#i feel like this has been pointed out already but

[berritart]

imagining abby making u squirt for the first time mhmmm. it was your first time being intimate with her since you guys started dating each other and she has been more than respectful of your boundaries and such, especially since you just gotten out of a not so great relationship.

she knew everything about it, the lows and well, lows, and even how your ex never made you feel good during sex. you always felt the need to fake your orgasm to make her feel better about herself. abby always thought it was such a shame no one was treating a pretty thing like you good, both inside and outside the bedroom. but, you were still stuck in that godforsaken relationship so all she could do was wait for you to realize what you needed was right in front of you.

the night of one of your dates with abby, you already knew what was coming. you knew all abby wanted to do was feel your skin against hers. her demeanor was way more different, so much more flirty than she usually is. hands lingering longer, eyes wandering to the neckline of your blouse. when you stepped foot in your apartment, abby really didn't know how much longer she was going to last, her clit throbbing from the thought of you splayed out on your bed. and once she finally got what she craved for, to touch you, it was game over.

"f-feels weird abs..." you whimpered, back flushed against abby's front. she's been going at it for feels like hours at this point. you don't know how many orgasms she pulled from you, three? four? it was all too much, leaving your head foggy.

"i know you can do it. you wanna feel good dont you?" abby encouraged, fingers still plunging in and out of your pussy, her thumb not slowing down its pace. all you could muster the energy for was to hum in agreement. "she's so close, so tight around my fingers..." all you could do it nod frantically, gripping onto the sheets under you.

you felt your orgasm getting closer for sure, but it felt so much different than anything you experienced. your vibe didn't make you feel like this, and sure as hell your ex never did either.

your eyes started watering, the feeling was too much to bear. your legs started closing up on abby, back arching away from her. "need you to keep you legs open for me angel." abby whispered in your ear. "i know you wanna come baby just keep them open." you lazily opened your legs, your moans resuming as abby began fingering you properly again.

"'s good a-abby...fuck- i'm gonna come" you whined, throwing your head back against abby's shoulder. it didn't help when abby's free hand came in contact with your lower stomach, pressing lightly. your moans got louder from the pressure, eliciting a laugh from abby. "mmm so fuckin sensitive..." she pressed down a bit harder, licking and nipping at your neck as she did.

that pushed you over the edge. without any warning you tensed up and started shaking, streams of your release landing on the sheet, dampening the area under you. you didn't know you could do that, probably because your pleasure was never taken into consideration ever. "oh my god." abby laughed, taking in the view in front of her. the sight of you was messy. skin sticky from sweat and come, dark purple and reddish bites all over your body, and wet sheets because someone forgot to place a towel down, (abby). it was just nasty.

"didnt even know you could do that huh?" abby chuckled, hands wandering over your body. you shook your head, trying to catch your breath from probably the best orgasm you ever had. her hands squeezed your hips softly, grinding you down a bit. "can't even imagine how messy you'd get on my strap..." all you could do is respond in a whimper, rocking your hips towards her a bit more.

she was so handsy with you, her rough fingertips inching closer to your pussy. you just sat there between abby's legs, feeling fatigue wash over you. you didn't think you had anything else to give but abby thought otherwise.

"need you to do it again. please baby."

a/n this has been sitting in my drafts for far too long i hope u all enjoyed it 😇 also tysm for 200 :3

[sailor-arashi]

He never said it was just a story. In fact he said his own experiences heavily shaped the narrative, just not in allegorical ways.

What he said is that it wasn't about World War 2, which people at the time kept insisting is was, with things like Mordor is Nazi Germany and such, which annoyed him to no end. This is straight from his forward:

As for any inner meaning or ‘message’, it has in the intention of the author none. It is neither allegorical nor topical. As the story grew it put down roots (into the past) and threw out unexpected branches: but its main theme was settled from the outset by the inevitable choice of the Ring as the link between it and The Hobbit. The crucial chapter, ‘The Shadow of the Past’, is one of the oldest parts of the tale. It was written long before the foreshadow of 1939 had yet become a threat of inevitable disaster, and from that point the story would have developed along essentially the same lines, if that disaster had been averted. Its sources are things long before in mind, or in some cases already written, and little or nothing in it was modified by the war that began in 1939 or its sequels. The real war does not resemble the legendary war in its process or its conclusion. If it had inspired or directed the development of the legend, then certainly the Ring would have been seized and used against Sauron; he would not have been annihilated but enslaved, and Barad-dûr would not have been destroyed but occupied. Saruman, failing to get possession of the Ring, would in the confusion and treacheries of the time have found in Mordor the missing links in his own researches into Ring-lore, and before long he would have made a Great Ring of his own with which to challenge the self-styled Ruler of Middle-earth. In that conflict both sides would have held hobbits in hatred and contempt: they would not long have survived even as slaves. Other arrangements could be devised according to the tastes or views of those who like allegory or topical reference. But I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse ‘applicability’ with ‘allegory’; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author. An author cannot of course remain wholly unaffected by his experience, but the ways in which a story-germ uses the soil of experience are extremely complex, and attempts to define the process are at best guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous. It is also false, though naturally attractive, when the lives of an author and critic have overlapped, to suppose that the movements of thought or the events of times common to both were necessarily the most powerful influences. One has indeed personally to come under the shadow of war to feel fully its oppression; but as the years go by it seems now often forgotten that to be caught in youth by 1914 was no less hideous an experience than to be involved in 1939 and the following years. By 1918 all but one of my close friends were dead. Or to take a less grievous matter: it has been supposed by some that ‘The Scouring of the Shire’ reflects the situation in England at the time when I was finishing my tale. It does not. It is an essential part of the plot, foreseen from the outset, though in the event modified by the character of Saruman as developed in the story without, need I say, any allegorical significance or contemporary political reference whatsoever. It has indeed some basis in experience, though slender (for the economic situation was entirely different), and much further back. The country in which I lived in childhood was being shabbily destroyed before I was ten, in days when motor-cars were rare objects (I had never seen one) and men were still building suburban railways. Recently I saw in a paper a picture of the last decrepitude of the once thriving corn-mill beside its pool that long ago seemed to me so important. I never liked the looks of the Young miller, but his father, the Old miller, had a black beard, and he was not named Sandyman. Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Lord Of The Rings: One Volume . Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Kindle Edition.

J. R. R. Tolkien: no, my books aren't about the war I experienced. It's just a story

J. R. R. Tolkien's works: you cannot go home, war ends entire bloodlines, you are mourning the death of your brother alone, you dug into the earth and permanently scored the land, you cannot explain what you have been through, you cannot go home, "that wound will never fully heal. He will carry it the rest of his life", leaving the women behind does not save them, the young die first, you cannot go home, the parent will bury their child, you have lost the wives and you will never connect with them again, "how shall any tower withstand such numbers and such reckless hate?", you are not the same, you cannot go home, you can never go home, your father will only side with those he sees as worthy bloodlines and you cannot change his mind, it is more meaningful Not to kill, sometimes your sacrifice accomplishes nothing, you cannot go home

[starsinthesky5]

Okay people always talk about private time *wink wink* after Joe wins a game, but what about after a concert?? Like she’s high on adrenaline from performing, he’s high off of watching her do her thing on stage for hours. You know they’d be feral. In her dressing room after, in the car on the way home/to the hotel, in the shower that she desperately needs after performing. I’m unwell.

description: ask sums it up! the post concert/preformance adrenaline rush has you both all over each other ;)

a/n: this is the hottest thing i have ever written. i need water.

word count: 2.7k

series: you are in love

warnings: smut!!!, language, MDNI

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh YES. im so unwell too, it's okay.

for this, we’re going to have a little snapshot into the future since the fics aren’t at this point yet ;)

--

oh, you just know they're absolutely feral after a concert. the second she steps off that stage, still breathless, still riding the high of the crowd screaming her lyrics back to her, seeing all their smiles and excitement, joe is already waiting backstage. and god, the look in his eyes? it is sooo over for her. he's been in the tent, watching her for hours, completely mesmerized, taking in every move, every lyric, every sly little smirk she tossed his way from the stage. he's either a little drunk and delirious or a bit groggy after all the dancing and shouting, but that doesn't stop him from getting his girl.

--

and yes, he danced along with her from the tent, even matched her choreography in some portions which he memorized from a few of the rehearsals he sat in on. he even interacted with her fans who noticed him, he had the biggest smile on his face too. he'd never been one to talk to strangers outside of when he had to due to his anxiety and closed-off personality, but for her? for her he'd do anything.

even though she was far away, locked up backstage as he was waiting outside in the crowd, he still somehow felt at ease as if she was right next to him. you know why? because he was physically in her world right now. her touch, her presence lingered in everything from the light-up bracelets on everyone's wrists, to the stage in front of him, to the feeling of mystique in the air. he was in the bubble she had so carefully crafted with her bare hands over the past few years, so he had no reason to be nervous, anxious, or quiet. he was happily out there in the crowd, chatting up a storm with her guests, team, fans, friends, family, and anyone who wanted to hear him sing her praises. he was surrounded by people who loved her almost as much as he loved her. joe really had nothing to complain about. this was a physical representation of her hard work, a testament to the countless hours in the studio he had witnessed, a reward for all those nights when he laid next to her and wiped the tears from her cheek.

this was her legacy.

oh, and how could we forget him singing along to every song on the setlist like it was all engraved into his brain (lowkey, with how often he listens to her music, it was).

moral of the story, yes. joe is that boyfriend. he is her biggest fan.

anyway, back to the point.

--

she barely has time to catch her breath before his hands are on her, fingers pressing into her waist, pulling her into him. "you have no idea what you do to me up there," he mutters, his voice raspy, his breath warm against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. she smirks, tilting her chin up at him, her own pulse racing. "oh, i think i do, quarterback," she said with a smirk, matching his confidence with some of her own.

they barely make it to the dressing room before he’s pressing her up against the door, hands gripping her hips, mouth trailing along the side of her neck. she’s still in her stage outfit, sparkly, barely-there, and it’s driving him insane. her chest is rising and falling rapidly, breathless from more than just performing, as she tugs him impossibly closer.

his hands roam lower, gripping her soft thighs, pressing her even harder against the door like he wanted to glue her to it. his mouth is everywhere--her jaw, the corner of her ear, her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone--teeth scraping just enough to make her gasp. he loves that sound. loves the way her fingers fist the fabric of his shirt, desperate, like she needs him as badly as he needs her.

"god, you’re so fucking sexy up there," he groans against her skin, dragging his teeth over the shell of her ear again before dipping lower. his hands slide down, down, fingers teasing at the hem of her tiny outfit, tracing over the soft skin of her thighs once again.

"joe," she breathes, already dizzy, already melting. but he just hums, slipping a hand between her legs, pressing his fingers right where he knows she needs him most. she lets out a sharp gasp, her head falling back against the door with a soft thud.

he smirks, eyes dark and hooded as he watches her, watches the way her lips part, the way her chest rises and falls.

she’s so fucking responsive. that adrenaline is doing her wonders.

"this for me?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers over her, feeling just how warm, how wet she is for him. her breath hitches, and she nods, biting down on her lip.

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "nah, i wanna hear you say it,".

she barely managed to get the words out before he slipped a finger through her bodysuit, then inside her, slow and teasing, watching the way she fell apart for him. she gripped his shoulders, nails digging into him, legs trembling as he curled his finger just right.

"joey...fuck...,".

he groans at the sound of his name like that, adding another finger, pumping them in and out at a torturously slow pace. his thumb circles her clit, pressing just enough to make her hips jerk. she’s clenching around his fingers, making these soft, breathy little whimpers that are driving him insane. he presses his lips against her ear, his voice all rough and full of need. "you looked so good up there, baby. knew you’d be dripping for me the second you came off that stage,".

she lets out another choked moan at his words, her body arching into him, chasing the pressure of his hand. he groans, loving how fucking gone she is for him.

"you like knowing i was hard the whole time watching you?" his voice teasing her in so many ways that she was losing count. "thinking about how i was gonna have you the second i got you alone?".

she whimpers, her nails digging into his arms. "joe...,".

"shh, i got you, baby," he rasps, curling his fingers again to touch that one spot inside her, thrusting them deep, and dragging his thumb over her clit in tight circles again. her breath catches, and she’s right there, so damn close, her thighs squeezing around his hand.

he presses his forehead against hers, watching her fall apart. "cum for me, baby," he murmurs, and that’s all it takes--her whole body tenses, her mouth falling open in a silent moan as she comes undone around his fingers.

he keeps working her through it, fucking her with his hand until she’s whimpering, until her legs shake, until she’s gasping and clutching onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her up. he smirks, pulling his fingers from her, watching the way she shivers when he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean. "mm, sweet as always,".

she barely has time to catch her breath before he’s lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. "we’re not done," he mutters, carrying her to the vanity table. "not even close,".

but unfortunately, they were when a knock at the door interrupted them.

so achingly close to a little more...

but it was always about timing ;)

--

and then there’s the car ride. 

oh goddddd, the car ride. she’s still coming down from the high of performing...and the high from the dressing room, legs draped over his lap in the backseat as they went back to her hotel. joe is just looking at her--like she’s the most intoxicating thing he’s ever seen. his hand traces slow, lazy circles on her thigh, his grip tightening every time she shifts closer. he leans in, murmuring something about how incredible she was tonight (singing her praises as usual. he's so obsessed with her like joe, hello? just marry her already damn), how he couldn’t take his eyes off her, how she belongs up there. and maybe it’s the compliments, maybe it’s the way his voice sounds so raw with admiration, but suddenly she’s tugging him in by the collar of his shirt, kissing him like she needs to.

he groans into her mouth, his hand sliding up her thigh, fingertips slipping just under the hem of her sweats. she’s all over him, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing her body against his like she’s trying to crawl into his lap completely.

"baby," he mumbles between kisses, his voice all strained and breathless, "we gotta—fuck—driver’s right there,".

she doesn’t care. can’t care. not when he’s looking at her like that, not when she can still feel the way his hands had been on her just minutes ago in her dressing room.

she presses a kiss to his jaw, then lower, lips brushing over the sweet spot on his neck, feeling the way he swallows hard beneath her mouth. "then be quiet," she whispers, a smirk tugging at her lips.

he shakes his head with an amused chuckle, "you are insane," he whispers back.

but he’s already pulling her closer, his hand sliding higher, his grip firm as his lips find hers again, deeper this time. slower. like he’s savoring her, like he’s reminding her—he’s not done with her yet.

