#look I’m sorry. is that what you want to hear I’m SORRY

[stellamarielu]

new territory

joel miller x female reader

summary: when joel returns home with an injury you’re quick to help him, but his wound isn’t the only thing being taken care of.

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, cursing, mentions of blood, poorly written medical practices, descriptions of applying stitches, slightly submissive joel, oral m!recieving, a hint of ball worship [that old man needs his balls licked idc], soft jackson joel, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink!!!, mentions of pregnancy, it’s baby makin time fr, creampie, cum play, multiple orgasms

author’s note: what started as a submissive joel fic turned into nasty breeding kink smut and i’m not even sorry about it. ALSO i just realized this is the second time i’ve written smut about joel miller fucking the reader on a countertop… says a lot about me i think

Turning over in bed, a dim light had you stirring from your slumber. Your eyes blinked open just enough to survey the room, noticing that the stream of light on your face was caused by a crack in the bathroom door. 

You buried your head deeper into your pillow; your frustration dissipating into ease at the realization that Joel was home safe and sound.

He always tried to sneak in when he got home from his patrol shift. It was so late he never wanted to wake you, and normally he didn’t, but tonight— tonight he’d left the door open haphazardly, and you could hear him rustling around in the bathroom. The squeak of the medicine cabinet opening was unmistakable, and your stomach instantly turned. The medicine cabinet was reserved for one thing: a very unorganized and mostly expired assortment of first aid supplies. 

Despite the temptation of sleep, you sat up, brushing the covers from your body as your feet padded toward the bathroom door. You pushed it open to find Joel leaning over the sink watching himself in the mirror as he attempted to clean a wound just below his collarbone. 

“Joel.” You whispered, sleep still staining your voice as you stepped closer to him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” His head turned in your direction, a wince evident on his face as his eyebrows pulled together from the pain of his injury.

“You should’ve woken me up Joel. Jesus that looks bad.” 

The worry in your voice was all too familiar. Your concern for Joel’s well-being was second nature, a constant theme in the narrative of your relationship.

“Let me see.” You were placing a hand on his back, signaling him to turn your direction so you could assess the cut just below his shoulder.

He didn’t even try to protest, shocking you with his obedience. Usually, the two of you would go back and forth while he tried to convince you it was “just a scratch that needs time to heal” brushing off your persistent hands. But this time he surrendered, turning around to face you; his unclothed torso marked with blood.

“What the hell happened.” You were questioning in a hushed tone as your fingers carefully ran over his body. 

“Had to take care of some raiders at the wall. Got a little too close for comfort.” 

It was rare for something like this to happen, but it did. And every time Joel somehow managed to be in the middle of it. 

You didn’t respond, instead you took your time looking at the wound stretching from his chest to his shoulder. It was deep, far deeper than time and bandages would heal, and you both knew it.

“Sit.” You were motioning to the toilet beside him. It was the only spot in the cramped space for Joel to take a seat, and you needed the florescent lighting of the bathroom to fix him up properly. 

He knew better than to argue with you, sitting down without a word, the porcelain lid of the toilet slightly clanking under his weight. 

“Gonna have to stitch it up, it’s deep.” The words were a mumble as you searched the medicine cabinet above his head, fishing out the collection of first aid materials and setting the box down on the counter.

You were rummaging through it, looking for the needle and thread you kept for moments like this. They’d only been used a handful of times in the last few years; and almost every occasion it was Joel who sat on the other end of your amateur sowing job. 

“I’m sure it’ll be-.” He began trying to make an excuse until you cut him off.

“Joel.” His name was all you said as you continued riffling through bandages and bottles of medication. 

Joel was a tough man. He could handle getting injured all day long, but he hated sutures. You remembered how hard it was to hold back your laugh the first time you had to give him three stitches in his hand. He was writhing away from your touch and almost begging you to stop. His childish trepidation would’ve been cute, had you not been lacing a needle through his skin. 

��Well if ya can’t find it we’ll have to just-“ He was grumbling from his spot next to you.

“Ah-ha! Found it.” You were pulling the thread from the box with a victorious grin on your face.

You looked over to Joel and your smile immediately faded upon seeing his apprehensive expression. 

“I’ll be fast I promise.” You offered him a small smile as you nudged his knees apart, positioning yourself between them.

He was sat with his legs spread, you standing in front of him. He watched you prepare to fix his wound, and even covered in blood with his body aching in pain, Joel couldn’t help but appreciate your compassion. It was sweet really, how you always took such good care of him. He liked having someone to come home to and although he’d never admit it; he enjoyed the way you tended to him like this. You were always so attentive— a true nurturing soul.  

He watched as you used whatever antiseptic solution was left from your stash and a washcloth to clean the area surrounding his clavicle. Your face was contorted in concentration as you took in the wound, mentally preparing yourself for the next step. 

“Ready?” The question was rhetorical as it left your lips, your hands swapping the washcloth for the thread and needle as you leaned in closer to Joel.

“As I’ll ever be.” He was answering in a mumble as he closed his eyes, working himself up for the inevitable sting. 

You began, and the sharp hiss that escaped him made your chest feel heavy. You followed through with your word, your movements quick and precise as you worked to close the wound on his chest, in and out in a continuous pattern as you tried not to let Joel’s shaky exhales interrupt your concentration. 

“You’re doing so good.” You whispered down to him as your hands continued to work.

Your compliment was delivered with pure intentions. You knew Joel’s eyes were screwed shut in pain and you felt like he could use a little bit of encouragement.  What you didn’t know, was the way your softly spoken words had Joel’s entire body heating up. 

The pain at his chest instantly faded into warmth as he let your praise sink into his body like honey— sweet and sticky.

His eyes peeled open to look at you, gazing upwards and watching as your brows furrowed in deliberation at the thread moving through his skin. He was suddenly becoming aware of your soft body pressed up against his crotch as you leaned into him. The only clothing covering you was a t-shirt and your underwear, the bare skin of your thighs rubbing against the thick denim of his jeans. 

You were so fixated on following the pattern of your movements that you hadn’t even noticed Joel staring at you. In fact, you were almost finished when you felt the familiar push of his erection against your uncovered thigh. 

You looked down between sutures ready to make a joke about him getting turned on right now until you were met with his big brown eyes on yours. He was looking up at you with undeniable defenselessness, tempting you with his vulnerability. The out of character switch in power dynamics had a calculated smirk forming on your lips.

“Such a good boy for me.” You made sure your voice was low and persuasive as you spoke down to him. 

Your words sent an undisclosed craving throughout his body and his hands found the back of your thighs, grabbing gently, careful not to disrupt your intricate work on his shoulder. 

He wanted to pull you down onto him; to put his hands all over your body and show you he was in charge. He didn’t want to let you get away with making him feel inferior, but he couldn’t move— not while you were stitching him up like this.

You thought Joel might playfully tell you to shut up or be quiet, but he didn’t. He just kept his eyes trained on yours, careful and compliant. 

This was not your usual dynamic. Not in your relationship and definitely not in the bedroom. 

Joel was always the one in control. 

It quickly became an unspoken agreement between you that he called the shots and made the decisions. You figured it was from a place of fear— of wanting to protect you. But now with him sat beneath you all bruised and battered, you got to be the one protecting him. It felt like you were stepping into new territory standing between his legs in the middle of your little bathroom at this ungodly hour. 

You finished in silence, setting your tools back on the countertop. Joel’s hands stayed on your thighs, his fingers splayed over your skin and his grip a little tighter than before. 

You brought your hands up to run over his chest, your fingertips tracing around his tended wound, admiring your work. 

“Not so bad huh?” You were sing-songing sweetly as you peered down at the man beneath you. It wasn’t often that you got to see Joel like this; docile and preening under your touch.

“No, not bad.” The words were fumbling from his mouth as he gazed at you.

“Think you deserve a reward for doing so good.” You were trailing your hands further up, fingertips finding the nape of his neck, your voice quiet and innocent.

“What do you think? Need a little something for being such a good boy?” one of your hands intertwined in his hair, grabbing gently and pulling so that his head tilted up to meet your gaze.

You caught the way his head moved in a subtle nod at your words. 

You smiled at him and the look exchanged between you was eager before you sank to the floor hitting the cool tile as you kneeled before him. 

The two of you worked simultaneously to pull his jeans down just enough to free his erection from the restraining denim. You were desperate to get him in your mouth, only letting his jeans make it halfway down his thighs before stopping him and leaning forward. 

You hadn’t even touched him yet and he was already excruciatingly hard, his member resting against his belly as he sat patiently waiting to feel you on him. 

He was expecting to feel your hand wrap around the base of his cock, or maybe your tongue licking a long stripe up his length; but what he wasn’t anticipating, was the warmth of your lips against the sensitive space sitting underneath his aching member. You placed a gentle kiss on his balls and his head instinctually fell back, a raspy groan melting from his lips as you gently kissed and licked.

“Fuck.” It was a breathless groan— long and drawn-out pouring from his throat as you sloppily worked at the underside of his cock. You hummed at the satisfaction of having him at your disposal, sat in front of you and pathetically whimpering from just a few simple kisses. 

The vibration of your hum purring against him had his hands finding your hair, fingers cautiously digging into your scalp.

You drew your tongue up his length stopping once you reached the head and placing a gentle kiss there before taking just the tip of him between your lips. 

His hold on your hair tightened, causing you to swirl your tongue around him as you took your time sucking and listening to the muffled moans fighting against his lips.

You deepened your movement, dipping your head lower as you let him fill you even further, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him almost completely. The pitiful noises seeping from him had one of your hands sprawling up his thigh until your fingertips were ghosting his balls.

You were caressing the delicate weight between his legs, gently toying with them in your hand while your mouth continued welcoming him deeper toward your throat. 

“Shit Darlin’.” 

His words were a hushed sigh of relief as your eyes fluttered up to meet his. 

His sinful gaze sent your thighs clenching together as you continued bobbing your head.

You brought a hand to the base of his cock, using it in tandem with your mouth to illicit more of those sweet sounds form his throat. His groans and grunts were sinking down to meet your ears causing your own arousal to pool between your legs. 

You continued your actions, setting a steady pace, knowing it wouldn’t be long until you tasted his sweet release on your tongue. 

“Baby, baby, baby.” He was chanting down to you— a breathless warning cry.

You hummed in response, prepared to take everything he could give you as he reached his climax. Only, he was using his hold in your hair to pull your mouth from him, caressing your cheek while he caught his breath, watching as you kneeled before him with watery eyes and puffy lips. 

Joel had one hand on your face the other loosely grabbing a handful of your hair as he leaned down to meet your line of sight. 

“Wanna cum in here.” 

He was bringing the fingers at your cheek down between your legs. Parting them slightly with his touch and cupping your heat in the palm of his hand. 

“That okay honey?” 

The warmth of his palm through the thin material of your panties had you nodding pathetically at his words. 

His fand flew back to your face as he captured your lips in a lazy kiss.

You knew the embrace of his lips well. The familiar dance of his mouth on yours ensued as he stood, bringing you with him and pushing your body against the bathroom sink. 

His hands trailed down to your waist, grabbing hold and beginning to lift until you stopped him, pushing his hold away from your body. You knew if he picked you up it would strain the stitches in his shoulder. 

“Nuh-uh Joel you have to be careful. I don’t want you breaking your stitches open.” You were breaking the kiss with a gasp of breath, motioning to the extensive wound spanning from his chest to shoulder. 

“Okay baby, I’ll be real gentle.” His southern drawl was undeniable as he murmured the words to you with a condescending smile. 

You lifted yourself up to sit on the cool surface of the bathroom counter as Joel moved himself between your legs, pressing his lips on yours once again. His kiss trailed down your jaw as he pulled your thighs apart. Both of his hands running up the inside of your legs, causing goosebumps to raise on your skin. He reached your underwear, his motions stopping once he felt the way the wet cotton clung to your core.

“Love when you get this worked up just from suckin’ me off.” He was groaning into your neck as he ran a single digit up and down your slit through your ruined panties. 

“Missed you today.” More mumbles into your skin as he slowly rubbed circles over your covered clit.

“I missed you too.” The words were a moan as you wrapped your arms around him, hands spread over his back as you pulled him closer. 

“Thought about you a lot.” His tone was casual as he kept the conversation going; and while you loved the man, you needed him to get on with it. You needed him bad.

Leave it to Joel to start swapping stories about your day with his dick dangerously hard and inches away from pushing into you.  

“Thought about the other day when you were talkin’ bout babies.” He brought his face back just enough to gage your expression as he spoke.

You weren’t expecting this to come up now.

Days ago Joel caught you watching the young family that lived across the street. They just had a baby and it was impossible to miss the way you ogled at them when they sat on their front porch rocking their newest addition. 

He brought the obvious gawking to your attention, partly as a joke, but it lit something in him as soon as he saw the way you got all fidgety and flustered about it. 

You were quick to defend your increased interest in your neighbors, “They’re just a sweet couple that’s all. And their baby is just so damn cute.”  

“Yeah, he is pretty cute isn’t he.” You were both staring out the window, his hand finding the small of your waist as he stood behind you. 

“Most newborn babies are ugly but that’s a good one.” Joel was cracking a joke that had you shoving your elbow back into his torso.

“Oh, shut up.” You were trying to hide the giggle in your words as you kept your eyes trained on the little family across the street. Shamelessly wondering what it would be like to have that with Joel.

“I happen to have a soft spot for babies.” You were muttering as you gazed out the window.

“That right?” Joel’s voice was tender and low as you turned to look at him. Your eyes locking in a moment of pure interest and understanding before you eventually broke the stare, choosing to start dinner and leave the conversation frozen in time.

But now he was bringing it up, in the middle of the night with fresh stitches adorning his chest and his body wedged between your legs. 

“See the way you look at them.” He was referring to your neighbors, his voice quiet and kind.

“You want that?” His gaze was affectionate as he kept his eyes on yours, watching carefully. His finger still circling the bundle of nerves at your center; his crude movements a complete juxtaposition to the way he was sweetly looking at you.

“Want a baby? A little family?” There was a slight smile on his lips as he mumbled the words.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it.” Your response was simple, his eyes still watching as you answered. 

“With you.” 

One of his eyebrows innocently cocked at your follow up statement.

“I want that with you Joel.” You meant it.

Although you’d be lying if you said the words weren’t also fueled by the way his pointer finger was slowly and deliberately stroking your clit through your panties. 

“Do you ever think about it?” Your eyes were peering at him naively, your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you bit down trying to keep yourself from moaning in pleasure at his soft touch. 

“Having a baby with me?” 

The words were a sweet murmur on your tongue and Joel had to keep himself from groaning at your question. 

Of course he wanted it. He thought about it every time he caught you staring out the window at the kid across the street. 

He couldn’t shake the constant reminder ringing in his head that he was older than you, and a man his age shouldn’t be starting a family. He knew people would have a lot to say about it and he didn’t want you to be the topic of town gossip. But hearing you say the words to him right now— telling him how much you wanted to have his baby. It was maddening.

Every last insecurity was shoved to the side as he looked into your eyes so precious and kind, full of longing and anticipation. 

“All the time sweetheart.” He let the truth flood the space between your lips and the way your face lit up was all he needed to keep confessing.

“Nothin’ I want more than a family with you.” 

A squeak of a moan pushed past your lips both from his declaration and the increased pressure he was applying to your clit as he continued his lazy circles on your panties. 

“Then what’s stopping us?” 

You were bucking your hips into his hand and your soft smile was replaced by a convincing grin. 

His facial expression quickly matched yours as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your thighs with his eyes still on yours.

“Gonna give me a baby Miller?”

