#my lith 💗

[userchai]

I need them both inside me rn

the thing is so do I ugh

I think their dynamic with someone else would be so hot. Eddie definitely is the master of dirty talk and degrading, and Steve would be the opposite. He would be so sweet to you, gently touching you while Eddie's fucking into you hard from behind, telling you to keep your eyes on him as Eddie ruins you. They both would sometimes ignore you completely though, telling each other how good your mouth or pussy feels while you can do nothing but moan and take it, looking up the best you can to see them leaning over your body, making out with each other…

[bwabys-scenarios]

Illumi secretly loves watching you struggle to get around when your belly is all swollen and heavy during pregnancy.

The way you attempt to get something or walk for too long then look at him with a pouty face, begging for him for his help fills him with a sort of a possessive pride.

You need him. You’re completely dependent on him to take care of you at your most vulnerable, to protect and watch over you while your belly grows his baby.

And it gets him going.

He can’t help but rub your belly as he keeps you seated on his cock, scolding you when you whine or try to get up.

“Shh, settle down, darling. I’m just trying to take care of you.”

His long, pale lithe fingers massage your baby bump, dancing across it as his other hand helps to guide your hips up and down his cock.

“There we go, darling. My good girl, my precious one…”

Illumi just loves the sight of you helpless and pregnant…💗

[gghostwriter]

Three's a Sideshow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved ones—couples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company. 

Everything was perfect.

Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine. 

All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.

Beep. Beep. Be—

You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the table—trying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully. 

You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wine—condensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing. 

The same waitress who escorted you to the table—15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.

“Ma’am, are we ready to order?”

You sighed. “Actually, my boyfriend isn’t here yet—”

She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.

Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.

You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. “—you know what, I think I’d just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, I’m sorry about holding up the table.”

The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. “That’s alright. I’ll have your order packed and ready to go.”

“Thanks,” you murmured as you watched her leave. 

Tonight was suppose to be special. 

You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.

Everything was just like how it was two weeks ago—including your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.

You didn’t even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chance—

Another chance to let you down.

Another crack in your belief that you were important.

Another heartache to soothe.

Another let down. 

When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.

That part—accepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kid—the independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got it—the patience and consideration of a saint.

A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said. 

But what good was being a martyr when the person you’re killing yourself for didn’t notice?

It didn’t matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.

The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.

What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.

The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.

You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.

The stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking.

The emotion veiled between the eyes.

The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.

Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving. 

You knew of their past—Spencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team, asking her out on a baseball game date, and her recent admission during a case.

Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection. 

Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyes—wanting the release you’re fighting to keep at bay.

A fight you’re bound to lose.

You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacle—leaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.

What a sad sight.

You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.

Beep. Beep. Be—

Nothing. 

What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast. 

Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the end—did you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about? 

———

The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.

A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins. 

There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee. 

It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mail—yours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.

A promise that never came to fruition.

You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.

in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencer’s casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.

This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent. 

The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.

You spotted them exiting the SUV.

The two figures that make the relationship three—a sideshow for everyone to see.

Spencer and JJ. 

They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went. 

They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, you’d chalk the exchange up to nothing but you weren’t—you were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.

Were you his first still?

Or were you just second place? 

They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.

As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgeted—pulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the door—ready to bolt.

“Love, I’m so sorry I missed our reservation—”

He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips. 

A simple act that you didn’t have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.

“It’s fine,” you sardonically replied. “It wasn’t like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. It’s fine, Spencer.” 

His brow twitched. 

“It sounds like it’s not fine. Why don’t you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didn’t we?”

You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I said it’s fine, Spencer. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“You look beautiful,” his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. It’s just that JJ and the tea—”

Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Me coming after her?”

“Love.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t call me that,” you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears. 

His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you. 

“Her? You mean, JJ? She’s a friend. Just a friend.” 

“And if this friend wasn’t married with kids, would you still be here with me now?”

Silence. 

There, you said it.

“What—yes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?”

Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasn’t it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heart—a pile you weren’t even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Maybe it’s the way you look at her—” voice raising up an octave. You’ve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. “Do you think I don’t see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia and—and this emotion that I can’t compare to—never seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe it’s because you drop everything for her? Including me?”

“Are you talking about when Henry got sick?” his hands finding a home on his hips. “I thought you understood—you of all, should have.”

Your laughter turned into a sob. “I do—I did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didn’t want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didn’t want her catching. Didn’t you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—I thought you, you shouldn’t be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.”

“It’s my job to take care of the sick, don’t you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.”

He tilted his head. “Honest about what?”

“If it’s her you really want and if I’m just a passable substitute to settle down with.”

You could see his eyes blazing with such—disgust? Anger? You didn’t know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.

“I don’t need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.” 

“I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you—I won’t imagine it. Isn’t that enough?”

Your hands drop to your side.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. You’ve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after? 

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. Why don’t you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week and—”

“You can’t just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, that’s not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I don’t want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.”

He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined you’d get here but then again, who did? 

Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.

“It’s late. We’re both tired—”

He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.”

You wiggled your hand free.

“Actually, I think I have to go.”

Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. “That’s—that’s not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Spence. Me too.” 

You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table. 

“Happy anniversary, I need space to think this all through—to think us through.”

He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from. 

“Please, let me fix this. I can do it, just—tell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.

“I need time, Spencer. I’m not breaking up with you, I just need space,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. “Can you give me that, love?”

He choked a sob. 

“Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between you—waiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new. 

Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched form—sobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.

You didn’t know if you’d be back. 

If the thought of being second place will ever go away.

But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truth—that this is it.

This is final.

This is the end. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[hijackalx]

Headcanon thingy, but who would the boys (Gale, Astarion, Wyll, and Gortash) react to seeing their lover trying on lingerie?

felt like testing my drabble skills so i added a lil something extra to them 😎💗 enjoy pookie!!

GN!reader

SLIGHT NSFW BELOW

GALE

likes when you surprise him with it. wear some under your clothes as a little treat for when he’s undressing you 😌✨

you look so good that it makes him trip over his words. he’s too busy ogling your body to pay attention to what he’s saying. will have him laughing like a nervous virgin 😹

LOVESSSSS garters. can’t keep his hands off of them. particularly loves the way your thighs strain beneath them when you’re on your knees

instantly wants to enchant the bottoms to make them vibrate and watch you get off like that (don’t ask if that’s actually possible my brain functions on horny not logic)

your outfit is inconspicuous, plain— perfect for covering up the lingerie hiding beneath. you wait patiently in his lap as he unwraps your silken robe, biting back a smirk.

he pauses to take in the sight of the lace hugging your skin, how it flows so delicately around your shape. he tuts, shooting you a familiar, frivolous grin. “feeling naughty tonight, are we?” just moments later, his hands move to rest on your bottoms, a seemingly harmless action that results in a soft buzz and a gasp. “i can work with that.”

