#final day to post fills for round one

[fauxnotice]

ive been kinda hyunabrained lately

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[gojosprettyprincess]

THAT GIRL IS...POISON!!!

Overstimulation, slight somno, Not proofread

A/n - hello! I know I haven’t been posting that much recently because I’m on a small tumblr break but I still decided to schedule this post so I hope everyone enjoys it!

˖ ⊹ ﾟ｡ ✧

Sweetheart—hahh fuck! Don’t you think you’re going too ngh-fast, Ohh fuckkk!” His moans escaped in a mixture of desperation and pleasure, his voice husky and filled with desire as he struggled to maintain his hold on your waist in an attempt to steady himself properly—Fuck, Satoru felt so lightheaded and dizzy, his thighs trembled as he weakly tried to recover from his pasting orgasms which was the…third one?? In a row.

It wasn’t really your intention for it to be this way. Dealing with difficult coworkers all day was challenging enough, but having to cover a shift last minute because of someone else's absence made things even tougher for you. So least to say when you finally came home from work you were sooo frustrated and had to let off some steam and you don’t know what, but something came over you seeing your pretty boyfriend, shirtless with his grey sweatpants hanging low by his hips, revealing a glimpse of his mouth-watering happy trail and v line in the kitchen cooking dinner for the two of you. It’s like it triggered something inside of your brain.

And that's how you found yourself on top of him on the living room couch, his snowy-white hair tickling his forehead, damped with sweat as he gazed up at you with half-lidden eyes in a mixture of exhaustion and desire. His sticky cum from the last three rounds marinating inside your cunt as you continued milking him for the forth, sure your thighs were quivering and aching but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming amount of pleasure you got from fucking your boyfriend like this. Your feet gently rested on his toned thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock, trying to cum once again and get him as stimulated as possible.

His jaw fell slack and his eyes rolled back repeatedly in sheer ecstasy at the lewd sight of you fucking down at him like this—sure Satoru loved being in control and fucking you absolutely stupid as you drooled and cried into his expensive bed sheets while he pounds your sloppy little cunt from behind but there’s just something about seeing his feisty, persistent little girlfriend being so demanding and treating him like your personal toy to fuck yourself on made him lose his mind. He loved it so so much.

He enjoys being your dildo to cream on—even if he’s on the verge of literal tears right now from the overstimulation of you bouncing your ass on his twitching, overused cock. he didn’t even had the power to try and get you off from his oversensitive dick—all he could do is lie there and take it. You won’t lie, you carried a lot of pride in having the strongest a whimpering and moaning mess alll because of you.

“Babyyy, Goddd! you’re so fucking crazy” his voice cracked as he flashed a fucked out smile at you as you ran your fingertips along the defined ridges of his abs before trailing them upwards to his chest—feeling every bit of muscle from his body that you could possibly reach. “You look so shit!- fucking beautiful”.

“Yeahhh? Oh you look so pretty like this too toruuu” you cooed, his cock was filling you up so well, just the way you wanted. You raked your hand over his chest, groping it before you accidentally did something. Which made his cock jump inside of you, throbbing and pulsating—you felt it and it made you questioned, why you never thought about it before?

“Whatthefuck—Holy shitt nghh” he groaned out, a lump forming in his throat.

You pinched both of his nipples, twisting and toying with the hardened bud before he lets out a high-pitched whine, his ragged breaths quickening as he came, spilling whatever bit of cum was left inside his balls into your already stuffed and leaking pussy, the action catching you off guard, causing your back arched slightly, the overwhelming pleasure consumed you as your rhythm got sloppy. You quickly chased your high following him—his gooey cum coating your sensitive clit and dripping down all over his balls and sheets as his balls throbbed with his release, his seed getting fucked so deep inside you as you continued bouncing on him.

His pretty pathetic whimpers and moans were like music to your ears, you were actually starting to feel bad but you were soo desperate to cum, you had to—even if you already did it about four times. It felt so fucking good and seeing Satoru like this made you even hornier.

You moved your hand down to rub your clit, feeling the intense pleasure building up as three of your fingers carefully circled the sensitive bundle of nerves as Satoru weakly looked up at you, if it wasn’t for his bright ass blue eyes peaking out faintly, you wouldn’t have even noticed. He had no power or energy to do anything, it’s like your pussy snatched his soul from his body and he’s just laying there lifeless but with his cock still throbbing with need and joy.

“Mmm fuck baby, M’ gonna cum on your cock again, gonna make a creamy little mess on you toru” you moaned out, your head falling back as you squeezed a handful of your bouncing tits, he whines eagerly at your exclamations. The pit of your stomach flutters as you came undone on your boyfriend's cock once again, your juices leaking all around his shaft as your pussy squeezes around him like a vice, at this point, Satoru’s cheeks were so flushed and feverish.

Your body collapsed onto his with his cock still nested and marinating in your warm, cum-filled pussy as you brushed the stands of stray hairs that veiled his eyes before planting a sweet, gentle kiss on his forehead. There for no doubt that Satoru wasn’t asleep right now, you could just tell from his breathing patterns and it was sooo adorable to you.

Maybe you’ll give him some time to wake up before round five orrr was it six? starts again.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Depollute Me

Summary: You join the BAU and Spencer is a smitten kitten.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: mentions of morgue details from a case, mentions of struggle from a case, alcohol consumptions

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: lol so this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS i have not read it since then but i feel so bad for never posting anymore so please accept this while i get my life together !!!

Spencer walked into the bullpen on what seemed to be a very typical Monday morning. The hum of chatter and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards filled the air, as it usually did. Without much thought, he placed his well-worn satchel down on his desk, the familiar weight leaving his shoulder as he began his habitual routine. His focus was singular: getting to the breakroom for his morning coffee. The scent of freshly brewed coffee guided him, and within moments, he returned to his desk, ready to dive into the day's work.

As he settled into his chair, Spencer reached for a stack of files when a voice interrupted his concentration. "Reid, did you not notice the new girl?" Morgan's tone was laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement, causing Spencer to pause mid-motion.

“Huh?” Spencer finally looked up, his mind still partially entangled in the tasks he was about to undertake. His routine had been so ingrained that he hadn’t even glanced around the room.

Morgan smirked, nodding towards the far side of the bullpen. "Over by JJ’s office."

Spencer's gaze followed the direction Morgan indicated, and for the first time, he noticed you. A young woman, probably in her mid twenties, was standing near JJ's office, dressed in a sharp, well-tailored pantsuit that hugged her figure in a way that was both professional and undeniably flattering. Your presence was commanding, yet you seemed approachable with an air of confidence.

“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he observed the new arrival with a mixture of intrigue and surprise.

Before Morgan could answer, Hotch, who happened to be walking by at that moment, interjected in his usual calm, authoritative manner. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N,” he informed them, his tone as steady as ever. “She’s from the Sex Crimes Unit, a promising young agent.”

Morgan, ever the one to tease, leaned back in his chair with a playful grin. “Looks like you’re not the baby anymore, pretty boy.”

Spencer, though still focused on the new agent, managed to respond with a slight shrug. “I’m okay with that.” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of relief in his words. Perhaps the idea of no longer being the youngest on the team was a comforting thought.

Hotch, who was moving on to another task, paused briefly to add one more detail, as if to settle any lingering questions. “She’s older than you, Reid. Actually.”

Morgan, not missing a beat, raised an eyebrow. “How old? She looks good,” he remarked, his eyes still on you, appreciating your composed demeanor and striking appearance.

Hotch, always the voice of reason and decorum, shot Morgan a warning look. “Morgan,” he cautioned, before continuing, “she’s 28.”

“I’m almost 28…” Spencer mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, as if to rationalize his place on the team.

“Okay, baby,” Morgan teased, chuckling as he reached over to playfully ruffle Spencer’s hair. The affectionate gesture was a typical part of their dynamic, one that Spencer had grown accustomed to over the years.

Spencer gave a small smile, shaking his head slightly at Morgan's teasing, but his mind was already drifting back to the new agent. There was something about you that intrigued him, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to work alongside you. The idea of no longer being the youngest wasn’t as unsettling as it once might have been.

“Agents, round table, five minutes,” Hotch’s voice cut through the usual hum of activity in the bullpen. The announcement was direct, as always, leaving no room for delay or distraction. Spencer, along with the rest of the team, immediately began to gather their things, each of them accustomed to the rhythm of their work.

As the team filed into the conference room and took their usual seats around the round table, there was an undercurrent of curiosity in the air. Eyes subtly darted towards the new face at the table, though the attempts at being inconspicuous were, in truth, anything but. It was clear that everyone was eager to learn more about the person who would be joining their tight-knit group.

Hotch, standing at the head of the table, wasted no time in addressing the elephant in the room. “As you have all noticed, we have a new member joining the team,” he began, his voice steady as he motioned towards you. “This is Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She’s joining us from Sex Crimes.”

A chorus of greetings filled the room, each team member offering their version of “hello” or “welcome.” Despite the collective effort to make you feel at ease, Spencer couldn’t tear his gaze away from you. His usual reserved nature gave way to an inexplicable fascination with your confident yet soft demeanor. The way you met each person’s eyes with a small, genuine smile only deepened his curiosity.

As Hotch briefed the team, Spencer’s thoughts kept drifting back to you. He noticed how attentively you listened, your calm focus suggesting you were already a step ahead. His mind wandered, wondering about your experiences, your approach, and who you were beyond the BAU walls.

When your eyes briefly met his, Spencer felt a jolt of something unfamiliar. The room seemed to fade as he quickly looked down, warmth creeping up his neck. It was unusual for him to be so distracted during a briefing, but there was something about you that he couldn’t quite place.

As the team dispersed, Spencer hesitated, glancing at you again. He wondered if you had noticed his lapse in concentration, but your calm, professional expression gave nothing away. Now, he couldn’t help but feel both eager and off balance, curious about how you would fit into the team—and what that might mean for him.

—

It was your first away case with the team, and as you boarded the jet, the weight of newness settled on your shoulders. The BAU team moved with the ease of seasoned travelers, each member instinctively knowing their place and routine. You, on the other hand, hesitated, unsure of where to sit, not wanting to take anyone's usual spot and disrupt the unspoken order.

As you stood there, trying to decide, Emily caught your eye and offered you a warm, reassuring smile. "Hey, why don't you sit next to me?" she suggested kindly, patting the seat beside her.

Grateful for her understanding, you nodded and made your way over, sliding into the seat she had saved for you. The small gesture of kindness made the moment feel a little less daunting, easing the nervousness that had been creeping in since you’d learned about the case. 

As the team engaged in a lively discussion about the case, you tried to focus on the file in front of you, but a strange sensation crept over you—a shiver that ran down your spine, leaving a trail of unease in its wake. It felt as though someone was watching you, and the thought was impossible to ignore.

Lifting your eyes from the file, you glanced toward the couch on the jet. There he was, Doctor Spencer Reid, as you'd been introduced to him earlier. His gaze was unmistakably fixed on you, a quiet intensity in his eyes that you could feel even from across the cabin. The moment your eyes met, his gaze snapped away, almost too quickly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

It was curious, to say the least. 

—

The team had just settled into the bustling Milwaukee precinct, the air thick with the tension of a new case and the quiet hum of police activity around them. Hotch stood at the center of the room, efficiently handing out assignments with his usual calm authority. 

“Reid, Y/L/N, you go to the morgue,” Hotch instructed, his voice steady as he looked between the two of you. 

Spencer felt a jolt of nervousness shoot through him at the assignment. The idea of spending time alone with you set his mind racing. His thoughts spiraled through a thousand different scenarios—what he would say, how he would act, whether you would notice his awkwardness. He tried to hide his unease, but the tightening in his chest betrayed how out of sorts he felt.

You, on the other hand, felt a surge of excitement at the prospect. The morgue wasn’t exactly a thrilling destination, but the chance to spend time with Spencer, the quiet and enigmatic doctor, piqued your interest. You’d been curious about him since you joined the team, drawn to the way his mind seemed to work in layers, each one more complex than the last. This was an opportunity to maybe get to know him better, to see beyond the brilliant profiler and into the person behind those thoughtful eyes.

As the two of you gathered your things and prepared to head out, Spencer gave you a small, tentative smile, his nerves still bubbling just beneath the surface. You returned the smile with genuine warmth, hoping to ease the tension you sensed in him. 

“Ready to go?” you asked, your tone light and encouraging.

Spencer nodded, his voice just a little tight as he replied, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

As you both made your way out of the precinct, the silence between you was comfortable, filled with the potential of what this small assignment could reveal. For Spencer, it was a chance to navigate the unfamiliar territory of getting to know someone new; for you, it was an exciting step toward understanding the mystery that was Doctor Spencer Reid.

“Do you, um, do you mind driving?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a slight edge of hesitation as the two of you stood by the car.

You smiled, already finding his nervousness endearing. “No, not at all. Do you not like to drive?” you asked as you unlocked the car.

“I find it helps me focus more on the case if I don’t also have to focus on the road,” he explained, his words coming out in a rush as if he was worried about how you might take it.

You couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Oh, so I don’t need to focus as much as you?” you joked, throwing him a playful glance as you slid into the driver’s seat.

But Spencer, usually taking things quite literally, didn’t catch on to your teasing. His eyes widened slightly as he quickly tried to clarify. “No, no, not at all. I only meant that my mind is so busy all the time, and I—I just, I need to think a lot and��” His words tumbled out, his voice growing a bit more frantic as he tried to explain.

You immediately felt a pang of guilt for having flustered him. “Doctor Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out,” you said softly, cutting off his rambling. “I was only joking.”