He was pulling you closer to the edge of the countertop, angling himself at your entrance.

While he would normally stretch you out with a few strokes of his fingers before pushing his cock into you, tonight he was impatient and greedy. He knew you were already ready for him from your ruined panties that were now somewhere on the floor. 

“That what you want huh? Wanna be a mama?” The tone behind his questioning was sadistic as he let his tip nudge into you.

“Take such good care of me sweetheart, know you’d be so good with our babies.”

He leaned in, his forehead finding yours as he watched your eyelids flutter with each inch he pushed into you. 

“Joel…” Your mind was beginning to go blank, and his name was the only thing you could get out in an attempt to ask for more. 

“Gonna fill you up real good darlin’, give you a baby.” He was trying his best to keep his composure, but Joel’s words were filled with the threat of a moan as he bottomed out inside you. 

“God yes- Please Joel.” You didn’t even attempt to hide the sigh of relief that flew from your mouth at the feeling of him filling you.

He moved slowly at first, wanting to give in to the intimacy of your exchanged words. Then he felt you desperately clenching around him, rendering him powerless against his most primal desires.

His hips began snapping into yours; hands gripping the flesh of your thighs pulling them even further apart in his grasp. With each thrust he challenged you to take him deeper, rubbing the sweetest spot along your walls as your fingers dug into the muscles of his back.

You were a muddle of whines and whimpers as Joel continued to drive into you, paying close attention to the spongey place deep inside that had your whole body tensing up. 

“Want it so bad, don’t ya baby?” His question held a certain level of arrogance, but you didn’t even notice it with the way his hips were grinding against yours every time he drove into you. 

You simply nodded, your head bumping against his.

“Know ya do.” He watched as pitiable little noises fell from your parted lips.

“Can feel it.” He was groaning as he felt your walls squeezing around him signifying your inevitable release. 

You couldn’t remember a time when you came this fast; but the way he was speaking mixed with the thrill of a new desire being shared between you had your abdomen straining and your head buzzing. 

“Fuck I’m gonna-“

“I know sweetheart let it out.” 

His reassurance was coupled with heavy thrusts that sent moans spilling from the deepest part of your chest.  

Your fingernails were sure to leave marks as you gripped his back. The pressure in your core bursting as your release washed over you.

The pleasure was nearly blinding as your body heaved underneath Joel’s movements. It didn’t stop. The overwhelming feeling of relief continued to course through your veins as Joel kept a steady pace thrusting in and out of you. 

“Tell me how bad you want it.” His voice was breathless as it fanned over your face. 

His grip on your thighs had migrated up to your face as he held your jaw in his hands, keeping your forehead pressed against his. 

“Need it Joel.” You were mewling between gasps, as he plunged into you. 

“Need your cum.” 

His hold on your face forced your eyes to meet his and while you could barely keep them open; you were mesmerized by the way he was staring at you, his jaw slack and his eyes dark and focused.

“Wanna feel you.”

With each of your words, you could feel his thrusts growing eager and sloppy. 

“Want you to give me a baby Joel.”

The whining in your voice had Joel’s hips stuttering and his body going rigid as he pushed into you with one final thrust. 

You felt his warmth spitting and spreading through you; your walls soft and swollen, inviting every last drop. 

His groans were guttural as his forehead pushed against yours, his eyes squeezing shut in pure bliss.

Joel’s breath was heavy and elongated as he let himself melt into your touch. Giving himself just a few seconds to regain his self-control.

Wordlessly, he pulled away to take in the features of your face. Looking intently for any sign of regret or sudden realization but instead, he was just met with your comforting smile. 

“My sweet girl.” His voice was a gentle whisper as he kept his dick buried deep inside of you.

“Gonna look so pretty all pregnant with our baby.”

His hands were at your belly tracing delicate little patterns in your warm skin. 

He slowly began to pull out of you, both of your heads falling to watch the way he dripped out from between your legs. 

You expected him to grab a towel, taking his time to clean you up like he normally did after making a mess of you; but this time he veered from his usual aftercare habit. The towel hanging next to you stayed in its place as you watched Joel trail two fingers down your abdomen until he was gathering his spend leaking from your core and pushing it back into you. 

You were whining his name in protest, already overstimulated and messy from him fucking you through your orgasm.  

“C’mon honey, can’t let it go to waste.” His eyes bore into yours with a serious intensity as his fingers hooked into you, knuckles deep.

His name was falling like a chant from your lips. You were already pulsing around his digits, the feeling of his warm slicked fingers sending your body into overdrive.   

“Thought you wanted a baby?” 

You nodded and whispered a pathetic “I do” at his words. His hand pulled out from between your legs just enough for him to watch his cum coated fingers dip back into you again.

“Gotta take all of it then sweetheart.”

You kept nodding, the repetition of your head bobbing up and down making a victorious grin spread across Joel’s face. 

“Good job baby.” His praise was coupled by the obscenely wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you, curling with each thrust. 

“Joel-“ You choked out his name as he used his fingers to expertly bring you to your release. You were so close you could taste it. 

“Gonna make such a pretty baby sweetheart.” He was in a trance as he looked down between your bodies, you were so messy, sucking him in with each push of his fingers. 

Profanities twirled off your tongue as you felt another wave of pleasure chase through your body. 

Joel worked you through it, his fingers moving continually as you writhed under his touch.

The culmination of wetness at your core a sloppy mess of devotion and passion. Your body trembled as you came down from your high and Joel’s fingers carefully retreated, finding a place to rest on your bare thigh. 

Neither of you moved. The two of you staying in one place soaking in each other’s warmth.

You brought a hand up to trace his collarbone, surveying his wound that was thankfully still in tact. 

“Think it worked?” You were wondering aloud, referring to your spontaneous decision to make a baby on your bathroom counter.

“Eh, we can always keep tryin’.” Joel was toying with your hair, his body pressed against yours as he stood between your legs. 

“You know… for good measure.” He smiled through his words at the idea of getting to do that over and over again. 

my masterlist

[gf2bellamy]

hiii, you can ignore this request if you don’t want todo it!! It’s sort of fluffy/hurt comfort. Spencer and reader have been pining over each other for ages until reader finally asks Spencer on a really cute date to a museum or something. Reader shows up a little early to make sure they are there on time, and waits for Spencer to arrive. Spencer is super super late because something happened on the underground/metro, and reader thinks Spencer has just stood her up so she flees to Penelope. I’m not sure how it would end, and sorry it’s so long!! :)

date — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader feeling upset bc she thinks spencer stood her up a/n: hii !! i love this idea and i hope you like this :) also this gif might be my all time favorite spencer gif

You were early. Maybe a little too early.

But sitting at home, pacing back and forth, obsessively checking the time—it was only making things worse. You’d spent the better part of an hour staring into the mirror, pulling and adjusting your clothes, second-guessing every little detail. At some point, you just had to force yourself out the door before you talked yourself out of it completely.

And now, here you were. Standing outside the museum, shifting from foot to foot, your breath fogging slightly in the crisp afternoon air.

It was a history museum. The moment you’d heard about the new exhibit, your thoughts had gone straight to Spencer.

It had taken you a month to work up the courage to ask him to come with you. A full month of rehearsing in your head, psyching yourself up, only to completely fall apart when the moment actually came.

You had been a stuttering mess, stumbling over your words, barely able to get the invitation out. But Spencer—Spencer had been just as awkward. There had been a long, heart-stopping pause where your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Then he nodded. Enthusiastically.

His curls bounced with the movement, and for a second, you thought he might actually be more excited than you were. The two of you had grinned at each other, wide and dorky and entirely too pleased with yourselves.

The memory made you smile as you stood there, phone in hand. You glanced at the screen. 1:55 PM. Five more minutes.

Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh as nervous energy buzzed through you. You weren’t sure if it was the anticipation of the date itself or just the fact that it was Spencer.

Maybe both.

Time passed. More than five minutes. More than ten. Too much time.

You had started out standing near the entrance, glancing around every few seconds, expecting to see a familiar figure rushing toward you with an apologetic look on his face. But as the minutes ticked by, your stomach slowly twisted into knots.

Now, you were sitting on a nearby bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check. You stared down at your phone, heart sinking as the screen lit up. It was much, much later than 2 PM.

Spencer wasn’t coming.

And you knew him well enough to know that Spencer was the most punctual person on the planet. If he hadn’t shown up by now, there was only one explanation.

Spencer Reid stood you up.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled up your contacts, pressing the call button.

Penelope answered on the second ring.

“Hey, sugarplum! What’s up? Are you geeking out over fossils and artifacts yet?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Hi, Pen… are you busy?”

Immediately, her tone shifted. The warmth in her voice was still there, but now it was layered with concern. “No, not at all. What’s wrong? You okay? I thought you and Boy Genius were off on your little nerd date.”

You let out a small, shaky breath, staring down at your shoes as you nudged a small rock. “No… uhm… no.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a softer, more careful voice. “Do you wanna come over?”

You nodded before realizing she couldn’t see you. “Yeah. Yeah, can I?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I made cupcakes this morning. I’ll have some waiting for you.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks” before hanging up, already pushing yourself off the bench. Penelope’s apartment wasn’t too far from the museum—thank God. You just needed to get away from here.

The walk to her place was a blur, and before you knew it, you were curled up on her couch, a plate of cupcakes in front of you. You picked at the frosting absentmindedly before finally whispering the words that had been weighing on your chest.

“He stood me up.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

You took another bite of the cupcake, trying to drown your sorrows in the taste of chocolate.

Penelope was still staring at you, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But… he was so excited.”

Your chewing slowed. You glanced up at her. “Hmm?”

She shifted closer, her expression troubled. “Spencer. He had been talking about this all week.”

That caught your attention. You sat up a little straighter, swallowing the bite of cupcake.

Penelope nodded, as if replaying the memories in her head. “He actually bought a new tie for it,” she added, her voice full of certainty. “A completely new tie. I helped him pick it out.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “What?”

“He wanted it to match you.” She gave you a knowing look. “I mean, he didn’t say that, but I know these things. The man was so particular about the color, the pattern, everything. He kept fidgeting the whole time we were shopping. It was adorable, really.”

Your mind reeled.

Spencer had been planning for this. He had been excited.

So why hadn’t he shown up?

You were suddenly wide-eyed, staring at her as she continued rattling off all the things he had done in preparation for the date—how he had debated over restaurant options in case you wanted to get food after, how he had even worried about what books he might mention so he wouldn’t ramble too much.

He had wanted this.

“Oh.”

It was all you could manage to say. Your brain was still trying to process everything Penelope had just told you.

He had been excited. He had planned for this. He had even bought a new tie.

You couldn’t help the warmth that crept up your neck, a soft blush blooming across your cheeks. “So… he wanted to go out with me?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

Penelope tilted her head at you, giving you a look that practically screamed, Seriously? You still have to ask?

Silence settled between you.

Then, finally, you spoke again—quieter this time, your confusion only growing. “So… why didn’t he come?”

Penelope hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Maybe he got the day wrong?”

You gave her a flat look. “Garcia, it’s literally our only day off from work. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mix it up.”

She groaned, slumping back into the couch. “Right. Good point.”

The two of you sat there, completely stumped.

Penelope let out a dramatic sigh. “I also have some cookies if that helps?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “That helps.”

She shot up from the couch. “Good, because emotional support baked goods are my specialty.”

You managed a small smile, but even as she disappeared into the kitchen, your thoughts remained elsewhere.

But then you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a knock at the door.

Before you could react, Penelope’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m trying to heat up the cookies.”

“Sure,” you called back, pushing yourself up from the couch and making your way to the door.

The last thing you expected when you opened it was him.

Spencer.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

He stood there, slightly breathless, his shoulders slumped like he’d just run a marathon. His curls were messier than usual, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead. But what caught your attention most was his outfit—something you’d never seen him wear before. A soft button-up, a tie you knew had to be the new one Penelope mentioned, and a blazer that was slightly wrinkled, as if he had been gripping the fabric with nervous hands.

Neither of you said a word. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you just stood there, locked in place, staring at each other.

Then, from behind you, Penelope’s voice broke the moment. “The cookies are ready!”

You heard her footsteps approaching before she finally reached the door, holding a plate of freshly warmed cookies in her hands. “Who’s at the—”

Her sentence cut off the moment she saw him.

Spencer.

She froze.

Now she was staring too.

More silence.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Spencer,” you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping out of whatever trance he was in. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but the words just wouldn’t come.

“How dare you stand her up like this?”

Garcia’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. She held the plate of cookies in one hand while the other jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in Spencer’s face.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his cheeks darkening with guilt. “I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he stammered, shifting nervously. His gaze flickered from Garcia to you, his expression almost pleading.

“I took the metro,” he rushed out, “and then it broke down. Completely. They couldn’t get it fixed for an hour and 10 minutes, and my phone didn’t have service underground, and I—” He stopped abruptly, his ramble faltering as he let out a breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m so sorry.”

Garcia pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as if debating whether to keep scolding him or let him off the hook. After a moment, she exhaled dramatically and slowly backed away toward the apartment.

“Alright, alright. I see what’s happening here,” she muttered under her breath, before giving you a not-so-subtle wink and slipping inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Now, it was just you and Spencer.

You weren’t sure what to say.

You had been so sure he had stood you up. The hurt, the disappointment—it had all settled deep in your chest. But now, standing here in front of him, hearing the way his voice shook with sincerity, seeing the genuine guilt in his hazel eyes, you felt your frustration unravel, piece by piece.

“Oh.”

It was all you managed to say—again.

Spencer winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that’s not really an excuse. I should have—I don’t know, found another way to get to you, or—” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just… I’m really sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “So you didn’t ghost me on purpose?”

His eyes widened a bit, and he rushed to correct himself. “No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” His voice dropped slightly, filled with sincerity. “I was actually looking forward to today. I did my research on the museum, and I heard there’s a painting on the second floor that—”

Spencer abruptly stopped himself, his face turning a dark shade of red. He tugged at the strap of his satchel nervously, clearly embarrassed by his over-explanation.

You couldn’t help it—you smiled even wider.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Spencer seemed momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Oh.” He blinked, looking slightly flustered. “Well, you’re very good friends with Garcia,” he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

From inside the apartment, you could hear Garcia mumbling with an exaggerated tone, “Good? We are best friends, Dr. Reid.”

You grinned, knowing she was eavesdropping. Spencer’s cheeks reddened further, and he seemed to realize that his conversation was no longer entirely private.

Spencer continued, recovering quickly. “Every time you’ve had a bad day at work, you tend to go to Garcia.” He gave a small shrug, like it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that one time when Hotch made you rewrite your report—remember that? You went to Garcia then.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Or when Strauss got mad at you,” Spencer continued, his voice now soft with the memory. “You also went to Garcia.” He fiddled with his satchel again, clearly fidgeting with nerves.

You let out a small chuckle. “I see how it is. I’m predictable.”

Spencer gave a sheepish smile, his hands finally falling to his sides. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just—well, you seem to always go to her for advice when you're upset.”

You could hear Garcia mutter a small “As she should,” behind you.

Your heart warmed at his words, and you pushed yourself off the doorframe. “I guess you’re right. I do tend to run to Garcia when things go sideways.”

He nodded, looking slightly relieved that the tension seemed to break between you. “So, I just assumed you’d be here… and when I got here, I wanted to explain… before you thought I had just… forgotten.”

You stepped forward, offering him a smile. “Well, i'm glad i can stop worrying that you've stood me up.”

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed. “I really am sorry,” he repeated, his eyes soft and earnest.

You looked him in the eye, the teasing edge of your voice gone, replaced by something warmer. “It’s okay, Spencer.”