ASTARION

insists on going with you to pick some out. follows you into every dressing room to “make sure it fits right” lol. so picky but mostly because he loves watching you try them on

his favorites are flowy/frilly types, like babydoll tops or satin robes. also LOVES stockings of any kind

makes you feel like an actual doll ✨🌸 repeatedly tells you how perfect you are and can’t keep his hands off you. will also try to get you flustered by whispering really dirty stuff about how you look into your ear

likes when you have fun with it and show off for him— be cheeky. do a little spin. bend over in front of him. be prepared for him to pinch or smack your ass though

he sits comfortably on the dressing room bench as you approach him. “how about this one?” you pull your bottom lip in playfully, placing your hands on his shoulders as he takes your body into his grasp.

“mm,” erupts from his throat, watching as his lithe fingers slip over and under the fabric sparsely covering your skin. “now, this one i like.” he places a slow and deliberate kiss to your exposed abdomen, his ruby gaze flitting up to meet yours; there’s an impish glint to them that tells you he doesn’t plan on waiting to have you any longer.

GORTASH

likes to make sketches of you wearing it. has so many drawings of you in compromising positions with it on. definitely keeps them for when he’s alone

loves corsets and bustiers because of how they emphasize your chest, especially in blacks and reds. crotchless panties also drive him INSANE

the sluttier you act while wearing it the better. don’t try to be modest (there’s honestly no reason to be anyway, he’s a freak fr 😹😹)

a sucker for fishnets. likes to take them off and use them to tie your wrists together. will also shove them in your mouth/gag you with them on occasion

his dark irises glance up from his work every so often to study your decorated figure; they follow the arch of your back, the heart shape of your ass, and linger on the exposed area between your thighs more often than not.

“lower,” he directs, and you immediately respond by deepening the angle of your back. he hums contently, scribbles some more, then adds, “spread your legs further.”

you comply once again, happy to flaunt your body under his gaze. the corner of your lip pulls upward, anticipating your reward for being such an obedient little muse.

WYLL

bust this out on your honeymoon and he gets SOOO flustered. i’m talking stuttering/looking away/rubbing his neck

his favorites on you are lacy teddies— especially in blues, purples, and whites. more traditionally sexy styles really get him going

lowkey so obsessed with how you look in it. the kind of thing that’s on his mind 24/7. almost always asking you to put it on for him at the end of the day with a little pout 😹💗

LOVES when you strip for him nice and slow, especially how you tease him by carefully revealing each skimpy garment beneath your clothes. a lapdance is also mandatory

you spot the anxiousness simmering beneath his lax surface— he longs to touch you, but you’d rather toy with him a little more.

prowling closer to where he sits, you slowly unbutton your blouse. with each maneuver of your fingers, you reveal the lingerie lying beneath, watching how his hungry, needy gaze fixates on it.

he inhales sharply as you straddle his lap and take his hand in yours. he lets you guide it over your ornamented body, his eyes heavy with desire as he mutters a low and raspy, “you’ll ruin me.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi 💜

I sent a request a while ago about Spencer x reader academic stress. It was absolutely perfect. Thank you so much 💗

I just read the james one about reader skipping meals (it was so sweet and lovely) and I tend to do that myself sometimes not eating anything between dinner one day to the next simply because i got busy with classes and forgot until i get a migrane or get a bit dizzy. So, I was wondering if you could do a similar prompt with Spencer and reader being busy all day with work or classes or whatever and simply forgetting to eat until a migrane / dizzy spell occurs and he finds out.

I just feel like he'd be so kind and give facts about importance of not skipping meals for brain function, while coddling, feeding and spoiling reader, maybe cooking or handfeeding too I don't know whatever works for you. Thank you 💕🌸

Sorry if i wrote too much😅

Thank you for requesting lovely (and no sorries necessary) <3

cw: mention of skipping meals, dizziness/nausea

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Spencer finds you sitting down in the stairwell. You recognize him by the sound of his footsteps, lighter than Morgan’s but less clicky than JJ’s heels. Neither of you typically use the stairs, so you can only imagine that he’s come looking for you. 

“Hi,” you say to let him know you’re alive inside the tiny cavern you’ve made of your own body. You’re bent over to rest your forehead on your knees, one hand on each of your temples as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. Overall, it’s a pretty dramatic pose. And you’re definitely getting the butt of your slacks dirty on these stairs. 

Spencer’s footsteps pass you, and for half a second you think he really is just using the stairs. He stops a few steps below you. You can feel him scrutinizing the top of your head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks in that soft, careful voice of his. “You just disappeared.” 

You had sort of fled the scene. You still feel too new to the team to feel fully comfortable, and with Strauss here for the case everyone is on their best behavior, so when you’d all been walking in the hallway and a dizzy spell had nearly collapsed you into the wall, you’d dropped back from the group and stepped into the first door you saw rather than risk bringing attention to yourself. 

“I’m fine,” you say through an exhale, lifting your head from your knees. “Sorry, I just got dizzy and didn’t want to cause problems.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows bunch. He lowers into a crouch in front of you, looking up into your face. “Dizzy—do you know what caused it? Is this something that happens often?” He bypasses your rudeness in abandoning the team immediately, and the questions come almost too fast for your addled brain to keep up with. You think you need protein. Or carbs, or something. 

“Yeah—I mean no, it doesn’t happen all the time,” you say. “I just forgot to eat lunch.” 

The notch between Spencer’s brows digs in and he brushes a piece of hair behind his ear. “What happened?” 

You shrug, embarrassed. “I packed a lunch so I wouldn’t have to take a break, and then I just forgot about it. I’ve been…” you glance up at Spencer, but his eyes are too safe and open to even contemplate deceiving. “I haven’t been keeping up with my work like I should. I didn’t want to take a break, and I didn’t even remember my lunch until now.” 

“It’s on your desk?” he asks. 

You blink. “My work?”

“Your lunch.” 

“Yeah,” you say. It comes out curved like a question. 

“Okay.” He straightens, lithe limbs extending until you’re craning your neck to look up at him. “Wait here.” 

You turn, starting to protest, but Spencer sets a pacifying hand on your head as he passes. Objections acknowledged, but ignored. Following him is out of the question; just pivoting sitting down had sent your head swimming again. 

The door bangs shut after him, and a minute later he returns with your sad paper bag and a bottle of gatorade. 

“I saw you have water in here,” he says, sitting back in his place a couple steps below you, “but I thought electrolytes might help more.” He twists the cap off and hands it to you. Rather than passing you your lunch bag, he sets it in his own lap to dig through the contents. “You want your sandwich first?” 

You lower the gatorade from your mouth, wiping self-consciously under your lower lip. “Yes, please,” you say, and Spencer hands it to you. You set the gatorade down beside you. “Do we keep these in the fridge?” 

“Morgan does.” You must look as horrified as you feel, because Spencer goes on quickly, “He won’t even notice it’s gone. He likes the blue ones the least anyway.” 

You nod hesitantly, raising the bottle to your lips for another sip. “I’ll get him a replacement in case.” 

His smile is understanding, and you’re reminded that before you, Spencer was the youngest on the team. You imagine he knows how it feels to be constantly wary of getting on someone’s bad side. 

“You really don’t have to,” he says anyway. 

You take a bite of your sandwich, shrugging. “Thanks a lot for this, but you don’t have to stay here with me. Won’t we get in some kind of trouble?” 

