him. The first thing you do notice is so trivial, it’s almost laughable. 

“You’re out of apple juice, by the way.” 

Even you’d laugh if you heard yourself bring up something so random.

“Do you want apple juice? We can go buy some more.” He replies in a quiet mumble.

In his presence, you can think such thoughts without the concern of being laughed at. 

“No, I’m not gonna make you go to the grocery store just for apple juice.” You shake your head, expression oozing sarcasm. 

“I need to buy a lot more than apple juice. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have enough to make eggs or coffee.” He snorts, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Right. I forgot, Mister F.B.I.” You snort back, playfully poking his arm. “How was your time in Alaska?” 

It’s really common for your brain to malfunction around Spencer. You don’t feel the need to think or stay on alert if he’s with you. 

“Grim. Bleak.” He keeps it short on purpose. 

He doesn’t want to taint what little time he has with you focused on the gory parts of his job. Or any parts of his job at all. He spends too much of his time there as it is, so he’d much prefer to keep that part of his life separate from you. Spencer didn’t understand what it truly meant to live until after you came into his life. He’d never admit it out loud, but being around you made him realise how much of his soul his job steals from him, piece by piece. You make it whole again.

“How bad was it?” Curiosity still gets the better of you at times.

“Awful. You weren’t there when I woke up every morning.” He steers the conversation again. 

“Uh-huh.” You smirk, looking up at him. “You say that to all your girl-friends the morning after?” 

He takes a small step back, creating space as he cups your face.

“Even if I had the social skills required, when do you honestly think I would have the time between being at work and being with you?” 

“When you’re at work. Duh.” You tap his temple, playfully, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scoffs, unamused. It’s something Spencer can’t honestly even imagine. You’re his solace, his best friend…his person. 

“Get dressed.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll stop by that bakery you love and get some food in your system. Hopefully before your suggestions start becoming more and more insane.” 

You don’t appreciate the awestruck look on his face when you’re certain you’ve got chocolate lining the corners of your mouth. You attempt to glare at him, but it doesn’t last and you find yourself fighting back a smile.

“Cut it out!” You groan, stringing out the end of your sentence. 

The trolley comes to a halt as you stop to grab your phone, but he snatches it out of your hand before you can open the camera.

“Hey–”

“I’m revoking your phone privileges until your urge to keep checking your reflection fizzles out.” He states casually, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the top shelf. 

“Revoking my– what are you my fucking mother?” You reach for his pocket, but he grabs your wrist before you can retrieve your phone. 

You try to use your free arm, but he traps that one in his hands too. 

“I don’t wanna walk around with chocolate around my mouth!” You whisper-shout, mindful of other shoppers passing by.

“For the fifth time, you don’t have chocolate anywhere on your face. It wasn’t there after you finished your shake and it won’t be there no matter how many times you check.”

You ignore him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“You don’t believe me?” The look on his face is more entertained than shocked.

“Spencer, my fluffy-headed, genius bookworm, I would put my life in your hands if you asked me to but after that time you let me walk around with my lipstick smudged–”

“That happened one time!” He gripes, less concerned about his volume. 

“I looked like I came straight off the clock from a circus!” 

“It wasn’t that bad!” 

“Six hours, you let me walk around like that!” 

If he were to be completely honest, he was completely enraptured by your long tangent about why you despise dolphins. Most of it wasn’t based on facts and the parts that were, weren’t really a feasible argument since morals are a uniquely human concept. However, that was the day he uncovered how brightly you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He spent the rest of that time, subtly digging, trying to figure out the topics that made you glow so he could keep bringing them up. 

“There’s nothing there. Your face is– looks perfect.” He fumbles on his words.

“I can feel it!” You protest.

“That happens because–”

“Reid?” An unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you.

Spencer lets go of your wrists as you turn to face the owner of the voice. Two blondes, one behind the other. One of them is a lot more colourful and bold, with large statement jewelry and a pair of gorgeous platform heels that match her dress. The other is less vibrant, but with no less confidence and blue eyes that stand out like diamonds shining under lights. 

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” 

You’re not a profiler, but you don’t miss the immediate shift in Spencer’s demeanour. He seems a lot more reserved and shy, as compared to the confidant and playful version of him that you know. 

“We’re picking up some things for my birthday bash this weekend.” The brown-eyed blonde chirps. “The one that I will definitely see you at, no excuses allowed!” 

“Right.” He gives an awkward, tight-lipped smile. 

Spencer loves his coworkers, he really does. They’re basically his family. However, he wants nothing more for them to go away right now. Not for any reason other than wanting to keep you away from them, because he knows them. For all their amazing qualities, there’s one that annoys him the most and that’s how nosey they can be. Especially when it comes to him. 

“Hi. I’m JJ.” The blue-eyed blonde takes the initiative to introduce herself, reaching out her hand for a friendly shake.

He knows it’s from a place of love. He’s the youngest member of the team, they all want to protect him, but he detests how they coddle him. He can already sense the incoming invitation from Garcia to her birthday. He knows that it won’t take long for you to befriend everyone on his team, because, well, they’re all amazing people. Integrating you with that part of his life is something he’s just not ready for. Not like this.

“I’m Penelope and oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!” 

He enjoys how when he’s with you, he can exist in a separate bubble. Where all he is, is not the resident genius of the BAU. More than that, he knows of the dangers that come with integrating the two separate lives. He’s seen the losses that occur, whether they be by generic circumstances or unplanned deaths. And there’s nothing he can do to stop his worlds colliding, a fact he has to grasp as soon as he zones back in to find three sets of eyes staring at him, expectantly.  

“Right.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “These are my– um– this is Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We work together.” 

The introduction is hesitant and rushed at best, but you chalk it up to him being taken off guard. You want to gauge his mood, try and figure out where his head’s at, but that’s going to have to wait. 

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Garcia gasps dramatically, taking your hand in hers. “You’re the reason he’s always in a rush to leave now! It is so nice to meet you!”

Garcia’s not wrong. You are the reason he’s always in a rush to get away. You’re his escape from the harsh realities he faces every day. You’re unsure of how to respond. In fact, you’re not even certain as to what’s going on. Nobody else seems to match Penelope's enthusiasm. Spencer looks mortified, while JJ looks like she wants to drag Penelope away. Still, everybody’s too frozen to stop her. 

“Did you know that you have him checking his phone more than a lovestruck teenage girl? Him! One of the biggest technophobes I’ve ever met!”

This is also a fact. Spencer’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious to the open-mouthed stares he gets every time he’s caught smiling like a dopey idiot after looking at the screen. He’s just never cared. It’s almost impossible to ignore any notification from you. He doesn’t feel great about that coming to bite him in the ass right about now. 

Given different circumstances that were more in his control, Spencer would be elated to introduce the most important people in his life to each other. This whole interaction is actually shorter than he feels it is, but for Spencer, time moves too slowly. He can sense how the safety of your company as he knows it, the most valuable aspect of his life, is under threat of being ripped away from him with every second that passes. Without you, Spencer would once again find himself lost. 

“Spencer, you have to bring her to my bash this weekend! Everybody would love to meet your girlfriend!” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows, eyes smirking beneath her glasses.

Because all he is, is yours. 

“Oh! Uhm–” You begin.

“No Garcia, she’s–this is…my friend..” He adds at the same time, unable to hide his stutter.

At least, that’s all he wants to be.

“Right…we’re just…friends.” You confirm with a half-hearted smile at the reminder of your reality. 

It was better this way. The two of you agreed on this at the start of your arrangement. 

Spoilers: Mostly just fluff, a sprinkle of angst, smut, lots of mutual pining, friends with benefits.

AN - I felt a surge of evil take over my bones when I wrote this and any events that unfolded were out of my control. This is not my finest work, but once I thought of it I had to share it. Also I know I said not to bother me about fics bc uni and I still mean that, I just don’t know what happened. It’s like I got a bit of inspo and couldn’t help myself. Huge thanks to @mrs-dr-reid for beta reading! FWB Writing Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins Prompt - "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys

No bc writing that opening scene on the bed might be my favourite and u should tell me if u agree bc I wanna write more like that, but if u hate it then I won't.

Thanks for reading.

[metalmiez]

Ineffable Husbands, happy together 🖤🤍

„C‘mere, silly angel!“ Crowley grumbled and pulled Aziraphale in a hug that included arms and legs fully wrapped around Aziraphale‘s body, so there was no chance of escape. The joy over the tiny squealing noise the angel gave off should be illegal. No one, especially not a vicious demon like Crowley, should be so pleased with a noise like this. But he was. He indulged it. As his face snuggled into the soft curve of the angel‘s neck, he heard a sigh of defeat and he grinned devilishly.

Oh, what a good demon he was.

„Are you gonna hold on like this for long, my dearest?“

‚My dearest‘. It still felt off to be adressed like this. It shouldn’t feel so good, but it did. The demon hummed in satisfaction as the angel gave in into the touch and leaned his head against Crowley's temple.

"That's quite nice of you to-"

"'m not nice. Don't even know what this word means"

Aziraphale huffed in amusement, wriggled on of his arms free and put his hand on the side of Crowley's face, directly over the tiny snake tattoo that started to tickle in excitement.

"As you say so, darling"

Another pet name. If he had less control over his body, he'd probably blush.

"Grm"

"If you don't mind, I put some water on the boil for a nice cup of tea. So if you let go, this would be very demonic of you", the angel squirmed after some moments of embracing in silence. A little grumble escaped the demon's throat as he lifted his head. Oh, the smug idiot. Aziraphale looked at him like the hundreds of times he tried to politely send the demon away if he got one of 'the really good ones'-book he wanted to read.