A small, relieved smile spread across his face as he let out a quiet sigh, trying to smooth down his disheveled curls. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, attempting to look a bit more put-together in front of you.

Then, as if on cue, Penelope’s voice cut through the silence, loud and clear from the other room. “Dr. Reid, ask her if she wants to go to the museum now!”

You could almost hear her taking a bite of something, likely one of the cookies she’d been baking earlier.

Both you and Spencer immediately blushed, the heat rising to your faces at her suggestion.

“R-right—yeah, uhm…” Spencer stammered, his voice faltering for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Would… would you like to go to the museum?” His voice was shy, and the way he stumbled over the words made your heart flutter a little.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to bubble up. “I’d love to.”

You turned to Garcia, who was still sitting on the couch, her eyes wide with a smile so big it practically took up her whole face. “I’ll, uh, see you at work, Pen,” you called over your shoulder, still feeling a bit giddy.

Garcia shot you two thumbs up, still grinning like she was the proudest friend in the world. “Have fun, lovebirds!” she yelled after you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm as you turned back to Spencer, whose face was still a little flushed. “Shall we?” you asked, motioning toward the door.

Spencer nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… let’s go.”

[little-jana]

"Morning Flusters"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: early seasons Spencer, early relationship awkwardness, Spencer being flustered, mentions of a boner (not sexual), morning wood

Words: 1k

Summary: Waking up tangled together for the first time was sweet—until you felt something unexpected.

The warmth you felt was comfortable.

It was the kind of cozy, sleep-heavy warmth that made you want to burrow deeper into the blankets and never move again. The kind of warmth that only came from waking up next to someone else—him.

Spencer.

The realization sent a flutter through your chest. It was the first time you had stayed over, and despite your nerves the night before, everything had gone… perfectly. He had been an absolute gentleman, offering you his comfiest pajamas, making sure you had an extra pillow, and even stammering through an offer to sleep on the couch if you weren’t comfortable sharing the bed.

Of course, you had wanted to sleep beside him.

And now, here you were, tangled up together in the soft morning light filtering through his apartment window.

You shifted slightly, stretching, only to realize just how tangled you were. Spencer’s arm was draped over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, slow and steady in sleep. One of your legs had somehow ended up between his, your bodies pressed together in the most natural, intimate way.

You felt your heart swell at how relaxed he was. Spencer wasn’t always like this—so at ease, so unwound. You knew he had trouble sleeping sometimes, that his mind never quite let him rest. But right now, he looked peaceful.

And then—

Oh.

Oh.

You froze as you became aware of something else. Something firm pressing against your thigh.

Heat immediately rushed to your face.

It took a second for your sleepy brain to fully process it, but there was no mistaking what you were feeling. Spencer—soft, sleepy, completely unaware Spencer—had morning wood.

Your whole body went rigid.

This wasn’t bad or anything—totally normal, totally biological, totally not a big deal—but oh God, you were suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to stay calm. But of course, in your panic, your body betrayed you.

You shifted.

Just a tiny movement. But it was enough.

Spencer made a soft noise against your neck, his breath hitching slightly. His fingers flexed where they rested against your waist, and then—he stirred.

You felt it the moment he woke up.

His body stiffened, his breathing changed, and then—

“…Oh.”

Silence.

Complete, deafening silence.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

You swore you could hear the gears in Spencer’s brain turning at a million miles per hour as he processed the situation.

And then—

“Oh my God.”

His voice was so horrified, so full of sheer mortification, that you couldn’t help it. Despite your own embarrassment, a nervous giggle bubbled up in your throat.

That seemed to snap him out of his stunned paralysis. He practically flung himself away from you, scrambling backward on the bed like he had just been electrocuted.

“I—I—this isn’t—” He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, eyes wide with panic. “It’s—it’s just biology! A completely involuntary physiological response—there’s an increase in testosterone levels during REM sleep which leads to—oh God, I’m explaining it, I need to stop explaining it—”

You bit your lip, watching him flail, his face rapidly turning as red as his pajama shirt. It was, objectively, the cutest thing you had ever seen.

“Spence.” You reached for his hand, but he was too busy burying his face in his palms, groaning in pure misery.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled through his fingers.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. It started as a giggle but quickly turned into full-blown laughter, your body shaking with it.

Spencer peeked at you from between his fingers, looking both betrayed and confused. “…You’re laughing?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you gasped, trying to rein it in. “It’s just—oh my God, your face!”

He groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. “I’ll never recover from this. This is how I die.”

Still giggling, you scooted closer, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. “Spence, it’s fine. I promise.”

He cracked one eye open, clearly skeptical. “…You’re not mortified?”

“Not even a little.” You grinned. "Why would I be? Watching you have a meltdown about it is kind of adorable.”

His face somehow turned even redder.

“I was not having a meltdown,” he muttered.

“You flung yourself across the bed like I was on fire.”

“…That’s a natural fight-or-flight response to extreme embarrassment.”

You laughed again, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spencer let out a long breath, his body finally relaxing beneath you. After a moment, he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist again, pulling you closer.

“…You really don’t think I’m a total disaster?” he asked quietly.

You smiled against his skin. “No, Spence. I think you’re perfect.”

His hand tightened on your waist, his breath a little uneven. “That makes one of us,” he mumbled.

You leaned up just enough to look into his warm, still-slightly-mortified eyes. “Hey. Just so you know—if we’re gonna keep sleeping in the same bed, this might happen again.”

Spencer groaned. “I was trying not to think about that.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m just saying—maybe next time, you don’t have to freak out so much.”

He hesitated, then, very slowly, buried his face against your shoulder with a small, resigned sigh. “…Noted.”

And with that, you both settled back into the warmth of the blankets, still tangled together, still flustered—but smiling.

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ miss possessive . . . m.s

in which . . . you just can’t put up other girls eyeing down and flirting with matt at a party

warnings . . . smut, sub!matt, handjob, blowjob, dirty talk, overstimulation, use of pet names, kissing.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #1

“shit mama—“ matt breathed heavily as your hand jerked his hard dick, you had matt against the bathroom walls, squirming and moaning like a mess, it was honestly pathetic. you and matt were currently attending a friends’s house party. the night had been fun, well…at least for matt. you were so annoyed, many girls had approached matt tonight, flirting with him right in front of you. and matt let it happen, you knew he wanted you to be fucking jealous.

“fuck—faster sweetheart..” matt groaned, his mouth remaining ajar as you wrapped another hand around his length, your thumb grazing over his sensitive tip. “y’think you deserve it? after trying to make me jealous?” you scoffed, taking one of your hands and grabbing matt’s chin with it, your lips suddenly crashed against his.

matt whimpered into your lips, but kissed you back with hunger, and passion. you continued pumping his dick, hearing matt whine into your ears as he pulled away from your lips, his hand cupped one of your boobs, squeezing and playing with it, making you moan as his thumb circled your hard nipple. “please—needa cum..” matt groaned as your pace quickened. “mmmm, not yet baby.” you chuckled, slowly going down onto your knees, matt gasped, his hand tangling into your soft hair. “not until you apologize, okay sweet boy? tell me, who does this belong to?” you teased, your hand stroking his length as you looked up at him

“y—you baby, i’m all yours..” matt moaned as your lips locked around his tip, teasingly kissing it before doing so. “fuck—feels so good, y’making me feel so good baby.” matt praised, hissing as you began to bob your head, his jaw went slack. “c—can’t take it…ah—i’m sorry love, can’t hold it anymore..” matt begged, you could feel him getting closer, and more sensitive.

your lips slipped off of matt’s dick, your hand wrapping around it again. matt’s hips bucked against your hand, trying to feel more friction, his head flew back in pleasure. “ahh—shit..” he hissed. “oh—oh my god—“ matt whined, you smirked. “such a good boy f’me, yeah?” you said, opening your mouth and placing your lips against his tip again, sucking and licking it teasingly, which sent matt over the edge quickly. you knew what made matt absolutely crumble, you were making him so senseless right now.

his hand tugged on your hair harshly, eliciting a soft moan from you, you heard matt’s cries and pleas for release. you looked up at him falling apart for you, you gave a nod of approval, and matt didn’t hesitate to release into your mouth, with one last cry of your name.

you loved being possessive over matt.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[luveline]

Hi honey, how are you? I really want one with Hotch, I don't have a very solid idea , but something like the team joking about the age difference between the two and the reader is like "he may be old, but he's my old man"

((don't mind the teasing Honey, you're so sweet💛)

“Alright,” Aaron says, almost to himself as he holds your face. He has two thumb tips pressed to your jaw, his fingers slipped behind your neck. “I think you’re okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

He has black smudges all over his fingertips and a little on the lapel of his coat from your wayward mascara. “You look beautiful,” he says without affect, “and like you’re trying something new today.” 

You snort, his hands falling down but not away as he begins unbuttoning your coat. “You don’t have to baby me,” you say quietly, for his ears alone. 

“What, by helping you out of your coat? This isn’t babying, honey, it’s just help.” He’s gentle under your chin, freeing you from your coat and hanging it over the back of your chair. “The mascara was my fault. You’re owed an apology.” 

“How have you worked that one out?” 

“You told me what one to get and I still got the wrong one. I’m sorry, but they all look the same, I can’t understand why they put all of those makeups together like that. Couldn’t the waterproof ones have been a different colour?” he asks, smiling in his way, so you know he’s kidding about being annoyed. 

“Sometimes they are,” you say. ��Just my brand isn’t with the times.” 

“Well, neither am I,” he says. 

“What’s the rub?” Emily asks, tipping back in her chair curiously. Aaron doesn’t usually linger with you for this long. 

“Got mascara everywhere ‘cos it was warm in the car.” 

“I meant about Hotch being with the times,” she says, sending you one of her dazzled (and dazzling) smiles, all amusement. “Are you often?” she asks him. 

“Insubordination is a serious offense,” he says. 

“It’s not insubordination, sir,” Emily says. You’re just old goes unsaid and yet heavily implied. 

“So he’s a little old-fashioned,” you defend. 

Morgan laughs from his desk chair. After a moment he must feel your eyes on him, turning swiftly, a hand covering his mouth but not the shape of his grin, “What?” he asks. 

“Alright, I get it, I’m old,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes. “This is hardly new information.” 

“You might be old, honey, but you’re my old man,” you say, leaning your weight against his arms to look up at him with tenderness. His being older than you hasn’t once made him a lesser man, hasn’t ever affected the way you are with one another. “Did you ever hear that song by Joni Mitchell?” you ask softly, momentarily forgetting your audience as he holds your gaze. You relax against him despite yourself. “‘He’s my sunshine in the morning?’” you quote. 

“I’ve heard every song by Joni Mitchell,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek nicely, “that’s one of the perks of being old. ‘Play and stay, baby.’” 

Warmest chord I ever heard, play that warm chord, play and stay, baby. 

“This is borderline offensive,” Morgan teases. 

You can hardly pull yourself away, but you do, righting yourself and trusting Aaron to neaten the ruffled curl of your dress’ short sleeve. He does it without comment. He holds you by the small of your back as he goes. 

“Think I’ll ever be his old lady?” you ask Emily with a grin. 

“Nope. You’re just not that old, babe.” 

[ssa-dado]

I have this idea that was just them making out after (they thought) everyone else went home and maybe one of the BAU members goes to Hotch’s office to like ask him something because they remembered on the way to their car and figured he would still be there and they catch being like Idk close. Maybe philosopher had a bad day or something (would love if it was Spencer or Penelope or both)

And by now I don't want to do without (that beautiful noise you make)

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: a tiiiiiiny bit of angst (it's actually teasing), fluff, heated? (barely) Summary: You were such a mess at work today that Aaron had no choice but to close the blinds of his office. What a caring boyfriend. If only he’d thought to lock the door too - now that would’ve been smart. Especially considering the whole ‘secret relationship’ thing. Oh, and the PDA. Yeah, that too. Warnings: Some cuss words here and there and a healthy dose of classic overprotective Hotch. (Also, a very subtle nod to the fact that he might have had… a reaction). Rossi is mentioned. Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: AAAAAAAAAAAA this request was so fun to write! I definitely got carried away (but at this point, are we even surprised?!). Hopefully, it all makes sense… Also, the reason Pen & Spence show up at his office is so ridiculously silly, hahaha I’m sorry for that

masterlist(s)

There was something particularly peaceful about the FBI building late at night.

Quiet. Everyone gone.

Aaron had always had a weak spot for it.

There was something about the absence of noise that finally let his brain breathe. Not much of a shock, really, given his lifelong relationship with sound - how it was almost always too much, too overwhelming, too loud.

Too much noise drained him, exhausted him. Raised voices, ringing phones, the endless stream of background chaos that came with his job - he could handle it, sure, but he never felt at ease in it.

Silence had always been something he sought out, something he needed.

Until you came along and rewrote the definition completely.

Because your noise? That was peace.

The more you talked, the more you teased him, the more you filled the space around him with your endless words and laughter-

Even in all the other ways you could be loud, the ways only he got to hear, the ones he selfishly claimed as his alone-

The safer he felt. The calmer he was.

Because if you were loud, you were okay. If you were loud, you were here next to him.

And that was what made tonight so unbearable - because tonight was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which meant that instead of finishing the last reports he needed to, Aaron was spending way too much time glancing down at the bullpen through the slats of his office blinds over and over again, only to be met with the same sight every time:

You.

Hunched over your desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, looking like you were one more form away from putting your head straight through damn thing.

And that was... distracting.

Not just because it was you - though, realistically, that was already enough of a problem.

No, it was knowing that he couldn’t do anything to make this day any less of a hell for you.

Not after the phone call he got in the middle of the day, the one where you told him you were stuck in traffic, and that you weren’t going to make it to the conference he’d watched you wake up an hour early for every single day over the past two weeks just to prepare.

Not after the second call, an hour later, when you told him there’d been an incident on the road and now you were even more stuck, meaning you weren’t getting back to Quantico until early afternoon at best.

And especially not after watching you, since the second you managed to sit at your desk, bury yourself in paperwork for hours without so much as a break - because of course you weren’t just letting yourself be exhausted.

Apparently, in that "ineffably logical" brain of yours, you had to make up for all the time you lost sitting in traffic - as if you personally had caused the entire infrastructure of D.C. to fail you.

As if it was somehow your fault that a minor inconvenience had derailed your entire morning.

And because you were you, because you were so stubborn it physically hurt him sometimes, you were doing all of this while also being on your actual deathbed.

Or – well - that’s how Aaron saw it.

Because in his expert, completely objective overprotective-boyfriend evaluation, the moment he saw that your eyes were swollen - the specific kind of puffy you only got when you were sick-

That was it.

It could never just be one of those mildly annoying colds - the kind that made you feel like you had a fever without actually raising your body temperature… 

Okay. Maybe that was very probable... oh – wait - didn’t you just sneeze? 

Never mind. Deathbed. You were dying.

Which meant that now Aaron had only a few minutes left with his just-as-self-neglecting-as-he-was girlfriend, and he refused to spend them watching you suffer in silence.

Which was why, at this very moment, a cup of herbal tea sat waiting on the opposite side of his desk - steaming, prepared exactly the way you liked it.

Why his chair had been moved there, just for you, so you’d be comfortable.

Why the lunch he had picked up for you earlier - the one you had, predictably, ignored - was sitting next to it, neatly arranged as if that would somehow convince you to eat it.

Why the medicine - carefully selected based on his highly professional (and perhaps slightly dramatic) prognosis - was now lined up beside one of his expensive scotch glasses, repurposed as a water cup, was beyond him.