There was a moment of silence, then Spencer took a small breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Spencer,” he corrected gently, his tone more composed now. “You can call me Spencer.”

You smiled, nodding as you started the car. “Alright, Spencer,” you agreed, feeling the ice between you start to melt just a little as you pulled out of the parking lot.

—

The sterile, cold air of the morgue enveloped you both as you walked through the doors, the metallic scent of antiseptic mingling with the faint, almost imperceptible odor of decay. The medical examiner, a middle-aged man with weary eyes, greeted you with a curt nod before leading you to the body you were there to examine.

As the examiner began to explain the preliminary findings, you focused intently on the details, your eyes scanning the body and the evidence laid out on the stainless steel table. Spencer stood beside you, his attention divided between listening to the examiner and observing your reactions. 

As the examiner pointed out a series of bruises on the victim’s torso, you leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes at the pattern. Something about it struck you as odd, but familiar. “These bruises,” you started, gesturing to them, “they’re not random. They look like they could be the result of a struggle, but not just any struggle—these marks here,” you pointed to a specific set, “they’re consistent with someone trying to defend themselves against a chokehold. The position and depth suggest they were made by the victim’s own hands, trying to pry off an attacker.”

The examiner paused, blinking in surprise. “I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted, clearly impressed by your quick assessment.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his curiosity piqued by your insight. He leaned in closer to examine the bruises, following the line of your observation. “You’re right,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and intrigue. “That makes sense, given the angle and the force. It would explain the bruising pattern on the victim’s neck as well.”

He looked up at you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “That was a good catch,” he said, his tone genuinely appreciative. It wasn’t often that someone impressed him with such a sharp, on-the-spot observation, especially in an area where his own expertise usually dominated.

You smiled back, feeling a warm flush of pride at his acknowledgment. “Thanks, Spencer,” you replied, the use of his first name feeling more natural now, as if that small barrier had already begun to dissolve. 

—

As you and Spencer drove back to the precinct, the earlier tension from the morgue had dissipated, leaving behind a more relaxed atmosphere. 

“So, Spencer,” you began, glancing over at him with a playful smile, “I have to ask, how did you get so good at noticing the smallest details? I mean, do you practice in your free time? Like, do you just walk around analyzing random people for fun?”

Spencer chuckled softly, clearly amused by the question. “Not exactly,” he replied, his tone light. “It’s more of a habit at this point. I’ve always been observant, even when I was a kid. I guess it just… developed naturally over time.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be impressed. “Naturally, huh? So, it’s like a superpower then? I bet you can tell all kinds of things about a person just by looking at them.” 

Spencer smiled, his gaze flickering between you and the road. “It’s not quite that dramatic,” he said, modest as ever. “But, yeah, I can usually pick up on a lot of details that others might miss.”

You decided to push the playful banter a little further. “So, what about me, then? What details have you picked up?” you teased, leaning in slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Spencer blinked, taken aback by the question. He clearly hadn’t expected you to turn the tables on him like that. “Um, well,” he stammered, his mind racing to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound too personal or invasive. “I’ve noticed that you’re very passionate about your work, that you��re observant, and that you care a lot about doing the right thing.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his answer, even though it was far more earnest than you’d intended. “That’s sweet, Spencer,” you said softly. “But I was thinking more along the lines of what color my eyes are, or how you noticed I always play with my jewelry when I’m thinking.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly as he processed your words, clearly not catching on to the flirtatious undertone. “Oh, well, your eyes are a very nice shade of y/e/c,” he said earnestly. “And I did notice that you play with your jewelry sometimes when you’re concentrating. It’s a subconscious gesture, probably something you do without realizing it.”

You bit back a laugh, charmed by his obliviousness. “You really are good, Doctor Reid,” you teased lightly. “But I was just messing with you. I didn’t expect you to take me so seriously.”

Spencer looked over at you, a bit of confusion in his expression, though it quickly gave way to a small, sheepish smile. “Oh… I guess I missed that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way he did when he was flustered.

You grinned, feeling a strange sense of affection for his sincerity. “It’s okay, Spencer. It just means you’re genuine—and I like that.”

As the car pulled into the precinct parking lot, the playful exchange left both of you feeling a little lighter. Spencer might have missed the flirtation, but in the process, you’d managed to break down some of the walls between you, leaving the door open for more conversations, more connections, and maybe, just maybe, something more down the line.

—

Penelope had extended one of her famously warm invitations to the entire team, promising a night of lively conversation, good food, and the kind of camaraderie that only the BAU could understand. Her apartment, as always, was a bright and eclectic haven, filled with quirky decorations, cozy seating areas, and the unmistakable aroma of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.

As the evening wore on, the sound of laughter and animated chatter filled the room. Drinks were poured, stories were shared, and the general atmosphere was one of relaxation and enjoyment. Penelope, ever the gracious host, moved through the crowd like a butterfly, making sure everyone was comfortable and having a good time.

You found yourself in the middle of a conversation with JJ and Emily, the three of you discussing everything from recent cases to more lighthearted topics. Spencer, meanwhile, was across the room, engaged in a deep discussion with Hotch and Rossi. Yet, despite the separate conversations, you couldn’t help but notice how often your gaze drifted toward him—and how, more than once, you caught him glancing back at you.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed. As the evening continued, you began to pick up on a subtle undercurrent among the team, a shared look or knowing smile exchanged between your colleagues whenever you and Spencer were in close proximity. It was as if everyone had collectively decided that tonight was the night to push the two of you a little closer together.

“Hey, Y/N,” Emily said, her voice carrying a hint of mischief as she casually steered you toward the couch where Spencer had just sat down. “Why don’t you grab a seat? Looks like there’s plenty of room.”

You shot her a playful glare, fully aware of what she was doing, but you didn’t resist. With a small smile, you took the spot next to Spencer, who glanced up at you with a shy, yet pleased expression.

“Hi, Spencer,” you greeted him, settling into the seat and feeling the warmth of his presence beside you.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice soft but with a touch of warmth that made you feel at ease. The two of you exchanged a small smile, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.

Before you could say anything more, Morgan appeared out of nowhere, a wide grin on his face as he handed both you and Spencer a drink. “There you go, pretty boy, Y/N. You two look like you could use a refill,” he said, his tone far too innocent to be sincere.

You accepted the drink with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks, Morgan,” you replied, your tone matching his in playful suspicion. You knew exactly what he was up to, but you decided to play along, taking a sip of your drink as you glanced at Spencer.

Spencer, for his part, seemed slightly oblivious to the team’s not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts, though there was a faint blush on his cheeks as he took his drink from Morgan. “Thanks, Derek,” he mumbled, clearly trying to avoid the knowing look in Morgan’s eyes.

The team's subtle matchmaking efforts became more apparent, each of them playing their part with a touch of mischief. Rossi, always one for a good story, managed to draw you into a conversation about a particularly tricky case the team had solved a few years back.

“So, Y/N,” Rossi began, a twinkle in his eye, “have you ever encountered a case where the suspect used historical ciphers to communicate with their victims?”

You tilted your head, intrigued but knowing exactly where this was going. “No, I have not. Why do you ask?”

Rossi leaned back, gesturing towards Spencer with a grin. “Because our very own Dr. Reid is an expert in ciphers, and I’d bet he could tell you all about the time he cracked one in record time.”

Spencer, who had been quietly listening, perked up at the mention of his expertise. “Oh, well, it wasn’t exactly record time,” he said modestly, but Rossi’s encouragement had already drawn him in. “But it was a fascinating case. The unsub used a modified version of the Zodiac cipher, which was particularly challenging because—”

As Spencer launched into a detailed explanation, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly Rossi had managed to pull you both into the conversation. The discussion flowed naturally from there, and you found yourself genuinely interested in Spencer’s insights, occasionally offering your own thoughts, which Spencer seemed to appreciate.

Not long after, Penelope gathered everyone together for a game she had prepared. “Alright, everyone, time for a little fun! We’re playing ‘Celebrity!’” she announced, holding up a bowl filled with slips of paper. “And wouldn’t you know it, Y/N, you and Spencer are on the same team!”

You caught Penelope’s wink as she handed you the bowl, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “What are the odds?” you joked, taking your seat next to Spencer.

Spencer looked a little surprised but quickly smiled, clearly pleased by the arrangement. “I guess we’ll have to work together,” he said, his tone light.

Throughout the game, the team’s delight in pairing the two of you together was obvious, with Emily and Morgan offering exaggerated praise whenever you and Spencer managed to score points. “Great teamwork, you two!” Emily called out with a grin. “It’s like you can read each other’s minds!”

Spencer flushed slightly at the comment, but he seemed to enjoy the playful camaraderie, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.

Later, even Hotch joined in on the subtle matchmaking, calling both you and Spencer into the kitchen to help with an entirely unnecessary task. “I need a hand in here,” Hotch said, waving you both over. “This cake isn’t going to cut itself.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the already-cut cake sitting on the counter, but you went along with it, smiling as you grabbed a knife. “Looks like we’ve been drafted,” you quipped.

Spencer smiled awkwardly but followed your lead, picking up a plate. “Yeah, it’s… good to be useful,” he said, his tone a little unsure but genuine.

The two of you worked side by side, the conversation light and easy. You couldn’t help but notice how comfortable it felt to be around him, even in the most mundane tasks. And as you laughed together over something trivial, you caught Hotch’s subtle nod of approval from the corner of your eye.

As the party began to wind down and people started to gather their things to leave, you and Spencer found yourselves standing near the door, alone for the first time that evening. The energy of the night had brought you closer, and the playful encouragement from the team had only served to make that connection feel more natural.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you said, your voice soft as you turned to Spencer.

He looked at you with a gentle smile, his nervousness from earlier in the night long gone. “I did too,” he replied, his tone sincere. “It was nice… spending time with you.”

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest at his words. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?” you teased lightly, echoing Emily’s earlier comment.

Spencer’s smile widened just a little, though he still seemed a bit oblivious to the underlying meaning. “Yeah, I think we do,” he agreed, his eyes meeting yours in a way that felt significant.

There was a brief moment of silence between you, comfortable and filled with possibility. The evening had left you with a sense of warmth, the connection between you and Spencer deepening in ways that felt both unexpected and natural. “Goodnight, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice lingering with a hint of something more, your eyes meeting his in a way that made the simple farewell feel like it carried more weight.

Spencer hesitated for a second, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he spoke. “Can I, um, can I drive you home?” he asked, his tone a little shy but hopeful, as if he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay to ask.

You blinked in surprise, then remembered that you had seen him with a drink earlier in the evening. “You were drinking too, Spencer,” you pointed out gently, not wanting to put him in an uncomfortable position.

Spencer’s lips quirked up in a small smile as he shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol,” he explained, his voice calm and reassuring. “They were nonalcoholic.”

You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, warmth spreading through you at his thoughtfulness. “Oh, well in that case,” you said, your voice softening as you looked at him, “I’d really like that.”

His eyes brightened at your response, and he gave a small, almost relieved nod. “Great,” he said, the awkwardness from earlier replaced by a quiet confidence. “Let me just grab my keys.”

As you waited for him, you couldn’t help but feel that this simple offer—this small, thoughtful gesture—was a sign of something more, something that might grow between you. And as the two of you walked out together, the night air cool against your skin, you found yourself looking forward to the drive, and to whatever might come next.

—

While guests began to filter out of Penelope's apartment, Hotch and Rossi found themselves lingering in the cozy living room, the buzz of the evening winding down. The two men exchanged a glance as they noticed you and Spencer leaving together, Spencer opening the car door for you with his usual quiet charm.

Rossi chuckled softly, taking a sip of his drink as he watched the scene unfold. “You know, Aaron,” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I think those two might just be good for each other.”

Hotch followed Rossi’s gaze a small, rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, his tone thoughtful. “They would make a nice pair.”

Rossi nodded, setting his glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Spencer needs someone like Y/N—someone patient, who sees the world a little differently, but isn’t afraid to challenge him.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, considering Rossi’s words. “And anyone could use someone like Spencer,” he added.

Rossi smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s not often you see something like that—a connection that just feels… natural.”

Hotch chuckled softly, a sound that was more a breath than a laugh. “It’s about time Spencer found someone who really gets him.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “And maybe someone who can keep up with that brain of his.”

Hotch’s smile grew a little wider at that. “She’s got her work cut out for her, then.”

They shared a knowing look, they’d both be quietly rooting for you and Spencer.

—

As Spencer opened the car door for you, you slid into the passenger seat with a smile, appreciating the small but considerate gesture. He walked around to the driver’s side and settled in, adjusting the mirrors and checking the controls with his usual meticulousness. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space as he started the car, and soon enough, you were on the road, the city lights passing by in a soft blur.

For a few moments, the two of you were content with the silence, letting the calm of the evening settle over you. But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you turned slightly in your seat to look at Spencer, your gaze soft but inquisitive.

“So, Spencer,” you began, your tone light, “you don’t drink alcohol at all? Or just not tonight?”

Spencer glanced over at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not at all, actually,” he admitted. “I’ve never really liked the way it makes me feel. Plus, it’s kind of a personal choice—helps me stay sharp, especially with work.”

You nodded, finding that very much in line with what you’d learned about him so far. “That makes sense,” you replied, your voice warm. “I can see how that would be important for you. You always seem so… focused.”

Spencer chuckled softly, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. “I try to be,” he said. “But it’s not always easy. My mind tends to wander a lot.”

You smiled at that, sensing an opportunity to tease him just a little. “Wander? You? I would’ve never guessed,” you said with playful exaggeration, giving him a sideways glance.