Instead of letting go, Crowley rolled his eyes and pressed his lips against the angels soft cheek, lingered in the motion as long as possible, listening to his angel’s silly giggle about the sudden affection. He was happy. He really was.

Everything was like it always had to be.

🌈Happy Pride Month, my fellow Queerdos 🌈

To celebrate this occasion, I had to draw our ineffable Idiots, obviously 😂

They need all the love in S3 ❤️

[kitamars]

lovey dovey (alt ver of the first one under the cut!)

[soulwrencher]

i'm feeling dizzy and sick so domestic!vi anyone?

i just think vi would look really good in an apron. way too good. and she knows how to cook, she'd never let you touch the stove, she tries at least not to... and then one day, when you come home and she notices you're sick, vi is a hot mess. her baby is sick, this can't be! where does she even start? running you a hot bath, making you your favorite hot beverage, cooking you porridge even though you hate it? too. much. to. stress. about. so you watch her walk up and down the kitchen while you almost pass out on the couch from the headaches you're having, "i'm not dying, vi," you murmur, "just hand me my meds please?"

and suddenly vi has her act all together. did it take a hit to her ego? maybe. but were you escorted into a hot tub with just the right amount of foam? hell yeah. "just scream if you're done or dying," she yells from the kitchen. it felt nice, she poured eucalyptus oil into the bathtub, since when did you have this? about to nod off in the bathtub you hear a soft voice calling for your name.

"come on, doll. hold on tight, okay?" she whispers as she wraps your arms around her neck to pull you out of the tub. careful this, watch out that, you were barely listening as you use the last bit of strength in your body to get out of the tub. and then she dries you off, you felt like a lost, wet puppy. her eyes were on you though, the whole time, making sure you're not actually dying, because that's what her eyes were giving away. you have her undivided attention, you really do, because she almost burns the chicken for the soup she is going to make for you, which frankly, never happens. so 7:1 for you! well, for her. (the score in your head to keep track of all the times you burnt food, in hopes to beat her one day. maybe you should get sick more often?)

and then you're in bed, you barely remember her dressing you but you do remember vi tucking you in bed, placing a soft kiss onto your forehead. "just stay with me a little more," she whispers. she's hovering over your shuddering body, her eyes searching for yours. you can feel the worry seep off her face, so you nod before she rushes off into the kitchen once again.

"careful, hold it, wait—" vi props you up so you can eat the chicken soup she made for you. "you have to eat before you sleep, doll." you tried your best to eat some of it and vi was impressed by how much you actually got down before you handed the bowl back to her. you whisper a small 'thank you' after vi who left for the kitchen with the bowl in her hand. but she comes back, of course she does and lays down next to you. suddenly you feel much warmer, blankets don't compare to vi's warmth.

"can i?" she asks, and you nod, there's nothing you want more than vi cuddling you into sleep right now. so she does, strong arms around your body, her chest against your back, you feel her breath on your shoulder.

"i won't ever leave your side," vi whispers into your neck as she wraps her arms a little tighter around your body, she thinks you're asleep by now. you forgot how clingy she can get, but you loved it more than anything. so you smile to yourself before you doze off to the sound of vi's steady breath and to the warmth of her palms on your hips.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (1 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, brief mention of pregnancy, canon-typical swearing, Simon is a girl dad

Word Count: 890

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Filling out a parent questionnaire leads to Simon having to answer a hard question.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad

“Daddy.”

 A small fist curls around the bottom of Simon’s shirt, tugging. He glances down, finding his daughter there holding out a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Simon takes it from her, his gaze shifting to the black ink.

“It’s for school.”

It’s a questionnaire. Simons scans over the questions quickly before returning his gaze to his daughter. “Give me a second, love.”

Simon packs up the files he brought home from work. Grabbing a pencil, he strolls out to the living room, his daughter on his heels. Simon takes a seat in the middle of the sofa, placing the paper and pencil on the coffee table. His daughter snags a pillow off the couch, dropping it on the floor next to his legs. Sitting, she stares at him expectantly.

Simon nods toward the paper. “You need to practice your letters.”

She groans. “But it’s about you!”

Simon slowly slides the paper and pencil over to her. She pouts but takes up the pencil, the graphite tip poised above the first line.

“Name,” she says, glancing up at him.

“You know my name.”

She squints at him and looks back at the paper, taking her time to write each letter. She holds it up and Simon smiles. It’s stilted and a bit sideways, but it’s there. She asks several more questions like favorite food and color. Simon doesn’t understand the point to it but they’re likely doing a project on a parent.

“Job,” she says, expectant.

Job. His occupation. That’s a fucking complicated question.

“Military,” he answers.

She frowns. “How do you spell that?”

“Sound it out.”

She does so slowly, elongating each letter as she writes.

Simon glances over her shoulder and chuckles. “That’s an ‘i,’ darling.” He points and she aggressively erases her mistake.

When she finishes, she looks up at him. “Explain.”

Explain. Explain.

Explain…what?

That he kills people? That he negotiates the release of hostages? That he faces violence every day he’s on the job? That he sees some of the worst in people?

How the bloody hell does he explain all that to a six-year-old girl? How does he summarize the violence into a watered-down version that’s digestible enough for her, her teacher, the other students, and her school.

Simon swallows. “I stop bad people from doing bad things.”

She blinks. “Do I have to write all that?”

Simon barks a laugh. “It’s one sentence.”

She silently mimics him, shaking her little body in annoyance as she begins to write. Simon has no idea where the attitude comes from, but it’s likely from Johnny.

“Next question,” prompts Simon once the sentence is written down.

She hesitates and then turns in his direction. “Can I be like you when I grow up?”

Could she? Yes. But the very idea of her in the line of danger frightens him. It twists his stomach, knowing all the things that could befall her if she were to follow in his footsteps. Simon’s gut-instinct is to tell her “No.”

“Why do you want to be like me?” he asks.

She shrugs. “You’re strong. I want to be strong like you.”

“You don’t need to do what I do to be strong.”

“Uh, no,” she says, matter-of-fact, peering at the next question.

Fucking hell, she’s going to be an absolute hellion when she hits puberty. Sighing, Simon rubs at his temple. For some reason, he glances away from his daughter, his gaze landing on you in the hallway. With your hand cradling your slightly swollen belly, you watch on with an amused expression.

Number two. Will this one be like her? Wanting to do what he does?

“Daddy.”

Simon turns back to his daughter. She points at the paper with the tip of her pencil, head tilted slightly to the side.

He leans forward. “What’s the next question?”

“What does your day look like?” She grins up at him, ready for his answer.

Simon hears your soft laugh from the hall, and then your footsteps across the carpet. Your hand reaches out to cradle the back of Simon’s neck. On instinct, he lifts his arm, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“Go on, Simon. Tell her,” you tease, knowing that he’s struggling to form an answer.

“Do you put your mask on first?” The question is innocent but Simon laughs anyway.

“No,” he chuckles, gently taking the paper and pencil from her. “I kiss your mother first.”

Simon drags you in for a kiss.

“Ugh. Gross.” She makes a face, tiny nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Still want my job?” Simon presents the paper and she snatches up in her little fist.

“No thanks,” she sing-songs, stuffing the paper in her backpack, crinkling it up.

You hide your grin in Simon’s shoulder, and Simon tugs you closer. “Good save,” you murmur.

Simon presses his lips to the top of your head. “She has one of my masks.”

“I know,” you giggle. “Found it under her pillow this morning. I put it in your bag.”

“Was it covered in your makeup this time?”

“Had to wash it.”

Simon shakes his head in exasperation. He’s not annoyed. Just perplexed. He doesn’t understand why his daughter wants to be just like him.

It’s because she doesn’t know.

No. She doesn’t know. But one day she will. She might even change her mind.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[natasharswifey]

Happy birthday, by the way 🎂

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Requests open <3

Summary: After a few months of dating, you realise you don't know when Nat's birthday is. She isn't interested in celebrating, and when you ask, she refuses to tell you. But you are very determined.

____☆____

A/N: This is just a little fluff, also my first x reader fic. Love reading em so I thought I'd give it a go :3. Also I find it hard to read Y/N as my name so I'm using [...] instead!

Tags: Just fluff <3

____☆____

"Oh, come on, why won't you just admit it?"

"Because I can't deal with you inviting half of the United States to the tower for a party."

"Exaggeration."

Natasha raises a brow at you. "Oh really? And what about he time you put flyers around about Wanda's party?"

"She was turning 21!"

She gives you a 'really?' look and you know you aren't getting anything out of her. It just didn't make any sense, birthdays were the one day a year where it was all about you. Well that's everyday if you're Tony Stark, but for well functioning members of society it should count as the best day of the year.

"I will not be disclosing that information until I can trust you not to make a huge deal."

"What if I pinky promise?"

"You always overdo it, detka, it's just how you are." She plants a small kiss on your forehead and leaves you on the couch to begin plotting.

___♡___

"And then she said 'you always overdo it', give me a break!"

Wanda looks up from the pot she's stirring and chuckles, "I didn't know half the people the showed up at the tower on my 21st, [.....]"

"I knew I should've gone to Tony, he would get this."

"I don't think asking the most flamboyant Avenger would be very helpful in this situation."

"Right."

"I think you should just leave it, she'll probably tell you eventually." She gently taps a bit of salt into the pot.