--

then comes the shower back at the hotel.

that’s the thing about the shower—it’s necessary, but neither of them is pretending like it’s going to be just that.

her body is still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles aching in the best way from performing, and she knows she needs to wash off the sweat, the lingering heat of the stage lights, but the second she steps under the warm stream, he’s there.

joe is behind her in an instant, his bare chest pressing against her damp skin, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him. the heat of the water is nothing compared to the heat of him, solid and burning, his body molding against hers like he belongs there.

he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the back of her neck, "you’re unbelievable," he murmurs. his hands are already moving, trailing up her sides, palms rough against her soft skin, completely unable to keep themselves to himself.

she hums in response, letting her head fall back against his shoulder, sighing when his lips find the curve of her jaw. she tilts her head just enough to catch his lips with hers, but he barely lets her take control before he’s deepening the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb rolling over her nipple. she gasps against his mouth, and he takes advantage of it, slipping his tongue against hers, swallowing every little sound she makes.

his other hand is moving lower now, fingers dragging down the slick expanse of her stomach, teasing the space between her thighs. "you’re still shaking," he mutters, smirking against her lips as his fingers brush over where she’s already aching for him, where he just was not too long ago. "performance high? or is this me again?".

she whimpers, hips rocking forward into his touch, but it’s not enough--he’s teasing her, fingers barely grazing, making her crave it, making her need it.

"joe...," she breathes, a little desperate, a little impatient, nails digging into his arms.

he hums, mouth dragging along the curve of her shoulder, one hand sliding lower, gripping the curve of her hip, pressing himself against her. "been waiting all night for this, baby," he rasps, his cock hard against the small of her back, twitching when she rolls her hips against him.

she turns in his arms, pressing her body against his, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. his lips crash into hers, all a messy mix of tongue and teeth, desperate and hungry. the kiss is sloppy, wet, the steam curling around them as the water hits down against their tangled bodies.

"need you," she whispers, dragging her nails down his back, pulling him closer. "need you so bad, joey,".

his hands grip her thighs, lifting her like she weighs nothing, pressing her against the wall as the hot water continues to beat down on both of them. his cock is thick, hard, already pushing at her entrance, teasing her with shallow movements that make her squirm.

"so needy," he smirks, but there’s a softness to his tone, teasing her but filled with love. his lips brush over her cheek, then her temple, a contrast to the way he’s holding her captive against the tile. "you couldn't even wait till we got to the bed, huh?".

"joey....fuck, please. i can't," she pleads, the combination of the burning shower, the burning feeling in her stomach, and the sizzle of her skin under his gaze was all too much for her.

he grins, shaking his head because he just knows her too well, and then he slams into her in one deep thrust.

she cries out, head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving crescent moon marks. he groans from the feeling of how tight and wet she is around him, clenching like she was made for him. but even as he starts to move, rolling his hips in deep, punishing thrusts, his hands stay gentle on her--one gripping her thigh, the other splayed across her lower back, holding her close, keeping her steady.

"fuck, baby," he grits out, grinding his hips just right, making her feel every inch. "you were made for me,". his mouth finds hers, kissing her between gasps, swallowing the moans that slip past her lips. his movements are rough, desperate, but his kisses are soft, sweet, like he can’t help but adore her even while he’s wrecking her.

"you think i could sit there and watch you all night, looking so fucking hot on that stage, and not end up buried inside you the second we got alone?".

she whimpers, "ah, joe. p- please," as her her fingers tangle in his damp curls, pulling his mouth back to her. he moans into her mouth, his thrusts deep but unhurried now, savoring the way she feels around him.

"yeah?" he teases, voice thick, strained. "you like that? like how i fuck you after you get off stage all worked up, knowing i was watching, knowing i was losing my mind wanting you?".

she nods frantically, but it’s not enough. he needs words.

"say it," he breathes against her lips, slowing his pace, rolling his hips into hers with devastating accuracy--hitting every spot he knew she loved.

"love it," she gasps, nearly sobbing. "love when you fuck me like this--fuck, joe--,".

he groans, pressing his forehead against hers, his lips brushing over her cheek, her nose, anywhere he can reach.

"you gonna cum for me, baby?" he murmurs, feeling her walls flutter around him. "you gonna make a fucking mess all over me?".

"yes..yes, fuck--,".

he shifts his angle, tilting her hips, and that’s it--her whole body seizes, her walls clenching down hard, her moan high-pitched and desperate as she shatters, shaking in his arms.

"that’s it, baby," he groans, barely holding on, "so fucking perfect when you let go for me,".

her orgasm sends him over the edge--he thrusts once, twice, then buries himself deep, groaning as he spills inside her, filling her up, rocking his hips as he rides it out. he doesn’t pull out right away--just stays there, chest heaving, arms tight around her, pressing soft kisses to her jaw, her cheeks, her lips.

"mine," he breathes, forehead resting against hers. "always mine,".

he’s still inside her, but his grip turns tender, his touch light as he runs his hands over her slick skin, tracing every curve like he’s committing her to memory all over again.

"you okay, baby?" he murmurs, kissing her forehead, her nose, her swollen lips.

she nods, sighing contentedly as she melts against him. "yeah," she whispers, voice a little hoarse from well...everything. "i just love you so much,".

he smiles, tilting her chin up to kiss her again. "i love you more," he breathes against her lips. "always,".

--

when they finally make it to bed--bodies exhausted, skin flushed, sheets a tangled mess -- joe just holds her, pressing soft, lazy kisses to her temple, the same hands that had been gripping her with desperate need now were tracing light, soothing patterns along her spine. “i love watching you up there. you’re magic,” he murmurs, his tone just as soft as his touch. she smiles against his chest, completely at peace, completely his.

[wendichester]

Hii! I love your writing! 🩷

Would I be able to request dean x fem!reader? Maybe reader is one of Sam’s friends from college and Dean instantly fall for her. Slow burn-ish but turns out she’s a hunter too and sticks with the boys? You can decide what brings them together and if you want to write smut or not :b

Thank you! <3

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ unfinished business,

summary. being sam's best friend is nothing but perks

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 870

notes. smutty!!! mdni! + absolutely love this concept of being sam's bestie and dean falling for reader!!! thanks for requesting hun, hope you like it 🩷

Dean’s not the kind of guy who believes in fate.

But the first time he sees you, he feels something pull.

It’s stupid, really. He’s been in Palo Alto less than ten minutes, freshly showered after the long drive, expecting a quick beer before dragging Sam back into the life. He wasn’t expecting you—perched on the arm of Sam’s couch, laughing at something dumb his brother just said.

Your laugh hooks into his ribs.

You glance up, and Dean knows in an instant—he’s screwed.

Because you’re looking at him like you already know him, like you can see right through the cocky grin he forces onto his face, like maybe—just maybe—you’re interested.

“Dean,” Sam says, standing to clap him on the back. “This is Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Dean keeps his gaze locked onto yours, offers a slow, lopsided smirk. “Should I be worried about the company you keep?”

Your lips twitch. “Oh, definitely.”

The words shouldn’t hit him like they do, shouldn’t make his pulse tick up, shouldn’t make him wonder what exactly you mean.

But they do.

And damn, does he want to find out.

It takes months.

Months of stolen glances, teasing remarks, conversations that last too long and end too soon. Of catching you staring, of looking away when you catch him.

Sam’s clueless, of course. Always has his head buried in a book, always assumes the tension in the room is just Dean being Dean.

But Dean knows.

Knows that something’s happening here, slow and inevitable, like a fire catching under his skin.

And then, one night, it all snaps.

It’s a hunt.

You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be back at school, safe and oblivious to the life Sam left behind.

But here you are—bloodied, exhausted, standing over a pile of dead vamps with a silver knife in your hand.

Dean can’t fucking breathe.

“What the hell, Y/N?” His voice is sharp, rough with adrenaline. “What are you—”

“Saving your ass,” you shoot back, wiping the blade clean against your jeans.

Dean’s head spins. He can’t decide what’s worse—the fact that you’ve been lying this whole time, or the fact that seeing you like this—alive, fierce, completely in your element—makes his stomach clench in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

“You’re a hunter.”

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. “Surprise.”

Dean stares at you, still catching up, still trying to piece it all together.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, quieter now.

You give him a look. “Like you would’ve believed me?”

Damn it. You’ve got a point.

Dean drags a hand down his face, takes a slow breath. “So what now?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

And there it is—that challenge, that pull that’s been between you since day one. Dean steps forward, close enough to catch the scent of your shampoo under the blood and sweat.

Close enough to finally do what he’s wanted to do for months.

He cups your face, rough hands gentle, searching your eyes. Giving you a chance to push him away.

You don’t.

You never would.

And then he’s kissing you.

It’s not slow, not soft—it’s months of tension, of longing, of wanting finally breaking loose. Your fingers fist in his jacket, pulling him closer, and Dean groans against your lips, deep and wrecked.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters, breath hot against your mouth.

You shake your head. “Not a chance.”

That’s all it takes.

Dean lifts you, pressing you against the wall of the abandoned barn, slotting his hips between your thighs. He’s hard, aching, and when you grind against him, a broken sound escapes his throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart...”

Your nails rake down his back, your mouth tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, and Dean’s losing it.

His hands slip under your shirt, dragging over warm skin, pulling it over your head. Your bra follows, and then his mouth is on you—hot, wet, desperate. He kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down to where your nipples pebble under his touch.

You gasp, arching into him, and Dean grins against your skin.

“You always this needy?”

“Shut up and focus, Winchester.”

Dean groans. “Yes, ma’am.”

He unbuttons your jeans, yanks them down, finds you already soaked. His fingers slip through your heat, teasing, testing.

“Jesus, babygirl. All this for me?”

You whimper, hips bucking into his touch, and Dean doesn’t waste any more time. He frees himself from his jeans, lines up, and sinks in.

You both shudder, breathless, still for a moment before Dean starts moving.

Slow at first, deep and measured, then rougher, faster.

Your moans echo through the barn, your body tight around him, perfect, made for this. For him.

Dean can’t think, can’t breathe—just chase the feeling, chase you.

And when you come—clenching, gasping, pulling him over the edge—Dean knows.

He’s gone.

And he’s never coming back.

Later, as you lay tangled together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean traces lazy circles on your bare hip.

“You know this means you’re stuck with us now, right?”

You smirk, resting your chin on his chest. “Think Sammy will approve?”

Dean grins, pulling you up for another kiss.

“Sammy's gonna love it.”

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[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man (2)

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. bachira meguru, alexis ness, karasu tabito, otoya eita, shidou ryusei

notes: part 2 to this, fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in alexis and karasu's, suggestive in shidou's (he's his own warning)

༄ bachira:

“megs, please stop moving - yeah, hi. my husband lost his id and we just need a replacement.”

✣ the second those words leave your mouth the cogs in his head are sent into hyperdrive. he’s barely ever thought of himself as boyfriend material, nevermind husband. for you to proclaim it so boldly in front of others makes him incredibly giddy with joy - to the point where his uncontrollable giggles begin to make the rest of the patrons and government workers a bit paranoid.

⁀➷ bachira’s latched onto you like koala as the two of you exit the office after getting the new id and a handful of concerned looks from the other people inside. his grin is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and all he can say over and over is “husband? i’m your husband, right? when are we getting married? what kind of dress do you want? what’s the color scheme? i have to ask isagi if he’ll be my best man, and -!” you try to shut him up with a kiss, but the second your lips part he goes right back to babbling about your ‘upcoming’ wedding. you made your bed, so guess now you have to lay in it.

༄ alexis: “can me and my husband just get a slice of sachertorte and a mini quiche?”

✣ so, so, in love with you. you’re already his wife, soulmate, reason for living, so hearing you reciprocate his fantasies has him on cloud nine. he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his grip on your hand only tightens at your words. it doesn’t matter if people think he’s moving too fast, if he’s too dedicated to you - because you feel the same way. how could he ever even fathom letting you slip from his grasp?

⁀➷ “what season do you want our wedding to be in?” he asks softly as the two of you sit by the cafe window. despite his favorite dessert being right in front of him, he can’t be bothered to eat it. not when you’re across from him, your divinity blessing his meager existence. the question surprises you a bit as he takes your hand, lightly kissing across your knuckles. your expression is so adorable, he can’t help the small laugh that leaves him when he continues, “we’re getting married soon, aren’t we? i’ve already planned the ring i want for you, and i really don’t want to wait that much longer to make you mine.”

༄ karasu:

“hmm, i think they’re too small… oh, excuse me? do you mind getting a bigger size for my husband?”

✣ amused by how blatant you are about it. sure, he knows he wants to marry you someday, but he didn’t expect you to take these jumps so early. he doesn't mind it at all, though. domesticity has always been in the back of his mind when it comes to relationships, preferring to invest in long term romances than lust-filled flings like a certain friend of his. there’s been roughly a billion fantasies involving married life with you, and there’s about to be ten billion more now that you’ve called him that.

⁀➷ “husband, hm?” he says with a smirk as the store employee goes to grab the other pair of shoes. you turn to him with a raised eyebrow and unamused look, asking if he has a problem with it. raising his arms in defense, he simply chuckles and tells you, “not at all, babe. just wondering how i bagged a cute wife when i haven’t even proposed yet.” you just roll your eyes and turn back to the shelves to compare the other cleats. unable to resist, he stands and rests his hands on your waist to whisper into your ear, “your husband didn’t bother getting you a ring? seems like a scumbag. i’ll buy you one right after this,” before placing a gentle kiss on your lips - and rest assured, he’s true to his word.

༄ otoya:

“if you’re gonna keep flirting with my husband, you can fuck off.”

✣ scared out of his mind. he never planned to have any sort of long term relationship with you yet it happened to naturally. for the first time in his life, he found himself being the yearner instead of having his lovers chasing him down. hearing you call him your husband confirms to himself he’s totally smitten. it’s pathetic and frankly terrifying, but he thinks he’d die if he let you go. so of course, you’re with him the one time he really isn’t flirting with someone else and they won’t leave him alone. just his luck.

⁀➷ as the two of you walk back from the coffee shop, he’s convinced he’s about to see all nine of his ninjutsu lives be cut down with the way you’re steaming. the silence is killing him though, and he simply lets out a shaky “babe?” to test the waters. when you turn towards him with rage burning in your eyes, he knows he’s fucked ; except you take his cheeks between your hands and pull him down, telling him he belongs to you and you only. he’s shaking with how passionate you are, realizing you did believe him and it’s everyone else you don’t trust. heart pounding out of his chest, he feels a bit of relief begin to come back. yeah, he doesn’t mind being your husband one bit.

༄ shidou:

“i’m so sorry about my husband's behavior. he didn’t mean to offend you like that.”