He laughed, the sound quiet but genuine. “Yeah, well, it happens more often than you’d think. Especially when I’m trying to solve a problem or figure something out. My brain just… runs in all these different directions.”

“I’d love to see that in action,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. When you realized how it might sound, you quickly added, “I mean, it must be fascinating to see how your mind works.”

Spencer glanced at you again, this time with a slightly more serious expression, though there was still a hint of that shy smile. “I guess I’ve just always been wired that way. It’s part of why I love what I do. But it can be… isolating sometimes, you know? People don’t always get it.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. “Yeah, I can relate to that,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I think a lot of us in this line of work feel that way at times. It’s hard for people outside of it to really understand what we go through, what we see.”

There was a moment of shared silence, both of you reflecting on what you’d said. Then, wanting to lighten the mood a bit, you turned the conversation back to something a little more playful.

“So, what do you do for fun, Spencer? When you’re not solving crimes and noticing everything that no one else does?” you asked with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Spencer seemed to relax a bit more, the serious tone easing as he thought about your question. “Well,” he began, “I like to read, obviously. I’m a bit of a collector when it comes to rare books. And, um, I also enjoy magic tricks.”

“Magic tricks?” you repeated, intrigued and a little surprised. “I didn’t expect that.”

Spencer smiled, the warmth in his expression growing. “Yeah, I picked it up as a kid. It’s something that stuck with me. I guess I like the challenge of it—figuring out how to manipulate perception, how to create something that seems impossible.”

You leaned in a little, genuinely fascinated. “That’s actually really cool. You’ll have to show me a trick sometime.”

He glanced at you, a spark of excitement in his eyes at the idea. “I’d like that,” he said simply.

As the conversation continued, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, exchanging stories and little details about your lives. You learned that Spencer had an insatiable curiosity for nearly everything, and that he was just as eager to hear about your interests and experiences. There were moments of gentle teasing, of light laughter, and as the night wore on, it felt as though the distance between you was closing, replaced by a budding connection that was both comfortable and exciting.

By the time Spencer pulled up in front of your place, you felt like you’d gotten to know him in a way that few probably had—a glimpse beneath the layers of the brilliant, sometimes awkward genius to the kind, thoughtful person underneath.

“Thank you for the ride, Spencer,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt, turning to face him. “And for the conversation. I really enjoyed tonight.”

Spencer’s smile was warm, and this time, there was a hint of confidence in it. “I did too,” he replied, his voice soft. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”

You felt your heart skip a beat at the suggestion, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that,” you said, letting the sincerity of your words hang in the air for a moment.

With one last smile, you stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing your skin as you walked to your door. Glancing back, you caught Spencer’s eyes; he gave a shy wave before driving off without hesitation. As you unlocked your door, it struck you—you’d never met a man who didn’t try to make a move in such a moment. 

It was refreshing, and his sincerity left you smiling. There was something deeply endearing about how content he seemed just to share your company. As you settled in for the night, a warm feeling lingered.

—

Monday morning arrived with the usual hum of activity in the bullpen, but there was a new kind of energy in the air—one that had you exchanging sweet, shy glances with Spencer across the room. Every time your eyes met, it was like a quiet acknowledgment of the evening you had shared, a soft connection that lingered between you.

As you settled into your desk, organizing your files and preparing for the day ahead, you were pleasantly surprised when Spencer walked by, gently placing a mug of coffee on your desk. The familiar aroma wafted up, and you immediately recognized it as your favorite blend, made just the way you liked it.

“Spencer… thank you,” you said softly, picking up the mug and taking a tentative sip. It was perfect, just as you expected. You looked up at him, curiosity tinged with warmth in your eyes. “How did you know?”

Spencer’s lips curled into a small, almost bashful smile, his hands fidgeting slightly. “I pay attention,” he replied simply, his voice just above a whisper, as if the words held more meaning than they seemed.

Your heart fluttered at his response, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. There was something incredibly endearing about how Spencer had noticed something so small, yet so personal. It wasn’t just the coffee—it was the care and thoughtfulness behind the gesture that made your heart skip a beat.

Smitten might have been an understatement for how you felt in that moment. You held his gaze for a moment longer, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second.

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice soft and full of appreciation.

Spencer gave a quick, shy nod before retreating to his desk, his own heart racing from the brief but meaningful exchange. 

—

Wednesday morning, you made your way to Spencer’s desk. In your hand, you held a donut topped with colorful sprinkles, a small token of your growing affection.

Reaching Spencer’s desk, you gently placed the donut in front of him, your hand brushing against his arm ever so slightly. The brief contact sent a spark through you, a tiny thrill that lingered as you stepped back.

Spencer looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into a smile. “Y/N? Thank you,” he said, his voice tinged with both gratitude and a hint of that shyness you found so endearing.

You smiled back, your eyes meeting his. “A sweet treat for a sweet man,” you replied, your tone light yet full of sincerity.

For a moment, Spencer just stared at you, his cheeks flushing slightly as he took in your words. It wasn’t often that he received compliments like that, especially not from someone who meant as much to him as you were beginning to.

“Thank you,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were trying to savor the moment.

You gave him a soft smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It was such a small gesture, but the way he looked at you made it feel like so much more. As you walked back to your desk, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, catching him as he carefully picked up the donut, a faint smile playing on his lips.

—

“I think I’m going to ask her on a date,” Spencer said, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and nervousness as he spoke to Penelope in the breakroom.

“Y/N?” Penelope’s eyes lit up with excitement, a grin spreading across her face. She had been hoping for this moment for a while now.

Spencer paused for a moment, then, with a rare touch of humor, he replied, “No, Emily.”

Penelope blinked, caught off guard by his response, before quickly catching on to his teasing. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t think that would go over well, my love.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease with the banter. “Y/N or Emily?” he asked, his tone just as playful, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

Penelope laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think Y/N or Emily would take well to you asking Emily on a date,” she said, her voice softening. “But, Y/n would be over the moon if you asked her out, Spencer. Trust me.”

Spencer nodded, a bit more confidence building inside him as he imagined what it might be like to take that step. “Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Penelope. “I think you’re right.”

Penelope gave him an encouraging smile, her eyes twinkling with excitement for her friend. “Go get her, Reid,” she said gently, patting his arm. “You’ve got this.”

Spencer took a deep breath, feeling both the weight and the thrill of the decision he was about to make. “Thanks, Penelope,” he said, giving her a grateful look before heading back to his desk, his mind now focused on how he was going to ask you out.

—

You stood in front of the elevator, the thought of a relaxing Friday evening at home making you eager to get out of the office. Your couch was practically calling your name, promising comfort after a long week. Just as the elevator doors began to slide open, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Y/N, wait up!”

You turned with a smile, spotting Spencer hurrying toward you. “I’m not moving, Spencer,” you giggled, teasing him lightly. “I’m waiting for the elevator.”

“Right… right,” he stammered, laughing awkwardly as he reached you, his hand instinctively going to the back of his neck, a gesture you had come to find endearing. 

“What's up, weirdo?” you asked, still smiling as you watched him struggle to find his words.

Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with determination and nervousness. “Will you go out with me?” he blurted out, the words tumbling out faster than he intended.

You didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes.”

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard by how quickly you responded. “I don’t want to make things awkward, but I love spending time with you and—wait, what?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, his genuine surprise making the moment even sweeter. “I said yes, Spencer,” you repeated, your voice warm and reassuring.

Spencer’s eyes widened, a mixture of relief and joy flooding his expression. “You did? I mean, you did!” he stammered, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Wow, okay… this is great!”

The elevator doors opened just as he finished speaking, and you both stepped inside, the excitement of the moment bubbling between you. As the doors closed, Spencer couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could you.

“So, where are we going?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him as the elevator began its descent.

Spencer glanced at you, his smile softening into something more tender. “Anywhere you want,” he said quietly.

—

The evening unfolded exactly as you had hoped, with one delightful twist. You and Spencer ended up on your couch, both of you dressed in comfortable pajamas, a warm pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of you. The aroma of melted cheese and spices filled the room, adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Spencer was leaning back into the cushions, a slice of pizza in hand, his long legs stretched out comfortably. You were nestled beside him, your feet tucked under a soft blanket, feeling utterly content. It was the relaxing Friday evening you had been craving, only now it was even better with Spencer there beside you.

“This is nice,” Spencer said softly, breaking the comfortable silence as he took another bite of his pizza.

You glanced over at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “It really is,” you agreed, reaching for your own slice. “Exactly what I needed after this week.”

He looked at you, his eyes warm and a little shy, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. “I can’t believe this is what you wanted to do tonight,” he admitted, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “But I’m really glad it is.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Spencer, this is perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted—good food, good company, and no pressure to do anything but relax.”

He smiled at that, clearly relieved and happy. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his voice gentle as he looked at you with that familiar, earnest gaze.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed easily between bites of pizza and sips of soda. You talked about everything and nothing—cases, hobbies, favorite books, and the little things that made each of you laugh. It felt natural, effortless, like this was where you both were meant to be.

Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Spencer’s side, your head resting on his shoulder as you both watched the TV, a movie playing softly in the background. He wrapped his arm around you, his touch light and careful, as if he were still marveling at how right this felt.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. It was the relaxing Friday evening you had wanted, with the added bonus of the guy you wanted right there with you. As you snuggled closer, a contented sigh escaped your lips.

This was perfect.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[spencerreidenjoyer]

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve. 

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it. 

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar. 

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you. 

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp. 

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. 

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end. 

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do. 

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch. 

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock. 

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy. 

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit. 

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point. 

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend. 

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off. 

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him. 

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big. 

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion. 

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him. 

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them. 

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his. 

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you. 

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer. 

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is. 

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot. 

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought. 

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you. 

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart. 

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?” 

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one. 

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum. 

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his. 

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame. 

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out. 

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say. 

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.” 

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender. 

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling. 

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take. 

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home. 

[foreveradreamaway]

streaming- MV33/1

summary- a compilation of moments from maxs streams

i really loved writing this as i always have small idea that aren’t long enough to be their own post, if you have any small idea that goes with this or just in general then please comment it or send it to me and i will make a part two or another post similar <3

max loved to stream every now and then. he loved the interactions with fans and getting to play with his friends. you also loved when max streamed because it gave you some peace and quiet for a while, it also allowed you to do some house work without max following you like a lost puppy.

you had made numerous appearances in his streams and his fans loved it. probably enjoying seeing you both as actual humans and getting to see how you both live your daily lives together. some fans had made a compilation of the many times you made an appearance in one of maxs streams.

🏎️

max sat in his gaming chair immersed in whatever game he was playing. you needed something from the room he was in and it couldn’t wait.

you opened the door as slowly and quietly as possible and creeped over to the thing you needed. apparently you weren’t quiet enough and he heard you. he moved one side of his headset off his ear.

“sorry, i just needed to grab the end thing for the hoover.” you sheepishly smiled. he only grinned in return. you took this as the opportunity to walk up behind him so you were in the frame.

“what are you playing?” you questioned as your face finally came in shot.

“im playing cod with lando, charles and carlos”

“aww cute” you sent a quick wave to say hello to everyone that was on the other end of the camera. however your eyes were quickly caught by the top of maxs head.

“can they hear me?” you questioned, he nodded. “okay. hello everyone, it’s your favourite person in the world here and i just needed to show you something” max had a confused look on his face as he watched you through the camera, wondering what you were about to show.

your hands reached for each side of the head set that was on his head and slowly removed it and handed it to him. your hands then went to either side of his head and tilted it down.

“max gets really bad headset hair guys and it will literally stay like this for the rest of the day” max’s hands quickly went up to his hair to attempt to fix while you and the chat couldn’t help but laugh.

“shut up” he grumbled as he lifted the head set back onto his head. “love you baby!” you called over your shoulder as you left the room.

“i hate her”

“i heard that!”

🏎️

“mijn liefste, wil je zo pasta? Ik ben er nu een paar aan het maken” you can’t be seen as you poke your head round the door.

“Het gaat goed, dank je schat” he replies while not taking his eyes off the game but removing one side of his headset. “welke pasta ben je aan het maken?”

“i know i’m learning but im not that good yet max” you laugh.

“i said ‘what pasta are you making” he replies, suddenly feeling hunger bubble his stomach.

“i’m not sure yet. are you sure you don’t want any? i’ll surprise you” making food has always been one of your love languages, your mum had shown you to cook as soon as she could and you picked it up quick.

“yeah go on then” he finally turns to you and smiles as you walk away. when he finally turns back he sees the chat filled with questions and people telling him how cute you both are.

“yeah she is learning dutch. i’m teaching her” his face lights up as he talks about you. “it’s very easy for her though because she already knows other languages so she picks it up quickly” his smile never leaving his face.

🏎️

max is looking intensely at the chat in-front of him, reading everything is the chat. answering a couple questions. he does this until he sees a familiar name come up.

“‘answer your phone’ what?” he quickly picks up his phone to see that he has ten missed calls from you. he is quick to call you back.

“max stop putting your phone on do not disturb and silent” you scold. he always did when he was streaming, he always said it was because he didn’t want to be disturbed however sometimes it was important. like now.

“sorry schat.”

“do you want anything from the shop? i’ve already got your m&ms and tomato soup.” max had a soft spot for m&ms and everyone knows about this man’s love of tomato soup.

“no i’m okay thank you baby. what are we having for dinner” max had a massive smile on his face. half because he was talking to you and because he knew how much everyone watching would love the conversation.

“well you’ve got mean prep” you couldn’t help but laugh as max groaned loudly and threw his head back. he hated meal prep. don’t get me wrong he loved being healthy and eating nice food but sometimes he just craved your cooking. “and i’m having a stir fry.”