"Or..."

"No."

"You didn't even hear me out!"

"I can read minds. It's a terrible idea."

"Firstly, reading Nat's mind to figure out her birthday is literally a flawless plan, and secondly, you're good reading my mind and not hers?"

"Natasha already set her boundaries with me, and plus I don't feel like getting my ass kicked for aiding and abetting."

"Thanks a lot Wands."

"Any time."

If Wanda wasn't going to cooperate then you were simply going to have to enlist the help of a certain blonde assassin.

___♡___

You hear Lucky and Fanny barking hysterically after you ring the doorbell, followed by fast paced footsteps and a small "One minute" from the other side of the door.

Usually a simple question would only warrant a text or phone call, but for some reason Yelena NEVER answers her phone. Unless it's from Kate of course, you're half convinced that she has a special ringtone and notification for her.

It's none other than the archer that answers the door, "Hey, [.....]! I didn't know you were coming over."

"I've actually dropped in unannounced, but I won't stay too long." You reassure her. Kate has a habit of forgetting things, including scheduled hang outs and honestly everything else that isn't attached to her body.

"Come on in!" She steps out of the way and shuts the door behind both of you.

You're immediately greeted by the two large dogs, fighting over your attention in a confusion of wagging tails and paws. Kate tries to get them under control and ultimately fails until they're distracted by Yelena calling them.

"That's totally not fair, they only listen to you." Kate complains and Yelena laughs.

"Because they love me more."

"Lies and deception!" Kate is soon distracted by the golden retriever pulling at her sleeve and gives Yelena a smug look before pouring all of her attention to him.

"Hey, Yelena."

"Hello, [......]. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Uh, I actually had a quick question. When's Natasha’s birthday?"

"Ah. I do not know."

"What?? But you're sisters!"

She shrugs, "She does not want me to know. Birthdays are not really Natasha’s thing, surely you must know that."

"Yeah, I know, it just doesn't make any sense."

"That's Natasha for you."

You sigh in defeat and sit down on one of the armchairs, your lap immediately occupied by Fanny who still wholeheartedly believes she's the size of a puppy.

"Well, there is someone else you could ask."

Your ears perk up, "Who?"

"Melina."

Ah. Melina. It wouldn't be fair to say that she hated you, but it also would be lying to say that she was fond of you. Perhaps you could ask Alexei instead.

___♡___

"Hello? Can you hear me?" You ask over the phone to your future father in law.

"HELLO? ARE YOU THERE, [......]?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"I THINK MY WHATISUP IS BROKEN- MELINA!"

"No, no, Alexei there's really no need."

You hear the sound of footsteps and Melina scolding Alexei for always forgetting to turn up the volume before she picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello Melina."

"[........]. Do you need something?"

"When's Natasha’s birthday?"

"December third. Is that all?"

"But- that's today."

"I'm aware."

"Well, thank yo-" The phone cuts off before you finish your sentence and you're left with about two hours to plan a surprise party for a spy.

___♡___

"I did it, Wanda!"

"Only took you half the day."

"Okay, hater, I need you to help me surprise her."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"One hundered percent." You reply confidently. For most of the day you'd been discouraged, but now it was time for you to trust your gut.

Soon enough you've formed a team of Kate, Yelena and Wanda gathered in one of the common rooms of the tower.

"Alright, Wanda you can be in charge of snacks, Kate you can do decorations, and Yelena you can find us the cake."

"Can-"

"No it may not have profanities on it."

The blonde sighs but jumps into action with the other two. Now all you have to do is buy them some time.

___♡___

You greet Natasha at the tower's entrance with a huge smile plastered on your face.

"Hi, Nat!"

"Hey, [.......]. How was your day?"

"A little hectic. Wanna go for a walk?"

"I would love to but I need to sleep for at least ten hours straight."

You step in front of Natasha as she starts to head inside, "Wait- Uh, did you know walking actually improves energy levels?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, "What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"For some strange reason I do not believe that." She holds you in place by your shoulders and steps around you, but you take her arm and try to steer her to the kitchen, your plans are foiled by Lucky and Fanny who bound up to Natasha happily.

"What are Yelena and Kate's kids doing here? Seriously, what is going on?"

"Uhh."

"Insightful."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She stares you down for a few seconds before suddenly moving towards your shared quarters and only speeds up once she realises you're trying to stop her.

The red head clears the stairs in a few seconds and opens the door, only to be met with pitch black. When she steps through and flicks on the light Wanda, Yelena and Kate jump out from behind the couch and yell "Surprise!".

The look on her face is priceless when she turns to you, "How- when did you-"

"I have my ways."

Natasha pulls you into a tight hug and you hug her back even tighter when you feel a small damp patch forming on your shoulder.

___♡___

"Okay, now make a wish!" Yelena says excitedly, the three of you are crowded around the table where the birthday girl sits in front of her cake.

"Alright, alright." She closes her eyes and blows out the candles, which prompts a cheer from everyone in the room.

The five of you all squish onto the couch to watch a movie and eat snacks and cake, with Natasha curled into your side.

"So, did I 'overdo' it?" You ask playfully.

You hear her chuckle, "It was perfect."

____☆____

Tysm for readinggg, If you liked it I have more stuff in my masterlist :)). Reqs are open!!

Also, if you saw the unfinished version of this when I posted it by accident, no you did not.

@l0nelyish 👁👁

[dmitriene]

cw: possible dubcon, cheating in toxic relationship, reader is simon's dream girl.

retired simon ghost riley that dreams about having a sweet little bird to himself, adorable housewife that would make his days brighter by her tasteful cooking and little sanctuary between her supple thighs, all his to keep and devour.

that's when he meets you, sugary sweet thing that moved into his neighborhood, just a small road across his house where your own located, place slightly big for you alone to live, until he founds out you have a husband.

some disgusting likeness of a person, a man that treats you nothing like some pet, all sugary to you when someone's near, but making you carry your things all by yourself inside the house, letting himself huff at you displeased, tell you to “not annoy him„ when you suggest to say hello to the neighbors.

simon knows it's not a problem for him at this point, when someday he hears how you argue with your husband outside, for everyone near to hear, with your soft voice breaking down, hands clutched in shaking fists.

it's clear as a day that you need someone better, him, and not anyone else, not your pathetic type of a husband that makes you always wander outside alone, you need kind of a man that wouldn't make you shed your tears in vain, on the porch outside.

that's how he founds you, sitting late in the cold evening with your hands concealing your face that you can't stop wiping, your eyes and nose a watery mess, not even noticing someone approaching you.

simon's appearance makes you yelp, like a ghost appearing in front of you to snatch you away, and you jump on your legs, skittish, looking at him with hurt and distrust as you back away towards the door, until he lifts his arms in surrend and grumbles for you to “calm down, little tigress„

you do calm down, defiance slipping away under his hard and dark gaze as you mumble about what he wanted, that your husband isn't home right now if he's here for him, and it makes simon frown, all but wondering why would your husband mess with men that look like him, as you break in tears again.

little hiccups and chocked sobs slipping past your lips in broken melody, streaming down your wet cheeks and lingering on your lips where you lick them off, whimpering, and simon takes it like an opportunity.

his rough voice turning in grumbled coos, as quiet and soothing as he can muster when his hand settles on your lower back, a light touch, making his skin tingle as he tries to press you closer to him, close the distance and step away from your porch, which you do.

walking towards him on your own, where you brush against his sturdy chest gently, making him tug you in his arms for a careful hug, he knows he needs to be cautious with you, studies the way you remain a little stiff, and there's a lingering doubt in your head, because he's a stranger, an unfamiliar man, but you need this.

need these soothing cooes in your ear, a small pats on your hair as his thumb rubs circles on the small of your back, murmurs reassuringly about how “it's gonna be alright, little one„ and leads you with him, further away.

across the small road, from your house and towards his own, and you don't really resist, only hiccup brokenly about where he leads you, still attentive, smart girl that soon would be his, as he murmurs something about a cup of water.

he lurs you inside his house so easily, pressing a glass of water inside your hand and making you drink it down, cold liquid soothing your slightly raw throat, as he gazes at you openly, swallowing whole and still pressing you closer, calloused hand on your back that he can't stop rubbing.

you don't understand your own situation until he takes the empty glass from your shaking hand, as his own lifts to cup your cheek, and it's too intimate for a stranger, despite that you both live in the same neighborhood, because you barely talked once to each other, yet, it can't down the yearning inside of you.

for some care, the gentleness with which simon rubs at your cheek, looks into your still slightly damp eyes, before he lowers his face and brushes his lips carefully against yours, testing the waters.

through he's already bounded you against him, your softness brushing against his sturdy frame, and it takes nothing for him to take you apart, devour, greedy hands all over you without a fuss, every little whine and whimper devoured by simon's mouth.

devoured like your glossy pussy that he eats on the counter, perching you on the cold and harsh surface with his warm tongue ravaging the rich sweetness between your puffy folds, pink muscle wiggling inside your tight hole as he slurps and thrusts inside of you, hungry.

separating your soul from flesh and bones with his kisses, feral and ardoring touches that he softens as soon as you twitch under him, soothing you with a sharp suck on your clit that makes you mewl, shooting sparks to your eyes.

simon spares you on his cock in his own bed, on soft and dark sheets that look better with your body sprawled on them, supple flesh naked with your fat for him to grope, at your round tits, at the doughy thighs that he spreads to see the way his rudy cock nudges against your sopping and tight entrance.

he would keep you here, to himself alone, fuck you until his hips would sputter and his cock fill your pulsing hole with thick cum, intil you would pass away overstimulated and trembling, satiated, cheeks wet and warm with tears not from hurt, but from pleasure, the one simon kisses off your face while you curl on his chest and snore quietly.

you wouldn't need to come back to your husband, to the house that next day would be empty from half of the things that were belonging to him, he will disappear without a trace and leave your life as pure as if nothing had happened, letting simon keep you, make you his.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[neonovember]

So I currently have food poisoning and I can’t help but it think how mad Carmy would be if a restaurant gave his gf/wife food poisoning

Also Carmy come take care of me and make me soup plz 🙇‍♀️😫

Plus he would give the best snuggles 😭

firstly, sending lots of love and recovery, i've never actually had fp lmao so a lot of time on webmd will be spent. get ur fluids in! secondly, carmen might have to go underground for setting the restaurant on fire. we love him for it

summary: You were hungry and had just finished work and you didn't think about inspecting the goddamn Michelin star restaurant, maybe you should have.

warnings; cursing, food poisoning, richie (he's a warning), hipsters, talks of future arsony, possessive carmen, cracked fic ngl,

divider by @firefly-graphics

i'm slipping back into the unsafe territory of wanting fictional characters. (and i don't care)

You could roll your eyes in annoyance if you weren't hunched over the ceramic bowl of the toilet heaving out the contents of your stomach while Carmen held you hair back.