✣ first of all, yes he did. second of all, this is probably the worst mistake you’ve ever made. shidou already has you-induced psychosis, so anything you do to feed his ego and remind him that you also like him back just creates an even bigger monster. he tries to steal a kiss in the middle of you speaking, but you know him too well and drag him down by the ear into an apologetic bow. consider him whipped, cause you putting him in his place is so painfully attractive to him he’s about to get down on that one knee now.

⁀➷ “is that any way to be treating your husband?” he says with a shit eating grin while you tug him by the collar down the sidewalk. the restriction around his neck should be painful, but he loves seeing you annoyed so much that he certainly can’t feel it. when you mutter something about already getting a divorce, his smile drops and he digs his teeth into your neck, making you yelp in pain and elbow him in the stomach. he laughs maniacally before brushing his lips against your ear and telling you, “see? we’re made for each other, babe. hurt me a little more, will ya?”

[studiogrimm810]

Spackle

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader, sam is also there

summary: in a desperate attempt to back burner his feelings for you, dean tries to fill the void with pointless sex. and goddamn does that hurt

warnings: miscommunication and clarification, not too much, ANGSTY THO and happy ending ^.^

word count: 3,265

A/N: this is a request!!! i had a blast writing this one, love me some pining winchesters heheh. to get added to my tag list just send me an ask!! <3

(p.s. i realize this story set up isn’t exactly how it was worded in the request and i’m so sorry i’m just now noticing this T.T,, if you want a redo, pls lmk and i’ll correct my ways. okay ily)

———————

Light conversation murmurs over a steady 80s country song selected on the jukebox of this oddly cozy dive bar. Another successful hunt, with the help of your beloved Winchesters, lead the trio to celebrate amongst a round of drinks. The past few weeks, you’ve been tagging along for hunt after hunt and have really enjoyed the time with the boys. However, the closer proximity to the older brother only worsens the ache in your chest.

You watch him now as he throws back an amber shot of burning whiskey. His face hardens in a subtle growl at the sting as he slams the empty glass down. You follow his lead, letting the pungent liquid scrape down your throat and settle into your stomach, already warming with alcohol.

“Damn, they’ve got some cheap whiskey,” Dean blows out air through tight lips, cringing at the lingering singe of the alcohol. You nod, eyes scrunched in disgust.

“Whiskey is all pain, next time it’s vodka,” you declare, shaking off the burn and taking a swig of your less threatening house ale.

“Vodka is a young man’s game. Weak,” Dean mocks, taking a few fries from the communal basket in the middle.

“Are you so insecure that you have to validate your drunkenness with the more painful whiskey? Vodka drunk is where it’s at, I’m sick of pretending it’s not,” you shrug, taking a few fries as well.

Sam just chuckles at your bickering, tapping his fingers with the beat for the song. After back-to-back cases like this, you’ve noticed Sam is more inclined to let loose and relax with you and Dean.

The waitress comes back to the table and your body tenses as Dean's eyes trace her curves, landing on her face.

“Hey, sweetheart, can we get another round?” Dean holds up his empty shot glass. You force your gaze away, trying to ignore the sizzling discomfort under your skin.

There’s a few lines exchanged between the two and you have to bite your tongue to keep your emotion off your face.

Soft footsteps echo away and you look up to see Dean's eyes lingering for a beat too long. You try to ignore the ache in your chest, it’s not your place to feel so strongly for Dean. He’s not yours to call you own and you have no right to feel as blindingly jealous as you do when he throws his fucking googly eyes at a girl you couldn’t beat in a lineup.

It doesn’t stop the way the pain halts your lungs though because you’re still forced to watch the man you love ogle the most beautiful woman in the room.

“God, I could use a night to just unwind,” Dean hints into his beer, taking a sip and setting it back down with a refreshed hiss.

You don’t respond, instead taking a deep gulp of your ale, trying to drown the words so close to crawling out of your throat. Part of the burnout you’re starting to experience has fallen victim to Dean and his goddamn charm. He can’t help but flirt with anything shiny, it’s his nature, but you wished he thought you were someone worth flirting with.

And unfortunately, what you didn’t know was that it killed Dean to have you around like this. The pent up tension of having you so close makes him itch. He wants so desperately to give into the pull he feels between you two but he’s scared. Actually scared of making you uncomfortable or messing it up. So instead he deflects all of his affection he pleads to shower you with and points at whoever else is in his line of sight. It barely keeps him contained.

Another hour or so passes and you’re drunk enough to feel the absence of pain for the man next to you. Dean is drunk enough to pretend the pretty waitress can spackle the crevasse you’ve cracked into his sternum.

As Dean bids a goodnight and charms the waitress into an early cut, you chug the rest of your ale and turn to Sam.

“Are you present enough to drive us back to the motel?” You ask, fluttering a toothpick between your fingers.

“You got it,” Sam sits up, pulling out a wad of cash and planting it on the table, taking one last swig of his water and- well, you don’t remember him ordering a water- leading you out the front door that Dean and the mystery woman disappeared through just a few minutes ago.

You toss Sam your keys, Dean having taken the Impala, and climb into your passenger seat, letting the soft hum of the radio melt your mind.

Sam helps you into the motel, you may have drunk past your feelings tonight. You claim Dean's bed as your own since he won’t be here tonight, it’s the least he owes you- soberly though, you knew that’s not true.

“You good, can I get you anything?” Sam asks, untying his shoes and loosening his flannel.

“Nah, ‘M good,” you shake your head, sitting up and taking off your uncomfortable layers. You successfully get down to your undershirt and jeans, stretching your sore muscles.

“You can always talk to me, yaknow,” Sam says passively as he digs in his duffle, pretending to look for something. He knows you, and he knows that you aren’t openly ready to ever share your deeper feelings so he tries not to make a big deal out of it but he wants to offer his support regardless.

“You’re too kind, Sam,” your breathy voice flows out as you settle in the bed. “Just a little frustrated. Don’t worry about it,” you say, settling into the cushion. Sam wants to press but leaves it be. He cares for you and he recognizes how stupid his brother is being, but unfortunately there isn’t anything else he can do other than offer his moral support.

With lack of overthinking anxieties for the bright green eyes that stain your lids, sleep takes you easy.

———

The next morning, god is kind as she doesn’t punish you with a hangover but instead a dry mouth and the need to piss like a racehorse. With such a quick dash to the bathroom, you don’t notice Dean passed out on the couch.

Handling your business, you follow up with brushing your hair, teeth, and washing your hands and face- readying yourself for the day.

You trudge to the kitchenette sink and go through two glasses of water before slowing down and turning to finally notice Dean on the couch and Sam’s absence. Your heart nearly stops at the unexpected placement of bodies in the room and lack thereof. Dean is snoring peacefully and you don’t remember hearing him stumble back in this morning.

Last night. Ugh, you don’t want to think about whatever Dean got up to last night after leaving the bar.

It’s almost 10 am at this point and if you wanna make good time, you should probably leave soon. You hope Sam will be back in time for you to say goodbye, but you need space, bad, and don’t think you can hold out much longer.

You set the glass in the sink and head over to pack up your items. The rustling wakes up Dean.

“What time is it?” He asks with a groan, rubbing his eyes. You look over your shoulder at him, his sleepy voice rubbing you like kindling, filling you up quickly with haze smoke. You shake your head, trying to exhale the heat.

“9:54am to be exact,” you clear your throat, stacking some books of yours you had shown Sam yesterday morning sometime.

“God, this couch sucks,” he complains, sitting up with a grunt. Your lips, against your will, curl in amusement at his inconvenience.

“I’m sure your hot date had a bed comfortable enough,” the words feel like poison on your tongue. Your comment is meant to be lighthearted and ‘wing-man’-y but the silence indicates that it didn’t land.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know,” he grumbles and you feel sick, thinking of how else they made it work. The Impala? A different motel? Hell, maybe the bar bathroom. Your thoughts full-circle back to the Impala and you’re bombarded with intrusive thoughts of how many men or women he’s taken in the back of his precious possession. In the same seats you’ve traveled in.

You start to miss the warm wave of alcohol in your belly. You need to be far from this man.

You don’t entertain the comment.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, looking lazily at your items as they’re shoved loosely in your duffle that’s on its last leg.

“Thinkin�� of heading west, maybe hit the strip, try and rack up some cash,” you say, trying to remain casual.

“Sammy’s got another lead,” Dean says, confused like you had forgotten about the suspicious deaths across state.

“And you two are more than capable, I believe in you,” you look over your shoulder and scrunch your nose in a joking manner. He’s not amused.

“You can’t just ditch us,” he stands, crossing his arms over his chest. That caught you off guard.

“Ditch you?” You scoff, turning to face him. “I’m not ditching you, I just have other matters to attend to,” you argue, tilting your head in anger.

“Oh what, betting your $200 and busting? We both know you suck at gambling. You’d be better off taking a handful out a damn wishing well,” he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Oh shut up, I’m entitled to time for myself,” you defend, attitude spitting off of you in waves.

“‘Entitled’- that’s one word I’d use,” he squints, seething in anger. You drop your jaw and spin around, slamming items into your bag with impressive speed.

The air is thick and if your own anger wasn’t buzzing so loud in your chest you’d be able to sense his regret. You zip the bag, avoiding him on your way to the bathroom to retrieve your toiletries bag.

He calls your name as you pass him but your feet don’t react like your stuttering heart does.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, annoyed with his own burst of anger.

“Whatever, Dean,” you deadpan, grabbing your smaller bag and walking around Dean again, his eyes stay on you like a sunflower in the presence of the sun.

“Just- slow down,” he practically begs, “what is up with you?” He asks, face softened and eyes warm as he tries to figure you out.

“Nothing of your concern,” you state simply, hooking the bag on your arm and slinging the other on your back. You turn to head to the door but Dean sidesteps your track and you bump into his chest. He hands land on your biceps, steadying you. His face is mere inches from yours and you can practically taste that half handful of mints Dean chowed on on his way back to the motel- whenever that was.

“Talk to me,” it’s more of a demand, but his voice is so sweet when he says it- he practically lures it out of you.

“I can’t stand it,” your voice betrays you. Fucking betrays you as it spills out your stupid little thoughts. You snap your jaw shut and turn away, trying not to let the pebbling goosebumps from his radiating heat take over your skin. As if you could even stop them if you tried.

His head tilts and his sparkling eyes search yours. They’re like green apple Jolly Ranchers. So crystal and so sweet. You’re in it now.

“Can’t stand what?” His first concern is that he’s made you uncomfortable in some way and it makes his hold on you loosen as his confidence drains in that fear. He’s tried so unbelievably hard to make sure his feelings for you weren’t overwhelmingly obvious. He had never felt for someone like he felt for you. He didn’t want to woo you and make you melt with a simple smirk- he couldn’t, as far as he could tell. Just like he couldn’t use his charm to cover his cavern of self-loathing from your view, and he couldn’t put on the façade that he would for any other interest of his. Maybe it was respect, maybe it was fear, he just hoped it wasn’t love.

“You,” the word takes an entire lungful of breath to get out, deflating you like an exhausted pufferfish, sick of pretending to be some big-bad to deter prying eyes. Especially the emerald ones that make you salivate.

Your single word hurts him. His grip on you vanished like he was stung from the touch and he took a step back. He’s wounded.

“I just need some space,” it’s still a lungful of breath but at least this puff is more efficient than the former. He’s speechless, he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to argue- he can’t. He knows the burden he is on others and for you, of all people, to outwardly admit it really puts him in his place.

Your eyes hold so much obvious raw emotion that if anyone else but Dean could see, they’d knock him upside the head for how dense and self obsessed he’s being.

His eyes hold so much pain at the unnoticed miscommunication on your end that someone should do the same to you. If you could both get your heads out your asses and just accept the heat- this spark between you- all would settle like sand in a calm lake.

Unfortunately, it’s hurricane season and you bypass him without a second glance as you get in your car and drive until your tears cloud your vision.

———

“And then they just left,” Dean sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He sat on a squeaky chair supplied in the kitchenette of the generously rated 2-star motel.

“Did they say why?” Sam asked, arms crossed but one lifted to gesture as he spoke.

“It’s my fault,” Dean can’t keep the pain at bay, not even to hold up the big-brother-that-can’t- be-stung persona. He’s too distraught over your words. Well, word.

“Why? What did you do?” Sam says, his shoulders slumping with a sigh of grievance. Almost like he had expected this to be Dean's fault.

He’s quiet, shuffling through his memories, trying to pinpoint when exactly he had hurt you in such a way to cause the outburst. Was it his own words?

“Just said they couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand me,” Dean leans back, looking up at the ceiling. Sam’s eyes squint, a thoughtful look clouding his eyes. Once he seems to piece it together, his arms fall and he rolls his eyes.

“Dean, you’re so dense,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No need to hammer it in,” Dean shrugs with both his arms and a scoff.

“No, you-. Dean, think about it,” Sam presses, shifting on his feet. “Remember the officer you were talking up to get info for last week's case? How agitated they got? And what about last night- that waitress you took home. Dean, they care about you,” Sam lays it all out, hoping that Dean will actually take it how it's presented to him.

Dean just stared at Sam, not wanting to believe that all this time he’s been shoving down his feelings for you that have actually been mutual this whole time. That he had a chance and how he may have just ruined it.

Suddenly, he doesn’t seem to give his fear another thought. He needs to see you.

Dean doesn’t spare Sam an answer, jumping to his feet and darting out to the Impala, snatching the keys along with his jacket. He roars Baby to life and whips out his phone to check your location. Something the brothers made close friends agree to in case anything ever happened. Of course, this isn’t what was initially in mind when they implemented the rule.

Surprisingly, you’re only a 20 minute drive by now- some diner in the next town. He wasted no time.

Oh, by the way, one of the great skills in Dean Winchester's self-proclaimed ‘Ego Arsenal’? Cutting drives down by at least 20% in desperate situations, sometimes 30% if traffic is forgiving.

He sees your car on the far end of the lot. You’re rustling through the trunk and you look sporadic. Screeching tires alert you to the fresh presence of the Impala and your stomach flips.

“Dean?” You ask, straightening up from your trunk and hoping to seem calm and collected- as if you didn’t just get done crying your eyes out for a love that will never be in your hands.

“I’m an idiot,” Dean stumbles out of the barely parked car, not bothering with latching the door. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he’s breathing heavily but that doesn’t stop him from coming right up to you.

“What?” You ask, completely lost.

“The waitress- I couldn’t,” he shakes his head, breath hitting your face. Damn, he got close.