“I think we’ll be okay here for a little while,” Spencer says. “Actually, I don’t think most people on the team even know where this door goes. None of us ever use the stairs. And they might not have noticed we’re gone yet.” 

You give him a deadpan look. “They’ll notice you’re gone.” 

He shrugs. It’s not a denial. “I don’t mind waiting with you.” 

It means more to you than it reasonably should. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and take another bite of your sandwich as an excuse to look away. 

You haven’t even polished it off yet, and Spencer’s already dipping into your bag for more. He takes the cap of a container of grapes. 

“Here, have some of these.” He holds it out, and you shove the last bite of sandwich into your mouth to take it from him. “You probably need some vitamin C,” he muses. His eyes fall to the nearly full bottle at your side. “Don’t forget to drink.” 

You almost grin, covering your full mouth with a hand as you speak. “I can’t actually do all this at once.” 

“Oh, sorry.” He looks abashed. “Take your time.” You do, swallowing before lowering your hand to give him a small smile. It’s returned. “You know, skipping meals is actually pretty dangerous.” 

Your smile fades, but Spencer holds your gaze. His eyes are gentle. 

“I know you just forgot, but low blood sugar impedes brain function. We need to be able to think clearly and quickly to do our job. So, being nourished is really important to that.” 

You nod, chastised. He taps the container of grapes, and you pop one into your mouth. 

“Are you going to tell Hotch?” you ask him quietly. 

Spencer blinks, brows twitching together. “No,” he says. “It’s not really that big of a deal, and anyway I think Hotch would just tell you the same thing. I just think it’s important for you to know.” 

You rub your lips together, bobbing your head again. “Okay, thanks.” You look at him seriously, dropping your voice into a terrible imitation of Hotch’s deep timbre. “I won’t let it happen again.” 

Spencer grins, surprised by you, and you mirror him. You’re a bit surprised by yourself too. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks. 

You nod automatically, not taking even the barest inventory yourself to see whether that might be true, but Spencer can obviously tell. His brown eyes search yours, scientifically probing, like they might tell him something you won’t. You’re well aware that Spencer’s a certifiable genius, and yet you’re still learning not to underestimate him. 

“We can probably go back now,” you tell him. 

His stare holds yours a minute longer. You feel pleasurably crushed under the weight of his attention. 

After a few seconds, Spencer’s expression settles into decision. “Let’s sit here for a minute,” he says. “You should finish your food. You’re owed a lunch hour anyway, no one’s ever stipulated when or where you have to take it.” 

You crack a smile. “What about you?” 

“I’m staying with you,” he says matter-of-factly. Like it’s the only option even worth considering. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, and it’s probably best if I take the gatorade bottle back up with us. If Morgan sees, it’ll be easier for me to take credit if I’m holding it.”

[in-som-niyah]

soft!oblivious!Jason Todd x fem!reader on her period

a/n: hey besties guess whos on the bathroom floor again haha its me!!!!! endo is trying to murder me but guess what jason's here to make it all better!!! this is entirely self-indulgent btw i wrote this to make myself feel better and to take my mind off the urge to rip my uterus out with my bare hands🫶🏾🎀🌸💝✨💖💗💕

Warnings: reader vomits, reader has a period, reader is in fucking pain, jason todd speaks spanish, reader is weakned, jason todd is a beautiful husband fuck you i said what i said

Note: reader and jason have a system where jason asks the reader what her pain is on a scale from 1-10 (10 being highest)

Jason's key turns in the lock of your shared apartment in Gotham.

To his surprise, the place is dark and lifeless. Upon checking his watch, which read 6:45pm, he noticed the peculiarity of the scene before him.

Usually, you would have started dinner by now, had some sexy 90's R&B playing (which you unashamedly sung along to) and would have greeted him babbling excitedly about what your colleagues thought about your new hairstyle.

But nope, there was nothing.

Though Jason was concerned, he tried to pass it off as a weird occurrence, until he heard a faint retch coming from the other side of the apartment.

Immediately, he parked whatever he was doing and came rushing (sprinting) to you, desperately needing to make sure you're okay.

When he found you in the bathroom hovering over the toilet, the sight clawed a hole in his chest.

You were gripping the edges of the toilet with shaky hands, trying to steady your unstable and shaking body. Your braids were tied back too tight, definitely causing you an uncomfortable and unnecessary headache.

Carefully, Jason stepped in the bathroom and lowered himself to you. He loosened your hair and re-tied it in a more comfortable way and kissed the top of your head.

In your dazed state, you barely recognized his lithe fingers in your hair, too exhausted physically and mentally to focus on anything other than the searing pain in your abdomen.

Finally empty, you reach to flush the toilet when a much bigger, scarred hand takes yours and kisses the back of it before flushing for you.

At this, you look up at him with bleary, tearful and irritated eyes, clearly indicative that you've been feeling like this for a while.

Jason's heart cracks.

Before either of you could speak, Jason pressed his forehead to yours and instructed you to steady your breathing. His hands expertly maneuver you to sit on your bum in front of him; this was not his first rodeo.

Jason was familiar with your illness, and what that meant for you sometimes. With practise, he was attuned to your needs and catered to them willingly. But still, his heart broke a little more every time he saw your body fold in on itself in pain.

When your breathing calmed he kissed your forehead just before another cramp seized your body, and your face crumpled in pain.

"Shit- You're okay sweetheart c'mere. Remember to breathe okay? In. Out."

You nodded lightly as you pushed yourself to move into his lap, the action only making your muscles strain but you were so desperate to feel his warmth you did it anyway.

As you continued to breathe Jason wrapped his strong arms around you and held you to his body, his hands came up to gently rub your lower back where he knew you were hurting.

"What's your number this time, amorcita." Jason asked in a tender voice, as to not upset your headache.

Through sniffles and shakes, you reluctantly surface your buried head from his chest to answer him.

"It was an 8 all day today..." you started, still in pain but able to speak.

"I took the painkillers too late, and they didn't work in time. I'm sorr-"

You're interrupted by Jason pulling you back into him. He would sooner take your pain than hear you apologize for a painful experience you couldn't control.

"Shhhh no sorries, princessa. You know that." He spoke into your hair.

Soon, the wave of pain settled, and you were granted a limited amount of small relief.

"I-I think I should move to the bed now. I don't know how much I have until the next one" you mumbled into his chest.

Through a positive rumble in his chest he agreed, and began to carefully untangle himself from you.

"Can you stand?" Jason asks, his eyes conveying sincerity.

You looked to the floor shook your head in shame. You couldn't believe you had to rely on Jason to help you so much.

"I'm gonna pick you up okay baby?" He says, but his eyes ask for your permission.

Upon granting it, he slips his arms under your body and lifts like you weigh nothing. He carefully walks to the bed, taking extra care in making sure he doesn't hit your head or legs on walls or doorways.

Once at your bedside, he places you down gently and presses a set of kisses to your nose, cheek and forehead. It is then when he notices how frigid your skin is, which worries him. But first, he needs more information.

"How long ago did you take the painkillers, mi vida?" He begins as he crouches to reach your eye level.

With an exasperated sigh, you close your eyes and shrug. Truly you had no idea how long it has been since you've been in such pain, much less since you've taken your last round of painkillers.

