Theoraekenslover - Maddie Mikaelson - Tumblr Blog

nobody knows how badly i want to FUCK this man— he’s completely taken over my mind and i need him so badly

God, I want to suck this man’s soul out

ngl my eyes are on his hands

ok shy bau reader and the team finally managed to get her to come a rossi dinner party so she can meet the rest of the team families that she hasn’t met yet, maybe after her first date with hitch and the team realized quickly she softened very fast with the kids and jack and her just seemed to click really fast and jack had her talking more than any of the team has so far… hotch is star eyes

hotch x shy!bau!reader \\ Dinner and Delights

Warnings: brief mention/allusions to Christianity. Otherwise, fluff! More insight into what Aaron is thinking :) I got very carried away, I hope you enjoy <3

"Woah hot stuff, where are you going so fast?" Morgan intercepts you with an arm around your shoulder as you attempt to slip out of the BAU unnoticed. "Hopefully to get ready for our big dinner plans?"

It's not that you don't want to go to one of Rossi's famous dinner parties, you're just afraid that your sub-par social skills would be noticeable by tenfold in a more casual environment.

At work, you can hide your quietness by talking about the psychology of the unsub, your specialty as a licensed psychologist. You can pretend you're not hiding in your shell when the team is all laughing and talking about personal lives by quietly listening while pretending to read your maps and journals. You can observe them and spend time with them, because you do truly love them all at this point, without feeling bad that you prefer to listen over talk.

And that's really it - you prefer to listen to them. You would say you've all but warmed up to all of them. You like Morgan's teasing, Emily's stories, Reid's rambling, Rossi's sarcasm, and Hotch's...

Everything, but the thought snaps you back to the present before you can dwell on memories of a sweet date in a dark restaurant.

"Of course," you succeed, nodding and sending him a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey," he slows you down and stops in the hallway, turning you to face him gently before lifting his hands in a placating gesture as if you were an animal he expects to run. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with but I promise none of us are trying to lead our little lamb to slaughter. We know you're quiet," the admission embarrasses you and makes you feel guilty pleasant that he sounds so gentle about it, "and nobody minds, I think it's cute and I think the rest are just happy our other genius isn't as vocal as Reid."

Your nose scrunches at the small dig and you open your mouth to protest at putting Reid down to lift you up.

"And look at that! Another thing we all love - you're quiet but won't let anyone say anything about the other behind their back. You're a good person, we all just want to spend some less-intense time with you. So, go home and doll yourself up, and get ready to see Hotch wine tipsy. We all know that's your main motivator." Morgan winks at you and moves quickly down the hall and away from you, laughing, before you can protest.

He's not wrong, though, and you shake your head as you move toward the elevator.

You end up on Rossi's doorstep, choking the neck of a bottle of expensive wine between two sweaty palms. Your heart is in your throat, nerves humming in anticipation.

Your team cares about you. Nobody expects you to be anything you're not. Gentle affirmations meant to soothe over your skin in gently lapping waves erupt into steam; like water hitting lava rock. You're too tense, too worried about not saying enough or too much; saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing only once and never living up to the expectation of repeated occurrences.

"Hey," Emily says from behind you. You turn to see her jogging up to stand beside you, brushing off her pants and adjusting her jacket. "You brought wine!" She cheers happily, reaching past you to turn the nob and open the door.

She gestures you inside, making no comment about your obvious hesitance. With her by your side, your nerves are calmed. Aside from Aaron, she's the easiest for you to be around. You don't feel any expectations with Emily. She doesn't talk too much or too little, doesn't push, doesn't ever send a pitying look when you opt out of activities outside of work.

"Château Lafite," you say to her, lifting the wine and shaking it gently in the air as you walk inside.

"Oh! Fancy wine."

"Wine?" Rossi asks, rounding a corner. He's dressed slightly more casually in a soft sweater and jeans, drying his hands off with a pristine dish towel. "The more the merrier, bring it in here."

You follow his gesture back into the kitchen, leaving Emily to go to what you presume is the living or dining area.

"Where did you find this?" Rossi asks, taking the wine from you to examine it and letting out a low whistle as he appreciates it.

"Just my local winery," you say, neglecting to admit that you go there often enough that the owner leaves the nicer stuff behind the counter for you.

Lonely nights crave wine, twisting them into lovely things you can appreciate. You enjoy your own company after years of quietly observing others. You've learned how to observe yourself, too, after all of these years.

And, even though you don't quite realize it, the self-awareness carries like confidence. That's what Aaron sees in you: observant eyes darting across a room and noticing everything, understanding flickering before anyone else catches a cue, deft movements across the paper while taking notes, and swift motions always with a purpose.

It's what he sees now, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans while he leans in the doorway of Rossi's kitchen, watching you. How could he not? You're a lovely creature, always begging for his eyes to settle on you for another second, and then another.

He knows the moment you realize he's in the room, minutes before Rossi. You stand straighter, tilt your chin lower, and are aware far before you tilt your head to the side to send him a soft smile. He returns it before Rossi can catch him. It's a warmth he wants to reserve for you.

"Dave," he interrupts the other man's monologuing about the wine he's sure you already know all about, "Jack would like to know if he and Spencer can use your chess set when he gets here?"

"Of course, I'll get it from my study." Rossi leaves, passing you the wine and gesturing to the opener.

Aaron steps in before you can start the process of opening the wine. He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to do it for you. He finds himself wanting that more and more recently: to do simple tasks for the sole purpose of you not having to do them. Opening doors and pulling out chairs are simple gestures that he did with Hayley, but he wants to do sillier, smaller, things, too. Straighten the pens on your desk back into their cup, reorganize the files on your desktop, untangle the wires of the headphones he really should reprimand you for using at your desk, open a damn bottle of wine he can't pronounce the name of but that he heard you say so gently to Emily as you walked in.