“Why would-?”

“I couldn’t- because of you,” his sentences are patchy but it almost seems like it’s because his thoughts are so disorganized and not due to the panting breaths.

You’re silenced. Is he blaming you? Is he upset with you? You did nothing- that you recall- that would’ve gotten in the way of him and her. You open your mouth to argue but he’s quick to eat your words as his lips crash into yours, holding you still with both hands on your face. His palms practically suffocate you with how much ground they cover but you couldn’t think enough to care.

He steps as close as he can, pressing his body into yours. His arms are at a more awkward angle for how he’s still holding you but he doesn’t seem to care. Almost afraid that if he lets go then you’ll melt through his abandoned hold and disappear from his life forever. He can’t risk it.

He kisses you until he’s breathless again, pulling away in time for his vision to not threaten giving out on him.

He plants his forehead against yours, breath dusting your face as he just takes in the way your skin ignites his own.

“Where the hell did that come from?” You finally ask, your legs a little weak and thanking god that he’s got a hold on you.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he scoffs a simple laugh with a smirk, his eyes still closed. “Just couldn’t stand it,” he teases, eyes still closed. Maybe if he doesn’t open them he won’t have to risk this being a dream.

You press your lips into his again, a sweeter kiss of adoration for his simple joke, as if you two already have your own bit.

“I’m sorry. I never even realized that-,” he sighs, finally opening his eyes and pulling away enough to fully appreciate your face. “I never realized what I felt for you was what it is.” He likes being close enough to admire the blemishes of your skin- freckles, hints of wrinkles, a scar along your temple.

“And what’s that?” You ask, face splayed with a teasing smirk but on the inside you feel like a preteen watching the bouncing bubbles that proceed a romantic text you were bold enough to send.

“Infatuation,” you’re almost convinced he invented the word on the spot with how much emotion he fit into a few syllables.

And although the look he’s dawning is pure and adorning, a neon spark behind his mossy glass shows a devious excitement. God, you’re really in it now.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)

>>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[cosmiic-world]

zayne x stubborn gf

lowkey self indulgent, inspired by one of those “i love zayne! is it because…” tiktoks 😭💔💔

cw: angst/comfort, reader is overwhelmed, fem!reader

zayne could always tell when you were struggling with something. even if you didn’t show it, he could tell from your body language to even the look in your eyes. he was a doctor after all.

so when one day while you both are at the dinner table, he notices you barely touch your food. “what’s wrong?” he asks, his tone gentle. he was always gentle when it came to you.

“hm? nothing’s wrong.” you say, your tone just as soft. you flash him a small smile in attempt to mot worry him further, but he knew it was fake.

“you’ve barely touched your food.” he points out, looking down at your plate. “do you not like it? i can make a different dish for you, if you’d like.”

you quickly shook your head. “oh- no, it’s not that.” you say, biting your lip slightly as you look away from his searing gaze.

“what seems to be bothering you then?” he says, his fork discarded on his plate now with his full attention on you.

“i..” you stutter as you choked, a lump suddenly forming in your throat as tears began to spring to your eyes. “uhm, it’s just.. work has been hard. a-and i feel like i’ve been drowning.” you manage to let out, staring at the hardwood table as you began to cry.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he says softly. he never raised his voice at you. why would he?

“i-i thought i could handle this one thing…” you said, your voice breaking as sobs escaped you.

“come here.” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he gently grabbed your hand, standing from his seat. ever so gently, as if you were made of porcelain, he pulled you up from your seat and wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly in an embrace.

you couldn’t help but cry into his chest as your arms wrapped around him, your tears wetting his shirt. he didn’t seem to care. you could feel his hand coming up to caress your head. his hand pressed your head down gently, until your ear was flat against his chest, making you listen to his heartbeat.

“it’s okay, my love. let it all out.” he said softly, his lips gently grazing the top of your head as he pressed a kiss against your hair. “you can always rely on me, darling. i will never abandon you.”

your sobs continue, sniffling as you look up at him with weepy eyes. “i’m s-sorry..”

zayne simply shook his head as he looked at you, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his cold thumb wiping away your hot tears. “don’t apologize when you have nothing to apologize for.”

“it’s just.. i’m so..” you paused, thinking

“stubborn?” he finished for you, chuckling softly as you nodded with a pout. “we can work on that. but i already love you as you are, my love.” he said, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

no matter what, zayne always made you feel safe in his warm embrace.

[gay-dorito-dust]

This is really, really, really long…

A lovesick Joaquin was a sight to behold Sam figured as he watched the new falcon practically brimming with joy when you stepped into the room, and while she was already smiling before but Joaquin’s face might as well have been split in half with how widen his smile had become within a matter of seconds, Sam would be surprised if in the end his cheeks didn’t end up hurting by the end of the day.

Sam could read Joaquin like a book -a short one- as he always wore his emotions on his face no matter how often he tries to disprove this observation from him, all the while his face and body language contradicts his words, especially when your name was brought up. All of a sudden his posture was straightened, chest was puffed up like a prideful birds and his dark eyes would eagerly scan the entire room for you, only to deflate and dull when Sam doubles over in laughter.

‘You’re so whipped for them man it’s not even funny at this point.’ He says between fits of laughter, his abdomen aching with each full body laugh that came out of his mouth.

‘That wasn’t cool Sam, not cool at all.’ Was all Joaquin replied with, feeling a little silly for falling for an obvious prank -that and remembering that you were out on a rather simple solo mission- but his mind, heart and soul were that infatuated with you to a degree where all he needed for a good day was to see you.

If there was anyone aware of his own tell tell signs of being a lovesick idiot besides Sam, it was Joaquin and he couldn’t help but internally groan every time he was with you, knowing he was bound to do something stupid that would be clear enough for you to know his feelings as if he has written: I like you very much, and I would’ve done something more romantic then this, but please spare me and go out with me? Onto his own fucking forehead.

He can’t help how he feels but he swears that if he saw himself outside of his own body somehow, then he would wished to die as he could already see that he was far from subtle, especially with how eager he was to find his arm over your shoulder or grab you by the elbow when you were walking close to the road before switching sides with you. And that’s not to mention how eager he was to partner up with you on missions to the point where the team expected you two to be partnered together; Joaquin could still remember the knowing look upon Sam’s face whenever he did this, something that made him wonder if the rest of the team knew of his feelings, and something deep down told him that they did but didn’t say it like Sam did.

Sam pats him on the shoulder one he had recorded from laughing, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘Aww is someone sad that they’re not here and won’t be back until later this evening,’ he then narrows his eyes as he leans towards Joaquin, who tries to lean away from him but finds his attempt in doing so useless, ‘are you going to be first in line when waiting for them so you can hug them first or?’

‘I’m glad my feelings for them are amusing to you man.’ Joaquin says as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Sam only squeezed his shoulder, his teasing smile became reassuring, having already done enough testing of the poor man for a day. ‘I’m just trying to have you attempt to actually say something to them about your feelings instead of looking at them like a lovesick puppy!’

Joaquin raises his brow. ‘And teasing me about my feelings is your best solution?’ He asks sarcastically, which makes Sam give him an unimpressed look. ‘Just tell them when they get back or me teasing you will be the least of your issues.’ He says rather pointedly, as though it was a promise he’d keep if he didn’t uphold his end in all of this.

Joaquin groans, throwing his head back. ‘And how can I when all they have to do is batt their eyelashes at me and smile and suddenly I’m weak in the knees, it’s difficult, nothing will happen between us.’

Sam makes a face at this and remarks ‘it’s only difficult if you keep trying to finds ways in making it difficult, someone in love would leap at the chance to be with that person, not run away from it and make excuses.’ Sam then puts his other hand on Joaquin’s shoulder, looking him deep in the eyes so he knew he had Joaquin’s full attention. ‘So are you going to let the love of your life walk out of your heart and into the arms of another because confessing was too difficult for you, or are you going to finally allow yourself and them the happiness you both deserve with each other?’

Joaquin didn’t need to think all too deeply about it, he never did when it came to you as there was not a doubt in his mind that could have him questioning or second guessing himself, especially for when it came to matters of the heart as he often lead with it as much as his mind. The fear of rejection was strong but he knew Sam was right in what he says, he could claim that confessing would be the death of him but that would only be him speaking with fear, not his actual voice.

Joaquin’s actual voice would tell him to confess because he wouldn’t know unless he tried, he wouldn’t know whether you felt the same towards him or not, and making assumptions that you didn’t on your behalf wasn’t helping and might as well have been an insult towards you. He would speak truthfully from his heart and not let anything cloud his judgment, not even the hypothetical scenarios where it could all go wrong could deter him from speaking the truth, and all it took was for Sam to be serious with him about it.

‘No, I won’t.’ He says and Sam smiles, knowing that he finally gotten through to him.

‘Good. Now why you standing here for? Go get them!’ He then exclaims as he all but practically shoved Joaquin out of the room and in the direction that he knew you’d soon enough take when come back from a mission, wanting to destress from it all by changing in your comfiest clothes. Meanwhile Joaquin was trying to keep his resolve as he planned on meeting you halfway when he saw your figure from afar, a smile stretching across his lips as though it was second nature.

‘Joaquin?’ You asked.

‘In the flesh.’ He says as the warmth feeling started to blossom within his chest as he felt light on his feet as though he might start floating, but that was the usual feelings he got from being within your presence. ‘So how was the mission.’ He adds.

‘Nothing worth being haled a hero for. Only a simple get in and get out with important information that could destroy or save humanity depending whose hands are on it type of deal.’ You shrugged before deciding to change the topic of discussion. ‘How are you? I didn’t keep you waiting long did I?’ You added, wanting nothing more then to hear his voice after going long without it, even if it was a small mission it didn’t change the fact that you missed Joaquin’s ability to make them go by faster.

Joaquin chuckles as he steps towards you. ‘Not at all. If anything you have me at the best possible time, which so happened to be right now.’ He adds a little clumsily but it only made your smile widen as you took a step forwards him, solely for the purpose of being close to him and nothing more.

‘What is it that you’ve got on your mind that it can be only said right now pretty boy?’ You asked as casually as you could as to stop yourself from saying something stupid, not wanting to let your mind misread the situation before he could say what he needed to say.

Joaquin scratched the back of his head as he began to shifted his weight on one foot to the next, a habit you’ve noticed that only happened when you were near or complimented him in any capacity, it was cute but it made you wonder the reason behind such sheepish behaviour, when you knew the man was far more confident. Was it you? You couldn’t help but internally scoff at such a selfish thought, no matter how much you wanted it to be true.

‘I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date?’ He asks you, all the while his heart within his chest was now in his throat as his hands became clammy with nerves, his feet feeling like lead that rooted him to the floor making him unable to move even if he wanted to. You hummed playfully. ‘Depends on who the person I’m going on this date with is.’

‘Me. It’s me. so go out with me before I start listing off 101 reasons why I think we’d be great together.’ Joaquin responded almost immediately and the sound of your laughter man the man feel as though he was on cloud nine, so when you reached out to touch his arm reassuringly, Joaquin swore he saw the rest of your conversation in some sort of outer body experience.

‘Yeah I’ll go out with you, as long as I still get to hear this 101 reasons though because I wanna cross reference some things to my own 101 reasons we’d be good together just to be certain.’ You replied, squeezing his arm as you leaned to kiss his cheek before passing him by, making sure to look back at him as you add over your shoulder. ‘See you then pretty boy!’

Joaquin only smiled dopily to himself as he pumped the air with his fist. ‘Fuck yeah!’ He says to himself as he all but walks past Sam with a swagger in his step, his mind completely elsewhere for him to realise that neither of you had chosen a time or a day for your fate.

[reidrum]

i need you to fill the void

a/n: it's my birthday so pls don't say damn when you see that this is angst

summary: in which spencer seeks another vice post tobias

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, not smut centered though, angst, mentions of addictions, poor coping habits for both spencer and reader, toxic!spencer, situationship, excessive em dash usage

wc: 2.1k

The frigid bite of the night greets you as you walk outside to your car. The cold is sobering, almost warning you as you trek into a journey the sky has seen many times. 

It had been three months since Spencer’s kidnapping, two months since you found out he was going to Narcotics Anonymous before the roundtables, and one month since you realized you were the only person who could help him.

Knowing he was struggling through his addiction on his own—though, you knew the team was fully aware and simply chose to not do anything about it—made you feel like shit. It wasn’t even your fault, you were back at the main cabin with Emily going over the case when you figured out the unsub was Tobias Hankel. Somehow you felt worse than JJ who was actually there with him, because you should’ve figured it out sooner. You saw the behavioral signs pointing to him. It was so obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe it was your fault.

At least, that’s what you continue to tell yourself night after night as you make the five minute drive to his apartment always nearing the witching hour. Spencer wouldn’t feel this hopeless if you had just been smarter, faster. But you weren’t, and now he was suffering. You didn’t know how to help him, how to make him feel better—if he was even capable of healing. So you offered him what you could, which was everything.

And he took what he needed—which was everything.

You raise your hand and softly knock on the door. Three times, never more, never less. Footsteps pad closer to the door on the other side before slowly opening revealing Spencer in his blue plaid pajamas and one of his many punny science t-shirts. Tonight’s was Never trust an atom, they make up everything!

The routine is easy to fall into, you take your shoes off while he removes your coat. You walk to the couch and he goes to the kitchen, preparing tea just the way you like it. When he returns, you’re already curled up in your usual spot on the couch and he slips in beside you like it was made for him. Like you didn’t spend so much time tearing it down and building it up hoping he’d find at least one of the versions to be familiar. 

“Had a good day?” he murmurs into your shoulder before claiming the spot with a kiss. Familiar.

You nod, “You?”

“It was bad after the roundtable this morning,” his lips traverse your collarbone, “better now, though.”

The warmth blooms in your chest at his little admission. Familiar. You know the warmth isn’t viable, but for the few moments of life in which it exists you will bask and let it consume you.

His hands have traveled around your waist tugging you closer to him with a confidence he’s slowly worked up to over the course of your encounters. It still surprises you when he initiates anything, the Spencer you had met on your first day at the BAU—joining only a week after him—could barely say two words to you let alone look you in the eyes.

The Spencer in front of you now lets his fingers play with the hem of your shirt with a slight hesitancy. They shake, but you know it’s not from the nerves. You don’t mention it.

“Couch or bedroom?” you coax gently.

“Bedroom.” He releases his hold on you and stands from the couch, holding a hand out for you. You take it and follow him down the hallway, the warmth inside you slowly fading as you get closer.