Then again, that was the only kind of glass he kept in his office.

(Which, now that he thought about it, was… rather telling.)

Why the heater had been turned up until the office felt like a warm, protective cocoon.

And most importantly-

Why the blinds of his office were shut. No one was supposed to see.

And now there was only one thing left to do-

You didn’t even notice him behind you - too absorbed in whatever pointless battle you were waging against your paperwork - until he reached over and grabbed the pile of files next to you.

You jumped, spinning around in your chair. “Fuck, you scared me.”

"Language."

He barely spared you a glance as he scolded you - because, at the very least, he could pretend to enforce some standards - before flipping open the first file.

Which, as expected, was completely empty. Blank. Nothing. Much like your sense of self-preservation.

And so, without a word, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs back to his office.

He ignored your first protest -"Hotch, my finished files are here on the right!"

…Oh, really? How interesting. How very new and revolutionary this information was to him.

He was already on the first step of the stairs.

“Aaron, that is the wrong pile.”

Now, one of the very few perks of having a busted right eardrum was that when he pretended not to hear you calling after him, you probably believed him.

Little did you know…

He had absolutely heard you.

Had also heard the creak of your chair as you shoved back from your desk.

Had also heard the impatient footsteps of you storming after him, getting progressively closer.

Which made this the perfect excuse for selective hearing.

Not that he hadn’t already mastered that particular skill long before getting blown up in Federal Plaza, but at least now, when he ignored people, he didn’t look like a dick for it.

If anything, it actually had the opposite effect.

Pity. Sympathy.

Oh, poor Aaron Hotchner. The wounded, overworked, 6’2” grumpy lamb, permanently damaged, forever burdened by his tragic injury, just trying his best-

Yeah. He could absolutely milk that.

(Not that he would.)

(Or at least, not often.)

(On purpose.)

(Except maybe right now.)

Though, he wasn’t exactly sure if he could keep up that tactic after he - without even turning around - held the office door open for you, guiding you inside with his hand resting firmly at the small of your back.

(Especially when he wasn’t supposed to know you were behind him in the first place.)

Apparently, even selective hearing had its limits. And, evidently, so did his ability to pretend he wasn’t completely wrapped around your little finger.

Because if being a gentleman meant accidentally exposing himself - proving, in real time, that he did in fact hear you, that he was in fact paying attention to your every movement - then that was just a risk he’d have to accept.

"Please, come sit here," he said, pulling out his chair.

You stared at him. "Aaron, you're crazy."

But you still sat - not that you had much of a choice.

“Is it warm enough?” he asked, already assessing whether he needed to adjust the heater again.

“It’s fine, you didn’t have to-” you started, but Aaron - pulling once again from the highly effective busted eardrum trick - pretended not to hear you.

Instead, he shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it over your shoulders. Still not satisfied with your level of warmth, he took each of your arms and guided them into the sleeves properly, making sure the fabric was snug, making sure you were completely covered, making sure… well.

That you looked absolutely ridiculous in his jacket. Swallowed up in it, the sleeves a bit too long, drowning in fabric that made you look so small, and soft, and - not adorable.

That wasn’t the word he was going to use.

The dimples in his cheeks as he leaned back to take you in had nothing to do with that. It was just relief. Relief that you were finally warm.

Professional satisfaction. He had achieved the mission objective.

That’s all.

And when he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, it was only to check your temperature.

That’s all, too.

It was just practicality, strictly medical.

If it lingered a bit too long - if his fingers found their way to the back of your head, pulling you into him, if he breathed in the familiar, intoxicating scent of your skin, that was just… making sure.

And the longer he lingered, the more accurate the reading.

That’s how thermometers worked. And he was a very thorough man. He was practically a human thermometer. A very advanced human thermometer - it would be irresponsible of him not to take the extra few seconds to ensure precision.

And since he was already conducting a full diagnostic, it only made sense to gather more data.

Experts (the voices in his head) also suggested that if he kissed the tip of your nose, he could determine… something. Something very crucial.

The data would arrive shortly.

Ah, yes - two kisses. Probably one per nostril, here’s why.

Clearly, the standard procedure. Science. He’d always been a big fan of science.

And after a brief moment of analysis, the results were as follows:

You were, in fact, the cutest human being to ever exist.

The tip of your nose was a little cold.

Great work, Agent Hotchner. Excellent research. Definitely crucial to the investigation.

"Make sure to drink the tea before it gets cold."

Your cheek was so soft, so warm against his palm… Was it fever warm? Hm. Unclear. Maybe another kiss to your forehead would tell him. So he leaned in again, instinctually.

Mostly because he needed to do something with his mouth that wasn’t kissing you somewhere that might actually impair your ability to breathe.

“Can I get my paperwork back now?” You asked, as your eyes flicked past him, toward the confiscated stack on his desk.

...Unbelievable. A deathbed with an attitude.

That was a first.

He even gave you a look - one of his looks, the kind that should have shut this down before it started - but you, persistent as ever, tried again.

"Aaron, I really don’t want you to fall behind because of me, I just need-"

“You really need,” he interrupted, entirely unimpressed, “to drink the tea, take the medicine, and eat something before you even think about paperwork.”

He didn’t mean to use his work voice. Well. Maybe he did. It had been a long day, and this wasn’t a negotiation.

...But he didn’t expect you to be so startled by it.

“I-”

Oh, wasn’t that interesting?

He was biting back a smirk because, oh, this was definitely doing something to you.

“…And before you say anything else,” he murmured, “the only acceptable words right now are ‘Thank you, Aaron’ or ‘You’re right, Aaron.’”

Yeah.

He was definitely enjoying this.

Didn’t even need another kiss to your forehead to confirm the heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with the fever.

“…I have notes on your bedside manner,” you muttered.

“Oh?” His fingers dragged lazily from your lips, just barely grazing your chin. “Maybe you should write them down. I’ll read them after you finish your tea.” He picked up the mug, tilting it toward you expectantly. “Go on.”

Sighing - because you clearly knew he wasn’t going to let this go - you lifted the mug and took a sip.

Or, well, tried to - the second the heat hit your lips, you jerked back, setting the mug down. “Shit - too hot,” you hissed – but damn you if you didn’t look at him in the eye “Could you… blow on it?”

Oh, you.

You weren’t even trying to be coy. Just sitting there, looking up at him, asking in that soft, slightly rough voice - probably unintentional, but Christ, it still did something to him.

Still, he complied.

It was just air. A simple, unremarkable action. Nothing inherently sinful about blowing on a damn cup of tea.

And yet - your eyes told him otherwise.

Gleaming, focused, tracking the movement of his lips like you were studying something much more illicit than the way steam curled into the air. (Not that he would’ve caught that if he hadn’t held eye contact the entire time.)

“That looked so hot,” you giggled, biting your lip.

…You little-

Enjoying yourself, weren’t you?!

Maybe he should enjoy himself too.

So he did it again. Deliberate. Slow inhale. Even slower exhale. The steam curling and dispersing under his breath, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched you not even trying to close your mouth.

“Maybe it needs one last-”

Maybe you were right. Maybe it did need another.

He moved before you could finish, leaning in, inch by inch.

Closer.

Tilted his head just enough - just to reach further, just to watch you react. His gaze flickered down, heavy beneath his lashes, watching your lips part in anticipation.

And then - he blew.

Right there.

Soft, slow. Warm air ghosting over your skin.

And before you could even finish the thought forming on your tongue - he took you by the chin and kissed it right out of your mouth.

Swallowed the impending “Aaron, wait, germs” before you could get it out.

A pity, really. If you had been able to say it, you might’ve finally stopped pretending you weren’t as sick as you obviously were.

Still, it would’ve been a bullshit excuse anyway - because if you really thought about it, your tongue was now inside the very reason you caught this cold in the first place.

And if this was supposed to be some kind of petty revenge, then you were failing spectacularly - because the way you sucked in his bottom lip was more reward than punishment. The way your hand curled possessively at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you, was anything but retribution.

God, he missed you.

An entire day without you, and now, just this - just the heat of you pressed up against him, just the weight of your fingers threading through his hair - was enough to make it feel like your very first kiss all over again.

“Aaron…”

“Hm?”

"You’re-"

A knock.

No - he was fairly certain you weren’t about to tell him he was a knock.

But there was one. On his door.

Which meant whatever you were going to say - whatever revelation he had been very much looking forward to - was now held hostage by the very concept of professional obligations.

“Sir, are you still there?”

His hearing might not have been the best, but there was no mistaking Garcia’s voice.

In the few moments between his "Come in" and the door opening, you at least managed to slide off his jacket and drape it over the chair – admirable, really.

What you did not manage, however, was an escape plan.

Not that it would’ve mattered. The only way out was through the very door Penelope Garcia - profiler of gossip - was now standing behind.

“Thought you were gone, sir. The blinds were clo-” Garcia stopped short, gasping. “Oh.”

Didn’t finish the sentence. Just let it hang there, open-ended, an oh that could have meant anything.

Hotch remained still, silent, assessing. Was she reacting to the fact that his office currently felt like a sauna? The untouched tea set on his desk? The fact that his work chair was on the wrong side? Your flushed lips? You – just you – being here?

All of the above?

Something at the back of his mind told him it was none of those things.

No, if there was anything truly scandalous happening here, it was the fact that he - Aaron Hotchner, by all accounts a man of order, discipline, and professionalism - was currently standing in front of her without his suit jacket.

Unbelievable.

Practically indecent.

"You're here," Garcia scanned you from head to toe in real time.

Hotch was sure she was mentally calculating the space between you and him, noting how you sat angled away, like you were trying to appear as casual as possible.

How his jacket, which he knew had been wrapped around you, was now draped over the opposite armrest, as if you had tossed it there at the last second.

But your hand…

Your hand told a different story.

More specifically - your pinkie.

Even as you leaned away, even as you tried to look detached, that tiny finger of yours was brushing against the fabric. A light, absentminded touch, so small it was almost nothing - almost unnoticeable.

Could Garcia see it too?

Because he did.

And it was ridiculous how something so delicate, so unconscious was making him second-guess whether he’d tied his tie too tight this morning.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it. Didn’t realize how much that touch gave you away.

You just needed him close in some way - whether you realized it or not - even if it was only through the fabric beneath your fingertips, even if it was nothing more than habit.

And because of that - because of how effortlessly reached for him - his heart was pounding so hard he was convinced that at any second, one of the buttons on his shirt might snap clean off and shoot across the room.

That, Garcia would definitely notice.

"What is it, Garcia?" he asked, making a show of flipping through your files - the same ones he'd confiscated not five minutes ago.

“Oh- nothing important, sir, I just-” Garcia started, but then her gaze flicked toward you. More specifically, toward his jacket. “Didn’t want to bother-”

You jumped in before she could put two and two together.

“Actually, Pen - perfect timing.” Your eyes darted to him, asking for backup. “We were pretty much stuck with what we were doing.”

He didn’t look up, but his lips twitched. Pun very much intended.

“Something we shouldn’t be doing,” he corrected smoothly, completely unbothered, scanning the page in front of him - your testimony report, incidentally.

He frowned.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And it went on for three more pages.

Ah, minimalist storytelling.

How profoundly enlightening.

How deeply philosophical.

Must’ve been this that earned you that PhD, right?

“…An old, unsolved case,” he continued dryly, flipping to the next page.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Well, nothing was something, after all. Existential, really.

How avant-garde. His girlfriend was truly a genius.

“Not even in our jurisdiction anymore…”

Miraculously, Garcia brightened at the mention of an unsolved case - (or maybe it was just because her Chocolate Thunder had been buried under paperwork all day and she hadn't gotten her proper dose of human interaction.)

“Well, sir, if you two need me to work my magic, just send me whatever you’ve got, and I’ll make sure it's fully cross-referenced, filtered, and delivered - hot, fresh, and waiting for you. Satisfaction guaranteed, just a click away.”

…Maybe he really should thank her by assigning Morgan a little less paperwork tomorrow.

If only to stop her from sounding quite so much like a questionable late-night pop-up ad promising lonely singles conveniently located in his immediate area.

You, barely holding it together, nodded seriously. “Eventually, yes. But first we need to gather a little more... substantial data. You know, to properly narrow down our search preferences before we click and find hot-”

“Garcia, what did you want to tell me?” he interjected just in time.

“Right, sir, regarding Rossi’s birthday-”

…Oh, for the love of-

Long story short: David Rossi had impossibly expensive taste. After that disastrous Christmas when each of you had optimistically attempted individual gifts - only to have the stubborn Italian return every single one (except for Aaron’s, obviously) - he, Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief and strategic visionary, had come up with the ingenious solution of organizing a single, collective gift from the whole team.

He sighed. “I'll buy the gift from everyone. Don't worry about it. I'll handle it.”

At the time, he'd considered this brilliant. A tactical masterpiece. A foolproof strategy.

What he hadn't anticipated was that this very same masterpiece would circle back and cockblock him in his own damn office.

And apparently, that wasn’t the only thing.

Because Reid showed up, too.

Tragic.

If there had been any lingering doubt about whether Garcia had fully bought into your lie before, that uncertainty vanished the moment she turned to Reid, bright-eyed and blissfully oblivious, and asked if he was here to help work on your “unsolved case” too.

“A cold case?” Reid asked, already interested. “No… can I take a look?”

Fuck.

His brain clicked instantly into damage control mode, already bracing for disaster - only for you to open your mouth first.

And somehow-

Out of all the ways he'd seen the English language manipulated, all the various displays of deception, interrogation, and verbal warfare in his career – nothing would ever top what you did in that moment.

Because you didn’t panic.

You didn’t fumble.

You simply made up a case.

A case that completely made sense.

A case with just enough detail to satisfy Reid, while being just ambiguous enough that there was no room for immediate follow-up.

A case so airtight, so masterfully crafted in under five seconds, that he honestly might’ve believed it himself if he weren’t fully aware of the fact that it was absolute nonsense.

And you did it so effortlessly - like it was just another skill buried beneath all the things that made you you, all the things that undid him, that frustrated him, fascinated him, drove him absolutely insane in ways he still wasn’t sure how to handle.

It was terrifying. Your brain, when wielded like this, terrified him.

Especially considering your current state - and, as if to remind him, you sneezed right in the middle of your fabricated case summary, looking so weak and pitiful - and yet, Reid still bought it.

A genius. IQ of 187. A man who could recite entire books from memory, outmaneuvered like that.

Which is why it was deeply unfortunate that Hotch’s primary takeaway in that moment was that he was... very, very turned on by it.

So much so that he had to actively dissociate for a moment and start listing everything in his fridge to avoid physically announcing exactly how much of a problem this was becoming for him.

Milk.

Two sad, lonely slices of bread.

Eggs - wait. Were they expired? Who cared. Focus.

Leftover takeout. Probably still good. Maybe.

Orange juice? No. No, you finished that two days ago - because you were at his place. Right. Because you stay at his place. Because you exist in his space and take his things and ruin his self-control just by breathing and-

Half a tomato.

…Why the fuck did he have half a tomato? Who puts back half a tomato? Did he do that? Did you do that?

God, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because despite his best, desperate efforts to focus on literally anything else, his gaze kept flickering back to you.

Your eyes. Your lips. Back to your eyes. Down to your lips.

Your hands.

Your-

Green olives.

Grey slacks.

No - wait. That was from the pile of things he meant to take to the steamer. Well, still would do…

Then you shifted in your seat, and all coherent thought evaporated. The hem of your sleeve slipped slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of bare skin... at your wrist.

His throat went dry.

Jesus Christ. Get a grip.

“So, Hotch, for Rossi’s gift, statistically-” Reid started.