“ugh whatever. i want stir fry”

“i know baby. ill make you one as soon as your nutritionist will allow me too”

“okay fine. when will you be home?” max kept the phone close to his mic to make sure everyone would be able to hear you on the other end of the phone.

“not long, i took the ferrari so it won’t take me long to get home. i don’t have my keys so be ready to pick up your phone and open the door! okay, i love you bye” you ended the phone call quickly before he could say anything about you taking his car.

“i swear she prefers my cars over her own” he laughed as he read through the chat again.

🏎️

when you moved in with max you demanded that a sofa be put into his gaming/office room. he got you the cosiest sofa he could just to make sure you were comfy. max spent a lot of time in the room and you missed him when he was in there.

before you lived together, you tried to sit on the floor when you were round but you just weren’t comfortable enough so that’s when you demanded a sofa. if max was streaming or just had some admin stuff to do, you would just sit on the sofa and enjoy each-others company.

max was streaming, as per usual, while you sat all snuggled up on the sofa across the room. you had one the comfiest jumper of his that you could find, his joggers, a blanket covering your whole body and tucked under your chin and you glasses that sat on your nose.

max had specifically bought a pair of joggers that were too small for him. one day he came home to see you wearing a pair of his that were far to big for you and when he questioned you, you said that you just enjoy wearing his clothes. so the next day he went and bought a pair that were to small and placed them in his waldrobe. from then on they were yours.

you were also a secret iPad kid at heart. your iPad was literally your prized possession and you took it everywhere with you. now was no different as you sat there with your ipad resting on your legs as you watched tik tok.

“look” you turned the ipad around so that it was facing max, he leant on the arm rest of the chair to get a better view of what you were showing him. it was a cat.

“we should get sassy and jimmy one” he laughed as you nodded. he sat back into his chair and caught what the chat were saying. many people asking where you were.

he grabbed the camera from its holder and turned it to face you, showing you under the blanket. he got up out his chair and moved to sit next to you on the sofa.

“you are actually such an old man” you laughed as he struggled to hold the camera so that it would get a view of both of you. “give it to me” you took the camera from his hand and wrapped your other arm around his neck to bring him closer to you.

“hey guys, it’s your favourite person in the world here” the camera now had a perfect view of both of you as you put a quick peace sign up to the camera. you quickly nudged max and his fingers quickly went to the same position as yours. “i want to show you all my outfit, hold this baby” you handed the camera to max and threw the blanket onto him as you stood from your seat.

“max, show them my whole body my love” you laughed as he was only showing the camera your legs. “i’m trying Schat” you leant forward a bit and moved maxs hand so it faced where it should be.

“okay so my glasses are from specsavers, they are the only people i trust with my glasses. even if i need a new pair i would rather fly home than get a pair from anywhere else. because if they messed my glasses up i would just hear my mum in my ear saying ‘should have gone to specsavers’. my jumper is maxs- where is this jumper from?” you questioned him.

“umm its a zara one i think”

“okay so the jumper is from zara and these joggers are from nike. can i even say that? do they even sponsor you?” max’s laugh could be heard from behind the camera before he replies. “yeah it’s okay. i think” his face fell into a sheepish grin behind the camera.

“my socks are from god knows where. and the blanket is from also god knows where.” you gave the camera a big smile as you fell back into your previous position.

“you are the new version of maxplaining”

“shut up”

🏎️

“can we play fifa?” you were sat on the floor, cross legged, next to max while he sat in his gaming chair. “you only want to play fifa because you always beat me” he huffed.

“exactly” you grinned at him.

[fandom]

Top 23 of 2023

Have you been aching to get your hot little hands on 52 weeks of data around original posts, likes, reblogs, and searches, all weighted and ranked and tied up into categories with a nice little bow on top? Well, today’s your day! It should come as no surprise that Artists on Tumblr reign supreme: from stunning traditional art, jaw-dropping digital art, fanart, sculptures, textile art—you name it, basically—this year’s list shows that Tumblr truly is the home for art and artists. Thank you, Artists on Tumblr, for enriching our dashboards day after day. 

Rounding out the top three, we have two iconic shows: Good Omens is live-action, and The Owl House is animated, but both have a heck of a love story at their core. The second season of Good Omens blessed us with not one but two ineffably exquisite ships, while the final season of The Owl House broke and then healed fans’ hearts in equal measure. Thanks, @danaterrace! Actually, come to think of it, the Good Omens finale kinda did the same in reverse. Thanks to you, too, @neil-gaiman! We can’t wait for season 3. 

Speaking of heartbreak and healing, Our Flag Means Death’s second season offered both in droves. The entire cast gave stellar performances, and fans couldn’t have been happier to see the kinds of representation the show displayed. Last year’s #1 topic, Stranger Things, may have dropped a bit, but trust us, you wouldn’t know it from the amount of meta, fanart, and fics in the tag. And did you hear about the live-action adaptations of both The Last of Us and One Piece? They were a preeeetty big deal this year, too. Check ‘em out if you haven’t yet (lol, of course you have). And we’d be remiss not to mention the hugely dedicated fans, fanartists, and fic writers devoting their time to all things Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Y’all deserve a little pizza, as a treat.

2023 was also a year for blockbuster movies, which of course hasn’t escaped anybody’s notice here on Tumblr. Barbie smashed box offices worldwide and left us reeling with every re-watch. How can one describe Greta Gerwig’s pink-filled opus? It certainly is one of the movies of all time. Meanwhile, with its incredible animation and soundtrack, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse introduced us to a whole new multiverse of Spider-People, opening the portal to a veritable flood of incredible OCs. And then, of course, we got a fresh perspective on an old classic when cinephiles introduced Martin Scorscese’s cinematic masterpiece, Goncharov (1973), to a new generation of film aficionados who resoundingly agree that it is, in fact, the greatest mafia movie ever made. We’re so glad this underrated film finally got the acclaim it has long deserved.

In the realms of gaming and tech, the long-anticipated Baldur’s Gate 3 has basically become everyone’s new favorite D&D/dating sim combination. Of course, the Pokémon franchise, games, shows, and Hatsune Miku collabs remain perennial favorites. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, sorry, we mean of course X, made waves across the internet. Similarly, the Reddit blackout drove Redditors to new venues, and Tumblr users welcomed the folks from r/196 with open arms—we’re huge fans of your memes, y’all, and you fit right in. Welcome, we’re glad you enjoy the chaos. Here’s a fun fact: if we included post metadata in Year in Review rankings, #polls, introduced in January of 2023, would have been the #5 topic on Tumblr this year. Phenomenal. 

And, oh right. Taylor Swift had kind of a big year, what with the albums, the epic global tour, and the movie and stuff. Fantastic work, @taylorswift, the Swifties on Tumblr thank you for everything.

This is Tumblr’s Year in Review.

Artists on Tumblr

Good Omens

The Owl House

Barbie

Pokémon

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Critical Role

Goncharov

Taylor Swift

Genshin Impact

Stranger Things

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Elon Musk

196

Star Wars

Our Flag Means Death

Crowley | Good Omens

LGBTQ

Cottagecore

Baldur's Gate 3

One Piece

Aziraphale | Good Omens

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again. 

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 

“You’re up again.” 

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 

“And you shouldn’t be.” 

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 

“Javi…” 

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 

“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[javiercigsrete]

Bad idea

dbf!joel x f!reader.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

main masterlist

summary: teasing joel while on a road trip to houston for a concert was a bad idea. especially with your father tagging along. 3.9k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (23/40), smut, unprotected piv, fingering, dirty talk??, shit load of pet names, banter??, gas stations, no use of y/n, cursing, readers father is oblivious ofc, not beta read we die like losers, uhh idk what else so if i missed anything lmk !!

a/n: omfg this took way longer to write than i'd hoped for but it's here !! it's not the best and it's truthfully my first fic i've completed, written, and posted so if it's horrible that's why. that and i've also never written smut before so this was definitely a learning experience, hopefully as time goes on i'll get better at it but for now it's fuck it we ball, live and learn, anyways enjoy this and also happy birthday to joel miller the loml <3

The tree leaves dance in the wind, a few cars crushing the ones that have fallen and blown into the street leaving only tiny pieces to scatter in the air. It's only the middle of August but the leaves have already started to change colors and fall. at least it's still warm out.

You've watched at least four cars pass since the time Joel was supposed to show up, your dad planned some overnight trip to a concert in Houston. You're all supposed to ride in Joel's truck – he'd offered to be the one to drive there and back – but he still isn't here.

Be nice if it was just you and Joel. It would be like a date, the two of you alone together, spending the day together and having the hotel room all to yourselves for the night.

But that could never happen.

You can hear him from where you're sitting on the porch. your dad. He's been on the phone for the past hour arguing with whoever, he'd gotten loud enough you'd sought reprieve outside, it's proven useless.

You're thankful when you spot the familiar black truck pull up along the sidewalk, you stand from the steps and make your way over to him as he steps out of the truck. “You're late,” you say.

Joel grabs up your bag, tossing it into the bed of the truck. You're not entirely sure how safe that is but you don't bring it up yet.

“Sorry baby, lost track of time and got stuck in traffic.” When he turns to you he leaves one hand on the bed and the other on his hip, you watch the way his hands flex, like he wants nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you.

But your dad could walk out the door any second, so he doesn't.

You nod, giving a slight raise of your eyebrows. “Traffic,” is all you say.

“What?” He cocks his head, raising his own eyebrows questioningly.

“Nothing,” you mutter when you hear the screen door open and your dad's voice travels through the air.

“We ready?” he tosses his own bag in the bed, eyeing you two curiously. You both nod in confirmation. “Alright then, let's go.” He rounds the truck, hopping in the passenger's side.

You look at Joel who gives you an apologetic look as he opens the door behind the driver.

This is going to be a long trip.

Joel was right about the traffic, you spend thirty minutes waiting for it to move along the highway. You'd understood the plan of it being an overnight trip but at this rate it might as well be a two day trip.

“God damn, the hell’s takin’ so long?” You hear your dad say, finally breaking the silence that filled the car. “might have to stay longer at this rate, if we even make it,” he mutters.

“‘S why we left so early,” Joel says, there's a hint of agitation laced in his voice, no doubt from the traffic.

You feel the need to make it worse, poke the bear if you will.

“You were late,” you mumble, but you can tell he heard you from the glare you receive through the mirror.

The concert doesn't start till seven, you'd left early – far too early if you're being honest – enough so there was time to get ready, you aren't too sure how that will plan out now from the traffic but Houston isn't very far now.

You honestly wish it was just you and Joel. The car ride so far has been pretty boring, if it was just the two of you the ride wouldn't be so dull. Instead you've listened to your dad talk about sports and work while Joel nodded along, occasionally replying with a sentence or two.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you that all of Joel's attention was elsewhere. But you'd also be lying if you weren't about to make his life impossible.

Because that's exactly what you do.

It's honestly not a good idea, it's risky, but you're beyond caring at this point.

You reach over for your bag, grabbing out a few snack foods you'd packed earlier. You opt out of the chips, they're probably not the most sultry thing you could eat, instead you reach for the cream puff you'd bought a few days ago and forgot about.

You'd packed it for that reason, but now it has a new purpose.

The sound of the wrapping catches the two men's attention, your dad turns in his seat to see what the noise was when he spots the pastry between your hands. “Be careful with that, don't go makin’ a mess in Joel's truck,” he says, scolds almost.

You roll your eyes slightly. “I won't,” your eyes meet Joel's in the mirror, you smile at him as you take a bite of the puff.

His eyes track you, occasionally flitting back to the road. You can tell he's trying to figure out your game, not that it's too complicated to figure out.

You pull the pastry from your mouth, your other hand coming down to cup under your chin slightly. Joel's eyes are like daggers on you as he watches you, you can see the moment he spots the cream on your lips – you spotted it too.

Your tongue darts out slowly to lick at your lips, cleaning the mess left behind running your thumb along your bottom lip for extra measure. Joel stiffens in his seat, his hand tightening on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking to the side as he watches your little performance.

You smile innocently, but you both know what you're doing.

“Light’s green bud,” your dad's voice booms, breaking Joel from his trance as his eyes move from the mirror back to the road.

You’ve stopped for gas twice now, the first time was before you’d left because Joel forgot to fill his truck up the night before. You’d be worried about not making it on time but you’ve made pretty decent time.

You’re about half way when Joel pulls into a gas station, pulling up to a pump and shutting off the car. The sound of the passenger door opening catches Joel's attention. “We all goin’?” he asks, looking back at your dad who’s already out of the car.

“Yeah, figured we could stretch our legs and all that,” your dad says, emphasizing his statement by stretching out his body.

You’re wondering about the candy section when your dad finds you. “Hey, Joel's outside filling the truck, you almost done?”

You scan the aisle one more time, snatching up a lollipop as you nod. “Yep, now I am,” you say, following him to the counter.

You swear the line takes forever, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a gas station so busy before, you stand next to your dad as he checks out, your eyes wander out one of the windows, you spot Joel almost immediately. His broad shoulders squared as he stands next to the pump.

You feel a tap on your shoulder, turning to see your dad gesturing towards the door. You follow him out, unwrapping the lollipop as you both make your way back to the truck. “Shit,” your dad mutters, ruffling through the plastic bag. “I'll be right back, forgot something.”

You nod, leaning against the side of the truck, watching as your dad jogs back into the store leaving you and Joel to finish filling the tank.

Your eyes catch Joel's, he’s standing at the bed of the truck his arms crossed along his chest, you watch the way his shirt stretches along with it.

You can tell he’s caught onto your game, has for a while now if the way the muscle in his jaw jumps says anything.