You’re barely through the bedroom door when Spencer tugs you back into his arms and kisses you voraciously, his hand cupping your face while the other presses you impossibly closer to him as he can. This is the part where the flip switches—when you both stop playing house and Spencer remembers what he needs you for.

His anxious hands turn greedy as they tug your shirt off and work on your pants, you pepper kisses along his jaw and turn your bodies to push him onto the bed. He stares up at you in anticipation as you unhook your bra and he hurriedly takes his pajamas off. It’s muscle memory from this point on, he scoots back to lean against the headboard as you crawl up and straddle him. 

You know what he needs to feel placated enough so the urges won’t overtake and drown him. He looks up at you like you’re the salvation he’s been waiting for, the vice that helps him walk away from his sin.

There is no salvation without sacrifice—but Spencer didn’t need to know that, he isn’t the one who will be sacrificed.

He positions your hips over his own and you slowly guide yourself down onto him, blissed out sighs leaving both of you as you take in all of him. You wait for a minute to adjust and then slowly lift your hips up and back down, a soft whimper falling from his lips.

Spencer doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how it feels to have you wrapped around him. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, compulsive. He wonders how people can resist temptation when the gratification feels like this.

Your hips stutter and falter from their pattern, the muscle fatigue getting to you fast. “Sorry, just need a second.” you pant.

“S’okay, you want to switch?” He gently flips you over so you’re laid back on the bed before giving you the chance to answer. He doesn’t usually get on top, but recently Spencer has tasted the forbidden fruit that hangs low from your branches and found that it feels better than anything he’s ever taken with a needle.

The addiction has a power that compels him to use according to its agenda, and he really can’t remember the last time he’s felt in control of his own body. The addiction tells him when to use, and he listens.

But whenever he’s with you, he doesn’t have to fight any compulsion—you’re already offering it up for him to take.

He guides himself back inside you slowly, leaning down once he bottoms out to kiss your cheek tenderly. “Okay?” You nod and he pulls back, pushing your leg up to delve deeper. Spencer’s making sure he’s taking all that he can—he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before the urges come back for him.

His hips set a comfortable pace, fueled by the whines that tumble from your lips. He can’t get enough of you, he’d put the drugs down forever if he could feel like for the rest of his life. You both chase your highs and come undone at the same time, the praises falling out of him like they belong to you. Spencer pulls out and lays beside you while both of your breathing evens out. He doesn’t leave right away–he is a gentleman, after all–so he’ll get up after a few minutes and grab a wet cloth to gently clean you up, slip into the blankets again and hold you close yet so far away.

You’ll make yet another effort to reach out and connect with him in a way much more intimate than you think either of you deserve.

“I like what we have right now, it’s just not what I’m looking for.”

“I’m not in a good place, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

And the worst one, “I care about you too much to do that to you.”

It continues like this for months. A call in the dead of the night and you come running at the ring of the bell. Under the guise of being a good friend and completely disregarding any other harbored feelings you hold, failed attempts at building something more. You know you have to do this. You were not fast enough before, and so you must give everything you have now. 

Spencer grows comfortable in the next months, complacent and sure that whenever the urges come for him you’ll drop everything. Every encounter after chips away at you, but it makes him stronger so it must be worth it. 

Some nights are harder than others, the withdrawal eating away at him faster than you can feed it. You’ve rarely seen him be mean before, always too timid to speak out of line. But the symptoms have reduced him to primal desire and suddenly he’s demanding and pervasive.

“You’re late.”

“You said you’d be here an hour ago, what was more important than this?”

“I needed you, where were you?”

“Should’ve gotten here sooner, don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t.”

It’s nice to be relied on, it gives you a sense of purpose. He’ll be mean for a bit while he lets the addiction withdrawal displace him momentarily, but regains his bearings the second you walk through his front door. Over time, the shaking is starting to subside, the irritability slowly fading. The warmth in your chest returns thinking about the little moments between the sheets when he hushes your mistaken cries for pleasure with gratitude for your service. “Thank you, baby.” and “You’re so good to me.” falsely secure you as you continue to give what’s left of you.

You suppose you can’t exactly be upset or even surprised that he saw you as nothing more than a warm body in his bed. If you were the entity keeping Spencer tethered to this realm then you’ve strengthened him enough to stand on his own two feet. 

That should be a good thing.

When you’re in the bullpen the week after it shouldn’t surprise you when Derek claps his shoulder with a resounding “My man” as he turns his blushed face to the floor. Before the blush can rise on your face at the prospect of someone discovering your rendezvous, Derek continues with, “It’s about time you asked her out.”

Spencer never asked you out.

“You finally asked out Austin?” JJ chirps. Austin, bartender, Waco case.

But you built him up yourself, you should be proud of your handiwork.

“She just moved up here and needed someone to show her around. That’s all it is.” Spencer flushes, a clear sign that it is in fact not all it is.

Emily remarks how he looks happier than he has in weeks, Penelope squeals in excitement, Hotch and Rossi even look down from the landing in subtle interest.

The warmth inside returns again with an edge this time, a burning sensation that reveals you held it too close to your heart. Familiar. It takes everything in you to school your face and hold your tears in as you faintly whisper, “I’m happy for you, Spence.”

Because you are happy–this is what you wanted for him, to feel normal again. If he achieved it without you then who are you to blame him for? You served your purpose, and now you can rest.

Right?

–

Spencer doesn’t call you for three weeks.

You try not to think about it when he comes in late the next day with his tie askew and hair in a tousled mess. It doesn’t bother you when he finally accepts the O’Keefe’s invite and shows up with her. You have to consciously unclench your heart when his laugh sounds loud and genuine throughout the jet–but that’s nothing you haven’t done before for him.

When your phone rings again in the witching hour for the first time in weeks, it catches you off guard. You roll over grabbing the phone and answering it without even looking at the caller. 

“Hello?”

Silence, then shallow and labored breathing. You look down at your phone, sitting up fully when you read the ID, “Spence? What’s wrong?”

He gulps, “I…I almost…”

Your heart drops, “Are you okay?”

“Y–Yeah, think so. I didn’t..But..” he stutters, “Fuck, do you think you could–” he trails.

The tears spring to your eyes before you can help it, barely shutting them in time before they break down your face. Familiar.

“Be there in five.” you say evenly before hanging up.

The frigid bite of the night greets you in a mocking taunt as it watches you trek to your car. Three knocks. He greets you with red rimmed eyes at the door, clad in a Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar…t-shirt. The routine is easy to fall into–shoes and coat off, cup of tea before putting the TV on. You hope he accepts this version of you this time.

Inhale. Exhale. “Bedroom?”

[lilylushes]

Gilman Reunion with Luigi

TW: Sex, spanking (once)

A/N: If u don't like it then don't read it.

“Having fun?” you say into your boyfriend Luigi’s ear. You’re at his high school reunion at Gilman and he’s proudly introduced you to all of his old friends. His hands remained on the small of your back throughout the night.

“Very much so. Thanks for coming, baby. They all love you,” he puts his arm around you, kissing your cheek. “Let’s take a walk, I’ll show you the labs.”

“Okay,” you smile as you both put down your wine glasses.  “Let's go.”

Luigi ensures the coast is clear before sneaking the two of you away from the reception. You walk down the halls of Gilman, hand in hand, taking in the place that meant so much to him, that helped make him into the man you love. 

At one point, you spot his year’s graduation picture and stop to take a picture of it with your phone to embarrass him later.

“Baby, your hair here, so cute,” you say, pinching his cheek as he lets out a laugh.

“Ugh, that picture is so embarrassing. I look like such a nerd.”

“My nerd. My cute nerd. I love little Luigi. But I love big Luigi too,” you wrap your arms around him, and he brings your waist closer to his body, kissing you slowly.

“Never thought I’d get to kiss a girl in the halls of Gilman,” he grins. “Oh, and, big Luigi loves you too. They both do,” he laughs, looking down at his growing bulge that he knows you can feel.

His joke makes you both erupt into a fit of laughter.

“Shhh, shh, okay, let’s not get caught. I’ll show you the labs.”

You two continue down the halls. You can’t help but see how it’s all so romantic but also bursting with sexual tension.

“I love sneaking around with you, Lu. It’s kind of hot, too, not gonna lie.”

He turns, opening a door on your right, holding it open for you. “Ladies first.”

“I spent so much time here. Must’ve been hundreds of hours.” He looks around, with the only light in the room being provided by the streetlights outside. “We had robotics club in here, did countless experiments, so much stuff.” 

Luigi walks up to you, takes your hand, and brings you over to the teacher’s desk, holding your body close to his. He suddenly grabs your hips and lifts you up on the desk, drawing his lips painfully close to yours, nearly touching. His arms on either side of your hips gives you no escape, not that you wanted one.

He whispers, “but you know what I never got to do?”

“Mmmm?” you question, locking your eyes on his.

“Never got to fuck in here.” He moves his mouth to your ear. “Wanted you so bad all night. You look so fucking pretty and I’m so proud to show you off, baby.” He brings his gaze to yours before kissing you hungrily.

“Didn’t take you as such a bad boy, Mangione,” you smile against his lips.

“I am for you, baby. You get me so fucking horny. My perfect girl.”

His lips find yours again. Your tongues dance with one another as you explore each other’s mouth. One of you will moan, triggering a moan from the other. His hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts and grinding your hips over his bulge. His body holds your legs open. Both of you get worked up fast. His bulge is bigger than it was in the hallway, and you can feel wetness pooling at your core.

He finally brings his hand up your dress and in between your legs, pausing.

“No panties?” He seems surprised.

You look at him with innocent eyes, shaking your head.

“Fuck, just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore perfect,” he growls before running his fingers up and down your folds before inserting one in your aching core.

“Oh!” You gasped, beginning to buck your hips to get his finger as deep as possible.”

“Yeah? That wet for me already? Me fucking you in a classroom really turns you on, doesn’t it baby?” He has your foreheads connected, looking into your eyes.

He stops his assault on your cunt, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

“Taste.”

You love his fingers in your mouth, and so does he. You look at him lovingly while your tongue swirls around his long fingers.

“Mmm, so pretty,” he looks down for a second. “Oh, hold on baby, you made a bit of a mess.”

He lowers himself, sopping up the juices from your cunt and from the desk before returning to his standing position.

“You’re delicious, baby. It’s so sexy to see how wet you get for me.”

You reach your hand out, palming his bulge through his tight pants.

“Baby, wanna suck your co-”

“I’m not gonna last, not with you looking this pretty and not with the thought of me railing you in my old high school. Feel how bad I need you?” 

“Need you, too, Lu. So bad. Want you to fuck me on this table right now.”

That’s all he needs. He unbuckles his belt, lowers his pants and boxers, and lets his cock spring free.

He rubs it along your wet folds. The only sounds in the air are wetness, gasps, and four-letter words.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you now. Fuck the shit out of you on this desk.” He puts his forehead on yours

He pushes his cock into you, prompting you both to gasp.

“Mmm, your cock, is so big, baby. Fills me up so nice. Need you to fuck me good.”

He quickly starts fucking you at a quick pace.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says, gritting his teeth. 

“You’re a fucking fantasy come true, baby, you know that? So fucking hot,” he moves his hand to your neck and pulls his head up, allowing you both to watch his cock thrusting in and out of your pussy.

You’re both moaning far louder than you should be. He can sense your worry.

“We’re on the other side of the school, baby. Be loud. Wanna hear my girl.”

You take his reassurance as permission to voice your pleasure.

The moaning, the sweating, the scene, it’s all so fucking hot. Your kisses are messy, your mouths are agasp, and your hands are exploring each other’s bodies.

Suddenly, Luigi pulls out, takes you off the desk, bends you over on top of it, and brings your hips to his, inserting his cock again to continue.

“I’m close,” you say, in between his deep thrusts.

“Wait,” he spanks you, making you moan.

“Needed to do that, feels too fucking good fucking you in here.”

You bring a hand behind your back for his to hold as you feel him getting close. His other hand is bringing your hips to his. 

“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy. Fill it with my cum.”

You moan even louder, and he can feel your walls clenching around him. He moves you back from the desk a little bit to bring his hand that was on your hips to touch your clit. You let out a cry of pleasure and pain.

“Yeah, baby cum on my cock while I breed you.”

You look back at him while you both reach your orgasm. The two of you collapse onto the desk, breathless. After catching his breath, Luigi brings a couple of kisses to your shoulder before standing up.

“I can’t believe we fucking did that.”

You arise, turning to face him.

“Me neither, that was really hot.” You bite your lip and look up at him.

“I’ve always had that fantasy but never thought I’d get to live it. But I never thought I’d meet someone like you, either,” he says, holding the side of your face in his palm, his thumb running across your cheek. “I love you.” He gives you a long, gentle kiss.

“Let’s get back there before they get any ideas,” you tell him.

“I’m sure they’ve already got an idea, unfortunately.” You both laugh, leaving the lab holding hands.

[rueharley]

"It's not In my nature to"

Rafe cameron x Reader girlfriend

Where Reader and Rafe cameron get into an argument over why reader has been distant. Mostly for me to just vent out; things have been tough lately.

+ make up (I promise it's a happy ending)

.....................................................................

"Baby, talk to me," Rafe said with a tone influenced with a hidden plea. His eyes were trained onto me like a sniper, watching for any break, any hint of me opening up to him.

"I don't want to talk," I retort simply, my gaze falling anywhere but between the two sofas we were on.

My shoulders felt tense, no matter me trying to remain calm. Although I felt my throat being tight, I restrained myself from clenching my jaw, the gesture so easily being misunderstood as contempt.

He leaned back on the sofa and huffed, "of course" he mumbled, his voice bordered on anger, this was a point that wasn't lost on me.

I find anger unbearable and terrifying, yet clearly not enough to pull me from my old bad habits.

He looked across to me, i could almost see him as he considered if he should push me or not.

His icy blue eyes flickered across my face, analysing what the hell was wrong with my and why I was always so defensive.

I exhaled slowly, I felt this deep undercurrent of shame, of disgust with myself.

He, of course, was right. I should confide in him, talk to him, speak to him, say something to him. Regardless of the irrational, morbid, or even absurd concerns of mine, I shouldn't be hiding from him like this.

This is a default defence of mine - It is destructive.

"Can you give me some idea on what's wrong?" he spoke pulling me from my thoughts.

His voice was still filled with annoyance but he tried to keep reasonable, and I was grateful for that.

I ran through all the thoughts in my head. Give him something, anything, just try.

"is it.. Your family? Did something happen with them?" he spoke tentatively, trying to encourage me.