Jason returns your sigh, but with one of sadness as he reaches out his hand to absentmindedly rub your sore hips. Remembering your small remedies that help the pain, he stands and begins out the room.

Suddenly your hand grasp his ring and pinky, and he turns to face you again.

You look up at him with tears on your cheeks, silently begging him to stay.

At this, he leans down and captures your lips softly, silently letting you know that he would never do anything you wouldn't want him to.

With your hand still grasping his, he brings your hand to his lips to kiss, before breaking the silence.

"'Tell you what, amorcita. I'm gonna go get you your heating pad and boil some raspberry leaf tea, then i'll climb into bed with you and i'll rub your back as you fall asleep. But you gotta let go of me so I can do it, bien?"

Reluctantly, you took his offer and released his hand before he left a soothing kiss to your hairline and took off.

While he was gone, your were desperately breathing through another wave, trying not to scream or cry out. The pain continued to ebb and flow, but it was pain nonetheless.

When Jason returned with the tea, hot water bottle and a little square of dark chocolate he found you almost asleep, knees up to your chest while clutching your abdomen. He knew you well enough to know that your back is not enjoying the position at all.

He placed the tea and chocolate on your nightstand and carefully took his spot behind you. You slightly woke up at his shifting, but upon Jason's placement of the hot water bottle to your aching abdomen, you relaxed.

Jason breathed a silent breath of gratitude that you're able to rest easier than you were before now that you're comfortable. He moved himself closer to your body, firmly but delicately wrapping his arms around you and stretching out your aching back.

You appreciated this, the pressure releasing on your back and the soothing warmth of your hot water bottle contributing to easing your pains.

Jason retracted one of his arms from your waist in favour of rubbing your sore lower back. A sleepy hum of appreciation followed his ministrations just before you spoke.

"Jason?" you mumbled into your pillow

"Querida?" he replied, semi alert

"Thank you" you finish as you let yourself drift into a light and more comfortable sleep.

A peck to the back of your head is his response.

Jason knows he can't take away your pain. But when it cuts you deep, he'll be your remedy.

Always.

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

a/n pt2: bro im so sorry if this makes no sense im in pain leave me alone im tired its sleepytime

[asnowfern]

In Between The Lines - Bonus Scene

Summary: In her desperation to contact every friend and relative for help, a young Nesta stumbles onto a written connection with the most dangerous being of them all - a fae.

She just doesn’t know that he needed the contact just as much as she did.

OR a canon divergent AU where Nesta and Cassian becomes secret penpals while Nesta is starving and Cassian is trapped in Velaris.

Read chapter one (and the main oneshot) here on AO3 | Tumblr

A/N: This bonus scene when Cassian finds out it’s Nesta has been stuck in my head since I posted the fic and I’m happy to finally see it in words. Some quotes lifted directly from Wings and Embers (which I love wholeheartedly����) and I hope my little take on it does it justice!

A shifting of the log, a loud spark of embers in the flames running behind them snags Cassian’s attention.

To the stray piece of paper burning in the blazing fire, scrunched up but those words. That writing.

The roaring in Cassian’s ears ebb away, taking with it some of the redness that clouded his vision at the mere thought of some worthless male piece of shit who dared to hurt her.

Because those words, the slopes and strands of every stroke — he has memorised them all, engraved them into his soul.

His guiding light in the darkness. The one thing that kept him drowning in his own ineptitude and self-loathing during those last few years trapped in Velaris. His human, his bookworm, his Nina.

His his his.

The realisation steals his breath and Cassian staggers backwards. The hand that had curled over a lithe hand on his chest slips downward, grazing each callous over soft, smooth skin. He traces the movement, catching himself in time before his legs could tremble and fall to his knees, before he could raise those quick-witted fingers to his lips and worship them the way they ought to be.

Nina. Nesta. Nina. Nesta.

Nesta Nesta Nesta.

Deep in his chest, something purrs. A feeling that he can’t shake off that, this is right. His mind refreshes those steel-cut words wielded like a blade, cutting down enemies, regardless of who they are. Fae or human, High Lord or bastard born Illyrian.

Something must have shown on his face, of his desperate relief because she wraps her fingers around the side of head, bringing his gaze back to hers. Stormy blue against hazel.

The world quietens.

Her gaze is a summer thunderstorm. Borne from the hottest temperatures, bringing stark relief to the heat that clings to one’s skin, cloying and uncomfortable. It chases away everything and remoulds the world in its image.

He raises his hand to envelop soft hands completely. Those silvery blue eyes are suddenly impossibly near. A brush of his thumb over her cheek and the tips of their noses graze each other.

Another pop in the fireplace has Nesta gasping sharply and pink blossoming across her chest.

Cassian resists the urge to press his forehead against hers and instead steps back, quick with a response before she can spit vitriol, “Lonely in this big house, Nesta?”

It’s a fruitless taunt, weak and meaningless with no true bite to it. Its effort lost in his realisation of who Nesta has been to him this past couple of years. He watches as her eyes are plagued with uncertainty even as it gathers ice, layering them over and over until it freezes over.

“The queens have not sent a reply.” She dismisses with a wave of her hand, the clothing over chest still trembling in betrayal of the jungle beats Cassian can almost hear. “Tell my sister and that High Lord of hers to send someone else next time.”

She knows it’s him.

Perhaps from the very instant Feyre made the introductions. She knew even as she sharpened her verbal weapons, exchanging blows with her distaste for the fae on full display.

But if this was the gameplay she had chosen then he would play it for now. The thought settles within him and draws out the strategic commander within him, the one that grins viciously at victory.

The Illyrian general casually takes out Rhys’s letter, his hand stretched out deliberately near her face, the back of his palm almost touching the side of the immaculate braided crown, and places the letter on the mantelpiece.

He flicks his chin upwards at the envelope and orders, “Send that to them too,” he gives a lopsided smile when a muscle feathered at her jaw at the command, “I look forward to our next meeting, Nesta.”

Her eyes are hard as she slips in the space between his larger frame and the mantelpiece, stalking gracefully towards the room door. “Send someone else.”

Cassian straightens his back, his wings tucked tight as he gives the glamour shrouding him in obscurity a once over. Satisfied, he follows his writing companion out the door. She whirls around to snipe, gesturing pointedly in the direction of the windows, “Where do you think you are going?”

Cassian shrugs, his lips lifting into a smirk. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

The seething gaze of the human female rolls off his back, and as he spreads his wings to take flight back to Velaris, it’s with an exhilarated heart and a tight tug on his rib bone that he can’t, wouldn’t, rid himself of.

[moirasdolly]

Moira NSFW Alphabet ᥫ᭡ ˖ ࣪

Contains: NSFW, mommy kink, praise, pet names, aftercare, size difference, teasing, dacryphilia

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: Role Model - Brent Faiyaz

Notes: I’m literally so obsessed with her… i can’t I CANTTTT AHHH!! But I definitely wanna do these for more characters so if you wanna request pleaseeee do 💗🐰 You can message me or do it in my asks hehe.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Despite how mean she can get during sex she is definitely very gentle afterwards. She wipes down your thighs with a warm washcloth, gets you cleaned up nicely, dresses you in warm pajamas and holds you closely until you both fall asleep.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

She is a fan of her hands. They’re veiny, lithe, and perfectly capable of pleasing you. On you she adores everything, but she loves your waist the most. She loves how her nails dig into your sides and how the soft skin is so pliant under her touch.