“The hell you doin’?”

You smile, pulling the sucker from your mouth with a pop. “What do you mean?”

Joel shakes his head, grabbing the pump and putting it back freeing up his pathway as he steps closer to you. “Don’t give me that, you know what I'm talking about,” he says, crowding your space slighting.

You look up at him through your lashes, doing your best to keep your expression unreadable. “You’re going to have to be specific joel,”

His jaw ticks to the side, scanning the area quickly before gripping your chin between his fingers, tilting your face upwards more as he leans in. “Your little stunt in the car with the cream puff, tryna get me hot and bothered, hm?” He whispers, his tone dropping an octave sending shivers down your back.

This is the closest he’s been in hours and he still isn’t close enough.

“Wanna get us caught, hm? Is that it?” His hand slides to the base of your throat, “let your daddy find out i’m fucking his daughter?”

You part your lips, his eyes drop at the movement, you want nothing more than for him to kiss you right now to run your hands through his hair while he all but devours you. He’s thinking the same, the way his hand tightens ever so slightly around your neck as his eyes flit between your lips and your eyes.

“Joel,” you breathe, you’re not sure what you’re trying to ask but you never get a chance before the sound of your dad’s voice causes you both to spring apart.

“Are we ready?” your dad asks, tossing his things in the car and looking at you both.

“Yep,” Joel clears his throat, running a hand across his face before getting in the truck.

Your legs are practically screaming at you, sitting in the back of a pickup for hours and then climbing a set of stairs is leaving your calves burning in the worst way.

You’d finally made it to the motel you’d be staying at for the night with plenty of time to spare thankfully. When you walk into the room you’re immediately met with the ac, it’s a relief on your skin from the hot air outside.

The room’s what you’d expect a motel room to be, two double beds spaced apart with two dark night stands next to them. They’re neatly made, meaning it’ll be a battle to get into. You venture further in the room, passing by the bathroom and heading towards another door within the room.

When you open the door you’re met with another room, it’s slightly smaller with no other way out of it than the main door, there’s a single double bed in the center of the room that’s made up the same way as the other two.

Conjoined rooms. It makes sense, you toss your things on the bed closing the door. You rummage around in your bag looking for the dress you’d packed, you didn’t pack a whole lot given that you weren’t staying for very long but now as you’re searching for something to wear it feels like you did.

You end up dumping the bag, your pajamas and make up layed out on the bed as you flatten out the wrinkles of your dress, it wasn’t anything too extravagant just a simple dress that fell just above your knees.

You’re just about to put your hair up to do your makeup when the door opens, you turn to see Joell standing in the doorway, his broad frame practically taking up the entire space. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d shown up this morning in, — save for the flannel he’d stripped himself of — a dark blue shirt that hugs his arms paired with dark washed jeans.

He stands leaning against the frame in silence as  his eyes rack up your body taking you in. “Y’look pretty,” he says, finally pushing off the frame taking slow deliberate steps towards you.

You watch his movements stood in the middle of the room, your heart rate picks up heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach from the way he’s looking at you. The atmosphere in the room is thick with need, you have half a mind to ask where your dad is.

“Oh, now you’re worried ‘bout your dad?” your eyes widen, you hadn’t thought you’d said that aloud. Joel crowds your space, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb under your chin as he tilts your head slightly.

“He left to get food, won’t be back for a little while,”

“It’s just us then?”

“Mhm,” 

You all but drag him down to your lips, your hands locked together around the back of his neck. Joel stumbles at your eagerness catching himself before he can fall, his hands falling to your waist bunching up your dress as he squeezes your sides.

You gasp softly when Joel pulls you closer, the prominent bulge of his cock digging into your hip, you grind your hips upwards seeking some sort of friction for the ache already forming between your legs.

Joel pulls away, you whine at the loss. “Should finish gettin’ ready sweetheart,” he mumbles, putting distance between you, his hands still firmly in place at your waist.

He’s teasing you now, getting you back for the car ride. But you’ve lost the patience to be teased right now, your core practically throbbing already and Joel is looking at you with a smug smirk well aware of the state you’re in.

“Joel,” you whine out, trying uselessly to pull him back towards you.

He raises his brows, keeping his distance. “Yes babygirl?” He says, rubbing circles along your sides.

“Please,” 

“Please what, darlin’?”

You groan in annoyance, if you weren’t so worked up you’d strangle him for making you beg, but you are. “Please, fuck me,”

Joel hums, looking up as if he’s contemplating, you’re certainly starting to reconsider strangling him. “Dunno know baby, might just make you wait til we get home,”

You could honestly start screaming, you’re running out of time and he’s just messing with you. You look up at him, his eyes already on you an almost amused look on his face.

You lay your hands on his shoulders as you plead. “Please. I’ll do anything just, please,”

“Yeah?” He steps closer, leading you backwards towards the bed, you nod slowly carefully walking til the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

Joel lays you back, pushing whatever's on the bed to the floor as he follows you down, he nudges your legs apart so he can nestle himself between them. You wrap your hands around his neck again, pulling him down once more to your lips.

His mouth slots over yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your body is on fire as his hands wander, sliding lower to where you need him most.

You moan into Joel's mouth, your hips grinding upwards as one of his hands slip under the hem of your dress finding your clit through the fabric of your underwear, damp from the slick leaking from your core.

He rubs gentle circles against your clit, kissing his way down your neck. You run your hands through his hair gripping the strands as you gasp and moan.

Joel pulls his hand away from your core, you whine at the loss, he pulls away from you, his hands sliding up your legs. His fingers slip under your waistband, pulling your underwear down off your legs and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Joel,” you squirm under him, his eyes flick back up to yours, he watches you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand slides back up your leg spreading them so he can nestle between them again.

“I know,” he rasps, two of his fingers running through your arousal, collecting the slick before sliding the two digits past your entrance slowly, your head falling back against the pillows as you moan softly.

He thrusts his fingers, a slow back and forth rhythm, curling them upward on every inward thrust. Your hips rock up encouraging him to move faster, every inward thrust paired with the rock your hips has Joel hitting the spongy spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

His thumb finds your clit rubbing circles on the bud, your hands seek purchase on his shoulders, rumpling his shirt as you ball your fists. “This what you wanted, baby?” He taunts, pulling his fingers almost completely out then thrusting them back in.

You nod, your voice lost to the moans and gasps. “Could've asked ‘stead of teasin’ me all day,” Joel drawls, his voice thick with lust, his hips slowly rutting into the mattress.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” You finally breathe out.

You hear Joel grumble something under his breath, you don’t catch what before he’s back to thrusting his fingers at a fast pace, his hips grinding down matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, the warmth building at the bottom of your stomach. Joel can sense it too, his fingers working more determinedly, his thumb applying more pressure on your clit as he works to push you over the edge. “You gonna cum?” He drawls in your ear lowly, placing delicate kisses below your ear.

A soft moan elicits itself from your throat, nodding your head quickly, your toes curling up as your orgasm approaches. “Words darlin’,” he nips at your earlobe.

“y– ha – yes,”

“That's it babygirl, let go,” he coo’s gently, encouraging you, and you do. You grip Joel's arms, tossing your head back, your mouth agape, a chain of moans escaping. Your walls clench around his fingers, your body shuddering under the weight of your orgasm.

“There you go, good girl,” Joel praises softly, slowing his fingers as you come down from your high. He watches the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your body relaxing into the bed. You haven’t fully come down from your high before beginning to fumble with the button of his jeans, Joel's hand lays over yours stopping your movements. “Woah, slow down darlin’,” he chuckles.

You groan in frustration, throwing your head back against the pillows once more. “Joel.” you grumble.

“Ask nicely,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

You groan again looking up at him again. “Please,” 

He pulls your hand away, carefully pinning it above your head as he deftly works open the button of his pants, swiftly pushing them past his hips along with his underwear. You can tell he’s running out of patience — and time — to keep teasing you from the way he all but hurriedly frees his aching cock.

You watch as he strokes himself, a careful back and forth motion, his brows furrowed in pleasure. He nudges your legs further apart nestling his hips between your thighs, you wrap your legs around him pulling him closer to you. The head of his cock nudges against your clit eliciting a gasp.

“Fuck,” Joel breathes, closing his eyes tightly, his teeth grinding together slightly.

He lets out a breath, composing himself, he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, sliding the tip along your folds and through arousal using it to slick himself up. Holding your breath everytime the tip catches your clit.

He does that a few more times, his cock only catching your entrance before pulling away. “Just, fuck me,” you huff irritatedly.

“Bein’ a real brat, y’know that?” Joel grumbles, lining his cock up with your entrance. “Should leave you like this, let you go to the concert soakin’,” he never gives you the chance to say anything before he’s pushing his hips forward, stretching you open.

You moan out your legs tightening around his hips, he sets a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping upwards, the head of his cock pushing further on every thrust.

Your hands find their way to Joel’s hair, pulling the strands as you toss your head back in pleasure, your eyes rolling backwards. Joel groans, his head falling on your chest, his hot breath ghosting the skin there.

The room was filled with both of your breaths, soft moans mixing with heavy groans as Joel fucked into your heat. His hand slides down your side, his thumb finding your clit once more drawing tight circles, your moans growing in pitch. Joel slots his mouth over yours, muffling your moans slightly in a heated kiss, your teeth clashing together.

“Be. Quiet.” He manages to gasp out between kisses. You mumble out what sounds like an affirmative, he moves down your neck leaving open mouthed kisses along the skin there, his teeth lightly nipping there. But he knows better than to leave any marks.

His hips continue to ground into you, his cock pushing further and further, his tip grazing against the spot inside you that leaves you breathless. “Yeah? Right there?” He quirks an eyebrow, watching as you bite your lower lip in an effort to muffle your moans.

You nod your head, unable to form any words, your walls tighten around him, you can feel yourself getting closer. His pace quickens, his hips pounding into you faster working vigorously to get you there before him. “Go on baby, le — fuck — let go,” he stutters, his hips faltering slightly.

Your legs tighten around his hips as your orgasm gets closer, the feel of his cock pushing you over the edge. Your walls clamp down, your legs practically going numb as your eyes rolling as pleasure washed over you. Joel’s movements slow as you come around him. “That’s it babygirl, there you go. Cum around me, good girl,” he soothes, a desperate moan escaping.

When you finally come down from your high Joel’s movements pick up speed again, working desperately to push himself over the edge he’d been teetering on for a while now.

You run your hands through his hair, pulling him closer, trailing kisses up his neck and below his ear, lightly biting the lobe as his hips begin to stutter. “Fuck darilin’, so fuckin’ pretty it hurts,” he rambles, his head falling to your shoulder.

He groans, his hips stopping as he cums, his warm load coating the inside of your walls. His body slackens slightly, careful not to put his weight on you. For a while the only sound filling the room is that of both your breaths.

After a few more bouts of silence Joel finally speaks up. “Should get cleaned up and finish gettin’ ready,” he says, groaning as he slowly pulls out, carefully tucking himself away before extracting himself from the bed. “C’mon,” he pats your leg, moving towards the door.

You sit up on your elbows, watching him from the bed. “What about my underwear?” You ask, Joel turns to face you from the doorway.

“What about them?” He doesn’t say anything else, never gives you the chance to say anything either before he’s out the door a smug smirk plastered across his face.

You stare out the door at a loss, eventually falling back against the bed, you know you should get up and finish getting ready before your dad gets back, but if you’re being honest you don’t think you could get up right now.

Instead you lay there staring at the ceiling, a ridiculous grin spread across your face. Teasing Joel with your dad around may have been a bad idea, but you’d do it again if it got you here.

[redvexillum]

I wasn’t planning on posting any stories this month since I’m still on a bit of a break, but with everything going on in America right now, I just felt the need to reach out. I know there’s nothing I can do to change things, and this may seem small and silly, but writing is what I know how to do. And if even one story can bring a smile or a bit of comfort to my friends, then I want to share it with you. Please hang in there. You’re not alone.

PART 01. CATASTOR AND HIS NEW DO

The mirror reflected back a tired version of you, someone with hair that seemed almost weary itself—dull, brittle, lifeless. It felt as if it siphoned off the vibrance around it, capturing any glimmer of light and snuffing it out. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes in concentration, pondering whether today might finally be the day to give it a fresh look, a touch of sparkle.

“Nyaahh,” came the unmistakable squeak from behind you. There was Catastor, your mischievous little companion, perched primly on the dresser. From his place in the reflection, his big, round eyes stared outward in comical opposite directions, his pink tongue lolling out as he mimicked your tilted head with an exaggerated, inquisitive look.

“Baby!” you called, your heart swelling with warmth as you spun around, arms open wide. The sound of your voice was enough to make his tail wag wildly, his body nearly vibrating with excitement. Without hesitation, he launched himself at you, his small, warm body landing like a soft, cozy blanket against your chest, his form molding against you with the comfort of melted cheese.

A purr reverberated through him as he nestled closer, pressing his face into your neck, his ears flattened in absolute contentment while his tail swayed in erratic, delighted rhythms. You ran a hand absentmindedly over his back, savoring the soft fur beneath your fingertips. His warmth seeped into you, a soothing weight that melted the day’s tension as his purring grew, a low, comforting rumble.

“I’m thinking of getting my hair done,” you mused, fingers trailing through his soft coat. His purrs only deepened, and the faint tug of relaxation settled over you like a spell, easing every muscle into stillness.

Catastor blinked up at you, each eye fluttering in its own haphazard rhythm. You chuckled at his antics, reaching down to tap his little nose. “What do you think? Should I cut my hair?” You knew he couldn’t actually answer, but you enjoyed these small conversations; there was a special solace in talking to him, as if he understood more than he let on.