I shook my head, the simple act of speaking was now something that felt impossible. How can emotions manage to disable your most practiced actions so competently?

"Your friends..?" his words assaulted the air and I could only feel bad for making him guess.

He shouldn't have to guess what was wrong, the whole reason I didn't tell him because I think I'm being sensitive. It's not a secret, just something I wanted to blow over.

A moment of silence passed as he contemplated continued questioning. It's strange how well we read each other, yet sometimes we can't reach each other at all.

He sighed softly, he knew by my little reaction that my response was a no.

"is it.. Me? Did I do something?" he said with an almost unnoticed increase of frustration. His eyes watched me a bit closer, I wondered if he already knew.

It didn't even cross my mind to verbalise agreement. Yet in my mind the words 'yes' were speaking.

A tactical pause enveloped the room, a tactical pause or a hesitant falter - I'm ignorant to the difference.

I nodded so delicately, as if my agreement could cause an entire war from the simple gesture.

The ticking clock on the wall was mocking us. Mocking our inability to be as readable and consistent as it was. But this is a bit of a random and unnecessary thought.

His gaze focused and I felt the room's atmosphere intensify. I think I just confused the hell out of him while simultaneously giving him the relief of something close to an answer.

"I did something?" his voice was lower and genuinely curious, "what did I do, baby?"

I watched his bewildered face, it made me feel a pang of guilt. This was the whole reason I never wanted to tell him in the first place.

I looked to my hands, I was now rethinking everything I felt, gushing with guilt or was it remorse, I'm not sure what the difference is.

I need to speak, I have to speak.

I can feel him waiting to hear me and for some reason it feels like a climax to an undefinable end.

What is it that I'm overthinking, I havnt even said a word yet.

But that's the thing; words are unbearable. Who gave humans the ability to speak, yet be misunderstood with a strange sense of eagerness. Words hold no solace, they simply lack the inbetweens that might articulate my feelings.

Maybe there are not enough words to describe what is happening to me - or maybe I was never supposed to try.

I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts, Rafes gaze was still on me and he knew I was thinking about the exact thing he did.

"it is something you did"

My words were like a storm and the silence that followed were like a palpitation.

His expression hardened as I confirmed that the source of the issue was him.

I knew that if looks could speak, ours would be screaming at each other in multiple languages. Not angrily, just because at times we can both be very expressive people.

He could read in my pretty bland expression that I wasn't going to go any further into this. Admitting it was him at the root of it was an achievement in itself.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration and concern sat precariously on his handsome features.

I loved him so much.

He leans forward, closing some of the distance between us. His eyes were focused with a hint of determination.

"Can you at least let me know what it is that I did?" he spoke lowly and carefully. He was really trying to understand this confusing rift between us.

"No.." I say quietly, speaking a bit quicker than I wanted to and instantly regretting it. That was my best opportunity to open up and I lost it with my own stubbornness.

A flicker of anger met his face. His icy gaze, not colder, but deeper, as if challenged by the extent of his own emotions.

"You won't even tell me? Why are you being so damn frustrating..?"

Without missing a beat from his harsher reply I replied

"You were the one trying to get it out of me when I didn't want to say anything." my tone wasn't too harsh, I never could be too harsh with him, but it definitely carried some heat.

Rafe scoffed as he looked away for a moment. His gaze remained in the distance, he was trying to calm himself.

The slow realisation that seems to be felt simultaneously during arguing came into the room. A mutual recognising that we do love each other, that arguing is kinda stupid.

"You're not making this very easy" he spoke gently, his gaze still away.

"It's not In my nature to" I replied, ensuring that silence wouldn't have arrested the room.

His unintentionally intense gaze came back to me.

It was so open it was almost alarming, so I looked to him with that same, surrendering agreement.

"what did I do, baby?" he spoke, his words lacking bite or challenge. His eyes were softer but focused, in no universe would I feel fonder of something.

I inhaled deeply and decided to bite the bullet. Face it. I loved him and love makes you have to do hard things.

"I'm just a bit.. Scared.." I began to say, my words delicate, my words precise, and with a little too much thought.

"Come here, baby," Rafe practically whispered as he tapped the sofa besides him.

I moved to besides him, the soft feeling of comfort meeting my body from his simple gesture.

I sat besides him and he rests his hand on my thigh.

I was sat close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"why are you scared, baby?" he asks quietly, his gaze ducking to stay on mine.

"I just.. I realised how serious this relationship is now.. That we are tied, like that" I say, crossing my fingers following the gesture of two souls intertwined.

I noticed how a flicker of confusion met with his eyes, yet he remained quiet to let me speak.

"I'm scared because I realised this is headed one way and that this is a serious, long term relationship" I spoke, a bit more confidently now.

"baby.." he bagan to reply, his gaze flickering off as he collected his words. "so you've been off and distant lately.. Because of a good thing..?"

"well 'good thing' is all about perspective.." my voice trailed slightly.

"no, baby," he cut me off, his tone a bit harsher, "it is not a bad thing. This relationship is a good thing, it's precious to us both, so you'll be fine,"

"but-"

"No, this isn't something you get upset over. Don't get upset over good things," He said his tone lightening to his more usual confident tone.

I sighed, not convinced.

He moved closer to me and held the side of my neck with his hand. His eyes watched me with their usual fondness and ease.

"my pretty girl" he murmurs.

I smiled slightly under his gaze, his words sounded so beautiful.

"I've always gotta keep an eye on your thoughts, huh"

I tutted at his choice of words, however, he did aways have a way to deal with my anxieties. He often just denied them and kept reminding me of reality, and when it's coming from him it seems to work.

He moved closer, his hot breath fluttered over my skin.

"pretty, Gorgeous, baby.. Mine, my baby," he murmers, almost inaudible.

It made my heart beat a bit quicker hearing him speak like that.

He quickly moved closer pushing his lips on to mine. He kissed me with passion and desire, somehow it blocked out all my thoughts.

He continued to kiss me, our lips moving against each others desperately.

I pushed against the kiss wanting more, yet he pulled away, much to my dismay.

I huffed out in protest.

"need to know you'll talk to me about this stuff in the future, baby," he says quietly resting his forehead against mine.

I nodded in response, as agreement.

"yeah?" he says wanting me to copy him for a verbal reply. His eyes bored into mine.

"yeah." I reply with promise.

"good girl, I love you, my baby," he says moving and kissing me lightly on the forehead.

"I love you too"

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Can you fix her? She was originally for sale for only €100 / $104.16 just for someone to by and save it from ruin. Someone bought it, and after some renovations, the castle in Veauce, Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes, France, is back on the market for €662,880 / $837,382 approx. USD.

Known to be the residence of Louis the Pious, (the soul surviving son of none other than Charlemagne), Emperor of the West in the 9th century. With ongoing construction, it has grown to 118 rooms! But, don't worry, b/c it has it's own French "GoFundMe" to help with the renovations. And, a part of it looks livable, but there's one caveat- it's haunted.

See, this is a living room. One sticking point for potential buyers, however, is that it is allegedly haunted by a number of ghosts, including a teenager called Lucie who used to work in the château.

Lucie died in one of the five towers around 500 years ago, and is said to still walk the halls of the property today. Yeah, but this is a nice hallway.

I really like this room. Other ghost sightings reported from the storied château include a 50-year old woman, with her hair up in a bun, allegedly witnessed by the current owner’s son.

Beautiful dining room- look at the size of that fireplace. The main reason the château is up for sale, however, is because of the large volume of renovation works which need to be undertaken. It has 4 wings.

Even if the steep price of the property may be putting people off, the ghosts are not. “No one mentioned their fear of seeing ghosts when they visited the château to buy it. It is normal to see ghosts in such an old place,” said the owner’s son.

Renovation work could cost between €10 and €20 million and include intensive repair work on the château’s keep which collapsed in 2005. Because the building is listed as an historic monument, up to 50% of the cost of the renovations could be reimbursed by the government.

Some of the work that's already been done.

I mean, the current living space is gorgeous.

Says the group that is collecting donations to help with the reno: The collection is used here to help to take over the roof covering of a part of the castle, which suffers a lot from the bad weather and whose continuous collapse represents a danger AND a risk of losing a new part of this beautiful castle!

This is an important step for the security work, but also for future restoration and maintenance work!

The group feels confident that they will raise enough money to help out.

So, you still have a fabulous to live in while the work progresses.

It needs some windows here.

What an amazing opportunity.

Real Estate listing:

https://www.realportico.co.uk/listing/castle-complex-in-veauce-north-of-clermont-ferrand-endangered-monument/100001723126549

https://dartagnans.fr/en/projects/sauvegarde-du-chateau-de-veauce/campaign (Funding site)

Earlier articles about the property:

https://www.connexionfrance.com/practical/photos-see-haunted-118-room-chateau-on-sale-in-france/239198

https://www.connexionfrance.com/news/a-chateau-for-just-100-french-mairie-buys-fairytale-ruin/154292

[squishyo-o]

(ATZ) Yunho Brainrot ❤️‍🔥

Having shower sex with Yunho

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You guys already know I couldn’t let Yunho’s cute little grwm go like that.

I need this man to fuck me in the shower. And I think we can all agree that his man fucks so well. And Ykw? Just for this Brainrot, it’s husband yunho.

Jesus. I need him so bad chat

CW!: This yunho specifically (yes this needs its own warning. He’s too fine), fingering, implied big dick yuyu 😍, pet names (pretty, sweet girl, lovely, baby, sweetheart), Husband!Yunho x fem!reader, breeding kink (if you squint 🌚), probably others. Just enjoy this filth cuz gawd DAYUM

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"Enjoying my fingers lovely?" Your husband’s voice echoed in the shower. It was a long day for both of you. Especially for Yunho. He needed his stress to go somewhere, so he thought why not take a warm shower? You wanted to join him since you could also use the shower, but you guys couldn’t keep your hands off each other. God, speaking of hands, Yunho’s are absolutely heavenly. Beautifully structured and fingers built to make you weak with every single touch. "Yunho.." you whined, feeling his fingers curl into you. The warm water giving you so many goosebumps aside from the pleasure you were receiving.

"You like that pretty?" You whined out a little 'mhm' and as if that didn’t give an answer to Yunho enough, you rutted your hips against his hand. "Yuyu please baby I’m close. Feels s’good-" "I know sweet girl.. cum for me. Let go" he hummed, moving his fingers faster and rubbing your clit’s bud with his thumb. "Pussy’s gonna be so ready for my cock, yeah?" Loud moans were being drawn out of you and you tilted your head back against the wall. "So so good yunho.. b-be so good f’yre cock— mm!!- fuck!" The coil in your stomach snapped and you came undone on Yunho’s hand. Hadn’t you guys been in the shower and it would’ve gone everywhere.

Yunho chuckled as you came and helped you relax from your orgasm, pumping his fingers slowly now and pulling them out, giving you kisses on your naked shoulder. "Ready for my cock sweetheart?" You nodded and yunho hoisted your legs up, alining himself with your hole. "Need you so bad.." you whined. Yunho rubbed your thigh with his thumb. "I know baby.. gonna be such a good sleeve for me.." he finally pushed his cock in you and it took the breath out of your lungs. He sighed as well, never being able to get used to that stretching feeling he gives with your walls squeezing him like that.

"So tight every time.. no matter how many times I stuff you full of cock.." he grunted. "Big Yunho.. s’big.." you whined. As much as he has stuffed you, it always feels like he’s fucking you for the first time. Yunho started moving his hips slowly, listening to your little sobs of pleasure. "Feels so good every time baby" "more Yunho.." "more?" "Please. Fuck me full.." "god.. you make me wanna put a baby in you." He groaned giving you exactly what you want. Picking up his pace and slamming his cock into you. If he wasn’t hitting your spot already because of how big he is, then surely he was now by the pace he was going at.

"F-fuck yuyu.. your cock is so good. Fuck me full.." you hiccuped. "please!" You moaned loud, surely making marks on Yunho’s back from how you were grasping onto him for dear life. "Gonna make you a mommy. Y’gonna be the hottest mom I’ve ever seen.." He lowly moaned. The glass was foggy from the stem from the shower which only made this scene ten times hotter. Your echoing moans slowly crescendoing radiating in the bathroom, his groans from how good you feel and the way your pussy is just sucking him in. "Fuck.." "m’close yuyu.." "am too.. go on and let go for me pretty.. m’gonna fill you up." And as your moans finally escalate to their loudest point, you and Yunho’s lips crashed together, moaning in each other’s mouths as you came.

Yunho fucked his load into your womb. Now he had a goal and his mind was set on it. The two of you can down from your highs as you pulled off of each others lips. Breaths been taken away and pants of afterglowing pleasure being shared. The two of you just held each other in each others arms until you finally cleaned up and finished the not so innocently shared shower. The two of you stepped out, yunho assisting you and dried each other off. No matter how many times you saw him with wet hair, he never failed to look sexy as fuck. Along with his height, his arms, god. Everything about your husband was so perfect.

Yunho started helping you dry off after he dried himself off, naturally kissing your thighs and up your body the more he dried you off. He finished with a kiss on the lips and looked down at you while drying his hair more.

"Round 2 in the bedroom?"

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αη: couldn’t let this go to waste 💔 Yunho’s a little to fine for his own good. He’s unstoppable. Sorry this took so long to post ㅠㅠ school has been stressful and my taehyun fic probably won’t be done for a while because of my schedule. Please as always remember to take care of yourself and drink water! xxx

[sunshineangel0]

loving you, flaws and all (hyung line)

pairing- stray kids ot8 x reader summary- Your skin has never been perfect, and sometimes, the insecurities weigh you down. But each member of Stray Kids loves you in their own way, showing you that beauty isn’t just about clear skin—it’s about who you are. Through soft moments of reassurance, warmth, and genuine love, they remind you that your acne and scars don’t define you. genre- romance, slice of life, comfort, fluff word count- 1,7k (300-500 words each) warnings- mentions of acne, insecurities, self doubt, protective and affectionate stray kids members, pure wholesome content 🥰 an- i was feeling insecure today because of a little flare up so i wrote this. i hope it helps whoever it may need, too. remember, you are perfect no matter how much you brain tells you on insecure days that youre not. maknae line

bang chan

You sat at your vanity mirror, frowning as you traced a fingertip over the red blemishes dotting your skin. No matter how much care you put into your routine, your acne still flared up, leaving you feeling small and frustrated.

The door creaked open, and a familiar warmth wrapped around you from behind. “Why are you looking so sad?” Bang Chan’s deep voice murmured into your ear, his arms tightening around your waist.

You sighed, staring at his reflection instead of your own. “It’s just… my skin is so bad today.”