Cum = (Anything to do with cum)

She is obsessed with making you cum. If you get messy, she has a mouth for a reason.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory)

She loves making you cry. She thinks you are just so pretty with glimmering tears running down your soft cheeks. She’ll overstimulate you until you break, and the sight of you sobbing for her is enough to make her cum.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Moira is old of course she knows what she’s doing. She’s had many partners in the past, but none compare to you.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

She likes to cage you in under her. She’s a tall woman and you just shrink under her. Moira just loves feeling dominant and being on top of you, maybe her knee in between your thighs, and her hands roaming your body, gives her that feeling. She also loves having her face between your thighs.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc)

I think she prefers to be serious in bed, but from time to time she likes to tease you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc)

Up to your imagination.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Moira values intimacy in the bedroom above everything. She loves degradation and for every time she calls you her slut, her whore, or anything of the sort she will follow it up with praise and a sweet act that shows she truly loves you.

J = Jack off (Masterbation headcanon)

She doesn’t often, she doesn’t really have the drive to do it. That is unless you happen to send her a video of you playing with yourself while she’s stuck at work, then she can’t help it. You just work her up so much.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

She definitely has a mommy kink… It gives her a bit of a power trip.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Strictly the bedroom, she’s a very private woman and she wants to keep your sweet noises to herself. If she knows there’s no chance of getting caught then maybe, just maybe would she would eat you out in her lab.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When you dress up for her. She loves seeing how beautiful you look only for her to strip it off of you nice and slow.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She will never be submissive. Ever. She likes to take care of you more than anything. When she’s on the receiving end, she will still find a way to be in control. She also never degrades you without immediately praising you. She never wants to make you feel unloved.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

She prefers giving, adores the noises you make when she’s between your thighs.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc)

Usually slow and sensual, but if you beg her to go faster, harder, she will oblige.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc)

Not a fan at all. She loves taking her time with you. She likes to see you come undone by her own doing.

R = Risks (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc)

Ehhh… not really. She knows what she likes and she knows what you like, but if you ever wanted to try something new she would try it at least once to please you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Oh my lord, I just know Moira can last the whole night. She’ll want to cum at least once but you? She’ll give you one release after another.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

She definitely owns a vibrator and a strap, but she uses them on you only.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Normally she loves giving you what you want, but some days she just wants to see you beg for her. She loves seeing how you react to her teasing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

She moans quietly, but the sound is amplified because she’ll do it right in your ear. Make you soak up every last sound she makes.

W = Wildcard (A random headcanons for the character)

She secretly loves when you *try* to take control. She gives the illusion that she’ll submit to you, but truly she’ll always be in control. She just gets off on how happy it makes you.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

She’s pretty lean, but toned as well. Have you seen her v-line in her banshee skin? Yeah…

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high. Multiple times a week for sure.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not quickly at all. She likes to take care of you and make sure you’re feeling your best before even considering sleep.

[userchai]

Fuck me

you don’t have to ask twice stay right where you are I’m coming 👀

[fandomfluffandfuck]

ohhh my god steve wrecking his lil self because he can't help himself, can he? 🥵 🥵🥵 his cock being so big that you can see the shape of it on steve's belly? the way his hands can wrap around him so easily? i completely understand the urge to mess himself up like that 🥴🥴🥴 also damn, the fleshlight description?? knocked me tf out omgggg

i'm in loveeee, imagine if bucky walked in on this scene, smol!steve would be in so much trouble... 👿

(mwah chefs kiss mr s, thank u for the horny selfcest thots 💗)

related to this

I'm so glad you enjoyed that little drabble!

The fleshlight part was my favorite to write 😏 I was just imagining nomad Steve towering over his younger self, all rough edges, bearded, and thick. The bigger man is growling and handsy--feral, really. He's on the very cusp of being too fucking demanding and pushy 'cause he knows exactly how far he can bend his younger self before he breaks him.

Christ, maybe he wants to break him.

He feels his lust so hot and thick in his veins; he's out of his mind for consuming his younger self, swallowing him whole. Well, swallowing maybe later, his younger self's dick is the perfect mouthful--not throatful, mouthful--and he might as well take advantage of it. It's so easy to take all of him, overwhelm him.

But, fuck yeah, bigger, broader, hairier, and more deranged nomad Steve using his younger self like a fleshlight. Digging his paws into his lithe hips and dragging him down onto his cock, forcing him to take it deep until he's choking on it. It's bulging his tummy, and he swears he can taste it in the back of his throat. Younger Steve doesn't want to admit weakness, but there's only so long until he can't help it. At first, he's quiet, only letting out little grunts and bitten off groans, but as nomad Steve grabs and hauls him back and forth, using his slim body so thoroughly, fucking him for his own pleasure... younger Steve cracks, he whines.

The next whine builds into something choking and embarrassing, his eyes watering with the fullness, the pressure. He feels like he's going to burst at the seams with cock. It's already too much, it's too good, it can't get better but it does. Devastatingly, it does.

Nomad Steve was plowing him standing at the edge of the bed, not thrusting into him but rather dragging his younger self back onto his cock, statue still while younger Steve gasped from the friction-burn heat all over his crooked back but suddenly he is moving. He's picking little Steve up and holding him on his dick like he weighs nothing. And he doesn't. He doesn't weigh anything. The only thing left is sensation--the heavy, thick sensation of nomad Steve's cock shoved impossibly deep inside him. Deep. Deeper when nomad Steve kneels on the bed, spreading his tree-trunk thighs and sprawling his younger self across them, his thin legs loosely thrown around his muscled waist and drags him up.

Impaling him.

Spearing him.

Fucking him deep, making his body squelch. He feels like a toy. He doesn't need to do anything, he needn't move, he just, just... he just lays there, neck limp, mouth open, choking, his arms spread wide, hands twitching in loose fists, gasping harshly, while nomad Steve squeezes at and takes hold of him. Younger Steve isn't even sure nomad Steve is trying to make him orgasm, he's pulling him back onto his cock like he's just selfishly trying to get himself to cum. It's like younger Steve doesn't matter. He doesn't. He's just the toy. Just there to be used, tight and wet and a means to an end.

Guh.

He's a fleshlight. A little doll. A toy.

Oh my fucking god, don't get me started on what would happen if Bucky walked in! Charming, golden, boyish Bucky from before the war confronted with brick shithouse Rogers? He wouldn't know what to do with himself. He's not used to feeling like a twink, but next to this version of Steve? God, I think he'd be squirming and panting, eying the treatment his Stevie's getting and begging for the next ride.