In response, he stretched his neck, bringing his face to yours, then gave the tip of your nose a tiny lick before plopping his head over your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook between your neck and shoulder. A small laugh bubbled up as his soft fur brushed against your cheek, the feel of his familiar warmth filling you with a calm contentment.

After a moment, you lowered yourself onto the bed, trying to peel him off of you, but Catastor flopped onto the mattress with an exaggerated stretch, limbs splayed like a second blanket, his belly exposed and tail twitching in lazy arcs.

“Well, I’ll be getting my hair done today, so I’ll need you to watch the house while I’m gone,” you murmured, giving his soft belly a gentle scratch. His eyes drifted shut, head lolling back as a new wave of purrs filled the room, his front paw giving a contented twitch.

“I’ll even bring a treat back from Cannibal Town,” you promised, your heart melting as his purrs softened, his form going limp, edging on sleep. Catastor always struggled with separation, and more than once you’d found him nestled secretly in your hair after shrinking himself down to follow you. So, you’d learned to wait until he was fully asleep before attempting a quiet exit.

As his breathing deepened, his little paws twitching as if in a dream, you held back a giggle and rose carefully. Holding your breath, you tiptoed to the door, gently closing it behind you. Outside, you finally released a long sigh, the crisp air filling your lungs. You loved his protective nature, but he’d once torn apart a whole street after a gang had tried to hassle you. As grateful as you were for his fierce loyalty, his fervor sometimes led to more trouble than you bargained for.

Keys and wallet in hand, you glanced back toward your room, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Sweet dreams, baby,” you whispered softly. “I’ll be back soon.”

At the salon, you were greeted by Mel, the ever-charming Poodle Sinner who had a reputation for her wickedly red lipstick and long, flirtatious lashes, popping her gum with every word. She tossed her towel over one shoulder with practiced ease, flashing you a wide grin.

“Darling!” she greeted, smirking as she chewed her gum. “’Bout time you came back, hah!” With a wink, she gestured toward the chair, deftly laying out her trays of potions and lotions, each bottle filled with promises of shine, volume, and glamour.

“What’re we doing today, hun?” she asked, fingers weaving through your hair as she examined it with a critical eye. “My, you’ve let her grow!” She gave an exaggerated cluck of her tongue when she caught on a knot, making you wince. “Now, don’t you worry, we’re gonna make you shine like a star again.”

As you settled in, you couldn’t help but imagine Catastor napping peacefully at home, dreaming of treats and waiting loyally for your return.

You laughed nervously, watching Mel's smirk in the reflection as she raised a brow, eyes full of mischief. The cold mist from her spray bottle caught you off guard, sending a shiver down your spine as your shoulders jolted. Slowly, you settled back into the chair, letting yourself relax as she worked her fingers through your hair. “I was thinking…maybe some curls?” you mumbled, cheeks warming as a certain image flickered to mind—one of a tall, red-haired demon with that wily smile and fluffy ears.

“Oh my!” Mel snickered knowingly, brushing through your hair in slow, precise strokes. “There’s a new man in your life, isn’t there?”

Immediately, your cheeks flamed, and your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers twisting together as you stammered, “N-no! Nothing like that, really…he’s just, uh…just my boss.” But your heart betrayed you, racing faster with every word. The thought of admitting any hint of interest, even to your friend, left you shy and tongue-tied.

“Say no more, sweetheart,” Mel trilled in a sing-song voice, dismissing your excuses with a wink. “I’ll make you look like a knockout!”

A tiny squeak escaped you, your face now red as a tomato. “It’s not—it’s really nothing like that!” You tried to argue, though the grin tugging at Mel’s lips made it clear she didn’t buy a word of it. Before you could protest further, she gave your head a light pat, her smile bright and warm. You couldn’t help but smile back, the joy in her laughter lifting you from your shyness.

As Mel worked, the usual salon gossip filled the air, talk of the latest mischief and drama from the East Side of Pentagram. She’d been one of your first friends in this strange place—a friendly face in the chaos of Hell. You remembered that first day, scared and alone, stumbling into her salon. Now, as you sat there, chatting and laughing with her, you felt a happiness and warmth that chased away any lingering loneliness.

The smell of her berry-scented products wrapped around you as she applied them, each brushstroke feeling like a balm. And despite yourself, your thoughts drifted back to your boss—the Radio Demon. Would he be surprised to see you tomorrow, all dolled up with new curls? Maybe he’d even…like it?

Your hands pressed together, a hopeful smile spreading across your face as you imagined the look on his. You could practically see his eyebrow raise, his grin widening in that sly, amused way.

After what felt like hours, a sharp gasp broke your reverie. Mel had jumped back, a look of shock on her face. “Oh, honey, there was a…pest in your hair!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Confused, you frowned, tilting your head. A pest? Before you could ask, a loud, indignant yowl rang out from behind you, and you felt something shift in your hair. In a flash of pink, something furry tumbled forward, landing on the floor in a poof of exaggerated volume.

Your mouth dropped open as you stared down. There, standing in a mound of fluffy, pink fur—puffed out so large he looked like a living cotton candy puff—was Catastor. His fur had poofed to double its usual size, the familiar outward-pointing eyes and red monocle nearly swallowed up by the mass of fluff. His wide grin only made the sight more ridiculous.

“Catastor!” you gasped, dropping to your knees as he waddled toward you, his puffy paws kneading at your knee in that familiar, pleading gesture for comfort.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, scooping him up and pressing him close. His fur was so soft and squishy it felt like sinking into a plush cloud, your arms disappearing into the sheer volume of fluff. He burrowed his head against you, the tremble in his yowl finally quieting as you gently stroked his back.

“Oh, my, Satan,” Mel laughed, eyes twinkling. “You’re holding a walking ball of cotton candy!”

You looked down at Catastor, his little face half-buried in his own fur, his yowl softening to little meows. The sight of him, so utterly ridiculous and adorable, sent a wave of giggles through you. “Looks like we both got a spa day today,” you teased, scratching under his chin. His eyes drooped, his purrs growing content and low.

“I know just the thing!” Mel said with a playful wink, disappearing behind the counter. She returned with matching ribbons, one for each of you. Gently, she tied a little bow around the small, perfect curl atop Catastor’s head, then expertly fastened the other bow in your newly styled curls.

Turning back to the mirror, you burst into another fit of delighted giggles. Your hair looked amazing, vibrant and full, bouncing with every movement, and in your arms was Catastor, fluffy and bow-adorned to match.

You cradled him close, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, a happiness that lifted you. Tomorrow, you would see your boss…Alastor, with your new look, confident and refreshed. And maybe…just maybe…he’d notice.

But for now, you were content to just sit here with Catastor, your matching bows and poofy styles reflecting the joyful, silly energy you felt bubbling over.

[cosmoeticss]

Haven’t I Been Good to You? | Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader (18+)

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Words: 2K

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Neice!Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), good old fashioned targcest, p n v, overall bad writing because I haven’t properly written in so long

Note: Reader is Rhaenyra’s heir/eldest daughter and the argument takes place after the dinner scene. I tried not to use any physical descriptors but those gorgeous targaryen platinum locks so I hope thats okay and you enjoy. Literally crawling in my skin right now because I’m about to post this, existing is an embarrassment, if you see this ily thank you for reading.

part two

Aemond was anything but cooled off when he returned to his marital chambers that night. He bound into the room, his displeasure from the night clear in his body language and his labored breathing. His wife sat stoically in front of her vanity, clad in only her night dress as she combed through the length of her silky, silver curls.

Aemond stared her down in disbelief as she barely acknowledged him. How could she honestly be angry with him? It was her bastard brothers who started the disagreement, who started the rivalry to begin with, who teased him their whole childhood and took his eye that fateful night on Driftmark. And here she sat, his wife, shoulders back and proud and angry with him.

Gods, she was beautiful when she was angry. If he didn't know her so well he wouldn't be able to tell. She was so serene and regal and surprisingly calm when she was upset. He often thought of how opposite they were in that sense. He thought of how hot tempered and quick to snap he was, and how she thought everything through before it slipped from her pretty lips. He envied this about her, and yet it was what he had loved most about her as well.

Aemond couldn't help it. He broke first. "Where are the children?" He inquired, steadying himself to the best of his ability.

She hardly gave him the time of day as she answered, her eyes not leaving her own reflection. "I've settled them into bed,” she said.

The Prince furrowed his brow. "Did you not think that I would wish to bid goodnight to my sons?"

"The hour is late. They've had their fill of excitement for the day, Husband."

Husband. Not her usual 'my dearest love,' not 'my darling.' He was in trouble far more than what he had bargained for. He eyed her in disbelief. "You're truly taking their side?"

She finally turned then, vast (e/c) eyes meeting his violet one. "There is no side to be taken, Aemond,” he hated her formality when they argued, "We are a family. We're supposed to be on the same side. Did you see how pleased the poor King was to see everyone finally getting along? Our mothers finally found some common ground after all of these years and yet you ruined an otherwise pleasant night with your wounded pride."

"My wounded pride?" he spat harshly, raising his voice at her. "Did you not see the way your beloved brother laughed as they sat a roasted pig in front of me? Or have you forgotten the torment I was subject to as a child? What do you expect to me to do, (Y/N)?"

She stood then, the silk of her long night dress accentuating her rounded stomach. "You are to be the Royal Consort one day, you will be King!" she scolded him sternly, silencing him. "I expect you to be the bigger person. I expect you to act with dignity and not meet the teasing of a child with the ferocity that you did tonight!"

Aemond softened at this, turning away from her to face the burning embers of the hearth. He did not retaliate, only moving to sit in a chair placed in front of it. He gripped the arms of the seat trying to calm himself, breathing deeply.

His wife watched him carefully. "It is not fair. I know it isn't," she swallowed, her eyes glazed over as she did. "I know that it angers you that I love my family after all my brothers have done to you, after what Lucerys has taken from you and I am sorry, Aemond. I truly am."

He was silent still, eye glued to the flames before him as if they were the most important thing in the room. "I cannot keep atoning for crimes I did not commit," her voice was almost pleading as she stepped closer to him then, slowly, testing the water carefully. When he did not retaliate,  she kneeled on the floor in front of him. "I know that you would not have chosen me to wed on our own, dear husband."

Her hands reached out to take his, and he allowed it, watching down the bridge of his nose as his wife gently held his hands in her small ones and brought them both to her lips, kissing them tenderly and repeatedly. "We have been honest and good to each other in these near seven years as man and wife, though," she stated, eyes wide and pleading as she rested her chin on his knee. "Have I not been a good to you?"

"You have," Aemond's voice cracked, his eyes fluttering shut at her soft inquisition. He breathed deeply, removing one of his hands from hers and carding it through her beautiful hair. “My love.”

"I have given you my body, mind, and soul. I have given you my virtue, and my fidelity. My heart has only ever belonged to you," she whispered as her husbands tensity began to dissolve between her nimble fingers and lips. Her soft kisses continuing slowly up his arm. "I have bore you two beautiful, healthy boys. Boys that will be Kings and Warriors one day, and I carry another inside me."

The air was stolen from her as Aemond halted her pecking and surged forward, lifting her swiftly from the stone floor to straddle his lap as if she weighed nothing. She gazed down at him, moving to gently remove her husbands eye patch. He hadn't minded the action for years now, as it was a bother to wear and his pretty wife had never judged his appearance or what he had lost all those years ago. She set the patch on the end table next to them, not taking her eyes off of him as her hands slid up his shoulders and found their home at his jawline. Her thumbs moved in slow circles on his face.

"I have given you power," he whimpered at this, gripping the soft meat of her thighs. "Outside the walls of this chamber you are my equal, and one day we will rule the Seven Kingdoms side by side, however we see fit to."

"Yes," he groaned hoarsely, continuing his kneading at her thighs, sitting up to press his lips to her throat, leaving hot opened mouth kisses down her neck to the swell of her breasts as he detangled the strings of her shift, baring her supple chest to him.

"You would like that wouldn't you, My King?" Aemond growled in agreement, continuing his ravishing as she slipped her fingers to the base of his neck and weaved them into his hair, gripping it tightly. "And in this room, you will rule me as you see fit."

"If that we're true then I would bound you to our bed, little wife," he sank his teeth delicately into the flesh of her breast, tongue swirling against the skin, causing her head to snap back in pleasure and a breathy moan to fall from her lips. "You would never leave these chambers. Who would be left to rule if I'm buried inside this sweet cunt for all of our lives, hmm?"

"You have many years before we are crowned for me to ride you, my dragon. And I plan to mount you morning and night,” she grinding into him, their lips meeting finally in a messy kiss. "Surely you'll tire of bedding me by then."

"Never," he pressed his forehead to hers, their breathing hot as he moved a large slender hand to cover her swollen stomach. "I enjoy no sight more than your belly swollen with our children."

She rutted her hips against his once more, her weeping cunt begging for friction. "Please, my dearest love"

"I wonder how the realm would feel if they knew the truth of their precious Princess?" he smirked as she fucked herself on his covered length. "If they knew how she begged for me each night? How wet she gets without me even having to touch her."

"Aemond, please," she wined.

"You wish to ride your dragon, my Queen?" he began hiking up her night dress to rest on her hips.

She panted at his movements, so tender, so achingly slow and teasing. "Yes," she whimpered.

He cocked his brow at her. "What's stopping you? Claim me then."

She didn't have to be told twice. Her trembling hands moved frantically to the strings of his pants, unfastening them and pulling them down to his thighs. He hissed as she took his length into her hand, stroking it sweetly before he lifted her hips and guided her to sink down on him. Her eyes screwed shut, crying out in pleasure as she adjusted to the size of him. Neither of them moved for a moment, their breathing tense and labored.