The one time, the one goddamn time you decide to try a new place without Carmen's input, without his meticulous standards and in depth research behind every night out.

It wasn't like you hadn't tried to vet the new braised beef spot that opened up on west Avenue. In fact, you had heard all but stellar reviews from friends and family, meeting you with suprise hearing that Carmen hadn't taken you. You decided to bring home a small plate, their signature braised meat with plums, red onions and atrichocke hearts.

You had meant to share it with Carmen, and you were going to, but a botched catering order had him staying back another hour than what had been planned. And well..you say you tried to save some for Carmen, but despite its bacteria laced beef and vomit inducing sides it was pretty fuckin' good.

Was this God's wrath coming down upon you? Punishing you for your gluttony? Food poisoning did feel awfully close to perpetual hellfire.

The TV was blaring some indescriptive show, the kind with dramatic introductions and soap opera worthy screams. It helped fill the space of absence when Carmen worked long nights, and you felt quite comfortable wrapped up in a blanket with a full stomach and a warm sofa.

Your phone had pinged with the sound of Carmen's text, letting you know he was on the way when it started. At first you had written it off as mere indigestion, probably from shoveling the cursed meal into your mouth too quickly.

Then, around the time the show's main character had found out her boyfriend got her mother pregnant, the nausea set in. Swirling aches that felt like a whirlpool in your stomach had taken over, sloshing and swirling and never leaving. You couldn't mistake it, as you tried to swallow past a dry throat and the creeping sweats of a headache inducing fever began to ravage your body.

You hated sitting in discomfort, it wasn't as though you were afraid of vomiting no, you just could not bare to feel the way your stomach skipped and jumped with every wave of nausea that took over.

You thought of making yourself sick, but shook your head when the alarming disapproval of Carmen's voice loomed over.

"It's just gonna make it worse, you gotta sit with it till it passes"

Fuck him and his medical knowledge. What did he know?

You had ripped off the blanket that had once felt comforting, peeling of layers of clothing that stuck to your body like a second skin. You just felt hot, so hot, is anyone else feeling this heat? You try to move from the couch to reach your phone, but the sudden movement has nausea bubbling up your throat.

You fall to the ground in a heap, hand clasped around your mouth to stop the possibility of projectile vomiting on the rug you had just bought and shoot your hand up to reach for your phone.

You press Carmen's number, begging him to answer you in genuine crisis rather than when you were drunk with friends and missed him. You feel the urge to heave and crawl quickly to the bathroom, phone clasped in hand and suddenly desperately needed his medical knowledge.

Carmen phone rings from the behind the stack of documents in the office, and he hastily wipes his hands across his apron before trying to reach it before it rings out.

Guilt fills his stomach at the thought of you, he was meant to be home hours ago. The catering order needed a few extra hands to help, and once Carmen began he got lost in it, and now you had spent nearly the entire night alone.

"Fuck- Hey baby, I know I said I was comin' but I had to finish a couple things-" Carmen quickly responds as he swipes the call button.

The groan of pain that responds has Carmen freezing in the middle of the kitchen.

"Baby? What-, are you okay?" Carmen replies quickly, his voice going short as his mind turns every possible scenario that had you whining in pain over the receiver.

"Please come quickly, Carmen I think I might-" You gulp and make a retching sound "I think I got sick from that place I was telling you about" You plead out, breathing heavily into the speaker.

The guilt that had filled Carmen seems to morph into an anger that rushes up his chest as he shakes his head.

"The new place? The one with the fuckin' smoke meat? They did this?"

"Mhm" You mumble "I should've just listened to you" You groan out in sadness.

"Fucking idiots. How the fuck did they even? Okay, okay honey just gimme a second yeah?"

How did he let this happen? Carmen has half the mind to stop at the restaurant that more of a Instagram attraction that a respected place of business. You were so eager and excited t try it, Carmen had his own thoughts but would glue his mouth shut if it meant making you happy.

He'll make sure they get shut down, or at least black listed from Chicago as long as he's concerned. His hands shake with the eager want for the fight, to smash someones jaw for resorting you to a heap of tears and sick. He would, he knows he will, but at this moment he needed to take care of your first.

He mumbles out a rushed reply, phone between his shoulder and ear as he slips out of his work shoes and into his sneakers. He thinks for a moment to grab his things but immediately shut that thought out when he hears you groaning into the phone.

"Just stay on the phone okay? I'm coming now, I need to get you some things alright?"

You let out what you hope is a reply, hunched over the toilet.

Carmen rushes to the store fridge, grabbing containers of soup Tina had prepared for family as the Chicago winter was getting close.

"You alright kid?" Richie mumbles, walking into the kitchen entry way, scratching his stomach as he watched Carmen's erratic movements around the store.

"Fuckin-, she's sick. And I'm here chopping up tomatoes for fucking Guy while she was in pain for god knows how long-"

"Woah, Bugs sick? We talking COVID or.."

"I'm such a fucking idiot. No it's not COVID Rich, Jesus Christ. Some rookie new spot trying something outside of their abilities gave her food poisoning. Fuckin' hipsters"

"Oh that's bad. You know when I got food poisoning the one time I took Tiff to this romantic getaway. Had me projectile vomiting in the AirBnb bathroom. Couldn't even get a deposit back, had to pay some dumb ass cleaning fee-"

Carmen wipes a hand across his face shaking his head. He was already pent up, he might throw a pan at Richie if he doesn't stop talking.

"Richie, I don't have time for this, I need to get her some Sprite or"

Richie shuffles across to the cupboard near the back of the house, grabbing bottles of Gatorade and a pack of saltine crackers.

"How do you even have this stuff lying around"

"You're the one with the inhuman alcohol tolerance Carmy, someone of us actually have hangovers you freak" Richie retorts

"Yeah yeah, thanks. Fuck- I gotta" Carmen replies, to which Richie nods.

"Go. I'll wrap up anything here" Richie replies, understanding in his voice. You took precedence over pretty much everything in Carmen's life.

"And Carm?"

"Yeah?" Carmen calls out, slipping on his jacket as he turns to Richie

"Tell me when we're going to sort out those bearded wearing flannel ass wipes"

Carmen shakes his head with a smile, before nodding and pushing past the kitchen doors. The traffic lights better be green green fuckin' green tonight.

You were stripped to a singlet and sleeping shorts as you knelt over the toilet, blinking back exhausted tears at the state of you.

You suppose you have no one else to blame but yourself, but the indignation righteousness burns almost as bright as the acid reflux crawling up your throat.

You hear the faint opening and loud clang of the apartment door opening and closing and you sigh in relief as you hear the familiar footfalls of Carmen down the hall.

It had felt damn near torturous suffering without him, and as he calls out to you following the trail of loose clothing he spots your figure in the bathroom sprawled.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry" Carmen says

And it was as if your body needed to finally feel safe in Carmen's presence before you felt the nausea spill out of you and splash offensively into the toilet.

You feel Carmen crouch above you, dragging your hair that had gone loose from it's wrapped up do away from your face. Gently rubbing your back, his large hands softly dipping up and down your spine.

"That's it, 'atta girl. Let it all out" Carmen coo's softly

You purged the insides of your stomach into the toilet bowl, retching loudly with every heave as Carmen comforted you. After what seemed like hours, and the nausea had subsided Carmen carefully wrapped his arms up under your armpits picking you up of the floor.

"Slowly, yeah? You damn near emptied out you're entire water content" Carmen murmurs, flushing the toilet and helping you walk to the basin and wash out the taste of bile from your mouth.

"I probably look insane" You cry out, blinking back exhaustion from your eyes as Carmen shakes his head furiously.

"Never, my pretty girl. Need you to go easy okay? Gonna take you to bed and let you sleep through it. Can't have you collapsing on me" Carmen murmurs, wiping at the edge of your mouth, patting the sweat that stuck to your forehead.

You let Carmen carefully maneuver your body, one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back walking to the bedroom. Your wring dry and can barely keep your eyes open as Carmen placed you on the cool sheets you immediately moan at.

You hear the faint rustle of movement as Carmen brings in a paper bag. The clunk of bottles placed on the bedside table as you sing praise for the very short bit of relief you have before the next bout of nausea rolls in.