Use him, too! Fuck. Use him, fuck him, and put his Stevie on his dick while it happens--Bucky on his back, taking it from nomad Steve missionary style with younger Steve between them, the filling in the sloppy sandwich--they'll be a pile of mush underneath big man Rogers. Whining and whimpering while he grabs and takes, grunting, biting, and sweating as he works them both over 😮‍💨😮‍💨

(Thank you for enjoying! I've been in a sort of funk with some of the last few writings I've done here and what's happening with my next fic, I feel like they haven't been good at all, so it's nice to hear otherwise, lol)

[gghostwriter]

Knots of Yearning

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer lies by omission or in which Spencer acts like he doesn’t know how to tie a tie just to get you to do it for him Trope: Yearning/Angst; think season 1 Spencer Reid w.c: 1.3k a/n: when i thought of this idea, i was thinking it would be some cute light hearted fluff but when i started writing it, it became angst, filled with pining and tension so I dunno what happened but i finished writing it and thought it would be a waste not to post my rambly written fic. I might write a part 2 for this just to close it out to a happy ending. Let me know if that would interest you. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗

Two halves of a whole, the perfect pairing and yin & yang. Those were just some monikers that Spencer Reid had heard describing his partnership with you that started during the academy. He, being a genius in all things academic and psychological but severely lacking in the physical and combat department. You, on the other hand, filled those gaps—acing all physicals and being well known for being a shy but killer shot. Not to say you were lacking in the other categories, no, you came only second during written exams. 

So it came as a no surprise when graduation came and you both were cherry picked to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer being chosen by SSA Jason Gideon and you being selected by Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. 

The two geniuses of the BAU and the apprentices were added to the roster of nicknames.

Ever since then, he had traded in his standard issued trainee uniform to a button down and a matching tie—a tie that he badly struggles with or so Spencer made you believe. He didn’t mean to lie at first—didn’t mean it to go this far but by the time he felt the need to tell the truth, it had been too late. Each moment you’ve spent close to his space, invading it really, had become the highlight of his days and fuel for his nights. 

He often wondered if you catalogued his reaction just like how he did yours. Did you notice his staccato breathing just like how he noticed your subtle inhalation of his perfume? What about the reddening of his cheeks and neck in contrast to your trembling fingers? Or how about his eyes that convey his utter devotion as yours focus on any exposed skin in between his tie and collar? 

It seemed like a dance between him and you, to see how the other reacts and to figure out who would cave under the mounting attraction that had been building since the first ‘hello.’ 

With his choice of tie for the day hanging loosely on his neck, you would shyly smile and as if spellbound, he would shuffle to your orbit in silent plea for help that he needed.

Each glide of your finger made his encompassing thoughts about the mundane stutter into a halt. How his mind would then bombard itself with questions as to how the universe created such perfection. Each loop of your hand became vivid imagery of his own nimble fingers caressing your palm and all its engraved lines as if they contain the maps to all hidden mysteries of the world. And each tug to secure the knot transformed into a loud beating of his chest, encased within it’s cavity, with chants of waxing prose on how your very being, mind, body, and soul, call to his in a way that even his expansive vernacular could never explain. 

But no matter how much he wished for time to slow down for these intimate moments to last, it never did comply. So here he stayed, lying by omission—yearning for you to notice him, memorize him, and end his pining for the woman who seemed too unattainable for his clumsy, stuttering self.

———

 You accepted the lie well. Maybe too well.

The first time a blue striped flimsy piece of accessory hung around his neck, a sudden burst of courage took over, bringing you to a stop in front of his lithe, towering body and hands reaching up to whisper caresses on the silk to mold it into a secure neck tie that centered itself on his reddening neck—the color matching the one that bloomed on your cheeks as you realized what you’ve done. 

Your mind had rationalized someone as smart as he knew how to fix a tie but your body had moved on it’s own, having have spotted a once in a lifetime chance to invade his well protected space—the same way he had invaded your mind in every waking and sleeping moment.

That same chance turned into a routine. A blessing that you had come to look forward to, your steps having a bounce in them as you enter the bull pen and spotting a different pattern tie hanging undone on his neck every work day.

You knew, with no backing evidence that Spencer has to be doing it on purpose but didn’t want to spiral much into thought as to why he would leave that intimate action up to you.

Did he take note of every reaction you had to his presence the same way you did? The slight rocking on your heels as he inhaled your carefully chosen perfume? The biting of your lip as you felt his honey dripping eyes on your face? If he felt the same, you wondered why nothing has been done and if you had another burst of courage, would you have acted upon the tension? 

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe that was why you settled for accepting his poorly crafted lie of not knowing how to tie a necktie. 

It wasn’t really a lie if the other party knew the truth, right? Or was it a double lie now that silence has stacked between you and him? 

If you were being slightly honest with yourself, Spencer Reid had always fascinated you. Among the sea of gym built muscles during the academy, his gazelle stature has stuck out like a sore thumb and that intrigued you. How was it that a male, younger than any of his peers, that looked like he could grace a runway was in an institution that reeked sweat and masculinity? That very same question answered when you found yourself seated beside him in a profiler career talk. His intellect, that was why and although it seemed to alienate the others, not once did you feel inferior beside him. Rather, it pulled you in more. His quiet, unsure demeanor was the next to capture your attention. It was an invisible coat that he wore everywhere he went, sewn from years of bullying and ostracizing—similar to your experiences of having skipped a grade. Here was a comrade you thought and so, you silently orbited around his gravitational pull until he took notice and uttered the words ‘hello, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid’ in a low, trembling voice. 

You didn’t know when that same fascination turned into adoration. There was never a specific moment in time that you could pinpoint when it all changed. It just happened, one day you woke up and the past truth had transformed into a half truth—and the whole truth now being, you falling and yearning for a man who had a bright future in reading people’s actions but seemed too oblivious to the call of your aching heart. 

———

Morgan and Elle shared an exasperated look as they noted the two youngest members of the team silently flirting in the middle of the bullpen, yet again. They didn’t get how obtuse the two smartest people in the room were with their feelings for one another. 

“You think we should give them a push?” He whispered to his female partner.

Elle scrunched her face. “At this point, we might just have to confess for the other.”

And in that moment, another moniker was added to the roster. The dense lovers of the BAU, a nickname that the remaining members use only behind both the duo’s back as they become bystanders to what could be a match made in heaven. If only one would admit to the other. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[carlos-tk]

thanks to all the these lovely people for the tags @thisbuildinghasfeelings @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @sznofthesticks @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @alrightbuckaroo @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @whatsintheboxmh @herefortarlos @strandnreyes @fitzherbertssmolder @theghostofashton 💗

well this would’ve been the last wip wednesday of Jan if I’d posted on time, but when do I ever do that lol 😂 here’s some sentences to kick off Feb ✍🏼

TK happily lets him lick into his mouth, before he pulls back in a daze, half lidded green eyes matching the intense stare of Carlos’ deep brown pair.

“You know this doesn’t feel very professional,” TK continues.

“Mhm,” Carlos murmurs, “and what is it you feel?” he asks nipping at TK’s chin, the soft scrape of his teeth against the supple skin there.

“Well I’m pretty sure that’s not your phone pressing against my thigh,” he says with a smirk.

Carlos snorts and if he had any sense of shame, or concern for both of theirs continued employment, he’d take a step back. Would halt the press of his growing erection into TK’s, drop his tight grip from where he’s leaving fingerprint shaped bruises on his toned bicep, a reminder for TK of where his body has been, and who it belongs too.