Chan frowned, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You say that like it matters,” he said softly. He turned you around in his hold, his warm hands cupping your cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You tried, but your gaze dropped. He didn’t let you. Gently, he lifted your chin with his fingers, his brown eyes scanning your face like he was committing it to memory. “I love every part of you,” he murmured, his thumbs grazing over your cheeks. “Your skin, your scars, all of it. None of that changes how beautiful you are.”

Tears pricked at your eyes at the sincerity in his voice. He always knew what to say, always made you feel loved in ways words alone couldn’t.

Chan suddenly tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, if we’re talking about bad features, my nose isn’t exactly winning any beauty contests either.”

You gasped, swatting his arm. “Christopher Bang, don’t you dare insult my favorite nose!”

He laughed, crinkling said ‘bad’ nose as he grinned at you. “See? That’s what I’m saying. You love my nose, and I love your skin. We don’t get to insult the things we love.”

You huffed, but the fight had already left you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he said smugly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another along your jaw. “Now, how about we do some face masks? Not because you need them, but because I need an excuse to pamper you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Only if you wear a head band.”

Chan chuckled, already reaching for them. “Deal.”

lee know

“Stop touching your face,” Minho’s voice cut through the silence, sharp but not unkind. You barely had time to pull your hand away before his cat-like eyes flicked up from his book, catching you mid-scratch.

You groaned, flopping down onto the couch beside him. “I can’t help it. It itches.”

Minho let out a small sigh, dog-earing the page of his book before setting it aside. “And you’re going to make it worse,” he said matter-of-factly. Then, softer, “Come here.”

You hesitated, but curiosity won out. Scooting closer, you watched as he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, barely grazing your cheek.

“I notice you do this when you’re anxious,” he murmured, studying your face like a puzzle he had already solved. “And when you’re frustrated.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You… notice that?”

Minho scoffed, giving you a pointed look. “I notice everything about you.”

Your stomach flipped, but before you could react, he reached for a bottle of moisturizer sitting on the coffee table. Unscrewing the cap, he squeezed a bit onto his fingertips before looking at you expectantly. “Let me.”

You blinked. “You’re seriously going to—”

“Do you want dry skin or not?” he interrupted, arching a brow.

You sighed, relenting as he gently smoothed the cool cream over your cheeks, his touch light, careful. He worked in silence, fingers tracing over each blemish and scar without a hint of hesitation or discomfort. It wasn’t rushed or forced—it was Minho in his quiet way, paying attention, showing care without making a big deal out of it.

“There,” he said after a moment, satisfied. “Now you don’t have to touch it.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering unexpectedly. He was already reaching for his book again, like he hadn’t just made you completely unravel with a simple gesture.

“Minho…” you whispered.

He glanced at you, smirking just a little. “Yeah?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You shook your head instead, exhaling softly. “Nothing. Just… thank you.”

Minho hummed, nudging your knee with his before flipping a page. “Anytime. Just don’t make me do this every day. I charge for my services.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Oh yeah? And what’s your rate?”

Minho smirked, finally looking up from his book. “One kiss per session. Non-refundable.”

Your breath hitched, and Minho, smug as ever, simply went back to reading like he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive.

changbin

You and Changbin had been close for years, but lately, things felt… different. He lingered when he looked at you, spoke to you with a tenderness that hadn’t always been there. You noticed the way he’d absentmindedly brush his fingers over your wrist when you sat next to each other, the way he never let you walk on the outer side of the street, the way his gaze softened when you laughed.

But despite the shift, despite the warmth he always offered, you couldn’t help but doubt what he saw in you.

Especially today.

The two of you were sitting at a café, your drinks resting between you, when you heard it. A group of girls at a nearby table whispering, their eyes flicking toward you. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but some words slipped through—remarks about your skin, quiet giggles muffled behind their hands.

Your stomach twisted.

You stared down at your cup, suddenly too aware of the way your acne stood out under the café’s bright lighting. Gosh. How you hated being in supermarket isles and stores because of that. Its like theyre doing it on purpose.

Changbin noticed. Of course he did.

He turned toward the girls, his jaw tightening. “What did you just say?”

The café noise didn’t seem to drown out his voice, low and sharp like a warning. The laughter stopped instantly.

One of the girls blinked, clearly startled. “Uh, nothing—”

“No, I think you did,” Changbin said, standing up from his seat. “If you have something to say about my girl, say it to my face.”

Your breath hitched. My girl.

The girls stiffened, their embarrassment evident. “We didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” Changbin cut in, eyes dark and unreadable. “But here’s the thing—you don’t know anything about her. You don’t know how kind she is, how smart she is, how funny she is. You don’t know that when she smiles, it makes my whole day better.” His voice softened slightly as he looked at you, but the intensity didn’t waver. “So unless you have something respectful to say, keep your mouths shut.”

The girls mumbled apologies before quickly gathering their things and leaving.

Changbin let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair as he sat back down next to you. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath.

You stared at him, still processing what just happened. “Binnie…”

He turned toward you, the hard edges of his expression softening. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmured. “They don’t get to decide how beautiful you are.”

You swallowed. “You really mean all that?”

Changbin scoffed, shaking his head. “Do you seriously not know?”

Your heart pounded. “Know what?”

“That I’m in love with you,” he said simply, as if it were the easiest truth in the world. “And nothing anyone says will ever change that.”

You blinked at him, completely speechless.

Changbin sighed, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a squeeze. “I’ve been trying to tell you for months,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Guess I just needed an excuse to finally say it.”

You looked down at your joined hands, warmth blooming in your chest, chasing away the doubt. Slowly, you squeezed back.

“I think… I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

Changbin grinned, leaning in just a little, his voice teasing but full of something real. “Good. Because I wasn’t gonna shut up about it anytime soon.”

hyunjin

Hyunjin had been acting weird all day.

You’d caught him staring at you more than once, his lower lip caught between his teeth like he was holding something back (but gosh looked it hot). He was fidgety, more than usual—playing with the rings on his fingers, running a hand through his hair, tapping his foot against the floor.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of stolen glances and unspoken words, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward his art studio.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his grip warm but insistent.

You let him pull you inside, watching as he took a deep breath before sitting you down in front of an easel, a canvas covered with a cloth. His fingers twitched as he hovered near the edge, nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

“I need to show you something,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Your brow furrowed. “Did you paint something?”

He nodded, still not looking at you. “Yeah. But… I don’t know if you’ll like it.” His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Just—don’t get mad, okay?”

You blinked. “Why would I get mad?”

Hyunjin hesitated, then inhaled deeply, bracing himself. With one swift motion, he pulled the cloth away.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It was you.

Every detail—the curve of your lips, the light in your eyes, the way your hair fell around your face. The imperfections you always saw in yourself, the acne scars you had spent so long resenting… they were all there, painted with such care, such softness, it made your chest ache.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Hyune…”

His hands trembled slightly as he stepped closer, his gaze flickering between you and the painting. “I just… I wanted to show you how I see you,” he murmured. “You always look at yourself so critically, but to me…” His voice wavered, his fingers brushing along your cheek, just like in the painting. “To me, you’re breathtaking.”

A shaky breath left your lips. “I don’t know what to say…”

He smiled, small but sincere, his thumb ghosting over your skin. “Then don’t say anything.” His voice was gentle, but there was something firm in the way he looked at you, like he was memorizing the moment. “Just let me love you the way you deserve.”

Your heart swelled, warmth spreading through your chest.

And in that moment, as he gazed at you like you were his greatest masterpiece, you knew—he already did.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[spencerfuckngreid]

Burning Up || Spencer Reid + 18

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader · Category: Angst, Smut · Warning: Soft sex, happy ending. · Words: 3082 · Summary : A tension exists between you and Spencer. He actively resists and maintains distance every time you come near. He has an internal conflict between what is right and what is wrong. · Inspiration: Song: "Burning Up" Madonna

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn't my first language, be kind! · Masterlist · TikTok

The room was charged with a subtle electricity that always seemed to build between you two. The rest of the team had already left to rest or go over leads in other areas, leaving you alone with Spencer.

You had tried to focus on the files in front of you—the photographs, the scattered notes on the table—but your eyes kept drifting toward him. Seated across from you, hunched over his notebook, Spencer scribbled something with the intensity of someone trying to find a logical way through chaos.

It was that intensity that drew you in—it always had. Spencer had an aura that made him seem untouchable, as if his mind operated on a level no one else could reach. And yet, the more time you spent near him, the clearer it became that there was something beneath the surface. Something vulnerable. Something passionate. Something he worked hard to bury under layers of professionalism.

"Don't put me off, 'cause I'm on fire."

The lyric echoed in your mind, and you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

"Y/N, are you listening?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You blinked, realizing you'd been staring in his direction—though not directly at him. "Yeah, yeah… of course. What were you saying?"

Spencer frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses with a quick motion before pointing at the map spread out on the table. "I said that the profile suggests the suspect will likely return to where it all started. It’s a pattern that—"

"Uh-huh, I get that," you interrupted gently, leaning forward to get a better look at the map. "But what if that’s exactly what he wants us to think? What if he's breaking the pattern on purpose? I know it’s not typical… not a common choice… but at this point, we should at least consider it."

Spencer studied you, his brown eyes scanning you with curiosity. He always appreciated a fresh perspective, but this time, his gaze lingered a little longer than necessary before shifting back to the map.

"Do you wanna see me down on my knees?"

The lyric hit you harder this time, making you press your lips together. There was something about the way he always pulled back whenever you got too close that only made you want to push his limits even more.

"It’s a possibility..." he finally said, breaking the silence. "But the pattern is the only solid lead we have right now."

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you looked at him, frustrated. "Always so logical, Doctor."

"It’s my job," he replied without looking up, his attention still on the papers.

"And it’s also what keeps you safe, isn’t it?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Spencer’s head snapped up. "What do you mean by that?"

"You hide behind logic, Spencer," you said, leaning forward. "It’s your shield. But some things aren’t logical—you can’t just avoid them because they scare you."

He blinked, caught off guard by your bluntness, but before he could respond, you pushed yourself up from your chair. "I’m getting coffee. Do you want anything?"

He shook his head but didn’t say anything else. As you walked out of the room, you could feel his eyes on your back, and it only made you want to turn around and challenge him again.

"I'm burning up, burning up for your love," you thought, clenching your fists as you made your way to the coffee machine.

The words you had thrown at Spencer still echoed in your mind as you waited for the coffee to finish brewing. You had crossed a line, and while you didn’t regret it, you knew he wouldn’t just let it slide.

Back in the conference room, Spencer was exactly where you had left him—except his posture had changed. His back was stiff against the chair, and his pen, usually in constant motion, lay motionless on his notebook. When you closed the door behind you, he looked up, his expression more guarded than usual.

"What was that all about?" His tone was colder than you expected.

"What was what?" you asked, trying to keep your tone light as you walked closer.

"That whole thing about me hiding behind logic." Spencer stood up to face you, adjusting his glasses. "I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but if this has anything to do with—"

"—you and me," you interrupted, setting your coffee down on the table with more force than necessary. "That’s exactly what it has to do with."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to argue. But instead, he looked away, his gaze dropping back to the papers. "There is no 'you and me,' Y/N. This is work, and the only thing that matters is solving this case."

The way he said it—so sharp, so final—should have made you back off. But instead, it only fueled something inside you, a need to break through that carefully crafted façade of perfection.

"Are you really going to keep pretending you don’t feel anything, Reid?" you asked, stepping closer. "That you don’t notice how the air changes when we’re in the same room?"

"What I notice," he started, pushing himself up from his chair, "is that you’re crossing lines you shouldn’t be crossing."

"That you want to want me, but you can't let go," you thought as you watched him. You could see the way his self-control tightened, as if every word was a struggle to hold his ground.

"Maybe those lines shouldn’t be there," you said softly, taking another step forward. You were close enough now to catch the light, clean scent of his cologne.

"Y/N, stop..." His voice was low, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.

"I can’t stop." You moved even closer, forcing him to step back until his back met the wall. "And neither can you, so stop trying."

He lifted his hands slightly, as if to create some invisible barrier between you, but his eyes betrayed the war raging inside him. "This isn’t right," he said, his voice laced with an intensity that almost made you hesitate. "We can’t do this. I can’t do this."

But he didn’t move away. His hands remained raised—but he didn’t touch you, didn’t push you back. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and the tension in his body was almost tangible.

"Then say it," you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t want—"

His lips parted, like he was about to say the words. But nothing came out. Instead, his breathing quickened, and his hands slowly dropped to his sides.

"That’s what I thought," you said, your tone victorious but laced with quiet softness.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering every ounce of willpower. "This is a mistake," he murmured finally.

"Maybe." You leaned in just enough so that your face was inches from his. "But some mistakes are worth making."

Spencer took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, but it wasn’t working. "This can’t happen," he said more firmly, stepping to the side to put space between you. "Not just because it would be inappropriate, but because… because it wouldn’t work."

You followed him, moving back into his path, challenging every barrier he tried to put up. "It wouldn’t work? Or you don’t want it to work because it would complicate your perfect, structured life?"

"It’s not that!" The words came out too fast, too forceful. He immediately glanced toward the door, as if worried someone else might have heard. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "This isn’t about avoiding complications. It’s about doing the right thing."

"And what if the right thing doesn’t feel right?" you challenged, tilting your head.

"Then we ignore it," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest as if that could shield him from the weight of your words.

"Do you wanna see me down on my knees?"

The lyric echoed in your mind, giving you the push to take this one step further.

"You’re not as good at lying to yourself as you think, Spencer," you said, stepping closer again. "Not with me."

"Y/N," he murmured, and this time, there was something almost pleading in his tone. "Please, don’t make this harder."

"Harder for who? You?" You held his gaze, unwavering. "Because for me, this is simple. I know what I want. And what I want is standing right in front of me."

The color in his cheeks deepened, but his posture remained rigid. "It's not that simple," he said, though his voice no longer carried the same conviction.

"Why not? Why are you afraid of feeling something you can’t control? Why won’t you admit that you’re already feeling it?"

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, you thought he might give in. But then, Spencer stepped back, putting the smallest but most significant distance between you.

"I can’t do this," he said, his voice low, as if each word drained his energy. "Not with you. Not now. I’m sorry."

Disappointment tangled with frustration, but you knew he wasn’t running because he felt nothing. He was running because he felt too much.

"Fine. Have it your way," you finally said, stepping back. "I won’t push you anymore. I just... I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. If you’re ever ready… tell me. But I won’t wait forever."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes reflecting the war within him, the battle he couldn’t put into words. He didn’t stop you as you gathered your things and walked out of the room.