Carmen pads to the adjacent bathroom, the door opened so you can see the stream of light that illuminates him. Hes running a cloth under water, squeezing the excess and looking up to check on you every so often.

He looked so...domestic, like he hadn't come back from working at one of the most decorated restaurants in Chicago. Stripped of his shirt so he stood bare chested, golden curls pushed behind his ears, sweatpants hung low on his hips and the furrow of his eyebrows in concentration and worry.

Your eyes flutter shut as you thank the midnight sky for bringing him to you, for keeping him for you, this one good thing that was yours.

The skies answer by the sound of his voice listing off all the things you will not be doing in this stage of recovery. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he places the cool rag against your forehead, lips between teeth as he feels your temperature under his skin.

"Just bone broth, Gatorade and bread sticks for you, doll. And no, before you even think it, its not the garlic ones." Carmen tsks.

You were thinking it. He knew you too well, but when he kisses your eyelids and measures out careful tips of the Gatorade bottle, you don't mind it.

[eyelambspider]

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. - König

Part One || Part Two

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The WX 400 model, or König, had been sitting in a Cyberlife store for nearly six months without so much as a glance from customers. He had been repurposed from a hard laborer to a sort of domestic care-giver... but the thing was, consumers only wanted the newer models. Until you came by. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2 k 𝐚/𝐧 : consider this my masterpiece, probably will write a second part 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff, hurt/comfort(?), domestic fluff

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐑��𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄. From the sleek tiled floors, to the large window panes that were cleaned daily, to the Androids that stood on display within.

On white pedestals, circled with fluorescent tags and holograms indicating their model numbers and generic purposes: Domestic housekeepers, caretakers, companions. Smaller synthetic machines that had friendly faces and sparkling eyes. Built for a life amongst humans.

He wasn't built for that. No.

His slate-colored eyes had watched for months, lingering over Cyberlife's newest models at the front of the store. A blank expression as each one smiled hopefully. Perhaps something they were programmed to do. To appear friendly?

He considered it a possibility, sure, but the 'front of the store' androids were a stark contrast to his own model.

The WX-series of androids had been built with only one purpose: hard labor, or to put it more simply, construction work.

When customers came into the store they only wanted one thing: a shiny new companion.

Everyday the eyes of those strangers would frown when they saw him. Hardly sparing the WX a glance before they turned around and considered an AX 400 instead.

An android built for housework and taking care of children, with a soft round face and a smile that reached all the way up to her kind blue eyes...

It seemed a diluted plausibility that one day the repurposed WX would eventually find a purpose. With everyday he inched closer to the possibility of being discarded. Simply unwanted.

Until a particularly cloudy day in May, one of the stares had caught his attention, even in his low power mode. Only able to shift his tired seeming eyes and move at a slow pace. Meeting that oddly new curious gaze of yours. The eyes of a stranger finally lingering on him.

Him.

"Excuse me?" You held your hand up sheepishly, asking for assistance from one of the android retailers, a young looking man with a head of soft brown hair and a blue circular LED on his right temple. The holographic label on his chest reading: Ethan.

"Hello, How can I help you?" Ethan stepped next to your side with a light smile.

You pointed to the WX in front of you, feeling a bit silly for even asking but... "Could you tell me about this one?"

The android salesman nodded, hands folded politely behind him, following your gaze towards the decommissioned android, unable to show the usual grimace humans showed the WX.

"Of course," he agreed easily, "This particular model is a WX 400, a decommissioned laborer. They aren't often sold in stores, but if you are interested I could tell you more about it."

The WX watched you nod, his eyes flickering occasionally between you and the sales-android.

"Why is he decommissioned?" you asked quietly, letting the question linger momentarily before Ethan perked up again, unbiased.

"The WX 400 was only decommissioned in its primary purpose, which was doing manual labor," the mechanical man explained with a synthetic smile, gesturing with his hands for your eyes to follow. "It works perfectly fine, and besides some damage to its synthetic skin and body, and a few replaced parts," he managed a soft light-hearted chuckle, "This model works perfectly fine, just not for its intended heavy lifting purposes. It will work perfectly fine for housework. Is that what you were looking for?"

As the sales-android considered the new possibility, he prompted a new question: "We have many other fine models if you are interested in something else."

The statement, whilst a little profound to you, meant next to nothing to the two androids who patiently awaited your answer.

"I was looking for someone to help around the house," you confirm.

The WX before you, nearing seven foot tall easily in the display case, glanced down at you. Unmoving, but like all androids, his eyes held an uncanny humanity within those blue depths.

He could see the consideration on your face. The way your eyes wearily, almost tenderly, traced the lines and deep scars on his synthetic skin. Deep grooves and lacerations running from his fingers, up his strong forearms and disappearing under the fabric of his standard Cyberlife shirt.

Even the androids face, while once maybe even considered handsome, had a deep scar running over its left side. Over his dirty blonde brow and high cheekbone, tracing over his lips to his chin.

It was a wonder he even worked properly, and the unspoken question must've been written all over your face again.

"The WX has had his diagnostics run perfectly well. I assure you the android itself works perfectly fine," Ethan smiled boyishly when you blushed.

"I don't doubt it," you assured him with an unintentionally adorable grin. "I've just... I've never seen an android like him," you admitted softly, those soft eyes meeting the WX's again.

He was looking right at you again.

Immediately your gaze dropped down shyly, unintentionally reading the blue holographic labels that surrounded the short white pillar he stood on.

"He has a name?" You asked, glancing over to Ethan for confirmation.

"Of course, but if you'd like to reset it-"

"No," you stopped him, feeling a bit more confident than you had when you first entered the store.

"König sounds fine to me."

König watched from his display, with a hint of utter- well... what would you call this?

Disbelief? Surprise?

Surprise when your complexion lit with a smile. Surprise when you said his name and turned to walk with the other android to the front of the store? Surprise as his eyes trailed after your form, unable to comprehend you.

For what reason could you possibly want a repurposed android like him?

It didn't make sense in the slightest, and although he watched you, he felt lost, considering possibilities that felt underwhelming in their answers.

His price was lower than others for being damaged. But so many had passed him by.

It was something König considered for a while, never finding a suitable answer until a new initiative popped across his sensors. Jolting him awake once more.

He was registered now to you. Your name popping across his vision like a directive.

"Thank you," you waved to the man who had helped you with a soft smile, getting a vaguely surprised gesture from him.

"Oh- You're very welcome!" Ethan smiled back and watched for a moment longer as you headed up to König, whom at that moment, was given back full control over his mechanical body. Unlocked from his low power mode.

The blue Thirium that cooled and powered his circuits rushed back into him. Circling through his veins and giving him back full control of his body. The world no longer running in slow motion.

König's hands lifted up slowly. The WX inspecting his hands and flexing his fingers into gentle balls. The two of you watched in silent awe as the large android moved once more, no longer destined for a Cyberlife disposal facility... but for.

König's vision refocused as you reached out. Your tiny hand taking one of his. Warm, and unmarred in contrast to his, and he could feel the almost imperceptible beating of your pulse beneath the contact.

"Come on," you smiled, not quite helping him from the stand, but guiding him down the small step. "I'll show you how to get back home, König," you mused, feeling the large androids cut up hand grip yours a bit tighter.

Next >

© Eyelambspider. I only post here on Tumblr! könig photo credit to my friend @koharu-rk800

[bluesidez]

Hello!!! Love that you’re taking requests now 🫶🏽 would you write a domestic!miguel fic? Like showing the chaotic but fluffy dysfunction of the O’Hara household. Miguel and the reader already have two kids, maybe reader is pregnant with the third (if you’re comfortable with writing that)

I just really need some fluff in my life lol 😅

[Five Peas In A Pod]

lab taster: @scorpihoooe 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Pregnant!Reader

summary: No family's life is exactly perfect, but it doesn't make them any less beautiful.

content warning: lots and lots of fluff, mentions of vomit, mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy cravings, mentions of food, could possibly be suggestive? but not enough to warrant a huge warning, a lot of crying but I promise it's not sad

word count: 4.3k, not proofread

a/n: I apologize for this being so late! But I'm really happy with how it turned out, so I hope you enjoy it as well!

“Finally.”

Miguel slid under the covers, grunting as he inched towards your back. His breath was warm on your head as he positioned one arm under one of your pillows and another around your waist.

“How are we feeling?” he kissed your scalp and rubbed down your stomach.

“Not too great, she’s been kicking for the past forty minutes.”

“That’s no good,” Miguel shifted to place his mouth on your shoulder. “What’s wrong, mija? Did you miss me?”

Your baby girl brought her feet to where Miguel held his hand, tapping away like there was there was no tomorrow. Miguel chuckled and wrote a pattern into your skin with his thumb.

“I’m glad you two are having a lovely reunion, but I’d like to go to sleep.”

Miguel kissed up your shoulder and neck as you sighed.

“Hear that Gabi? Can you calm down until tomorrow? Mama needs to sleep so you can keep growing. We can talk in the morning.”

Like magic, Gabriella’s little feet slowed to a halt.

“She hasn’t even seen you yet and she’s already a daddy’s girl,” you weave your fingers through his over your stomach. “What’s next? She’ll look like you too?”

“Mm,” Miguel placed his lips behind your ear. “I hope she looks like you. She’ll be the most beautiful in the world.”