…He really didn’t want to dwell on the fact that Reid had apparently walked all the way back up to his office - from the parking garage, no less - just to discuss Rossi’s birthday present.

So that was why he was here, too.

The psychological terrorism Rossi wielded over this team was unmatched.

Reid, Garcia… all of you, tangled in his web like helpless prey.

What an evil Italian man.

On that note –

Parmesan.

“Wine.” The answer left his mouth automatically, snapping his gaze to Reid’s. “A collection of very expensive French wine.”

Reid blinked. “…But he’s Italian,” he pointed out, clearly confused. “He still gets mad about the French stealing the Mona Lisa when in reality Leonardo Da Vinci-”

“Still,” Hotch interrupted, the weight of his exhaustion (and something else entirely) pressing in on his patience. “He drinks Champagne, not Prosecco.”

His office was suddenly ice cold.

A pause.

Then-

“Sir, you’re, um…” Garcia’s voice was unusually hesitant. “You’re sounding a bit… what’s the word… snappy. Maybe you should just - y’know - go home? Get some rest?”

(Hmm. Why could that be? What an absolute mystery. If only he had some way of knowing…)

Hotch exhaled slowly.

That…

Yes.

That was the only way out of this.

He straightened, closing the file in front of him. “You’re right. I should go home.” Then, with perfect, calculated nonchalance (Grey suit jacket. Navy blue shirt…) he turned to you. “And so should you.”

“Wait, what-”

He didn’t let you finish. He turned to Reid next. “You too, Reid.”

Reid blinked, caught off guard. “But I-”

“And Garcia.”

Garcia gasped, hands flying to her chest. “Me?! But I’m-”

“No arguments.” He was so done he didn’t even sound like himself anymore. Already standing, already gathering everything - his files, your empty files - shoving them into his briefcase so carelessly he even put them in the wrong compartment.

How reckless of him.

“It’s late. Case closed. Goodnight. Drive safe.”

For a moment, Reid and Garcia simply stared at him, visibly short-circuiting at the abruptness of it all - until one more well-aimed Hotch-stare had them evacuating the room at full speed.

The door clicked shut.

Finally.

He exhaled, barely getting a second to recalibrate before you shifted in his chair, reaching for your now undoubtedly cold tea.

"I think it’s not hot anymore," you murmured, fingers brushing the handle… too bad he caught your wrist before you could lift it. Not happening.

He tsked, shaking his head. “No, honey. I’m making you a new one at home. Now, put my jacket back on before you get too cold.”

Right. That was the excuse.

Not the fact that he wanted to see you in it again, wrapped in his cologne, looking entirely too his for his own good.

“I’ll go grab your things.” He said, stepping toward the door. "Now - tonight’s agenda. We leave here, head to your place, you pack anything you need for three days, I drive you back to my place, and you let me take care of you until you’re well enough to step foot in this office again. How does that sound?”

You blinked at him, lips twitching. “You know, that kind of sounds like a kidnapping.”

Hotch, completely unfazed, reached for the door handle. “If you’d prefer that, then congratulations - you’ve just been kidnapped for three days.”

Little did you know, he had already decided to take these days off too.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Phi's Corner: yes. It is indeed 6.30 AM. Yes I did pull an all nighter to complete this. Yes I am dumb. Yes it was proof read by a sleep-deprived version of yours truly.

[robinminustherichard]

Sorry, I can't actually take Hen queen of being given second chances NOT pushing Tommy and Buck back together. Enjoy a little fix it fic.

"Just Want to Let It Be This Easy"

BuckTommy | Gen | Fix it Fic

In the end, it's Hen that gets them back together. Which is kind of a surprise for Buck because Hen was definitely just as adamant that Buck not try to talk to Tommy after they broke up. Despite that though, when Tommy shows up at his door, clear that he's been crying, it's Hen's name that he curses the second he sees Buck. 

“Wait, what?” Buck says, still blinking awake from sleep, honestly not convinced that this isn't a dream, “Tommy? What are you doing here?” 

“Evan, you're here! At Eddie's house! You...aren't kidnapped?” 

“No, that was Maddie.”  

“That was--wait, so someone was kidnapped? Oh my god.” 

“Yeah, and I live here now. It's kind of been an intense week.” 

“A week?!” 

“I know, right?” Buck says, leaning against the door and yawning. Maddie had been released from the hospital a day and a half ago, she and the baby okay, and Buck had gone right into a full shift after that. He was exhausted. 

“But you're--you're okay, Evan? Hen told me that you were kidnapped.” Tommy asks, breathing slowing down and eyes roving over Buck's body, catching on his tight sleep shirt. 

“Yeah, she definitely lied to you,” Buck tells him through another yawn, eyes closing. “I’m like, really tired though. Do you want to come in?” 

Tommy looks unsure, hands wringing in front of his stomach nervously. “Do you want me to come in?” 

“Well,” Buck says, rubbing a hand across his face, “I'm pretty mad at you, but also my life is kind of insane, and you're like...really good at cuddling. So maybe you could come in and cuddle me for s-say seven and a half hours? Then in the morning you can make me avocado toast because you're also really good at that, and then we can fight it out then?” 

Tommy looks a little awestruck, but his body sways forward into the door. 

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes out, “yeah I can do that.” 

Buck hums, grabs Tommy's hand to pull him into the house, and shuts and locks it behind him. 

“Where's Eddie?” Tommy asks as Buck waits for him to kick off his shoes, pulling him again towards the bedroom. 

“Texas.” Buck says, laying back down on the bed. 

“Texas? What's he--” 

“Tomorrow, Tommy.” 

“Right, sorry Evan.” 

“That's okay, I get it...what are you waiting for?” Evan is looking up at Tommy, who's paused on the other side of the bed, staring down at Buck in wonder. 

“I wasn't...I didn't think I'd get this far honestly.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, “I’m not convinced this isn't a dream.” 

“Not a dream.” 

“Then take your pants off and get in the bed, Tommy.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tommy says, with a tone. 

“Don’t get sassy you're still in trouble!” 

“Sorry, Evan,” Tommy says, finally getting into the bed. Evan rolls over, puts his back to Tommy and throws his hips back just to hear Tommy huff, “right, cuddling then avocado toast.” 

Buck thinks he says something back, but Tommy throws an arm around his waist and wiggles the other underneath Buck's head, and suddenly the weight of the week (all the weeks since their break up) rush up to meet him and he can't stay awake any longer. 

In the morning, he'll be amazed at how it's the smoothest make up he's ever heard of. 

And when they show up to Maddie's baby shower a week later, not having told anyone they were back together, they walk into a smug look from Hen and confusion from everyone else. 

“Don't look smug, Hen; you almost killed a man with a heart attack. And by a man I mean me. I'm forty, how could you do that?!” 

Hen smirks and leans back in her chair. Karen has the decency to look guilty next to her. 

“Wait, what?” Maddie says, “what did I miss?” 

“Maddie, I am so sorry to hear about what happened,” Tommy says, handing her the gift Buck had let him add his name to, “Hen however told me the wrong Buckley got kidnapped, and uh, I panicked.” 

Chim's head whips between Tommy and Hen, eyebrows drawing together as he opens his mouth to shout, “What? Hen! You stole my move!” 

Hen's laugh rings out, and Buck can't help the grin that stretches across his face. 

[mattsstarlet]

⋆˚࿔ pearl ⟢

camgirl!reader gets overstimulated by pornstar!matt and her camgirl!friend.

contains: smut (p in v), unprotected sex, threesome (male + 2 females), overstimulation, degradation if you squint, use of vibrator, squirting.

IMPORTANT NOTE: camgirl!friend is exclusively for the girls only, this is a one time thing. also i’m bi, so yes. i am allowed to write this 😊

“can you give us one more?” pearl asked softly in your ear, brushing the strands away from your sweaty forehead, kissing your temple. you laid your naked back against her bra covered chest, panting and sobbing as matt continued to fuck you through your third orgasm.

her hands explored your spent body, cupping your tits and playing with them, squeezing them ever so gently. her gaze flickered over to matt’s stoic face, his jaw clenched as she kissed your neck.

“someone looks angry.” she taunted, giggling in your ear, cupping your chin and angling your head to brush her lips against yours. “you’re my pretty slut.” she whispered, placing a light peck.

matt chuckled deeply, shaking his head in amusement, a lopsided grin appeared on his lips as he slowed his pace, giving you deep and taunting thrusts that made your toes curl. pearl pulled away, reaching for the wand beside her and clicking the ‘on’ button, a loud buzz harmonizing with your cries and the sound of skin clapping.

“shiiiit— there we go.” he groaned, watching you jump as the vibrator came in contact with your clit, your gummy walls fluttering around his cock. your eyes rolled back, your mouth hanging low as pearl continued to grope your tit with her free hand. “that’s my sweet girl.”

“what’s it gotta take for you to be louder hm?” she muttered, her thumb hovering over the ‘+’ button on the wand. her eyes flickered over to your laptop, your chat box going absolutely crazy, filled with many compliments and ‘do this’ or ‘do that’. she flashed a toothy grin as she saw the amount of money that was flowing in— all tips were over a hundred.

“oh my god,” you sobbed, your thighs trembling as pearl sped up the toy two volumes up, wanting to hear your overstimulated cries.

“oh i’m sorry.” she fake cooed, running the wand up and down your abused cunt, causing matt to grunt each time the vibrations touched his dick. “you weren’t being loud enough, angel.”

you whined, your words exiting your lips in a slurring mess with drool practically coating your chin. your head felt fuzzy and empty, your vision blurring away from the bubble of tears.

matt moaned at the sight of you in a puddle, reaching forward laying his palm flat on your lower belly, feeling himself pump into you. “that’s m’dick in there, baby. all up in ya guts.”

“mm-hm— oh!— m’cumming.” you cried out, your hips lifting themselves up and rutting them against matt’s cock, your body almost twitching at the high vibrations of the wand.

pearl let out a giggle from her spot behind you, speeding up the intensity once more. “show ‘em what a messy slut you are.” she demanded, letting the toy buzz on your overstimulated, sensitive bud.

a series of curses left your mouth as your pussy spasmed on matt’s length, feeling the knot in your core explode. white, creamy paint adorned the base of his cock before squirting out clear, water-like fluid, wetting the messy sheets underneath you.

matt followed right after, filling your insides with each drop of his cum, his balls slapping against your skin, emptying out his load.

pearl helped you ride out your guys’ high, pressing the wand between you both. “c-can’t… s’too much.” you whined out, sighing in relief as she turned it off.

matt pulled out, watching his cum ooze out of your sloppy cunt before manhandling you onto your tummy, positioning you between pearl’s legs.

“eat her pussy while i fuck you again. shut her up f’me, baby.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

dedicated to my ‘😏’ anon and all the bi girlies <3

credits here.

[wendichester]

Hey queen i LOVE ur dean works sm they makw me so happy erm someday can u maybe make like an anorexia dean comfort thing where the reader passes out like in front of him and he gets worried and interrogates them or smth?? (sorry if this is worded badly ive never requested something before and im terrified)

۶ৎ more than enough,

summary. you've been struggling and it's getting to a new extreme

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 471

notes. i hope i was able to write this respectfully! thank you for the request hon 🥺

Dean’s voice is the first thing you hear when you come to—low, rough, edged with something close to panic.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart, c’mon, open those pretty eyes for me.”

Your head feels heavy, like it’s been stuffed with cotton, but you force your lashes to flutter, the world coming back in blurry shapes. The first thing you see is Dean’s face hovering over yours, brows knitted, green eyes wide with concern.

“There she is,” he breathes, relief washing over his features. “What the hell happened? One second you were standing, the next you were on the damn floor.”

His hand is on your cheek, warm and steady, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s making sure you’re still here.

“I—I don’t know,” you mutter, but even as the words leave your mouth, you do know.

Dean isn’t stupid. He sees the hesitation, the way your gaze flickers away, the way your fingers clutch the hem of your sleeves like you’re trying to disappear. And it clicks.

The untouched meals. The excuses. The way you push food around on your plate until he’s distracted enough to stop watching.

His jaw tightens. “When’s the last time you ate?”

You wince. “Dean—”

“When?” His voice is sharp now, and you swear there’s a crack in it, like the thought alone is enough to break him.

You swallow hard. The truth sticks in your throat, but you manage to whisper, “I don’t know.”

Dean swears under his breath, his fingers threading into his hair as he exhales hard, trying to keep it together. “Damn it, sweetheart. You—you gotta take care of yourself.”

He shifts, suddenly standing, and before you can protest, he’s scooping you up off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you to the bed. You squeak, weakly swatting at his chest, but he doesn’t let you go.

“I’m fine,” you mumble.

“No, you’re not.” His tone softens, and he kneels beside you once you’re settled, his fingers wrapping around yours. “You think I don’t notice? That I don’t see what you’re doing?” His voice wavers, and when you look at him, there’s something raw in his expression. Something helpless. “Why?”

And that’s the hardest part. The way he looks at you—like he can’t stand the idea of you hurting yourself, like it physically pains him to see you like this.

Your throat burns, and you shake your head. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “It’s just… I just—”

Dean exhales sharply and pulls you into him before you can finish. His arms wrap around you, strong and solid, his hand cupping the back of your head as he presses his lips to your hair. “Don’t do this to yourself,” he murmurs. “Please.”

You bury your face in his chest, something breaking loose inside you, for the first time in a really long time.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Perfect Gift

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, older!reader (50s)

Summary: you remember Bucky's birthday but he wants more than you give him.

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUCKO.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It's a bit silly. A bit of extra effort feels like a lot. You're almost embarrassed at the thought of it. You should just keep it to yourself. Give it to someone else. You probably won't even see him. 

You stand at the tall lab table, one elbow planted as you hover your pen over the report. There's not much going on that day but it's still special. For him. He must have plans, certainly with someone else. Forget it, do your work.  

No one needs any stitching up so you'll stick with the usual. You still can't figure out what that thick blue sludge is. A venom that sticks to the skin like tar. Despite running it through almost every piece of equipment available to you, it remains mysterious and it wouldn't be too unusual to find it isn't an earthly substance. 

Sigh. The icing's going to melt. You're stupid. And too old to be. 

You cringe behind your hand as you lean your forehead into your palm. The door slides open from the other side and you sit up, the stool wobbling beneath you dangerously. You latch onto the table and steady the feet. 

Oh, it's him. Shoot. Despite the work you put into the surprise, you suddenly wish he'd stayed away. That he kept to his actual friends. 

"Hey," Bucky marches up to the end of the table. "You figure out that gas?" 

"Gas... er, oh yes," you perk up. Work is easy to talk about. It's what you know. They only thing you've ever known. "I'm surprised it didn't knock you out. You brought me an empty canister." 

"Serum," he shrugs, his vibranium arm flexing as if reminding you of who he is. How can you forget that? 

"Right, uh, about that--" 

"No more needles, doc. I heard you got enough samples from Hydra," he crosses his arms. Despite his warning, humour dimples in his cheek. 

"No, I wasn't..." you shake your head. "I was just thinking you could do eight hours on a treadmill while I monitor your levels." 

"You are insane," he scoffs and unfolds his arms. He rounds the table, dragging his metal fingertips over it. 

"Anyway, er, about that gas," you hop off the stool before he can reach you. "It's designed to inhibit neural processing. I mean, the immediate effects are typical. Unconsciousness but after that, it sticks around." You look at him and squint, "how are you feeling?" 

"As good as I ever do," he levels his hand and wiggles it, "middling." 

"Right," you exhale and tap your toe nervously. "Even... on your birthday?" 