Unfortunately for Carlos all sense is out the door when it comes to TK, especially when his lithe eager body is responding in tandem to his touch.

“Maybe you’ll have to check huh,” Carlos prompts, as he slides his hand down from TK’s bicep to his forearm, further until his fingers take ahold of his wrist and drag it down to feel where his c*ck is hard and aching.

TK’s knuckles brush across the strained fabric, causing Carlos’ controlled facade to slip momentarily as he gasps a fuck and bites down harsh on his plump bottom lip.

tags under the cut 💗

@celeritas2997 @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @inkweedandlizards @freneticfloetry @firstprince-history-huh @reyesstrand @sunshinestrand @never-blooms @noxsoulmate @birdclowns @reyestrandd @orchidscript @liminalmemories21 @ladytessa74 @fallout-mars @lightningboltreader @kiras-sunshine @chicgeekgirl89 @basilsunrise @thebumblecee + an open tag for YOU 💗

[oobbbear]

While on the topic of lovely bat ladies, I just wanted to let you know oobbbear that as an artist you are incredibly fun and talented, you are awesome and have such a bouncy personality and it reflects in your art and the way you sketch.

Soft round shapes mixed in with dynamic poses in with different angles and perspectives of environmental storytelling. When you design a character (as tough as it may be at times) you don't just make a placeholder for a trope or a role, you make that character meld into its surroundings. You can see the different little tell tale aspects of why, who, what that character is. From small flowers and jewelry pieces in the vampires hair

To the shape language utilized in making them look fluffy but still lithe and dangerous.

You, my friend, are awesome. Not just as a creator. But as a person too. Please make sure to take care of yourself, your health and well-being is more important than anything.

With that being said:

- 🐐 Anon

Thank you Goat anon you don’t understand how much these words mean to me I literally screamed I made my art teacher proud in my empty room osbksbidbdjb oh uahhhhhh jdidnnodnrijudb I- aaaaaaaaaaa💖💘💝💞💘💖💕💘💗💘💕💝💖🦀💘💞💖🦇🦇🦇💖💞

YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF TOO REMEMBER TO EAT DRINK AND SLEEP!!!!!!!!

[iheartchv]

Hiii ii

was wondering if I could get a cod matchup? preferably a romantic one (forgive me, im a bit delusional)

Im a 5'3 and rather lithe woman, but i like to wear platform boots that make me a little taller. my hair is longer with bangs and naturally black, and i have dark eyes. i come from singapore, so naturally i speak english and chinese fluently, but i'm learning japanese and russian. i have undiagnosed dpdr cuz im broke, but im planning on getting some form of help soon as it has been getting worse as of late. i have a back tattoo down my spine of a cyberpunk-esque sigil, and i have piercings on my earlobes.

my favourite characters are krueger, keegan, nikto, soap and logan, both for the lore in the campaign and the way they sound in game (oh my god when they growl into my headset i swear i lose it). Though my favourite is nikto as his DID is lowkey relatable. speaking of which, ive been playing cod for a few years now, starting with black ops 2.

im calm most of the time, but i cannot sit still for my life (unless im gaming or listening to a subject i like, like history). while i got ENTP as my result for the 16 personalities test, other sources give me a mix between INTP, ENTP and ISTP. anyways, im not shy to confront people when it is necessary, but i don't like asking for help.

in college, i study engineering and im doing quite well in terms of grades (at the cost of stress). i have absolutely no idea what i am going to do in the future, and the only thing i can think of is to become a combat enginner. this decision may or may not be affected by cod

thank you for reading my little rant of some sort, please remember to hydrate 💦

//this was tough to pick just one; if you don't like your match, all that matters is who YOU pick... 💗

🤔hmm.. I'll match you with...

Nikto

You have stolen the heart and affection of Nikto

He loves you and your features

Even though he's about a foot taller than you, he thinks you're the perfect size

He also likes your tattoo and piercings

They just add a little something to you he doesnt know how to explain

He proposes to be your partner to help practice your Russian

"отличный (otlichnyy). Excellent."

Starts giving you rewards for completing lessons 😏 yk what I mean...

During your first kiss, he will ask you to close your eyes...

You could feel him trying to be as gentle with you as he can

Knows how to treat/please a woman but wants to take it slow with you..

...because he cares about you to just treat you like he had with other women

Buuuuut as you get closer in the relationship he will take his mask off around you

He will do anything for you

He will also want to stay around you, or you stay near him

I think Nikto's love language would be physical touch

He wants to touch you and to be touched

It also keeps him ( and you ) grounded in reality with each other's help, and outside help

He promises to help you get what you need

Hugs and cuddles all the time, when you both are alone

[ingravinoveritas]

Not me finishing another fic! This was such a moment that we let go by too quickly. Started this fic in March of 2021 and now it’s finally--finally--done. Read on!

Title: The Boxer Rebellion Author: Me Rating: R/NC-17 Pairing: Michael Sheen/David Tennant Warnings: Sexual references and some language Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, 100% made up. Please don't sue. Thanks. Summary: Michael’s mouth fell open, a mixture of jealousy and pride curling in his stomach at the realization that David had just shown his underwear--and more than the barest hint of a few other things--on nationally-viewed late night television. Author’s Note: Takes place in March of 2021, when Michael was still in NYC recovering from Covid and David went on the Late Late Show and this happened:

Author’s Note 2: Dedicating this to @thetardisisblueandroseistoo who had a rough day today. Love you, my friend! 💗 (Fic also available on AO3.)

---

“You promise you’ll be watching?”

“Of course, Dai.”

Michael had already committed every detail to memory. Late Late Show. Monday.

David checked in again that morning, texting one final insistent plea:

Watch alone.

Michael obliged, reclining into the worn leather sofa cushions, the glow of the television flickering over his face. His eyes widened when David stood, deftly moving the camera to a familiar angle until his boxers came into view.

“This was my Valentine’s gift from Georgia. Look at these. Look at that beauty!”

Michael’s mouth fell open, a mixture of jealousy and pride curling in his stomach at the realization that David had just shown his underwear--and more than the barest hint of a few other things--on nationally-viewed late night television.

You cheeky bastard...

He bit his lip to keep from groaning out loud, cock stirring with interest in his boxers at what he knew was hiding underneath.

He nearly threw the remote across the room when David started to pose, turning to display the boxers. Michael stared incredulously, unable to look away from those lithe fingers daintily pulling down the fabric. He guffawed in disbelief, utterly charmed at David putting on a show under the pretense of preserving what little modesty he had left.

...But you are putting on a show, aren’t you?

His breath was coming in harder by the time David sat back down, hands itching to slowly spread those slender thighs apart. David’s face was as pink as the loud suit jacket he had on, and Michael damn well knew it had nothing to do with embarrassment.

He shut the telly off before the interview ended and grabbed his mobile from a nearby table.

“Mmh...’lo?”

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

A sleepy smirk drifted across David’s face, eyes fluttering open to see Michael grinning at him from the screen of the video call, tousled and beautiful.