You smiled, “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Miguel took his hands down your body and massaged your hip and lower back. You groaned and melted into your pillow, arching your body into Miguel’s hold. With his ministrations and your daughter giving you a break, you start to fade into dreamland.

You could almost visualize your next craving you were going to make tomorrow. A big bowl of mashed potatoes with chunks of pickles, bacon, and caramel drizzle. Maybe some sprinkles too.

The door of the bedroom creaked, Miguel looking over his shoulder.

“Daddy? Mommy? I threw up.”

Miguel’s hands paused and he heaved a heavy sigh.

There was a dip in the bed and a shuffle of slides across the floor.

“Is your stomach still feeling funny, bub?”

You turned your body to watch Miguel bend down and check your second oldest for soiled clothes. Daniel shook his head and tucked his chin into his chest, eyes welling up with tears.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” his voice was shaking. “I didn’t mean to.”

You got up on the edge of the bed and walked around to the other side. You sat on your knees next to Miguel and pressed the back of your hand to Daniel’s forehead. He wasn’t burning up, but he was trembling.

“We know you didn’t mean to, honey. Sometimes, we just get sick. It’s ok!”

“Yeah, buddy. Papá gets sick all of the time.”

“Really?” Daniel looked to Miguel with big doe eyes, a baby picture of Miguel brought to life.

“Absolutely.”

“And Mama has to nurse him back to health-”

“Ok! Here,” Miguel tugged at the sleeves of his shirt while you laugh. “Let’s clean you up and get you some medicine. It was probably really scary, huh?”

Daniel nodded his head as Miguel helped him take off his pajama pants.

“C’mon. Let’s take a quick bubble bath. How does that sound? No need to be sad,” you gave Daniel a hug and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll get the sheets and clothes in the washing machine and join you.” Miguel said as he helped you up. So much for cuddles before bed.

Miguel was quick to scope Daniel’s room. Any smell of tonight’s stir fry mixed with the chocolate milk from lunch and your waves of morning sickness might come back. He was quick to transfer the sheets to the washing machine and spray the room down with disinfectant. Luckily, the damage wasn’t drastic, so a quick change of sheets and a mop to the floor was all that was needed.

By the time he got to the bathroom, Daniel was wrapped up in a green dinosaur hoodie towel with a smile on his face as you blew raspberries into his cheek.

Miguel gasped, “Are you two having a party without me?”

Daniel folded his hands under his chin and nodded meekly, face rosy.

“Nonsense!” Miguel swept him up in his arms. “There’s no party without Papá, no?”

The hall filled with giggles as Miguel airplaned Daniel back to his room. The chatter amongst them filled the noise as Miguel reassured Daniel that he and mommy would only be a room away if was feeling sick again.

He ran lotion over his body and placed him in paw print pajamas. He wrapped him tight in the covers and shifted the star night light on the nightstand. With a whisper of goodnight, Miguel inched his way to the door.

However, the crumbling face of the five year old as Miguel looked through the crack tugged at his heart. He opened the door, swept Daniel up, and trudged back to his own bedroom.

Walking into the room, you were laying down with the opposite side of the duvet flipped up and an extra pillow in between yours and his.

Your face was knowing, a shake in your shoulders as you watched Miguel rock a clingy baby in his arms to the bed.

“Joining mommy and daddy, Daniel?”

“Uh huh,” he crawls to the middle and pulls the covers up. You lay a hand on his tummy over the duvet as Miguel slips in with a deep sigh.

He turns and places his hand over yours, the two of you acting as a shield. “I love you’s” and “good nights” are exchanged and a kiss between the two of you is shared before Daniel whines about wanting a kiss too. Both of you laugh and kiss him on his cheeks as he settled into his pillow.

You rub his chest lightly, something that put him to sleep easily as a baby.

His eyes start to close, almost gone to the world, before he jerks back up, startling Miguel whose eyes were just as heavy.

“Papá, can you sing the night-night song?” Daniel pleads.

A soft breath escapes your nose as you watch Miguel blink his eyes open and comply.

“But you have to go to sleep after this, bub.”

Daniel promises to do so as Miguel starts up a lullaby about a baby that wants to sleep but can’t.

It works on you too, the low drum of his voice holding you in his arms as you held your baby in yours.

Gabriella moved, and as softly as you can, you take his hand to your stomach. With this, she taps softly to his palm.

Miguel smiles sleepily as he watches you take a little breath, the rise and fall of your chest showing that you were in a deep sleep.

He only stops singing when he’s sure all three of you are asleep.

“Jaime, I’ve asked you five times to get up already. Get it together.”

There was only one more hour left before everyone needed to be out of the house or else you’d be late to your appointment.

The lump in the bed only moves a bit before it’s still again.

“Jaime, please. I don’t want to have to pull you out of the bed.”

Today was already starting out all over the place. You woke up sweaty and achy, the heat radiating from your furnace of a husband and your snuggly son was too much. Your ankles felt a little more swollen than usual, and you wanted chewy spicy rice cakes with extra cheese, but the heartburn wouldn’t be worth it.

You sighed as your eldest stayed put. A soft pat to the bed only earned a whine and a wiggle from him.

Looking towards the growing footsteps at the door, your husband was frantic and glaring at his watch as if it cursed him.

“What’s the holdup? We need to be in the car soon and Daniel has to be at school early for a field trip.”

You held your hand out to the bed, face defeated.

“Son.”

Jaime shot up with a wobble to his lips and a scrunch to his face at the tone of Miguel’s voice.

You folded your arms, half concerned, half offended.

“I know you hear your mother asking you to get up.”

“But-“

“Jaime O’Hara.”

The tears start to fall as he shuffles out of bed and goes to the bathroom, his cries pitiful and broken.

He swings the door like he’s about to slam it only to close it softly at the end, the sound of his voice carrying through then hallway.

“Was I too hard on him?” Miguel’s shoulders drop.

“No? I don’t think so. But I think there’s something he’s not telling us.”

“Is there something going on at school? Did we miss an important date?”

The two of you stare at each other as Jaime continues to sob in the bathroom.

“There’s no award ceremonies. He hasn’t said anything strange about his classmates. His birthday isn’t until the end of the year. He does have his game coming up.”

Miguel gasps and runs his had through his hair, “He’s been worrying about his 3-pointers nonstop. He’s probably nervous about it.”

He puts his face in his hand and mumbles through his fingers.

“How could I forget?”

You pat his shoulder, “Don’t worry about that right now. What’s important is that we talk to him. Check up on him, calm him down, explain things to him, and encourage him. Right?”

“Absolutely,” Miguel kisses your temple. “You’re so good at this.”

A snicker follows his statement, “And so are you. Now, can you go stop his crying while I make sure Daniel hasn’t made a mess in the kitchen? He’s too quiet.”

Miguel’s eyebrows shot up again as he realized he left the kindergartner to his own devices. The last time he did that, he walked onto a floor covered in flour and dusty, giggly baby.

“Smart idea.”

“Mm hm.”

Miguel turns and heads towards the bathroom, giving it two knocks before asking to come in.

Jaime takes a deep breath and pushes out a yes.

Miguel opens the door to him crying in the mirror while he puts up his toothbrush. If it were anyone else’s child or baby brother, it could have been funny and dramatic, but Miguel sees himself in the way his entire chest jumps when he breathes in.

He hopes Jaime always feels that home is a safe place to cry and yell, something his own parents never offered him.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He left his frustration with the frantic morning at the doorway and stepped inside. With one hand on the counter and another arm resting on his thigh, he squatted down to Jaime’s level.

His son rubbed his eyes from the inside of his elbow to his arm, “I kept messing up.”

“Messing up what? Your shots?”

Jaime nodded his head, curly hair bouncing along with it.

“At practice, Coach made us do Around-the-worlds and the further from the goal, the more I kept missing. But the game is soon, and I can’t mess up at the game.”

His voice reached its highest point and he bit his lip in order not to cry again.

“Oye, está bien. That’s just practice, mijo. The game isn’t until a few more days. There’s plenty of time for us to get to a court and do some more drills. I know it feels like a lot right now, but we can always work to be better. Understood?”

Jaime nodded his head.

“Can you look at me?”

Jaime pouted as he turned to Miguel.

“I apologize for not giving you the space to explain yourself this morning. I was rushing and I didn’t take the time to check on you. For that, Papá’s sorry. Lo siento, mijo.”

With a calmer demeanor, Jaime forgives him. No whines and no hesitation.

“Still, when you’re feeling like this, you need to communicate, ok? Mamá was there and you could have told her that you were worried. You could have even called for me and I would have come running.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt Mamá.”

Miguel bit the inside of his lip in order to not coo, “I know you didn’t. Would you like to apologize to her like I did to you?”

Jaime collided with Miguel’s chest and wrapped his arms around his neck. He could feel the movement of his head nodding.

“Ok, buddy. Let’s go find her after we get your uniform on.”

Jaime wasn’t budging from his spot so Miguel let him cling off his neck as he got up. One day his eldest might not want to do things like this again, so for now he’ll cherish it.

One blazer, some knaki shorts, and a button down later, Jaime was all ready for school.

“And what do we say when we’re feeling down about ourselves?” Miguel asked as he tucked in the end of Jaime’s belt.

“Nothing can stop me from the path I want to take, not even my doubts.”

“And?”

“O’Hara’s may make mistakes, but O’Hara’s bounce back. O’Hara’s succeed.”

“¡Exactamente!” Miguel patted his back.

“¿Papá?”

“¿Sí, mijo?”

Jaime held his hands up, silently pleading with Miguel.