He pokes his tongue into his cheek and his eyes list away, "you remembered?" 

"I have a thing for dates." You say. 

"A historian and a doctor, wow," he utters. 

You look away, "sorry... if I overstepped. I know some people like that to keep that stuff private. You know, small celebrations." 

"Well, I haven't celebrated since 1941, so... yeah, not on the top of my list." 

His words hang in the air. Your heart races and he sighs. He slowly nears. 

"But..." he drags out the last consonant, "you did something." 

"Bucky..." 

"I can hear your heart. No use pretending. Oh, shit, please don't say it's a surprise party. I knew Sam was up to something," he growls. 

You laugh. It's nice of him to think you'd be included. You shake your head and back up. 

"It's... just from me. Nothing big," you go to your locker and reach into the cooler bag. "I hope you have a sweet tooth--" 

You turn back and find him right in front of you. You flinch. You gasp in surprise. He's fast. And silent. 

"It's er," you look past him, at where he just was, on the other side of the table, "a cupcake. Strawberry swirl with a shortcake crumple on top and cream cheese icing," you cradle the container daintily. 

"Wow, you did that? For me?" 

"I mean, it's a hobby. I always end up giving cookies out to the neighborhood kids," you shrug. "Really, it's small. Nothing big." 

His blue eyes focus on the clear top of the container. He blinks. His jaw tenses and his dimples deepen, the cleft in his chin tautens. You nearly wilt at the heat roiling from him; or that's just you and your stupid self. 

"I... thanks," he reaches to take it, his fingers brushing yours. "That's..." he exhales. "That's nice of you. It's... incredible." He turns it and examines your delicate work. "The last birthday cake I had didn't even have eggs." He looks you in the eye, "rationing." 

"Oh, right," you heave. You forget he's technically older than you. That serum has surely helped. "Well, I hope you enjoy it." 

"I'm sure I will. It's almost a shame to eat it. It's so nice," he says. "At least, it would be a shame to eat it al--" 

"There you are!" A voice calls from the doorway. "Did you forget?" 

You look over at Nat as she puts her hand on her perfectly curved hip. Even in street clothes, you can tell she has an hourglass figure. And she's stunning with her bold red hair and porcelain complexion. 

"I didn't forget," he rebuffs and sends you a goofy smile. "Girlfriends." 

"Ha, right," you sidle away awkwardly and go back to the lab table. He crosses to Nat as she stands by the door. 

"Whatever," she drawls. "Oh, what's that?" 

"Cake. My cake," he insists and holds the container out of her grasp. 

You peek up as he raises his hand and meet Nat's eyes. You blanch. She tilts her head slightly. You offer a weak smile. 

"Just see if you can keep it from me," she returns her attention to him with a snarl. "I mean, we were planning on wrestling anyway." 

She grabs the front of his tee shirt and pulls him to her. She stands on her toes and pushes her lips to his as he angles down to meet her. You quickly look at the forgotten report and search for your notes.  

Ugh, you are so lame. You really thought you'd outgrown crushes. Well, time heals everything, doesn't it? That man is all the proof you need of that. 

🧁

You look at the clock and sigh. You did it again. Time is your nemesis, always eluding you. You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. If you head out now, you might actually get some sleep.  

You open your locker and slide the tablet into your burgundy leather bag. You wish you were as sophisticated as you seemed. From the outside, you have a degree, several, you splurge on labels, you always have good food...  

But you don't do anything. You don't go out with friends. You don't have friends. You have acquaintances.  

A subtle swish prickles your hackles. You peer over as the lab door opens. You fumble your bag at the figure there.  

Bucky cradles his face as he looks around with his uncovered eye. He winces as he sees you and enters, "thank god you're here, doc, think I need stitches."  

"Stitches?" You grimace and put your bag back on the shelf. "How on earth--"  

You hurry over to him as he chuckles, "yeah, I know. I always gotta ruin things."  

You tut and wave him over to the table. You open a drawer and take out a sanitizing wipe. "Let me see."  

He lowers his hand. His eye socket is already discoloured and there's a gash in his brow. Your eyes round.  

"What happened?" You reach to dab away the blood gently.  

He groans, "well, you know, Russians and their vodka."  

You look him in the eye curiously. You continue to wipe away the blood. You try not to ogle him. How many times have you patched him up? Don't be a fool.

"Natasha?" You wonder.  

"Mhm. Well, I mean, she gets rough just typically... in a different context," he laughs again and the insinuation makes you twitch.  "We were arguing..."  

"Arguing," you echo as you toss the wipe and examine the cut. "No stitches. I can glue it shut."  

"Right," he nods, leaning in to give you a better angle. "Anyway, we were kidding around and it got a bit serious. She gets jealous easy, ya know?"  

You uncap the bottle and place a hand gentle on his head, framing his brow. You're as careful as you can be. He hardly seems bothered. You apply the glue precisely.  

"Jealous?" You prompt.  

"Ha, yeah, funny thing," he clucks. "She's jealous of you."  

"Me?" You put the glue away and snort. You busy yourself as you tuck the kit away then go to wash your hands. You feel him watching.  

"That cake you made me. I might have been drooling over it," he says. "You're a hell of a baker. You got a degree in that too?"  

You roll your eyes then face him, once more startled to find him close. You steady yourself as you lean on the table behind you.  

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," you murmur, clearing your throat as it clenches. "You know, it's not my place but she did some nasty work on you."  

"Yeah, she did," he touches his brow and winces. "But you got me, doc. Like always."  

"Yep, well, you're all good, so..."  

You realise how close he is. It would be hard to slip by without brushing him. You freeze and stare at him, confused.  

"I think you forgot something," he says.  

Your brows knit and your lips downturn, "I did?"  

"Yeah," he runs his knuckles up your arm, "aren't you going to kiss it better?"  

You blink. Then you guffaw. Then you feel horribly dumb.  

"Don't be silly," you catch his hand as it crawls along your shoulder.  

He doesn't stop. He flicks your fingers away and tickles your neck. You gulp and lean away.  

"Not being silly," he grabs your chin, his grip firm. "I'm serious. I think it would help," he grins.  

"I don't... alright. I think it's late and I--"  

"Those lips have gotta be just as tender as those hands," he stretches his thumb up to touch your lips. You shiver.   

"Bucky," you say appeasingly. You have to be asleep at the table, dreaming again.  

"You think I can't hear your heart hitch every time I walk in? Hm?" He steps closer to loom over you, "think I can't smell it in your sweat? That I can't smell you getting wet--"  

"Stop! Stop, please," you try to pull away from his hand. "Bucky, that's... please."  

"A little kiss," he growls. "Just here."  

He lets you go and traces the cut. You quiver, blood surging, skin alight. You slowly hover closer and press your lips to his brow. He hums.  

He pulls away. He's too quick for you to elude. You have to no time to react as he takes you off your feet. 

His hands are on your hips. You wriggle. You’re overly conscious of the extra cushion there as his fingers curl into it. You yelp. 

“Please, Bucky,” you push on his hands.  

“I know you want me,” he snarls as he slides his fingers under your ass, groping you as he pushes between your knees. 

“Bucky, it’s just--” 

“It’s just...” he interjects as he leans in until his nose touches yours, “my birthday and I know exactly what I want.” 

[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is chapter 10 of the series and the final chapter. All previous chapters are on the masterlist

☞ link: click here

pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Female reader

author's note: I'm so sorry this took a week to get out. I've been working on some other things such as requests and some new works. I think I've really upped my writing, and I hope this chapter as well as future works showcase that. Peace out, pretties ✌︎︎.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

336 excruciating hours.

You counted every second of them like you were being punished for something you couldn’t quite name.

Maybe you deserved it. Maybe you didn’t.

Either way, you’d made the choice, hadn’t you? You’d stood there, staring into Bakugo’s eyes with your heart pounding so loudly you couldn’t even hear yourself think, and then you’d done it. You’d said it.

“I’m in love with you.”

And then you ran. Bolted like a coward before you could hear what he had to say, before you could watch him tear you apart or, worse, reject you quietly with those eyes that always made you feel so small and young and not enough.

You hadn’t spoken since.

You didn’t exist to him anymore, or that’s what you told yourself whenever you caught his stare across the courtyard, across the classroom, heavy and burning and angry.

You told yourself he wasn’t looking for you. He was just glaring at the space you happened to be standing in. He did that sometimes.

But it was different with Sero. Because Sero noticed. He was the one who didn’t make you feel like you had to hide, not now. Maybe it’s because of his own unrequited love situation with Kimiko.

Either way, he didn’t flinch when you showed up at his dorm door with tired eyes and the weight of Bakugo’s silence sitting on your chest.

He just smiled and handed you the controller or the bag of chips or asked if you wanted to watch a dumb movie with him.

And you did. A lot.

And maybe you spent too much time with him lately, but it was easier than facing the bomb you’d dropped at Bakugo’s feet.

“Hey,” Sero’s voice snapped you back to the moment, a gentle nudge against your shoulder. You were sitting on the grass outside the dorms, sun dipping low on the horizon, warmth fading into evening chill. “You okay?”

You nodded, smiling, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“From all the running away you’ve been doing?” he teased.

You groaned and dropped your face into your hands. “I hate you.”

Sero laughed. “No, you don’t.”

No, you don’t. But it didn’t make it less miserable to hear him say it. You’d been avoiding Bakugo at every chance, ducking behind Todoroki at lunch, slipping out of training before he could bark at you, and practically hiding in Kaminari’s room when Bakugo walked into the common area.

You were ashamed. Embarrassed. Your stomach twisted every time you thought about how stupid you’d sounded. How desperate.

“Oi.”

That voice.

You didn’t need to look up. You knew exactly who it was. You felt it before you heard it. The heavy weight of his glare. The tense grip on the air around you.

You smelled the faintest whiff of burnt caramel. He always smelled like that. Ever since you were kids. It's a smell you've gotten accustomed to whether you'd like to admit it or not.

Sero’s eyes widened. “Oh shit...”

You lifted your face out of your hands slowly. Bakugo was standing there, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly you wondered if his teeth would crack from the pressure.

His red eyes flickered from Sero to you, and you could feel the heat coming off him. He was mad, mad.

“Get up,” he growled.

You blinked. “What?”

“Now.”

You stared at him like he was insane. Like maybe he was still mad you confessed and was finally gonna blow up at you in front of everyone. “Bakugo, I—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Sero gave you a helpless glance, half worried, half this is what you get, but he didn’t stop you when you stood on shaky legs.

You followed Bakugo without thinking, without speaking, your heart thudding wildly in your chest as he stalked ahead of you toward the school.

You thought maybe he was gonna kill you.

You hoped he wasn’t.

But then he shoved the door to the rooftop open, and you stepped into the wind and sky with him, the sun dipped below the horizon.

He turned on you the second the door shut.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked, marching towards you.

You backed up instinctively, hands up. “What are you talking about?”

“For two weeks,” he snarled, his voice sharp, almost breaking, “you’ve been running.”

“Because... I was embarrassed!” you snapped back, the heat finally reaching you. “I told you something I shouldn’t have! I—” your voice cracked, and you shook your head. “I didn’t want to hear you say you didn’t feel the same.”

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You fucking idiot.”

You flinched. “Okay, I deserve that—”

“No, you don’t get it,” he hissed, stepping closer. “You ran away before I could say anything. You didn’t even let me breathe. You just dropped that on me and left me standing there like an asshole!”

You swallowed hard. “I was scared.”

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “Me too.”

You stared. “What?"

He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “You think it’s easy? Do you think I didn’t know? I’ve always known.”

You shook your head. “Bakugo—”

“Shut up,” he said, but not mean this time. Soft. Frustrated. “Listen to me for once.”

You shut your mouth.

He took another step. He was close now. You could feel the warmth rolling off him.

“I’ve spent years figuring out how to deal with you,” he growled. “Years of you hanging around, annoying me, pushing me, getting under my skin. You think I didn’t notice you were always there? You think I didn’t see you during training, busting your ass to catch up with me? You think I didn’t see you cry with Sero that day when you thought no one was looking?”

You froze.

“I saw you,” he said, voice rough now. “I always fucking see you!”

Your throat tightened. “Bakugo—”

He cut you off again, stepping even closer, until your back hit the railing, and there was nowhere else to go.

“You pissed me off,” he said, his hands gripping the rail on either side of you.

“Every time you smiled at someone else. Every time you sat with fucking Sero like you didn’t belong next to me. You made me crazy.”

Your heart was going to explode. You were sure of it.

“I didn’t know what to do with that,” he admitted. “I’m not good at this shit. But I’m good at fighting, and I’ll fight for you if I have to.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, breathless. “What… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you too, dumbass.”

The world tilted even more on its axis.

The sky spun. You weren’t sure if it was him or you that moved first, but suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and desperate and real. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him like he was afraid you’d disappear again. Like he was anchoring himself.

You kissed him back with everything you had. You’d spent years holding back. You weren’t holding back now.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “You run from me again, I’ll blow up your room.”

You laughed, breathless and dizzy. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he muttered. Then he kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did. Maybe you did.

You tangled your fingers in his shirt, holding him there, holding yourself steady and firm.

Every fight you’d ever had with him, every push and pull, every insult, every accidental touch that lingered too long, it all made sense now.

You were his. He was yours.

Not Kimiko's yours.

You whispered it into his skin when he finally let you breathe again. “I love you.”

His answer was a kiss. And that was more than enough.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes @snoozebunz @wowbonanza-blog @holobean @littlestinkybastardman @closehereyes @keiva1000 @js-favnanadoongi @haruesme @qyuin @adhdduckie @harryzcherry

[xylusbible]

My Ll’s Kink Headcannons ⊹ ࣪ ˖

💫 disclaimer - this is all just my personal opinion of what i feel like the boys would be into. you don’t have to agree with me, this is just for fun. these would all be consensual and talked about beforehand between the mc/you and them.

💫 word count: 1.6k

💫 caution banner & dividers by @cafekitsune; character banners by me !

💫 18+ minors DNI ‼️🔞

💫 this is my first post for the fandom ! hope you guys like it x

Sylus ✰

• daddy/sir kink - starting with the obvious (imo). in the typical dominant fashion but honestly, to me, more as a nurturing role. we always see how much he cares for mc and i feel like sylus, even when being rougher with you, would also be the best with praise and sweet talk during sex to make you feel as loved as possible.

• sensory deprivation - i just know that he would love to blindfold and/or handcuff you. (i’m iffy about him using a gag because i feel like he wouldn’t want to be deprived of any whines/moans/babbles). seeing you squirming but knowing you enjoy him having full control over you as much as he does.

• size kink - not in a body shape way (let’s be so fr, sylus would love you no matter body type you have) but in a height way. i think he likes to be able to tower over you and just have an extra amount of leeway for dominance.

• pet play - (obviously‼️) even though i think this could go both ways (as we’ve seen before), i think he would love to have you in full cat gear (collar, ears, tail) and to actually get to treat you like his actual kitten. he would love to have you sit at his feet while he watches tv as he pets your head, or holds onto your collar by a leash while he fucks you.

• breath play (asphyxiation) - (this is solely based off of the one pose where he has his hand around mc’s neck) i think he would specifically like doing it when you’re near orgasm. would talk you up to getting off and then would wrap his hand around your neck and put enough pressure for you to start seeing a bit hazily before letting go as soon as you reach climax.

• body worship - sylus is such a genuine simp to me. i think during the most tender moments of sex or even just leading up to sex in general, he’d want to take his time kissing as much of you as possible from your face to your arms to stomach to your toes etc. i think he would just genuinely love you so much, physically and emotionally, that he can never get enough of you.