Out in the hallway, you leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. "I'm burning up, burning up for your love," you murmured to yourself, letting the song finish the sentence you couldn’t say out loud.

—

The hotel room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the small bedside lamp. You had tried to distract yourself with case reports, but the words on the screen blurred into meaninglessness. Every time you closed your eyes, the confrontation replayed in your mind: the conflict in Spencer’s gaze, the way he said no… but also how he hadn’t been able to step away until the very last second.

"Unlike the others, I'd do anything."

The lyrics echoed in your head like a taunt, mocking your attempts to stay calm.

You got up from the bed, unable to stay still. There was something suffocating in the air, a mixture of regret and longing that kept you moving, as if pacing back and forth could silence the thoughts running wild in your head.

Across the hall, Spencer sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His hair was a mess, his glasses sitting on the table beside the phone. He hadn’t even tried to sleep—how could he, after what had happened?

He had gone over every word, every look, searching for a logical angle, a way to make sense of what had transpired. But there was no logic that could save him from what he felt: guilt, yes, but also an unrelenting desire burning beneath his skin.

"This can’t happen," he whispered to himself, as if saying it aloud could make it true. But even as he spoke, his eyes drifted toward the door, as if something—someone—on the other side was pulling him in.

At some point during the night, your paths crossed again. Maybe it was chance, or maybe it was inevitable. When you opened your door to step out for some air, you found him in the hallway, his face pale, his eyes dark.

"Spencer," you whispered.

"I needed… to walk," he said, though it was obvious he was looking for something more than that.

Silence stretched between you, thick with everything neither of you dared to say.

Until finally, he shook his head. "I shouldn’t be here."

"But you are." You took a step closer.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, both of you stood frozen, caught in a place with no turning back.

"It’s too much," he admitted in a breath, his voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know how to handle it."

"You don’t have to handle it," you murmured, stepping close enough that he could feel your warmth. "Just… go with it."

Spencer didn’t move, as if fighting every instinct in his body. But when he finally looked up at you, there were no more defenses in his eyes—only raw, consuming desire.

"I can't keep pretending," he murmured, stepping toward you.

"Then don’t," you whispered.

The space between you disappeared in an instant. His mouth found yours with a desperation that stole your breath, his hands gripping your face as if afraid you’d vanish. Spencer had always been methodical, in control—but in that moment, there was none of that. He was pure fire, everything he had suppressed finally unleashed.

Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as you stumbled backward into the room. The door slammed shut behind you, but you barely noticed. All that mattered was the weight of his body pressing against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the low, ragged sounds escaping his throat.

"This is insane," he muttered against your skin, though his lips kept moving along your neck.

"I think you need a little insanity," you teased, breathless, fingers tangling in his hair as his hands roamed your back with a frantic kind of urgency.

For Spencer, this moment felt like crossing a line he had never thought he would. But in the end, he realized he had been standing on the edge of that line since the moment he met you.

The air was thick, heavy with heat. His breath mingled with yours, uneven, as his lips traced your neck, alternating between kisses and gentle bites that made your head spin.

"This isn’t—" he started, his voice a whisper against your skin. But there was something desperate in the way he touched you, as if he needed to feel you, to confirm that this wasn’t just a dream.

There was no time for more words. Spencer’s logic, his self-control, his professionalism—everything unraveled. With a near-violent impulse, you pushed him toward the bed. Clothes—an obstacle neither of you could ignore—began to fall away between kisses and gasps. Every movement was a battle, a push and pull between his deeply ingrained restraint and the undeniable force of desire. But now, in this space, nothing was holding him back.

Your body burned under his touch, and though he tried to keep his distance, his hands betrayed him, exploring every inch of you, his palm gliding over your torso, down to your waist, as if he was finally allowing himself to have you. This wasn’t the distant, controlled Spencer you had known. This was a man on the edge—of need, of madness—consumed by what he felt for you.

"Y/N," he whispered between kisses, his voice raw, as if clinging to your name was the only thing grounding him. "This... I can't..."

You didn’t let him finish. You silenced him with a kiss, deep and hungry, and he laughed into your mouth. There was no case to solve, no walls left to break down. Just the need to be together, no more excuses.

With a determined move, you pushed him back, taking control, feeling the way he yielded under your touch. Spencer was completely in your hands, and for the first time, he didn’t seem to want to fight it. His grip on your back tightened, pulling you against him as if he needed the physical connection, the proof that this was real.

"I don’t know if I can handle what I feel," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. But when his hands found your face and he kissed you with a raw, burning intensity, it no longer mattered what he thought.

You moved with him, and the world blurred away. The softness of the bed beneath you, the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips trailed lower, leaving a path of fire across your skin... The rhythm between you was frantic, yet tender, as if both of you were trying to prove that this wasn’t a mistake, not like Spencer had tried to convince himself before.

Spencer paused for a moment, breathless, exhausted, looking down at you. "Y/N..." Everything was clear in that instant.

"Yes," you whispered, cupping his face, pulling him closer. And in that kiss, nothing else mattered. No words were needed. Everything between you finally made sense.

When the morning light filtered into the room, the silence between you had shifted. Spencer lay beside you, staring at the ceiling as if searching for patterns, lost in thought. Reality had changed—you had changed—and you both knew it. His mind was running a thousand miles per hour.

"I can’t... I can’t promise this won’t get complicated," Spencer murmured, his voice quiet but filled with the resistance that defined him.

"You don’t have to promise anything," you said, turning to face him, resting a hand on his chest, gentle. "What, you expect this to be easy? That sounds boring." You teased.

He gave a subtle, lopsided smile, and somehow it put him at ease, helping him come to terms with the situation.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Neither of you knew what would come next, but for now, all you could do was accept it. The tension that had defined your relationship until now had transformed into something else entirely.

"You know you got me burning up, baby."

· Requests via DM ·

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Day Twenty-Six?? Is already here?? Picnic Date time! Part of this has the cheesiest (positive) thing I've ever written, but I was encouraged to keep it in. So now you have to endure it, too. You can read this on AO3 over here. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary

When Evan knocks on his door, Tommy gives himself a second before he answers. He doesn’t want it to be totally obvious that he’s been hovering by the door ever since his boyfriend texted him that he was on his way.

He opens the door, and Evan’s already smiling, and Tommy feels like his heart is caught in a constant loop of melting and exploding. He tugs him in with a kiss and a soft greeting, and Evan holds on tight and returns the kiss. They haven’t seen each other in two weeks, because they only had a few hours here and there where their shifts weren’t overlapping. Those hours had mostly been in the middle of the night when they were both sleeping or close to it, so the most off-shift time they’d been able to get was over half-asleep FaceTimes.

“I missed you,” Evan says into his neck when he hugs Tommy.

Tommy skims his hands over Evan’s back and inhales the smell of him. “I missed you, too.”

They stand there for a long moment before Evan takes a half-step back, his hand sliding down to grasp Tommy’s.

“You want to skip lunch?” Tommy asks, and Evan shakes his head. “You sure?”

“You said you had a surprise,” Evan reminds him with a teasing lilt to his voice. “Surprise me, big guy.”

They can’t get sidetracked, there are temperature-sensitive things in the literal picnic basket on his coffee table. He deserves another medal around his neck for resisting grabbing Evan and pulling him into the bedroom. Tommy does spread his hand over Evan’s lower back and flick his eyes down to his lips, enjoying the way Evan’s eyes dilate when he meets his eyes again.

“Stay here,” Tommy says, leaving a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and going to the living room so he can grab the basket, blanket, and small cooler that he’s able to loop over his arm. When he comes back, Evan looks surprised and then happy. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Evan agrees, taking the cooler from his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t peek.”

They start walking out, and Evan heads toward Tommy’s truck.

“No, we’re staying local,” Tommy says, nodding toward the left. “C’mon.”

They walk the few blocks it takes to get to the park by his house. Tommy had taken the kids to it once recently, but Evan had been home sick with a nasty cold while Tommy babysat. He’s pretty sure that unless he took a roundabout way to get to Tommy’s, Evan’s probably never noticed it before.

“Aw, this is cute,” Evan says as they approach. It really is. There's a couple of families clustered with kids who are climbing on a playground, several dogs are being walked, and there's a guy walking near some trees with a pair of binoculars.

“Table or grass?” Tommy asks, nodding toward the picnic tables.

“I mean, you grabbed the blanket,” Evan points out. “Let's use it.”

They settle under a lone tree so as not to interfere with the birdwatcher. Evan's been threatening to get into birdwatching again, which had been a nice excuse to go on walks with him and eat trail mix, but every photo that was texted to him for a month had been a new bird. It had taken Tommy a while to get over the disappointment of seeing the word “tits” in a text preview only to get a picture of a couple of gray-brown birds instead of his boyfriend's chest. Evan had made up for it with a series of pictures, at least.

The food is pretty typical picnic food: sandwiches, fruit, chips, dip, cookies, chicken salad, pasta salad, potato salad, and beer. Evan makes appreciative noises and moans, because Tommy told him to shift his cheat day back one day so he could eat everything on offer.

“God, you have the best ideas,” Evan says around a mouthful of potato salad. “Also, why haven't we gone to this park? We always run the other way.”

“Because then I wouldn't be able to check on the cats,” Tommy points out. He runs past a food and water station he and a neighbor set up for the feral cats in the neighborhood, because Tommy isn't home enough to have it outside his own house. He also checks on as many cats as he can see, tries to spot new ones, texts his neighbor if she's not home so he can find out if she needs traps or anything for the new ones he does see, and talks to her about them if she is home. The house is two blocks over and a block down in the other direction from his house, so they always go that way instead.

“It's cute,” Evan says, wiping his face with a napkin and settling back on the blanket with a happy squint up into the tree where a squirrel seems to be hopping around. “I wish I had a good park near my place.”

The opening is gift-wrapped. Tommy opens his mouth, but then he freezes. He shovels two cookies in his mouth instead.

It's when the food is gone and they're laying on the blanket and watching a very large dog and a very small dog get walked together that Tommy rolls onto his side and reaches out to rest his hand on Evan's belly.

“Hm?” Evan hums, looking over at him with a smile on his face. It hasn't left since they arrived. Everything about him makes Tommy ache, it has since that first night he kissed him, and it’s only gotten worse since they got back together. It used to scare him to death. It still scares him, but he’s gotten better about pushing it aside.

Evan Buckley has all the power in the world to destroy his heart, but Tommy knows now that it's not in him to do that.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks. “And it's probably going to be ironic, coming from me. So feel free to get a little angry. You earned it.”

“What?” Evan says, his face starting to pinch a little in confusion, but he's still smiling as he sits up. “What's up?”

“Do you want to move in with me?” Tommy asks, feeling like the words are being ripped out of him because this could fuck everything up.

But Evan's reaching for him, his eyes filling with tears, and he chokes out a shocked laugh. “What? Are you—really? You mean it?”

Tommy sits up, too, his heart pounding in his chest as he nods. “I know we've only been back together for—well, just over six months. But I—”

He's cut off by Evan kissing him, and Tommy is kissing him back, but it's difficult because Evan is smiling so much.

“God, yeah,” Evan whispers, and Tommy's face finally unfreezes into an answering grin as Evan nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he confirms, and they laugh at the absurdity after Evan’s just said it twice. “You started talking about your lease renewal and I didn't want to wait another year to ask. You were right before. I know I don't say it enough, but you were right.”

“Why be apart when we could be together?”

Evan was smart. So much smarter than Tommy. He hadn't been great at articulating it at the time, leaving out half the reasons he wanted them to live together, but they've talked it out since January. And Tommy's never been able to deny that Evan was right.

Everything about them works. It all fits together, molds around each other, fills in the cracks in the other person. And it's like a klaxon has been going off in Tommy's head every time one of them has to leave the other's place or if they're stuck talking on the phone when they're both off and on their respective beds because they're too tired to drive or the other one has a shift that starts in just a few hours.

Keep him by you, keep him with you, what are you doing, Kinard? You're wasting time, he's right there, he's your other half and he's right there.

His boyfriend presses their foreheads together as they tangle together as much as is acceptable for a public park near where they'll be living.

“I would've moved in by February,” Evan admits. “Maybe earlier. Like the day we got back together. I didn't want to scare you.”

“You still scare me,” Tommy confesses. “But I know I can trust you.”

Evan nuzzles their noses together and smiles. “Yeah. I—you know that poem?”

Tommy huffs out a laugh. “Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart.”

“‘I carry your heart in my heart’ or something.”

That—Evan can't know. Tommy's never told anyone. Once again, Evan’s stumbled his way into a direct path to Tommy’s heart.

“It's cummings,” he says, swallowing around a sharp lump in his throat. “My mom used to read it to me. When she got sick.”

Evan’s fingers tighten on his arms, and he draws back, concern etched in his face. “I—”

“‘Here is the deepest secret nobody knows,’” Tommy quotes softly, his mind going to the last part even though he knows the whole thing. “‘Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide. And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.’”

There’s a bubble of silence that follows, and then Evan cradles his face in his hands and leans in to press a soft, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth and then another on Tommy’s lips.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That. That’s—yeah.”

Tommy hugs him close, and Evan buries his face in Tommy’s neck. He imagines he can feel Evan’s heart against his own, that they have to be beating in sync with one another. If he closes his eyes, he can see their hearts fitting together, beating in sync and cradled together in each of their chests. He might paint it, as grotesque as two actual human hearts pressed together would be. It doesn’t have to be displayed, it can just be for him to show Evan so he can say: “See? This is us, this is for us, this is us.”

He tips his face down to hide it in Evan’s shoulder, and he feels Evan’s breath puffing against the side of his jaw.

“Right here,” Evan says, his hand slipping between them to curl against Tommy’s chest, right over his heart. “I’m right here.”

Tommy nods and lets out a shaking breath. “I know.”

“And you’re right here.” Evan turns his hand to press against his own heart, and Tommy covers it with his hand and gives him a teary smile as he nods again. “Forever. Us living together is just the next natural step toward that. We do this, m-maybe we get married—if you want.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, his voice coming out hoarse. “I want that.”

I’d marry you tomorrow.

Tommy knows he might have to wait a little longer than that. But he knows it’ll happen. He knows it’ll happen, and he knows that if he’s brave enough, he might put this moment in his vows. He knows that Evan will make him brave, that it’ll be nothing at all to hold his hands in front of their family and tell him and everyone else that on a picnic blanket in a park next to their house, Tommy knew that he would marry Evan Buckley.