Aemond brushed a lock of hair out of his wife's face, her forehead falling to meet his as he cradled her head with his hand. "Alright?"

"Mhm," she hummed needily, bracing herself as her hands dropped to his shoulders. Aemond's free hand moved to cover the swell of her stomach, a lazy grin forming on his lips, before finding it's way to her hips once more, helping to roll them against his. Aemond cursed, his jaw going slack as his wife unraveled above him. Once she found her footing, she picked up her pace, bobbing up and down steadily, her finger nails curling into his shoulders. His hips snapped up to meet hers, and she cried out, his name tumbling from her lips like a prayer. Something came undone in him at the sound, his hands were everywhere then, cupping her full breasts, wrapped around her throat, sinking into her thighs. He was pawing at her like she would disappear if he let go for one second, grunting like a wild animal as he rutted against her.

"So good," he captured her lips in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth clashing. "So pretty and all mine."

She babbled something nonsensical in appraisal, her heat clenching around his cock as he worshipped her, their movements becoming sloppy as they approached their peak. "I'm so close."

"Say you love me," he demanded, fingers making their way to her pearl as he toyed with it, causing her to squeak at the touch. "Tell me again that you're mine and mine alone."

"Please," she panted, whimpering as he fucked into her relentlessly, hitting her sweet spot with each thrust. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."

Aemond's fingers were torture, slow and taunting. "Say it." "I'm yours," she cried out. "Only yours. Please--"

"Let go," he permitted, following close behind as she toppled over the edge, back arching and eyes rolling back as she was overcome with pleasure. They were still, chests heaving and hot breath mingling as they came down from their shared orgasm. Her nimble fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it away from his sweat soaked neck. He fell back into the chair, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. "I would've chosen you," he broke the silence after a long moment. She lifted her head slightly to look him in the eye, confusion evident as if she had not registered what he said. "When you said that you weren't the wife I would have chosen for myself. If I had been presented with a choice, I would've chosen you."

Her gaze softened at the sincerity and raw emotion flickering in his eye. "Then choose me now. Choose our family," she gripped his shirt tightly, pleading with him. "Love me more than you hate them."

Aemond sighed deeply, covering her hands with his. "I do love you. More than anything."

"Then promise you will try." Neither wanted to admit what they both knew, that even if he did, it was too late. The King's health dwindled more and more by the day, and the wounds cut between the Greens and the Blacks were too old and too deep for even their love to heal. The time was coming where they would have to choose. War was looming and their last chance at peace had slipped through their fingers like flowing water. So they didn't, and chose in silence to carry on pretending while they still could.

Aemond cupped her face gently, and pulled her into a soft, sweet kiss. "I promise," he whispered, the sweetest of lies, and he met her lips again in a more fervent kiss.

And she let herself hope, she let her self believe, just a little while longer.

[postmortemnivis]

could be read as a part two of this post

“when i met you,” price started, “you were a mess of a man.”

simon grunted in response, his arms crossed over his chest almost as if he wanted to protect, shield himself from price’s words. each cut deeper than knives, aiming straight for the strong walls he’d built around his heart, the ones that only you had been able to tear down.

a mess of a man. he knew it, he didn’t need to hear about it too.

“at first, i honestly didn’t think you were going to ever become someone.” the older man admitted.

johnny’s laughter could be heard from the living room, where he and kyle were chatting about god knows what, probably the last poor girl johnny shagged in a bathroom stall at a pub the previous night.

“you didn’t?”

price shook his head. “as i said, a mess of a man, simon.”

a mess of a man. simon knew himself, he knew he was no saint, no good: he was a murdered, the angel of death that could be seen in the middle of the field, his dark glow foretelling the end of anyone who found himself in the middle of his bloody path. his hands were stained with the blood of many, the same hands he refused to touch you with; the only thing that kept him sane was knowing he wasn’t ghost, ghost’s crimes were shielded from simon by his black gloves and balaclava.

simon looked at price as his hand rested on his shoulder. he remembered what it felt to be neglected by his own father, and price knew it. price always seemed to know everything about his boys, he could see right through him. what simon needed was guidance, and price would’ve given it to him.

“nothing to be ashamed of,” he continued, “most of you boys are, you seek for something more. think of johnny, he enlisted when he was sixteen. you enlisted the day of your eighteenth birthday. we all know that if you’re a responsible man you don’t run to the army. we’re all crazy, messed up men.”

price also knew they were reckless, a suicidal loyalty bound to him. after all, their job attracted the beasts, the outcasts, the sadists, the worst of society.

simon rolled his eyes when price referred to them as boys. the man was less than ten years younger than simon, but he still felt the paternal pressure and instinct to protect the boys. his boys.

“wha’ made you change your mind?”

price motioned simon to move further into the kitchen, away from the people that were invited to his house.

“her.”

your voice echoed as you walked out of the bathroom, letting johnny finally hold his little niece. gary was walking behind you with the brightest smile on his face. gaz made a comment about how the three weeks old baby looked just like you, with simon’s dark eyes and pale blonde hair. if only he knew you helped simon dye it every month and a half, him sat on the edge of the bathtub and you standing between his thighs, his hands firm on your waist as he—for once—looked up at you instead the other way round.

you agreed with a chuckle, looking around for simon.

“look a’ the lassie, she’s already an uncles gal!” johnny’s laughter filled the flat. from the corner of his eyes, simon could see the person he’d grown to call his brother hold his newborn daughter.

“her?” he looked at you, the softest and most subtle smile crawling on his scarred face. simon struggled to hold back his smirk.

price nodded. “i remember we all could tell that you met someone. you’d become less… rigid. you’d smile more, were more clement with the recruits.”

“she changed me.” simon shrugged, attempting to hide the smile that would try to crawl on his face anytime he’d think about you. even after years, between a marriage and now a child, his eyes would light up at your thought alone. that’s the impact, the effect you had on him.

“that’s good, simon.” price spoke. “we’re all happy you’re doing better. we remember how you used to-”

“okay, got the message.” simon interrupted him. “loud an’ clear, john.”

his life before you seemed so distant and he almost couldn’t remember of a time where you weren’t by his side yet. like a far away dream, closer to a nightmare than a dream, but still something that didn’t look like the life he was living now. he didn’t need to remember a bit of it, what was the use? he had you now, everything before the day you met didn’t matter anymore, it didn’t exist anymore.

price sighed, looking to the ceiling as he tried to find something in his pocket. “coming outside for a smoke?”

simon shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “nah, capt. quit a while ago.”

it’d been months since you’d showed him the pregnancy test that shook his whole world. he’d fallen to his knees in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by worried recruits, johnny immediately sprinting close enough to check whether his lieutenant was okay but far enough to give you two privacy.

“promise me ‘m not dreamin’.” he murmured, pulling you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, hiding his face in your chest.

you brushed his short blond hair back, biting your lip as you smiled. you could feel your eyes tingling, tears threatening to spill at any given minute. “you’re not, si. we’re gonna be parents.”

you chuckled, leaning down to kiss his head and felt your white work shirt getting wet by his tears. you looked around at the faces of the confused recruits, and you smiled, because you knew you were the only person who’d ever truly know how the scary lieutenant, the ghost, really was.

“we are.” he whispered before kissing your still flat stomach, getting back up and giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “thank you.”

in the nine months he’d been taking care of you like a person on their deathbed—really not necessary, si, i can still do the dishes by myself—he’d stopped smoking, and treated himself to just one beer every first sunday of the month.

he had worked on himself, hard.

for you and for your daughter. he wanted to be a better person, a good man. he wanted to be nothing like his father, that having haunted and scared him for so long and being the main reason he always tried to postpone having children, what truly held him back,, but he tried to be a better man.

that was what distinguished him from his father, he tried to be better.

leaving the military was sure next, after fixing the downstairs bathroom faucet and oil the doorknob of the closet. he wondered how the boys would take it, but in the end he didn’t really care, he knew they’d understand.

“quit.” price repeated, eyebrows raised as he put his lighter back in pocket. he wasn’t a social smoker, but knew better than to smoke near a baby, even if he would’ve excused himself to the balcony.

simon smiled as he heard you scold johnny for throwing the little girl in the air. “what if you drop her?”

“ah wid never, lass.” he reassured you, laughing at the slap he got on his scruff.

“you’re a good man, simon.” prices hand found its way on simon’s shoulder again. “you went through a lot, but you’re still fighting for a good cause, you didn’t let it change you. that’s what makes you a good man.”

simon was about to deny, say he wasn’t, he was the worst man there was, but then you walked into the kitchen, all smiles.

“hey si.” you smiled. “baby’s hungry.”

simon immediately stretched out his arms to hold the baby, a bottle already in his hands as soon as those words left your plush lips, your lashes batting up at him.

you wrapped your arms around one of his strong biceps and smiled up at him and then at price.

“cute, isn’t she?”

“is indeed.” john nodded, smiling under his thick moustache.

before he decided to leave the kitchen to leave you three some privacy and join the boys in the living room, where johnny had apparently put on a rugby match—“scotland-wales, for fucks sake, lad!”—he shot simon one final knowing glance.

simon returned the look, your eyes too focused on the little girl in her charcoal grey onesies to notice.

“you okay, si?” you whispered, but your husband's eyes were unfocused, staring off into space as price’s words kept replaying in his head like a broken record.

he nodded, kissing your forehead almost instinctively. “yes, love.”

you smiled up at him and then at your daughter, simon’s mind travelling an hundred miles an hour, waiting to crash on itself and get brought back to reality. price’s words echoed in the background of his brain, quieter each second that passed.

a good man.

tagging who asked:

@mr-sol @v1x3n @m4dyy @softangelheart @redzluvvesage @nittoka

[thebastardscull]

Okay but think about it, being Sevika’s favorite bartender?

Part 2 here!

She’ll only ever come to The Last Drop during your shifts. You’ll have her favorite drink (three fingers of whiskey with a single cube of ice) waiting for her, still cold.

Sevika slumps into the stool in front of the bar, watching (aka checking you out) as you slink back and forth, taking orders quickly and filling drinks even quicker. She’s tired, she’s had a long day- but seeing you helps, only if it’s a little bit.

Once the rush is finished and you’ve had a second to clean up, she’ll wait for you to lean over the bar to tell you about her day. You stand there, listening as any bartender would if they were good at their job. But what makes you different is that you do so happily, and you tell her about your day too, throwing in jokes or even little nods of understanding if she’s had a rather hard day.

(And her heart skips a few beats when you finally lock eyes on her and she can’t stop the way her hand sweats a little, but that probably doesn’t mean anything.)

But as this continues, the banter becomes more flirtatious. “The new guy I’m training dropped a handle of vodka and make me clean the damn thing up. Can you believe that?!” Or “Silco’s got me looking over another shipment tomorrow, fucker needs to start giving me vacation days.” slowly becomes “I like your hair Sev, did you do something different? You look handsome.” Or “You know, those shorts make your ass look great. What? I’m just saying!” As you give her a pointed look.

Once you unfortunately have to get back to your job, she’ll go over to her table for a few rounds of cards. She’ll keep an eye on you the entire time, making sure no one gets too rowdy or touchy with you. Not like everyone knows not to fuck with you anyways.

After she’s spent a few rounds taking people’s paychecks, your shift is almost over. She’ll saunter over all cocky-like with coins jangling in her bag, a smug look on her face as if she doesn’t rob people blind every other night.

Sevika will lean on the bar and wait patiently as you finish up and catch her attention. Her hands will dip into her bag, counting a hefty amount of money before sliding it over to you. “And this is your share, for being my lucky charm.” Despite your protests almost every night, she’ll insist you keep the outrageously large ‘tip’ and even go as far as to just walk away from you if you keep insisting on not taking it.

If she has the time, Sevika will wait for you in the back alley by the employee entrance, leaning on the brick wall and puffing on a cigarillo, loitering until you come out. You give her a warm greeting and she simply smiles, the gap between her two front teeth peeking out just a little bit which absolutely does not make you melt a little bit. Nope. Not at all.

She insists on walking you home, even if you lived on the other side of town. Her arm draped over your shoulder, letting you under her cape during the cold months. She swears to both you and her it’s just to make sure you get home safe. And it mostly is- but she’ll also scold herself in the mirror when she gets home about not making a move on you. She doesn’t notice when you slip some of the coins back into her bag.

But the longer this goes on, you’ll begin to hesitate by the front door. You both find an excuse to stand there and chat longer, sharing a cigarette. For months now you’ve been trying to hype yourself up to invite her inside. Or kiss her at the doorstep. Or just do something.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

-

Authors note: Hey!! This is my first time actually posting something like this, I hope you guys enjoy! 💕

[urrockstar-xe]

3 teen boys vs 1 pretty girl - j.m x fem!reader

posted feb 10th, 2024 10:24 pm

heres another belated v day post!! :D im working my way up guys look at me go, im running out of valentine themed songs though if you have recs and see this before the 14th pls send them to me!!

summary: John B and Pope have to help out JJ when he's under too much stress over a pretty girl, not proofread, use of Y/n.

masterlist

wordcount: 1.0k

JJ wasn’t one for romantics, never was, never will be. He’s never witnessed real romance outside of TV shows and movies, although now that he has, with his best friend falling in love, JJ still just didn’t quite get it.

Until he met You, of course, because every sweet, enchanting, and cheesy love story has to start with the player meeting the one.

The one that broke down every little wall with a soft smile and pretty eyes. The one who saves everything while simultaneously ruining it all. 

At least in JJ’s eyes. 