Rafayel ✰

- mini disclaimer: i personally only see raf as a complete sub, so i’m sorry if you disagree, because all of his will apply to that 🙏

• submission - he’d submit to you in every way. would make you work to get there, but if you do it right, you can reduce him to whining and tears as you ride or blow him. and i’ll say it !! — he’d love being pegged 🗣️

• pain play - the entire time he’d act like he hates it but would love being slapped and/or shoved —spanked and/or flogged. loves the aftermath when he gets to look at himself in the mirror and see marks that you left purposefully where his clothes will cover but that he’ll get to reminisce about when he’s alone.

• bratting - we all know he loves to give attitude and talk back. he’d do it until you’ve had absolutely enough of him. until you were ready to punish him and get him to finally shut up. would love to have your hand over his mouth out of annoyance while you ride or fuck him.

• praise/degradation - i have a headcannon for most bratty pretty boys (who know they’re pretty) that they love degradation during sex because they don’t hear it as often as praise. when you have a face like raf’s and you’re as artistically talented as he is, people often admire his beauty and will tell him so as well as go on and on about how talented and gifted he is. but only you get to tell him what a whiny slut he is and how he acts like a whore as soon as he even thinks about being underneath you.

• humiliation - since he lies for fun, and adores attention, i think in a sexual sense he likes being caught or called out by you. likes when you tell him that he’s a bad liar. loves to hear you call him small and useless during sex, even though he’ll whine and scoff and disagree.

• orgasm denial - plays into the humiliation and bratting kinks. will whine and beg when you punish him by telling him he’s not allowed to cum until you do. will have frustrated tears pool his eyes as he does his absolute best to obey because he knows the next punishment would be much worse, but doesn’t let it show it in his expressions.

Xavier ✰

• pet play (both ways) - i see xavier as very much a switch ! specifically for this kink i think he’d get embarrassed from the pet pov, but genuinely loves being taken care of by you in the way that you pet his hair and call him your good boy. the other way around i think he’d be a mostly gentle owner. would love to take care of you like an actual pet but would discipline you nastily 🙂‍↕️ true duality. our boy.

• dom/sub (both ways)- (honestly every Ll having this) kind of alike to pet play, but i think he’d love taking care of you during sex, letting you become completely subby with him and having him tell you exactly what to do and how. and i also think he’d love to do that the same way around as like a service top. i think you could definitely ride him to the point of having him in tears.

• somnophilia - i think he’d enjoy it the most as the receiver. being woken up by blowjob or by you riding him. him raspily moaning in your ear first thing in the morning. the only time he’d be willing to give up sleep.

• edging - i think he’d actually be such a tease. but also as an effect of his possessiveness would love to have you for as long as possible each time you’re having sex, so he would drag it out for as long as he can by building you up as close as possible to orgasm with his fingers or tongue, before pulling away completely once he knows you’re about to finish. and doing it over and over again until you’re a sobbing mess.

Caleb ✰

• brat taming - oh brother i could talk about this for hours. he loves it when you talk back or act bratty, because he loves to remind you whose in control. will let you get all of your defiance and whining out before pushing you down and telling you that he’s had enough with your attitude.

• daddy/sir/captain kink - purely loves having a title. likes the easy display of authority. loves to hear you whimper it into his ear when he’s fucking you, knowing you call him that because you’re fully aware that you’re only his.

• pain play - would have the most fun spanking, flogging, paddling. would love to give you punishments for the slightest acts of defiance and reducing you to tears which always ends in you becoming super needy and comforting-touch starved. his favorite.

• praise/degradation - has a really good balance of both. calling you beautiful and gorgeous when he has you underneath him while simultaneously commenting about how you whine like a needy whore, and clench around him greedily like a slut.

• shibari/rigging - possessiveness 101, any chance he has to keep you in place he’ll take it. would tie your wrists and ankles together or to the bed post and keep you from squirming or moving away from him when he fingers you or eats you out. keeps your wrists tied together so he can hold them when he fucks you and you have no option to get away from him.

• breeding - the thought of getting you pregnant is fuel for him honestly. his dream is to see you round and pregnant with his children and even if you’re not actively trying, he loves to pretend. would salivate at the thought of coming inside of you and knocking you up to have another type of claim over you.

• orgasm denial - would love to deny you of orgasms after you misbehave or brat. “only good girls get to cum”. would enjoy dragging it out for as long as you can handle it.

Zayne ✰

- may be a bit ooc because i play zayne’s scenes the least ! (still love him though)

• roleplay - even though i think he would lowkey hate it at first, until you actually try it with him once and he quite likes it, doctor/patient roleplay. going through the motions of an exam, with you in a hospital gown, and having him examine your body with gloved hands. letting him finger you while you gasp in surprise while he pretends it’s like any other exam.

• size kink - i think he also likes the height difference, sees you as someone to protect in all situations including sex. likes to treat you as something precious and cute since you’re a good amount of inches shorter than him (sorry if i’m wrong tall folks)

• praise - absolutely loves telling you how beautiful you are and how precious each little sound you make is when he fucks you. loves to hear every moan and whine and encourage more as he takes care of you.

• body worship - like sylus, would love you from head to toe. would take his time kissing and nibbling every inch of you he can reach. wouldn’t care how impatient you got as he makes sure not an inch of your body isn’t covered in his love.

• submission - has his bbg tendencies. would love to hand you the reigns every once in awhile and let you boss him around a bit. finds it cute and sexy and likes to have you on top of him taking his control. likes to turn off his brain every once and awhile and let you take care of him.

—

tysm for reading :3 lmk what you think or if you agree 🙂‍↕️ my asks are open if you have any ideas you’d want me to write out.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Clueless Shenanigans

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: the boys accidentally bring you (5 ish) into danger, but you don’t mind—because you have no idea what’s going on

“Dean, are you serious?” Sam kept his voice at a low hiss as he argued with his older brother.

“It’s just a couple of ghouls—blow off a couple heads and we’ll be out of there before she even wakes up,” Dean assured his little brother.

“Dean, she’s 5 years old, she shouldn’t be anywhere near ghouls—“

“Well I don’t want to leave her alone at the motel with demons after us,” Dean snapped, dropping his carefree facade. “This just seems like the lesser of two dangers until we can drop her off with Donna, ok?”

“Fine,” Sam sighed. “I get it.” Sam shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your slumbering form in the back seat.

“De?” You mumbled, tugging at Sam’s jacket and peaking an eye open.

“Shh,” Dean whispered. “Just go back to sleep. Lock Baby up if you hear anything, ok?” He said before shutting you in the car and toting his shot gun.

“We’ll be done before she wakes up, huh?” Sam grumbled.

“Quit whining, she’ll go right back to sleep,” Dean responded. “Now let’s go kill some ghouls.”

…

You did not go right back to sleep. Instead, you took Baby’s spare set of keys out of Sam’s jacket pocket and slid them into the ignition so that the radio sang to life. Then, you shuffled around in the glove box until you found a cassette—the one Sam let you play when Dean wasn’t in the car, which wasn’t often.

You cranked the sound, your favorite song ringing through the air as you slipped out of the Impala and started your own dance party.

…

“Dean, back door!” Sam yelled, rushing after the three ghouls that escaped the back way while Sam and Dean were taking out the few that attacked them.

Dean blew the head off the last ghoul in the house before following Sam outside, his mind reeling—

The ghouls were headed towards you.

…

Dean’s heart did a summersault when he saw you outside of the car, some chick song blasting from the Impala while you danced around barefoot in the grass. You looked like you didn’t have a care in the world as three ghouls approached you.

“Kid!” Dean alerted the ghouls to his presence by shouting, but he didn’t care. “Get in the car!”

“I can’t,” you insisted. “I locked it, just like you said!” Unperturbed, you went right back to dancing.

One ghoul rushed at you faster than the others—he would get there before Dean, there was no stopping it.

Bang!

The resounding echo of a gunshot caught Dean’s attention—Sam emerged from behind a tree, his shotgun raised.

The ghoul flopped to the ground minus a head, but you didn’t even notice it—instead, your focus was on Sam as you clapped your hands over your ear.

“That was loud!” You yelled. You gave Sam your “grumpy face” before you dropped your hands and turned your attention to Dean. “De, come dance with me!”

Dean’s attention on you distracted him from the ghouls until it was almost too late. When the closer one jumped at him, Dean swung his gun around and slammed it into the side of the ghoul’s head.

“Not now!” Dean replied. “I’m a little busy!”

The other ghoul was going after you again, but Sam jumped between you and the monster.

“Sammy!” You grinned. “Will you dance with me?”

“Just a second.” Sam offered you half a grin before he swung his gun around and blasted the head off the ghoul.

“Hey!” You whined, covering your ears.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam insisted, his gaze focused on his brother’s fight; Sam couldn’t get a clear shot of the ghoul without risking hitting Dean.

“Sammy, dance with me!” You tugged at your big brother’s sleeve.

“Hey, hey let’s get in the car ok?” Sam offered—if he couldn’t help Dean, he could at least keep you safe.

“I locked Baby, just like Dean said,” you answered. “De has the other keys.” Your eyes were finally starting to wander, so Sam grabbed onto your shoulders and swung you around to face him; he couldn’t let you see the headless bodies of the ghouls, he wouldn’t.

“You’re right, let-let’s dance ok?” Sam waved his arms around in the most ridiculous way he could think of. It worked—you were giggling, your attention completely on Sam even as Dean fired a round into the final ghoul.

“Hey what’s this?” Dean demanded, his keys jangling in his fist as he unlocked Baby. “Having a dance party while I do all the work?”

“Dance with us, De!” You demanded.

“Oh no no no.” Dean shook his head, reaching into the car and popping the cassette tape out. “Nu uh, none of this chick music while I’m in the car, no way.” He turned around and picked you up, dropping you down into the backseat of the car and smiling when you giggled. “Now you’re gonna sit here with me and listen to real music while Sammy finishes up work, ok?”

“Dean—“

Dean cranked his Metallica tape before Sam could start whining; “finishing up work” meant burning all the bodies—the worst part of hunting.

“Sorry, music’s too loud,” Dean mimed, and Sam rolled his eyes and turned around. Someone had to stay with you and keep you distracted from the gore and death around you, and Sam would have to live with the short straw this time around.

But he was gonna make Dean regret it on the next hunt.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

[fluentmoviequoter]

Chemistry Partners

Requested by anonymous but I lost the full request

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!PO!reader

Summary: Tim and Lucy assist you in locating a parolee in violation of his conditions. Lucy notices the undeniable chemistry between you and Tim, but doesn't expect Tim's response when she points it out.

Warnings: fluff, mention of prostitution, threat against r

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“CDCR, probation. How may I help you?” you say to answer the phone.

With the receiver tucked between your ear and shoulder, you look at your current list of parolees. The spreadsheet shows three red lines, and you frown as you read the names.

“Hi, I’m calling about Dexter Wheeler,” the woman on the phone says. “I believe he’s one of your parolees.”

Sitting up straighter, you reply, “Yes, ma’am, he is.”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you and I’m sure it’s nothing, but he hasn’t been to work in three days. His conditions for employment allow him sick time and personal time, but he hasn’t notified us, and he isn’t answering the phone.”

“Okay, I am supposed to have a check-in with him tomorrow,” you read from your screen. “I’ll look into this and let you know. Thank you for the call.”

“Of course. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Nothing specific, no. Is there-  Did you notice any unusual behavior before his absence?”

“He had been a bit distant,” she answers. “Unwilling to answer questions, easily agitated.”

“Did he make any threats or become overly belligerent?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just figured he was tired or maybe he wanted another job.”

“I’ll certainly find out what has been going on with him.”

“Thank you. Would you mind calling me back after you speak to him? I want to be sure he’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll keep you updated. Thank you.”

You return the receiver to the phone cradle and navigate to Mr. Wheeler’s parole file. He hasn’t checked in with you recently, and he hasn’t filed any change of employment or violated any conditions of his parole in the past. He’s never been overly kind, but he was trying to stay on the straight and narrow when you first met him. You think your parolees deserve a second chance, but they must be willing to do the work and prove that their second chance won’t be wasted.

With your phone on speaker, you call Mr. Wheeler. It rings repeatedly until an automated message alerts you that Dexter’s voicemail is full. That’s not a good sign.

You log out of your computer, gather your things, and tell your supervisor you’re doing a surprise visit. She encourages you to alert the police, and you nod before you leave the office. There’s no reason to think Mr. Wheeler will do anything rash, but it is still a good idea to have the police on standby.

“My favorite podcast buddy!” Nell exclaims when she answers your call. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Nell,” you reply, hitting your blinker. “I’m going to a parolee’s house; he hasn’t been at work for three days and he isn’t answering my calls. Any chance you could put some officers on standby for me?”

“Of course. What’s the address?”

You recite it from memory, then thank Nell. With the promise of another true crime party, you end the call and approach Mr. Wheeler’s apartment complex. It’s neither the safest nor the most dangerous in Los Angeles. You survey your immediate surroundings and exit the car to walk up the cracking concrete walkway.

The buzzer echoes in the dim hallway before you exit and look toward Mr. Wheeler’s balcony. One of his neighbors comes down the stairs and says your name.

“Mrs. Ritter,” you reply with a smile. “How are you? How are the kids?”

She sighs and clicks her tongue. “Still wilder than Tarzan.”

You laugh at her unusual analogy. She was one of your first parolees, and you’re proud of her progress in her personal and professional life.

“You here for Mr. Wheeler?” she inquires after hearing you’re doing well. “He has been holed up in that little pigsty since Friday night.”

“Really?” you ask. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“Still makin’ noise and it don’t smell no worse, if that’s what you’re askin’. Come on in, honey.”

She opens the gate for you, wishes you luck, and walks to a freshly detailed but clearly used BMW. You wave to her, then walk up the steps to Mr. Wheeler’s apartment.

“Mr. Wheeler!” you call after your knocks go unanswered. You say your name before you add, “I need to talk to you about your job.”

“I quit!” he yells from inside.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Dexter. Open the door and we can talk.”

“I open this door, and we won’t be talking!”

At that, you step away from the door and move back down the stucco hallway.

“Last chance to work with me,” you call.

He throws something against the door, which rattles on its hinges, and you pull your phone from your pocket. With a quick text to Nell, you have backup on the way. Hopefully, you can talk to Mr. Wheeler after the situation is de-escalated.

Less than five minutes later, a police car parks behind your sedan and two officers exit it. You meet them at the bottom of the stairs and open the gate to let them into the apartment complex.

“Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” you say as you lead them up the stairs.

“No problem,” Officer Bradford replies.

“I’m Lucy Chen,” Lucy introduces. “And this is Sergeant Tim Bradford.”

“Nice to meet you,” you respond. “So, my parolee, Dexter Wheeler, lives in apartment 34R. His employer called me earlier because he violated his agreement with them and stopped showing up three days ago. He wasn’t answering my calls, so I came over and knocked on his door. He told me that if he opened the door, we wouldn’t speak, and then threw something at the door.”

Tim nods, then looks around the small hallway. “Any of the neighbors say anything?”

“One of the women who lives downstairs implied that his apartment is – for lack of a better word – disgusting, and that he’s been locked in it since he returned home from work four or so days ago.”

Tim’s eyes remain locked on yours as you speak, and he mirrors your movements as you turn slightly to face Mr. Wheeler’s apartment.

“You want us to take him into custody or just assist in getting inside?” Tim asks.

You sigh, then ask, “What do you recommend?”

“We lock him up,” he answers. “He threw something at you and threatened you.”

“But not in that order,” you remind him with a small smile.