With an easy tug, his son was in his arms. As tall as he was getting, he was still Miguel’s baby.

In the kitchen, you were leaning over the island as you listened intensely to Daniel talk about types of dinosaurs. You looked up to your son in your husband’s arms and you knew they had a good talk.

Miguel strode up to you and looked at Jaime expectantly.

“I,” he picked at his uniform tie. “I’m sorry for not listening to you this morning Mamá. I was sad but that- that doesn’t mean I was supposed to ignore you.”

Your eyes started to water, “I forgive you, Jaime. I’m glad you were able to figure out what was wrong. Can I give you a kiss?”

“Yes, please.”

With that, you kiss his cheek and place a hand on his head.

“Papá, pick me up too!” Daniel huffs out.

Miguel complies, holding him in his other arm like nothing. You giggle at the three of them, all very similar in some way. Their skin, their hair, their smiles. Your precious, precious boys.

A sharp kick to your stomach causes you to suck in through your teeth.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Miguel asks with a pinch in his brow.

“No, I just think a certain someone wants your attention, too.”

You gently press your stomach to your husband’s, hoping that he could feel Gabriella’s tap dance performance.

“She’s going crazy in there,” you mumble.

Miguel can kind of feel her little feet through his shirt, but really, he was staring at you.

Even as you frowned at your stomach, you were still so beautiful. Your skin was glowing, you were giving him more smiles than ever, and the pregnancy was treating your body right in his eyes.

“Mírame.”

You peer up at him and it’s like a halo appears above your head. He’s quick to slot his lips against yours and hold it, the feeling of warmth settling into his bones.

“Eugh,” Jaime scrunches his face up in disgust.

You pull back and shake your head with a heated face, brought back to reality. Daniel is giggling behind his hands.

Miguel turned to Jaime and bombarded his face with kisses to, leading the 9-year-old to scream bloody murder. You joined Miguel on his attack, not stopping until Jaime waved his white flag.

The two of you looked at each other and then at Daniel simultaneously who squeaked when he saw you grin. Laughter filled the kitchen as the three of you gave Daniel some love.

Mornings were for chaos, but they also brought you together.

By the time Miguel was walking to the car with his kids, it was far past his estimated time.

He turned and looked at you still standing by the kitchen counter.

“Baby, c’mon.”

“But,” you pause, smile growing on your face. “The baby wants to be carried, too.”

You think he’s about to brush the comment off with a sigh but he gives a “One sec” and disappears into the garage with the kids.

You go to gather your purse and your water, checking that all of the lights and appliances are turned off.

“Ok,” Miguel rushes back in and claps his hands, “vamos.”

Three blinks at his wrestler stance and it clicks. You walk to him and your feet leave the ground.

“You’re so silly,”

“Just in love, mi amor.”

The gel was still as cold as ever, you could never really get used to it.

Looking to Miguel, you could see that he could never get used to sitting next to you in these rooms either. His grip on your hand was tight and solid.

The obstetrician slid the transducer on your lower stomach, her eyes sliding over the screen.

Gabriella’s little heartbeat bounced through the room, fast and strong.

Miguel’s grip on your hand loosened as he smiled at the screen.

“Baby girl is looking good,” the doctor says. “Everything is in place and she’s growing perfectly. You both should be proud.”

She paused and looked at you both, specifically at Miguel, “I would be worried about how she big she’s getting at this stage, but I can see why. How tall are you?”

“Uh, 6’9.”

A whistle passes her lips, “Godspeed, Mama. You’ll need it for the next several months.”

“Two boys and my only girl is going to give me a run for my money,” you mumble.

Jaime and Daniel were so tiny when they came out, both of them barely showing at five months. Gabriella is close to being almost twice their size at this rate, and the soreness all over your body was showing it.

At least your husband made time to make you feel good in more ways than one.

“Is there anything that she should look out for? Other than the obvious?” Miguel asks, always the worrier.

“No, I think you guys are good to go. I’ll get you some pictures of the baby and get you checked out. Just keep taking your vitamins, get plenty of water, get those feet up, and stretch as much as you can while you still feel like it. The least stress you have, the better.”

Your stomach is wiped clean and in no time, you’re back in the car trying to decide what to get for lunch.

“I feel like I should have asked more questions,” Miguel’s fingers tapped on the wheel.

“I’m sure you’ll have more that you can call her for later, baby. Right now, I want a milkshake.”

“You need some nourishing food, too.”

“Is that what you want Gabriella?” you ask your stomach. No taps, no spins, no twirls. “What about a milkshake? Chocolate oreo? Extra whip cream?” Gabriella thumps three times.

“My girl is already so smart,” you say to Miguel who scowls.

“Already so spoiled.”

“You love it, though.”

“Mm.”

Miguel swore he would never be like those fathers that only connected to their children through their own expectations of them, and to be fair, he was the complete opposite.

Though seeing him stand at the bottom of the bleachers with a baseball cap, folded arms, and a stern face gave the impression that he was that type of dad.

“¡Ay, eso es faulta!”

“Babe. Maybe let’s let the coach and the referee do their jobs.”

“They don’t know what they’re doing. That was clearly a foul and my son should be holding the ball right now.”

You sighed and continued to chew on your nachos with Daniel who was just happy to be out of the house later than usual. Miguel was about to burn a hole in the gymnasium floor with how stiff he was standing.

Behind him was a family that couldn’t see, leaning around him.

“Miguel, honey, please sit down so everyone can see.”

He sits and folds his hands under his chin. His muscles bulge through his jacket as his legs bounce.

You place a hand on his leg and put a water bottle to his lips. He takes a few sips and focuses back on the game.

“Let’s go, Jaime! Make it count!”

He’s back on his feet again as Jaime gets ready to shoot some free-throws.

Jaime looks at Miguel, a hint of fear in his eyes. Miguel brings his hands up and pushes them down, motioning a deep breath.

“You got this, mijo. Just like we practiced.”

Your son dribbles once, twice, and takes the shot.

The basketball flies through the air and brushes the rim of the basket. It spins and the gym goes quiet. You don’t realize your holding your breath until it comes back when the people behind you stomp on the bleachers.

Jaime looks to Miguel with the brightest face he could muster. Miguel almost springs through the ceiling with how high he jumps.

“That’s my son,” he claps his hands like thunder, chest puffing up. “That’s my son!”

The game continues with Miguel milliseconds from fighting with the official, Jaime looking to Miguel for encouragement, and you smacking the back of his thighs whenever he was standing too much.

When Jaime made the final basket, you were scared Miguel might do a backflip.

Jaime ran to him and jumped in his arms, Miguel spinning him around and laughing with glee.

“I did it, daddy! I did it!”

“¡Eres increíble, mijo! I’m so proud of you.”

“Did you see me, mommy?”

“I did! I couldn’t take my eyes off of you!”

Daniel jumps up and down, “You made the ball go whoosh! And, and, and when it went in everybody screamed!”

Jaime and his brother played together as the gym started to empty out.

“What do you say we celebrate with some pizza?” you ask Miguel as you watch Jaime help Daniel dribble.

“I think that’s an excellent idea.”

“And what do you say to carton of cotton candy ice cream after the kids go to bed? Maybe even a soak in the bath?”

Miguel looked to you as you blinked your eyes at him. You slid your hands down his arm and tilted your head.

“You want vanilla wafers too?”

You nod.

“And strawberry syrup?”

“You’re such a good husband.”

You pull him down to kiss him, heart soaring.

“Mamá! Look what I can do!”

“No, Daniel! Don’t jump off that!”

“If I hear that raccoon sing that song one more time, I’m going to lose it,” Miguel bit into a slice of pizza.

You reached across the table to wipe some ranch off of his lips and lick it away.

“I like the song! He’s a little off-key, though.”

Miguel had a grimace on his face, the energy from the building overwhelming. Or perhaps it was Daniel clinging tight to his side whenever the mascot came close to their table.

A couple of kids ran by, running towards the line for laser tag.

You listened to them go over strategies, all very serious coming from them.

“God, I can’t believe he’ll be 10 soon. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

You poke the straw of your cup in and out, pout on your face. It felt like just yesterday you and Miguel were setting up his nursery.

“I remember him grabbing my finger at the hospital. So strong for someone who couldn’t eat solids yet.”

“Now he’s running around and blooming into this perfect little boy,” you sigh, watching him catapult into a ballpit. You should definitely make him take some vitamins later, just to be sure.

“And this little boy is the sweetest,” Miguel kissed the top of Daniel’s head, who seemed to be pre-occupied with a coloring book you packed.

“And once our little girl is in our arms, it’ll be so special,” you say. “She’s already making an impact.”

“I’m already crazy about her,” Miguel grins.

“And I’m ready for her to come out,” you snicker. “I have a feeling that whatever she’ll do will involve these rapid fire feet.”

“I need to get some new running shoes then,” Miguel replies in all seriousness. Daniel interrupted him with a drawing of a T-rex.

“When she gets here,” Miguel comments in between his praise for Daniel’s skill, “how do you want to celebrate afterwards?”

“I don’t need anything. Just maybe a plate of food I couldn’t eat and a comfy bed.”

“Mamà, c’mon,” Miguel held your hand across the table. “That can be arranged easily. I mean something especially for you for doing something so amazing. It can be anything. I’ll make it happen.”

Your heart sped up, a bit giddy.

“Well the last time we took a trip to an island and,” you panned to Daniel, “we both know how that ended. Maybe the mountains?”

“We can do the mountains. Or just you and your friends if you want.”