He stretched languidly, long legs sliding out from beneath the bed covers. Michael opened his mouth to speak again but was promptly shushed by David pressing a finger to his lips. He tiptoed downstairs to the empty living room, draping himself across the velvet couch at the center, one arm raised attractively over his head, the hem of his t-shirt riding up to reveal a smooth line of bare hip that Michael did not fail to notice.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

Michael smiled, legs spreading open, idly tracing a thumb back and forth over his warm inner thigh, eyes raking down the length of David’s body.

“What. Were you. Thinking?”

“Wasn’t, really.”

David flushed lightly at the memory: the adrenaline coursing through his body, skin prickly and hot knowing Michael was watching.

I was thinking about you.

“You were mere inches from turning Georgia into Pinocchio.”

He snorted, stifling a laugh in the quiet, early morning dark, eyes never leaving Michael.

“I mean, truly. It was like when the monster in the Ghostbusters sequel bulges out of the painting.”

“You are absolutely not comparing my cock to a fictional 15th century tyrant.”

“I have it on good authority that if you wank too much, you will develop Carpathian tunnel syndrome.”

David threw his head back, mouthing ‘fuck off“ in the midst of muted laughter at the same time Michael dissolved into giggles. They stayed like that for several moments, joyful release gradually tapering off into quiet fondness.

“So...” Michael cleared his throat, glancing away and back at David. “Was that, ah...all for me?”

He wasn’t about to take all the credit for David abandoning his good senses. Maybe the not-so-secret exhibitionist side of him that Michael loved had run amok. Maybe he was drunk. Or one of a hundred other explanations that didn’t involve David deliberately performing for an audience of one.

“Knew you were feeling poorly. Thought I'd try to raise your spirits, as it were.”

Shit...

He hadn’t hesitated, answering so openly that it made Michael’s chest ache.

“Well, something certainly was raised,” he joked, trailing off at the concern in David’s eyes.

David didn’t say how scared he'd been when Michael was sick with Covid, stomach twisting with fear for days on end. Didn’t say how the daily checks-in were a piss poor substitute for holding him, brushing his nose along the edge of Michael’s jaw, inhaling his scent. Kissing him with ever-increasing urgency, his hands cupping either side of Michael’s face.

He watched Michael watching him, pink lips soft and striking against the marled backdrop of his beard. He shifted on the couch, hips flattening against the back, as if to make room for this powerful thing that had grown between them

A month earlier, he’d offered to fly out from London.

“Absolutely fucking not. I feel like shit. I look like shit.”

“You always look perfect to me.”

Michael laughed bitterly, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“Liar. I haven’t had a shower in days.”

“Not a big deal, really.”

“No, I don’t want you getting sick. Christ, I’d never forgive myself.”

David shrugged, the sinuous motion sparking Michael’s memory of pressing his fingertips into those delicate shoulder blades, David arching into his touch, back curled up against Michael’s chest.

“We’ve shared lots of things. We’ve shared a bed. We could share this, too.”

But Michael was adamant.

He still wished he’d gone.

Nothing was ever simple anymore. Not like fondling a cardboard cutout of Michael’s head--God, really, what was that?--and flashing his boxers on late night bi-continental TV in a fit of--

Madness? Love?

Maybe a bit of both...

“Emotional support pet, was it?”

Michael’s voice cut through the din in David’s head, and he realized how long he’d been quiet.

“I--well...s’just the first thing I thought of at the time, really...”

Now he’d gone the other way, too many words, vowels and consonants and assorted Scottish noises pouring from his mouth before he could stop them, and God, it was too late for this, or too early--

“Didn’t say I minded.”

Michael was smirking, lower lip tugged between his teeth. It was impossibly, maddeningly sexy, and David felt exposed and delighted all at once.

“Consider the collar on order, then.”

“Oh, fuck...”

Michael groaned, cupping himself through the thin fabric, cock already half-hard. “You can’t just say shit like that--”

 “You’d like that, yeah? Wearing a collar for me?”

“God, David...”

Arousal flooded Michael’s senses, stomach muscles tightening under David’s heated gaze. The air had gone syrupy, thick and heady, the leather cushions sticky against the backs of his knees.

“Always.”

There were a thousand things Michael wanted to say, wanted to spill out over David, smearing the words into his freckled skin like ink. He wanted to watch David touch himself, legs spread over the couch, tight arse and that perfect, puckered hole of his on display. He wanted to watch David fall apart with a keening cry as he jerked himself to blissful completion.

But he was so tired, chest and arms aching and still on the mend.

Michael hadn’t wanted anyone to know how bad it was, isolating himself away in a room of the apartment no one else was allowed in, keeping as low a profile as possible. David had called to check on him, soft and still in his thick-rimmed glasses, his eyes saying everything he couldn’t.

Tell me. Tell me what’s going on.

One look was all it took to do away with Michael’s resolve, the façade crumbling as hastily as it had gone up, and he wept, pouring out all of his fears to the man he loved so deeply.

Michael sighed, slumping back into the couch cushions. David felt his chest tighten. He wanted to be there beside him, resting his head in the crook of Michael’s neck until he felt his breathing even out.

“Fuck...”

“S’okay. We’ll have time later. Rest.”

“When I can have my hands on you again...”

 “Got your head to keep me company in the meantime.”

“Lucky you. I’ve been told I give excellent head.”

“Apart from the chafing, sure.”

Another stifled schoolboy giggle--perfect, somehow, for a schoolboy crush--and another downward glance before they both looked up again.

Slag.

David could hear it in Michael’s voice, though neither of them spoke.

Only for you.

“I’ve got to go to bed.”

“Yes, you should go to bed.”

“Love you, Dai.”

David paused, breath catching at how freely Michael always said it. Paler shades of blues and oranges had just begun to color the indigo sky, and part of him didn’t want the night to end.

“Love you, too, Michael.”

He stared at the phone long after the call ended, committing every second of their conversation to memory. The image of David in the boxers returned then, unbidden, and Michael couldn’t help but laugh--at the absurdity, and at the wonder of this man who would do something so silly for him during such a hard time.

Michael laid out fully on the couch, his last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep of David, haloed in early morning light.

[delirious-donna]

Dear Donna, now that I’ve found the Ask-function (I was the one who sent you the Ibiki-request a while back via DM, if you remember) and changed up my name and blog a bit, I would like to ask your esteemed opinion on DILF/daddy Shikaku Nara :-3 <3 thank you

Hello dearest! Welcome to my ask box 💗

Oooooh Shikaku, yes please… let’s go!

Dilf, absolutely. He is a papa after all and a pretty damn good one. Shikaku knows when to encourage Shikamaru and when to leave him alone, he is very sincere and empathetic. Despite what his wife might say, I believe he’d be a very present and hands on papa if he wasn’t out on missions.

Daddy daddy daddy… yes! Oh yes. He’s a little rugged, lithe but well built and I just know that he’d spank you just right if you were acting up. Huge kink for him, but only wants one kid cause anymore would be too much hassle. Definitely the type to see you wearing something a little more revealing than usual and comes over to whisper in your ear about how he’s gonna rip it apart the second the two of you are alone… daddy doesn’t get jealous but he does like to know you’re his.