“That’s worse, that’s practically carrying out a threat against a government official.”

“You know this guy,” Lucy points out. “What do you think would benefit him the most?”

“If you’d be willing, I think one more chance might nudge him toward the right decision. If he decides to go the hard way, do whatever you need to do.”

Tim nods while Lucy agrees. He steps to the side and gestures for you to pass him, moving you farther from the door. While your back is turned, Lucy raises her brows and looks between you and Tim. He shakes his head once sternly, then leads Lucy to the door.

Tim knocks with the side of his closed fist and calls, “LAPD! Open the door, we’ve got a few questions for you.”

Dexter doesn’t answer, so Lucy tries, “We just need to see that you’re okay, Mr. Wheeler.”

He still doesn’t answer, so Tim wraps his fingers around the door handle. It turns about halfway, then stops.

“Mr. Wheeler, we know you’re in there. Because you’re on parole, we can come inside without a warrant,” Tim explains. “Last chance to comply.”

“I’m not on parole!” he finally replies.

Tim raises his hands and drops them back to his sides as you deadpan, “Oh, I must’ve been mistaken.”

“We’re coming in, Mr. Wheeler,” Lucy says.

Something else hits the door with a thud, and Tim steps back before bringing his foot up. He kicks the door beside the lock and rushes inside when it splinters and swings open. Lucy lays her hand on her taser and follows Tim while you wait in the hall. A door opens farther down, and someone leans out to see the cause of the commotion.

“Everything’s under control,” you assure them. “Stay inside.”

Lucy returns to the door and steps out before taking a deep breath. “Tim’s bringing him out.”

“Is it bad?” you ask.

Lucy’s eyes widen as she nods. You message your supervisor that Wheeler’s living conditions are unsuitable, and he’s being taken into police custody.

“What?” Dexter asks as Tim shoves him out of the door.

As he closes the door, you catch a whiff of the interior and fight the urge to cover your nose. Tim clears his throat as he looks at you.

“Mr. Wheeler, why haven’t you attended work this week?” you ask.

“I quit,” he tells you.

“Well, you have to tell me that. It’s a violation of your parole.”

“You don’t need to know my every move. I’m not a child.”

“Is that why your home is so dirty?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, it is. You also failed to answer my calls earlier or open the door for me. Two more violations.”

“I was busy!” he defends.

He attempts to step toward you, but Tim keeps a tight grip on his handcuffs and yanks him back. Wheeler falls, grunting when he hits the concrete landing.

“He was indeed busy,” Lucy tells you.

Your brows raise, and Tim rubs his jaw before he says, “There’s a prostitute in there.”

“He took a prostitute in there?!” you exclaim.

You’re not surprised that he engaged in a criminal offense but by the prostitute’s willingness to go into such a residence. Lucy takes a deep breath before she knocks and reenters the apartment. Almost immediately, she exits again with a scantily-clad woman in handcuffs, closes the door, and exhales.

“Well, Mr. Wheeler,” you begin. “The good news is, I’m not your parole officer anymore.”

He smiles up at you, and Tim ‘accidentally’ knocks his boot against Dexter’s side.

“Bad news,” Tim continues. “You’re going back to jail for numerous parole violations and engaging in prostitution.”

“You’re on parole?” the woman asks.

“That is what’s bothering you?” you and Tim ask simultaneously.

While she attempts to justify her actions, Tim radios for another unit to meet them at the apartment complex and transport the two arrested individuals before you.

As you end a call with your supervisor, Tim and Lucy talk to the officers escorting Mr. Wheeler and his female companion to lock up. You slide your phone into your pocket and wait for them to finish what they’re doing.

After the door closes and the other officers drive toward the main road, Lucy turns to Tim with a wide smile.

“What?” he asks, waving you over.

“Hello?” she exclaims. “Chemistry what? You and the parole officer are like a perfect match!”

“Chemistry?” Tim repeats just as you reach them. “With my wife?”

“Chemistry?” you say, just as Tim had. “Tim Bradford, do you have a crush on me?”

Tim sighs as Lucy looks rapidly between you and Tim.

“Careful,” you warn, while Tim snaps, “You’re going to get whiplash, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about it.”

“I have to get back to work,” you sigh. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Lucy replies. “I- you’re married?!”

Tim rolls his eyes, pats your shoulder, and follows you to your car. Lucy watches as he opens your door for you and leans forward to tell you something that makes you smile.

“Tell me everything,” Lucy requests as they return to the shop.

Tim doesn’t reply while he follows your car out of the apartment parking lot. Of course, he knows you are perfect for him, but something about hearing it from someone else makes him love you even more.

“Why don’t we get attached to all of her calls?” Lucy asks instead.

“Why are you still talking?” Tim counters.

Lucy purses her lips, then decides, “The sarcastic comments are more enjoyable when your wife is around.”

Most things are, Tim thinks. He’s glad to know you’re safe, and as Lucy continues asking questions he won’t answer, he thinks about you and what you should do this weekend. It will probably be easier to create a plan after he gets the smell of Dexter Wheeler’s apartment off him and his shop and his wedding ring back on his finger.

[hedwig221b]

hi sweetheart I hope this finds you on a good day at a good time I was wondering if you had any fic recs for like either the hale fire doesnt happen or the hale fam lives like what were ur favourite fics of that trope if you enjoy it no worries if not (preferably stiles/derek) but I'll read anything you recommend hv a good rest of your day 🫶

hiii 💕💕💕 call me a sweetheart, and I'll rec anything lmao (but I do love that tag... Hale family is such a good topic to explore, so much good tea)

sanctuary where i stand by ceserabeau

"We're happy to have you, Stiles," Laura says, and nudges Derek hard, "Aren't we?" "Of course," Derek says through gritted teeth. When he looks at Stiles, the kid has a smug grin on his face. What a little shit. AU where Stiles is sent to the Hale pack to be their emissary.

Don't You Worry (Stiles) by Watermelon Wolves (RogueMarieL)

After Scott was bitten, Stiles told a very small lie in exchange for a very huge prize -- pack membership -- and he has spent the intervening years winning every Best Fake Boyfriend award on the books. Now, however, Scott wants to be in an actual relationship, and Stiles is losing his pack. Enter Derek.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Ain't Nothing so Good as the Cake and Eating it by sofonisba_found

Derek thinks he's doing alright in life, with his family at his side and a job he loves. Despite his family's concerns he remains adamant that he doesn't need a mate, afraid to take the risk of letting anyone close enough to try to hurt his family again. That is until he realizes that his true mate has been right under his nose for years, and that now through his inaction he may lose him.

what a big heart i have (better to love you with) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Stiles has a massive thing for Derek Hale. This is not news. Stiles, after all, has been carrying a torch for Derek ever since they bumped into each other at a taco cart at the start of his freshman year. But what is news? With no hope of ever capturing Derek’s attention, Stiles is thinking it might be time to let that torch go. Try to let it burn out. (Derek might have something to say about that.)

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Oh God, He's Hot by lupus (lupuswrites)

When Stiles came home a couple of days before junior year started from a summer away, he was a little more than excited to see his best friend Derek, especially now that he’d finally gotten the courage to act upon his long standing crush on the guy. There’s just one problem; somewhere in the span of three months puberty hit Derek like the bus hit Regina George and all of the sudden Derek is hot. And Stiles isn’t the only one who’s noticed.

Once Upon a Dream by gryvon

Stiles has been dreaming of the Hale family burning alive since he was a child. After being locked in Eichen for a year, Stiles learns to keep his visions to himself. That doesn't stop him from keeping an eye on Derek Hale while he waits for Kate Argent to make her move. Only watching Derek becomes loving Derek and stopping Derek and Kate from getting together turns into Stiles dating Derek Hale. He's in love with Derek but his visions haven't stopped, only now he has to watch Derek die with the rest of his family. He'll do anything to keep that dream from becoming reality.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Growing Up With You by WhereAreTheBreaks

It all started with a strange scent in the grocery store, and now Derek can't imagine his life without the hyperactive little shit that is Stiles Stilinski. He didn't know why he always felt the need to be close to the boy but his mom's knowing looks certainly weren't helping.

Bonded to a Spark by AMatchInWater

Derek comes back to Beacon Hills after living in New York with Laura as a deputy. His mom wants to retire and has enlisted Stiles to be their emissary in training since he's such a successful spark. Derek hates all of it at first until he cracks when Stiles wakes him up in the middle of the night to fix the wards, and he starts to fall for the Omega living in his home.

Emissary by dragon_temeraire

To keep the peace, Stiles agrees to be emissary to the Hale pack.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property. Except, apparently, Stiles. Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

When You're Close I Feel the Sparks by Leslie_Knope

The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles' poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year. “We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life. An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Like a Baby Duck by ALoza

Derek hoists Stiles to his feet, and the six-year-old topples forward into the ten-year-old’s chest. He grunts and wipes at his cheek. “Sorry,” Derek blurts, eyes wide with worry, as he steadies him. Stiles smiles and shrugs, “‘s okay.” Derek smiles back and crosses his arms, “Okay, you have to be the prince and I’ll be the knight that has to rescue you, okay?” Stiles nods, “Okay.” “Go to sleep in the treehouse and when I kiss you, you have to wake up,” Derek instructs.

They Don't Know How Long It Takes (Waiting For a Love Like This) by crossroadswrite

Everyone knows that soulmates have a 86% rate of successful marriages, but everyone also knows that for you to find your soulmate you'll need an incredible amount of luck and to go through the hardest, most marking moment of your life for the bond to kick in and call them to you. If you're a werewolf, then you won't need to wait that long. Some people will say you just know, others will call bullshit. Derek is four when he meets his soulmate and he doesn't know because no one will tell him. Not until he's older. And it'll be a bit of an unprecedent case given that he met his soulmate even before he was born.

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them." The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek

[peanutalergy]

housewife ♡ s.r. × reader

tags: fluff but there's maybe lowk a bit of angst in the beginning? idk but dw it's cute; husband!spencer, fem!reader, GIRLDAD!SPENCER they have a daughter who's named luna because of my bsf cough cough we don't talk about it; maybe probably ooc sorry

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: I hate this somehow more than the last one yay !! this is just a quick little thing I wrote a few days ago when I was bored in class so yeah it sucks sorry guys

“baby, i'm so so so sorry”

you don't even need to read any of the other fifteen messages spencer sent you to figure out what happened—it’s the third time this month.

“there were some problems with the paperwork from the case

i'll have to be home late

i'm so sorry, sweetheart

it won't happen again

i'll make it up to you, i swear”

among many other apologetic texts, all things he's told you an uncountable amount of times before.

you just reply with a that’s okay and start putting away the silverware and candles from the nice dinner you were trying to prepare. you put away the food after making yourself a plate, and you sit down on the sofa to eat while you stare at your phone screen, the messages he's sent.

you can't be mad at him. he warned you about his job before you got together, and you promised him you could handle it. you’d feel almost guilty if you were angry, as you know how important his job is, both to him and to the country. he's saving people's lives, getting rid of the bad guys, as he likes to tell your daughter. you can't be mad at him for working, not when that's what he does. but, god, were you upset.

he had promised to get home before the sunset, and it was now almost midnight. when you picked up your daughter from her grandparents’, where she had been staying to give you and spencer some alone time—if he had gotten home when you planned it—even though she begged to stay up for her dad, you had to put her to bed with the promise of seeing him tomorrow.

when he gets home and sees you doing the dishes from the dinner, he immediately walks up to you and hugs you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck, peppering soft kisses there.

“i'm so sorry, baby.”

you nod, repeating the words you've probably said the most ever since getting married: “it's okay.”

“it's not, though. i shouldn't be leaving you girls like this so often.”

you hum and stay quiet for a while, until you finish up the dishes and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a smile. “it's okay, spence.”

“stop saying that, it's not okay. i haven't seen you and luna in what feels like forever, and when i get home, she's already asleep, and you're upset. it's terrible. you shouldn't be so accepting of that.”

“it's not your fault, honey, really. this is your job, i can’t blame you for doing it.”

“i could find a new job, then.”

you stare up at him silently, processing his words for a moment, not knowing whether he's joking or not. you want him to be, because otherwise, you'll let him do it, and you don't want to be the reason he leaves a group of people he loves so much.

“i’m serious. i could be a professor full-time. or stay at home, if you want to go back to work.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling as he speaks in that dulcet tone.

“no, but you can't. you love it too much. you love the team too much.”

“i love you more, though”

you chuckle, shaking your head while you talk “it's like when house tried to quit being a doctor. he couldn't.”

“no, but i can. i really can. i’m willing to leave the team, they'll get it. i want to be a better husband and father, i don't… you know what happened to hotch and haley. i don't want you…” he can't even bring himself to say it. as he trails off, he shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, before looking back at you.

you stay quiet, your gaze falling from his eyes to a random spot behind him as you think of what to say. but when you hear the bedroom door creaking and soft footsteps, you both look at the hallway and see a tiny girl rubbing her eyes and mumbling sleepily.

“daddy?”

your tiny girl.

you smile and your arms fall from his neck, freeing him to go over to her. he lets go of you, albeit hesitantly, and takes her in his arms instead, twirling her around in the air as he gives her kisses.

“oh, my sweet girl, why aren't you asleep?” he asks with a chuckle as she wraps her arms around his neck and hides her face in his chest—hugging him similarly to how you were just seconds ago.

“i wanted to see you, daddy.” she mumbles, her tired voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, making him look up at you with a pout like he hasn't seen the full extent of her cuteness many times before.

as he tries convincing her to go back to bed, he unknowingly and simultaneously convinces you it might not be that bad of an idea for him to leave the bau. seeing him tuck her into her bed like that made you wonder if he should ever be apart from her again.

so, as soon as you're alone again, this time after having showered and lied down, you gather up the courage to bring up the subject again.

“you're sure you want to quit?”

“yes.” he says with a certainty you'd never heard from him or anyone else before “yes, i'm so sure. i'd love to be able to spend more time with you and luna, to have dinner at home more than twice a week. i should've thought about it sooner, really.”

you hum and shuffle closer to him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and whispering “okay.”

suddenly, you hear a weak knock on the door, and it's opened before either of you respond. luna walks in and stands in front of the bed, holding her stuffed giraffe to her heart and looking at you before speaking softly, “mommy... please, can i sleep with you tonight?”

“are you okay, baby?” you ask, a worried tone to your voice as you pull away from spencer to make space for her.

she crawls into bed, lying down between the two of you and wrapping her tiny arms around him, though they're too short to go fully around his torso, “i miss daddy.”

he chuckles and presses a kiss on her forehead, putting his arm out, where you lie your head. he brings his other hand to her back, rubbing circles on it and holding her close against his chest in order to get her to sleep, “i know, sweetie, i'm right here.”

soon enough, she's snoring.

after a long moment, you tilt up your head to check that spencer's still awake, and when you see his open eyes smiling at you, you whisper, “i'd love to go back to work.”

he lets out a breath, barely a chuckle as his hand around you starts running through your hair, “yeah?”

you hum with a nod, “mm-hmm. the bread making wife.”

he laughs at that, shaking his head, “yeah, i'd love to be your stay at home husband. if you'll have me as such.”

you giggle quietly and nuzzle your face into luna's hair. “would you wear a nice apron? like a proper housewife from the 1950s?” you ask after a beat, looking up at him through your lashes.

“do you want me to?”

you stop to think for a second, voice barely more than a shy whisper when you speak again, “kinda.”

“i will, then.”

and as soon as you go back to working, throughout a week of coming home to spencer making dinner while wearing an apron, you figure out why men like having their wives do it so much, and you almost stop hating that.