Miguel thought about you all bundled up and cozy, enjoying s'mores and wine in a sweater and a blanket. Peak cuddling form.

“That would be very nice. Thank you, Miggy.”

“Of course. Now what do you say to a friendly game of arcade racing?”

“There’s nothing friendly about leaving you in the dust.”

Miguel scoffed and slid Daniel into his arms.

“It’s on.”

As always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT! This was very sweet to write!!

[aliteralsemicolon]

Technically, I didn't stay up.

Just you and Spencer being fluffy when he comes home from work and falling asleep in each other's arms.

Spencer Reid X GN! Reader. 

DISCLAIMER This story is completely SFW, minors do not interact regardless!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

Word count: 1K See notes at end for authors note, any spoilers & update schedules.

I was listening to Margaret when I initially started writing this:

Spencer’s abnormal work hours were something you were entirely used to. You never knew when he was going to be called away and although he would text you when a case wrapped up, it was never a guarantee that he was going to make it home. Actually more often than not, he was usually hauled right back in for another case. What could you do? Serial killers didn’t really care about his convenience. Regardless, you always insisted on being present to greet him at the door, even if it meant testing your sleep schedule.

from: Spence ❤️

20:42 | The jet took off not too long ago. We should land in roughly five hours. Please don’t force yourself to wait up.

20:42 | I love you!

You were quick to respond to everything except the not waiting up part. Your plan hadn’t actually gone that smoothly, you’d fallen asleep on the couch not long after making yourself comfortable there. You didn’t hear him unlock the door. He took extra care to be as quiet as possible when abandoning his shoes and satchel at the entrance. He even put a lot of thought into making his steps as light as possible when he began to make his way to the bedroom, only to spot you curled up on the couch. 

He smiled to himself at the sight in front of him. The only lighting was a small lamp in the corner of the room, but to him, you were the brightest presence in the room. Your expression was neutral and your breaths shallow as you lay dead to the world. You looked so peaceful, he considered it to be almost criminal if he were to disturb you. He couldn’t just leave you there though. It wasn’t good for your body to be curled into a cramped position. 

Spencer made his way over to you, crouching down next to your face. He couldn’t help but admire whatever features were visible. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Honey?” he whispered when he pulled away. His voice was so soft. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he wanted you to be comfortable in your own bed. “Hmm?” Your brain registered his voice, but it took your body a second to register his presence.

Spencer still had a hand in your hair, lightly stroking it. Your eyes fluttered open momentarily before they shut again. “You’re back!” You mumbled groggily, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand. “I am!” He whispered gleefully. Your other hand made its way to his face so you could stoke his jaw. You could feel a little bit of stubble coming in. Spencer’s ears perked up at the little giggle that came out of you when you dropped from the couch into his lap and wrapped yourself around him. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. I did tell you not to stay up.” His long arms swallow you into his embrace as he speaks. 

“Technically, I didn’t stay up.” You counter letting your hand make its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Sleeping on a surface that isn’t firm enough can contribute to back pain and because the surface of a couch tends to be softer than a mattress, it might not offer enough support for your back. Also, falling asleep while sitting up on a couch could result in your head pushing forward, which puts stress on the neck. Sleep posture is an important predictor of stiffness, back pain, and neck pain, according to several studies.” 

“Thank you Doctor. I remember why I missed you so much.” You pull back as you speak. “Who else is going to be as concerned about my sleep posture as you?”

“I missed you too.” He scoffs in amusement and smiles into the kiss you lean in for. 

You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck when you feel a yawn coming. “Let’s go to bed, okay?” He whispers, sensing your sleeping demeanour. 

“Only if I can take you with me.” You whisper into his skin. He huffs a small laugh as he pushes you off him so he can stand and offers his arms down to you. You grab them and he pulls you up. Neither of you let go of each other's hand as you walk into the bedroom. “I’m just going to brush my teeth first, then I’ll be right with you.” Spencer announces. Still ever the germaphobe.

“I’m gonna join you, that nap made my mouth all dry.” You follow behind him. Spencer grabs both of your toothbrushes and holds them out, as you grab the toothpaste and squeeze an equal amount on each brush. You then take yours out of his hand and the two of you begin brushing. You’re both trying to make up for his time away by leaning into each other, stealing glances in the mirror and smiling if you get caught. 

When you both finish up in the bathroom, you make your way back to the bedroom together. It's like both of you are incapable of being away from each other right now, even for a second. Spencer decides against changing into more comfortable clothes, wanting nothing more than to hold you. He joins you under the comforter, immediately pulling you as close to him as possible. 

Neither of you have enough energy in you for conversation right now, you’re still sleepy from your previous nap and Spencer is entirely drained from the case. Still, you acknowledge each other through light touches and kisses. Spencer’s hand now makes its way to your hair while you draw little patterns against his chest. 

‘I missed u’ 

‘I <3 u’

‘♡’

‘:)’

He doesn’t recognise the little messages, but he appreciates the feeling all the same. You begin drifting off into sleep, revelling in the warmth emitting from him. Spencer smiles when he hears light snores coming from you. He truly considers himself the luckiest man alive. You don’t hear it but before he drifts off himself, he makes his feelings known to the universe in a light whisper.

“I love you so much you know. I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Spoilers: Fluff, Domestic! Spencer, entirely fluffy & domestic. Literally a comfort blurb for the people who take hot showers for too long and just need a hug.

AN - Hey so sorry for any errors, I drafted this in like 20 minutes to make up for the fact that my originally planned story for today would not be complete in time. Enjoy this short blurb. I was in a salty mood and made an entirely angst blurb too, but decided fluff was what society needed today. Also sorry for the shitty fucking title, my brain is shutting down. Also side note - I’m a WHORE for domestic! Spencer. I just loveeeeee when everyday tasks become so cute and fluffy and romantic. PLEASE recommend domestic Spencer stories!!!

Update Schedule: Original plan drops Monday or Tuesday (Sunday or Monday night EST time). (soooo apparently I'm a liar)

Feel free to drop helpful constructive criticism, I’m always looking to improve. Remember to stay real and respectful :)

Thank you for reading!

[intomepang]

how’d i get so lucky?

boyfriend!patrick zweig x reader

note: just needed some cute bf patrick!!! first time posting something like this so i hope you enjoyy!! sorry if there are any errors, barely proofread this.

patrick’s been sitting on the edge of your bed for a while now, one leg stretched out, the other bent as he leans back on his elbows. he got to your dorm just a few hours ago, doing his usual visit before leaving for tour.

as you sit at your desk, working through your skincare routine, you can feel his eyes on you. it’s not unusual since he always watches you with this quiet focus, like you’re the only thing in the world worth his attention. when you glance up into the mirror, there he is, his expression softer than usual.

“what?” you ask, meeting his gaze in the reflection, your tone light but curious.

“nothing,” he says with a small shrug, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “you just look... peaceful, i guess.”

you roll your eyes to mask the sudden fluttering in your chest and turn to face him fully, twisting the lid back onto your moisturizer. “want me to do it for you?”

patrick blinks, not expecting that offer. “what, like... your skincare routine?”

“yeah. don’t look at me like that,” you laugh, standing up and grabbing a few of your products.

he huffs out a soft chuckle, but when you walk over and nudge him with your knee, he doesn’t hesitate to sit up straight, giving you room to climb onto his lap.

“alright, alright,” he says, settling his hands instinctively on your waist to steady you.

your favorite playlist softly fills the background as you settle on his lap, a couple of skincare products around you. his eyes are closed, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as you swipe a cotton pad across his face, your legs draped comfortably on either side of him.

“you’re way too good at this,” he mumbles, voice low and content. “are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to manhandle my face?”

you huff out a laugh, dipping your fingers into a jar of moisturizer. "do you want me to stop? you need this, especially since you’re out baking under the sun all day playing tennis." you tease.

he opens one eye lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “i love it when you’re bossy, you know that?”

“close your eyes,” you warn, tapping the tip of his nose with a teasing finger. he chuckles but complies, leaning further back against the headboard as his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

as you smooth the cream over his skin in small circles, you catch the way his jaw relaxes, the faint smile softening while his thumbs brush absentmindedly against your sides, making your heart flutter.

“i miss you a lot when i’m away,” he admits, his voice cutting through the quiet. “always thinking about you.”

your hands still on his cheeks as his words sink in. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it, like it’s a thought he’s been holding onto for too long. his eyes open, meeting yours.

“i know. i miss you too.” you whisper, smoothing your thumbs along his cheekbones. “you can always call me when you can.”

“it’s not enough.” his hands press more firmly on your waist, grounding himself. “every tournament, every match—i think about what it would feel like to come home to you, instead of some cheap motel room.”

your heart squeezes at his honesty. you trace the curve of his jaw with your fingertips, trying to pour all the reassurance you can into your touch. the two of you can be away from each other for so long yet somehow, in moments like this, it feels as though the distance never mattered.

you’re about to respond, but he speaks again. “how’d i get so lucky to have someone that supports me and understands me the way you do?” he says it with smile.

your own lips curving upward to match his. “you make it easy, you know,” your head tilting slightly. “loving you, cheering you on— it’s never felt like a choice. it just comes naturally.”

patrick lets out a shaky breath, his hands slipping up to your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. he presses a kiss to your shoulder, lingering there and cherishing the moment.

“i love you.” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin.

you pull away and smile, cupping his face again to tilt it toward yours. “i love you, patrick.” you whisper, your hands sliding into his hair as you kiss him.