“Dude, just admit you like her” Pope’s words went in one ear and out the other as JJ groaned into the old pillow, dramatically falling onto John B’s couch. “I think he did, just not in a comprehensible way” John B chuckled, shoving JJ’s feet off of his lap.

JJ groaned once more before shifting positions and sitting up on the opposite end of JB. “I don’t know what it is, man. She comes in, introduces herself with a pretty little voice, batting her pretty little eyelashes, smiling a pretty little smile on her pretty little face.” JJ’s voice was laced with irritation, his friends just laughed in response. 

“I think JJ thinks Y/n is pretty, Pope.” “No way, really?” Another round of laughter between the two boys made JJ scoff before chuckling a bit as well, he rubbed at his eyes. 

JJ’s laughter ended with a sigh, “She’s makin’ me crazy.” John B smiled at his friend, nudging his shoulder. “They have that effect huh?” JB remarked, sharing a knowing look with Pope before Pope pulled JJ up off the couch.

“What am I gonna do? I mean, I gotta really wow this girl, man I mean, she’s perfect” JJ gushed as he stared back at his friend who merely smiled back and shook his head. “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, why don’t you go work that out with John B and I’ll continue studying.” Pope proposed the idea as JB stood up, patting JJ on the back before nearly dragging him out of the chateau by the back of his hoodie. 

“C’mon, we’re gonna make sure you get your girl by tomorrow night”

JJ and John B loaded up into the Twinkie, heading straight for the closest convenience store. JB distracted his lovelorn friend with loud music that the two teenage boys happily and obnoxiously sang along to. Once they finally pulled up to the store and went inside, John B led JJ to the aisle filled with red and pink colored cardboard, and heart-shaped candies.

“Dude, I don’t even know what kind of candy she likes,” JJ sighed, both boys scanning the wall of options. “This is gonna be harder than I thought.” John B mumbled. 

“It’s all just one big guessing game-” John B got cut off by the store clerk noticing them. 

“Maybank, I better not catch you stealin’ nothin'.” His gruffy booming voice caught their attention, heads turning towards the sound in sync. “Course not, Mr. Wade!” JJ waved, a small smile on his lips as the clerk shook his head and went back to his initial goal, leaving them alone once more. 

JJ watched as John B grabbed one of the blue baskets and started throwing random candy boxes into it. “What are you doing?” JJ furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s gotta like at least one of these, let’s just buy it all” John B shrugged, handing the basket to JJ who turned his attention towards the box full of small stuffed animals. 

JJ picked up a small cat before looking at the little dog holding a love heart. “Do you think she’s more of a dog person or a cat person?” “Which one do you want her to be?” 

JJ abandoned the cat and threw the dog in the basket, just as John B grabbed a pink bag covered in white hearts and threw it on top of their Valentine's treasures. 

“This should be enough right?” John B asked, earning a slightly concerned look from JJ. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the professional here? I’m just the student!” JJ followed him to the counter and helped throw everything in front of Mr. Wade. 

“JJ, I don’t think people see either of us and think of the word professional.” and of course, he couldn’t argue with that.

JJ was left to his own devices the rest of the night, John B had a date with Sarah. 

He did his best at setting up the bag of goodies, before deciding it was good enough because nothing would be as perfect as you no matter how much he tried. 

Finally, Wednesday had come and right around the time you made it outside of your school building you were met with the sight of the Twinkie, eyes watching it as you laughed at something one of your friends said. You said your goodbyes before making your way to the old van just as JJ Maybank came out of the driver’s side and leaned on the passenger’s door. 

“Thought you dropped out, JJ.” You smiled at the blond, who happily mirrored you as he approached him. “You know, gotta come back every once in a while, see how the place is holdin’ up without me.” He shrugged, earning a chuckle from you.

JJ cleared his throat, standing up straight. “I wanted to surprise you. Ask you to be my Valentine.” Your smile got softer, that sweet look on your face almost making JJ chicken out but now he was too deep in. 

“So ask me,” you said softly, after a moment of waiting for him to continue. JJ laughed, shaking his head. “Right, yeah, sorry. Will you be my Valentine, pretty lady?” His voice was quieter than you were used to hearing, you couldn’t help but cover your face as you felt heat spread across your cheeks. JJ chuckled at your reaction before leaning forward just enough to remove your hands from your face. 

“Whadya say?” You smiled at him as he held onto your hands, whispering now that you were so close. “I’ll be your Valentine any day of the week, J.” He smiled back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before letting go of your hands and opening the passenger door, revealing the very same bag that was currently overflowing. 

“Awh, babe.” You smiled at the sight, picking up the little dog plush. 

“Hope you’re a dog person,” He said, grabbing the bag’s handles so you could get in the van. 

“And that you have a severe sweet tooth.” 

[loserlvrss]

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 b. christopher ( 방찬 )

synopsis | you were so stressed out that you decided a midnight walk would be the best thing to clear your head, however so did your neighbor.

pairing : bangchan x fem!reader genre : drabble, fluff, hurt/comfort warnings : language, bit of angst word count : 539 authors note : oh to be validated

The post-midnight air felt crisp as it swirled around you. Your hands shivered as you shoved them in your pockets, shoulders coming up and chin down to turtle further into your jacket.

You’d had a lot of thoughts crossing your mind tonight, tormenting your peace. And the moonlight coming through your window—beautiful and bright…and mocking—somehow made them worse. It’s been a difficult couple of months, to say the least, the last week being arguably one of the worst you’d had all year; from one thing, to another, it’s like the world was against you. And winning.

You thought a walk could clear the echoes. It’s not like you were sleeping anyway, tossing and turning in your sheets all night.

“Shit—” Your hands shot from your pocket, cushioning against a fleshy yet still firm surface. You hadn’t realized you were looking down until you finally leveled your sights on…your neighbor?

You were quick to apologize, “I’m so sorry.”

You refuted, “It’s my fault. I-i’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

You’d only seen him a couple times, never actually talking to him. Not that you'd had the actual chance to, only catching him as he’d round a corner or be halfway through his apartment door. And if you were more outgoing you might’ve called out to him one of those times, prompting an introduction. But you’d always let him disappear behind a wall or a closed door before you worked up the courage to.

“Are you okay?”

You huffed, “Metaphorically or literally?” You didn’t mean to ask—to burden him with your problems. Afterall, you’d never actually talked to him before apologizing.

And what a first impression it was.

“One of those days,” He replied, posture finally relaxing a bit after making sure you were stable. “You’re my neighbor, aren’t you? Moved in like half a year ago? Chris, by the way.”

“Y/n.” You met his eyes, and honestly you couldn’t tell if they reflected yours or if you just wanted them to. “It’s been one of those weeks, Chris.”

He let a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgement spread momentarily, “Yeah…” He mumbled the rest, “Like a car crash waiting to happen, but you won’t pull over?” But through the silence of midnight air you heard him loud and clear.

You hummed, teeth squeezing the skin on the inside of your bottom lip. And maybe it was the acknowledgment that made you teary-eyed, but you choked it down—like you had been all week…month—and let out a deep breath. ”It could be worse,” you remarked, looking past him, eye catching on the small flakes that danced through the air. They landed on his dark hair, disappearing with the residual body heat. It was beautiful, and maybe in hindsight you’d just lost sight of what you needed the most; a little joy in your life. Wasn’t that what the season was about anyway? Your voice barely cracked, “right?”

His breath reached in front of him, the tail end adorned with a small smile, “Wanna walk some more?” You nodded, “We don’t even have to talk.”

And somehow, despite Chris not knowing you for more than a few minutes, he did reflect you. And maybe that’s actually what you needed instead.

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[missmeinyourbones]

CLEAN ME UP 

c/w: established relationship, hurt/comfort, light mentions of blood and injury, atsumu lowkey gets his ass beat </3 but he is so sweet

Atsumu sits crisscrossed on the floor of your bathroom with a tender black eye and a busted lip—and though this should be a rare thing, you need all five fingers to count the number of times you’ve seen this film before.

The first two were ages ago, high school days when he and Osamu couldn’t stop themselves from throwing a punch or two over nothing at all. Their egos too big and brains too small, twice you'd gotten roped into their post-brawl aftercare. Another time it was a fight off the court, when a rival captain made a snide remark about his foul accent. The fourth, a drunken, immature mistake.

Tonight’s wounds are different. Because when Atsumu nonchalantly shows up black and blue at your door, he doesn’t tell you what happened. There’s no story attached to the bruises he bares, no lengthy explanations or excuses. And Atsumu is a lot of things, but speechless is never one of them. 

He looks childish, you think, the way his broad body folds itself into a tiny pretzel and hardly takes up a corner of your tiled floor. He’s oddly quiet, too. Sure, you heard his witty comments down the hallway about how you should see the other guy, but something’s still off. His eyes aren't lit with their usual flame of youth, pride. 

Only a few words are exchanged through the process of cleaning him up. Between wet washcloths and tiny sniffles, Atsumu fumes, You haven't asked enough questions yet, and it’s beginning to freak him out. He doesn't know whether or not he should be grateful or unsettled with your silence.

A frozen bag of vegetables presses against his left eyelid when you finally ask, "What the hell did you do this time?"

Atsumu smiles at the mere sound of your voice, an instant warmth against the burning ice on his body. "Why's it always my fault?"

You remove the bag from his brow to shoot him a look, that look. He knows better than to argue with that look. Arguing with that look gets him nothing but trouble and an achy back from a night on the couch. So, he diverts. 

"Nothing,” he sulks. “He started it, and—"

"—And you finished it, right?" 

Your words are meant to be sarcastic, at his dispense of how stupid he behaved, but Atsumu doesn't take them as such. Instead, at your interruption, he shoots you an earnest smile filled with satisfaction and dried blood stretched across his chapped lips.  

"See? So smart, baby." 

His hand rises to pet your chin but you lean back quick enough to dodge his caress. His eyes fall to the bag of vegetables that now sits by your lap. 

“Atsumu,” you try again, foreboding. 

He rolls his head back in a huff against the bench of the bathtub, and the ceramic feels warm against his neck compared to the still stinging chill on his eye. 

“What was I supposed to do? They were bein’ assholes.”

His whole team had gone out drinking tonight for a celebratory round or five, followed by a few days off. And as charming as Atsumu is, he does have his foes. People in the volleyball world he’s not the biggest fan of, for reasons he doesn’t seem to discuss with you. He likes to leave it at his good intuition, something you know he lacks.  

With the context clues provided, you can think of two or three people he’s implying. 

His reasoning is flawed, to say the least, but the way he says it has your heart breaking in the slightest. He avoids eye contact, as if he's embarrassed, dancing around the subject and wishing the ground to swallow him whole. 

His shyness has you trying a softer approach. 

“Everyone is an asshole,” you whisper, lightly returning pressure to his eye with the makeshift ice, “if punching assholes was reasonable, I’d do it all the time.”

Atsumu smiles a bit at that, but you catch how he winces slightly at the movement. 

“Yer so funny, baby,” he tries to trail off. “Funniest person I—”

“Miya,” comes his second warning, and by the look in your eye, he’s not brave enough to try for a third.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “but when yer a Miya, I’m playing that card on you, too. Y’know that, right?” 

You nod, and whether it's to his proposal or to encourage his words, you don't know. But it works, because Atsumu takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling again. 

“This time was different, okay?”

His tone is eerily soft. One only you get the privilege of hearing, and not because it's out of love, but because it's out of hate. Something’s shaken him so bad, he’s almost been rendered speechless. 

“How was it different?”

“They were talking about you,” he shakily exhales. “Sayin’ stupid shit that isn’t true.”

Your heart softens as you do your best to keep a strong facade, but maybe Atsumu does have good intuition, as his hand squeezes yours through the quick moment of silence. 

“If it’s not true, then it shouldn't have mattered, right?” you try.

“No,” he’s quick to work himself up again, eyes finding yours. “Like hell was I gonna let ‘em keep talking about you like that, ‘specially when I’m right fuckin’ there.” 

Your fingers lightly skim his jaw, nowhere sensitive but he jumps all the same. You apply pressure to tilt his head, forcing him to find your gaze. He does.

“Do you want to tell me what they said?”

Atsumu gaze softens, and after a moment of thinking, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he decides, “I don’t.” 

His eyes fall to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Do you want to know?”

You smile at his sincerity. Atsumu, who you know to be just as sweet as he is boisterous, would tell you if you asked. He’d do anything you ask. But, you decide against it. 

“No. No, I don’t.” 

Atsumu exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he lets his head nuzzle against your palm. Contrary to the ice, it's warm and soft on his skin. He thinks it could heal wounds faster than any bag of broccoli ever could. 

“I trust you,” he hears you coo into his hairline, kisses now dancing along his forehead and jaw, “even if you do have the emotional intelligence of a middle school boy, sometimes.”

Astumu hmphs at your words, simultaneously agreeing and brushing you off. He doesn't care enough to bicker, right now. He doesn’t need to tell you about how the man from the bar was talking about you. About how easy you’d be to persuade into bed. About how you're just with Atsumu for his flashy perks and award winning smile. 

He doesn't need to because he knows they're wrong. Because they don't see these moments, when Atsumu sits on the ledge of your empty bathtub. With popped blood vessels and tender welts, those men don't melt beneath your careful fingertips or soothing pecks. 

He doesn't have to say anything, because you trust him. You trust Atsumu, and it's the one thing in this world he knows to be true. 

He lifts his head up from your hold to find your lips. 

“I jus’ love you,” he insists, lightly pressing himself to you with such caution, “so much.” 

And if there’s one thing in this world you know to be true, it's that Miya Atsumu loves you.