"Jack's here?" You ask, handing him the wine and crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter to watch him work.

He relishes how your eyes focus on his arms, pupils dilating, as his muscles work under his thin henley.

"Yes, I have him this weekend and he likes to spend time with Reid and Garcia."

He has to step closer to reach above you to get the wine glasses. He could ask you to step aside, tuck his hand against your waist to move you himself, or simply walk into the next room to grab the glasses sitting on the table. But, instead, he tucks one foot in between yours, puts one hand on the back of your head to guard it from the cabinet, and opens it to find the nicer crystal there.

Your breath hitches across his neck and he remembers the chaste kisses he's given you before. Nothing serious, nothing has been yet because he's waiting for you to lead him into that, but tantalizing nonetheless. He steps back to pour the wine, standing closer to you than he started.

A little for you, passed gently, and then a little for him. Dave could pour his own glass.

You take the wine and sip it slowly, tongue darting out to taste before you sip. He's reminded of communion as a child. The blood of christ, sacred, something to be tasted but not meant to satiate. Reverence in a sip, devotion in a small act.

He wants to give you the same thing. The desire hits him in the sternum, suddenly, leaving him winded as he watches you lower the glass. Your eyes are locked on his, you haven't seemed as hesitant about holding his gaze recently - something that makes him melt - and he wonders if you can feel how he wants to take care of you. How he wants to show you the same force that water uses to carve canyons. Persistence and pressure, time and care. He's willing to take his time, he's filled with the same patience as everything all together in nature. He's a rabbit perched on its hind legs, sniffing the wind for safety before darting forward; the bird hung in flight between beats of wings, the whisper of wind carrying small seeds miles away to wait and watch the growth. Wait, wait, wait, however long it takes, he's there. For you.

It's a strong feeling to fully realize in David Rossi's kitchen, but he's grateful for it, anyway.

"It's good," you comment softly, eyes smiling.

"Is it?" He asks, setting his glass down and retaking his spot nearer to you. He misses your warmth. "Can I?" He asks, brushing his fingers across your jugular before cupping your cheek.

"Taste the wine?" You tease, eyes flickering to his glass. The gentle jest pulls a chuckle from his chest. Another thing you've become more comfortable doing around him. His blood and bones sing at how familiar you can be with him.

"Yes," he says in a breath, dipping his head down to brush his lips against yours.

And you're reciprocating - you've always reciprocated, enthusiastically, just never in the pressing way you are now. You set down your own glass to hold his arms in both of your hands. Fingers dig into his arm as you sigh and open your mouth, new lands to explore, tilting your head back to grant him full access.

"Daddy?" Jack asks and Aaron pulls away, a man parched and staring at an oasis in the middle of a desert, before Jack can round the corner. He doesn't go far, though, hand traveling down to the small of your back as he turns.

"Jack?" Aaron replies, waiting for him to come around the corner.

"Hello," Jack says, stopping in the doorway and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You've met him a few times before, always in passing, but you still smile warmly and wave at him.

"Hi, Jack."

"Do you know how to play chess?" Jacks asks. Aaron smiles at the eagerness on his son's face.

"Yes, I do. Would you like to play?"

"Yes please!" Jack jumps forward to grab your hand, pulling you into the living room before you can react.

You go easily, though, following him with a gentle laugh that warms the coldest parts of him. Pieces of him he doesn't think have seen the light in years brighten at the sound. He's heard you laugh before but something about the sight of you laughing because of Jack illuminates needs that he didn't even know he had. Needs you're meeting before he can feel the yawning desire of them.

He follows, unable to resist the desire to see you two interact over and over again. You're setting up the board, listening to Jack chatter on, nodding intently.

lesson in words | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

for some reason today, annabeth was not in the mood for her princess dresses or jelly shoes. she raised her voice when you were shuffling around her room, trying to find something appropriate for the aquarium. she didn’t want her sage green pants, or her lavender plaid shorts, not even her scratchy sparkling pink skirt.

“i want these!” kicking her legs in the air to indicate her unicorn pajama pants. you just sighed, not wanting to indulge her antics, “honey, those are house clothes. you sleep in those for a long time, they’re not appropriate for a day out. now, what’s our second choice?” leaning against her dresser with a fist beside your growing bump.

“unicorn! i want unicorn!” she jumped her body against her mattress, the springs creaking. a headache brewing behind your eyes, “annabeth diana reid,” you kept your voice stern and level, “if you can’t pick out day clothes then we can’t go to the aquarium. that means you can’t see the stingrays for another month.”

she pouted as she crossed her small arms over her chest, her hectic bed head another part you’ll have to deal with. “i hate you,” she said it mostly quiet, probably meant to be a whisper but doesn’t understand how that works yet.

you pursed your lips while diverting your eyes to the floor, “well i’m sorry you feel that way, but if you can’t fix your attitude and change your clothes then you can stay in your room for the day.” leaving your daughter behind as you headed to your shared bedroom where your husband was tidying the space.

he turned when you stepped on a specific creaky spot, he greeted you with a smile that dropped when you assumed he saw your upset pout and wet eyes. “what’s wrong?” quick to hurry at your side with his hands caressing your elbows.

“hormones mostly,” sniffling, “and annabeth has decided to be stubborn today and says she hates me cause i won’t allow her to wear her pjs out the house.” spilling what happen in the last five minutes as fat tears collected on your lash line, one blink and they slid down your pregnancy cheeks.

“oh honey,” spencer leaned your head into his chest, neglected nails curling into his navy polo. one of his hands slid along the back of your head to keep you hidden while his other rubbed soothing circles between your shoulder blades. “she doesn’t actually mean it.”

“i know i know,” you sniffled as you moved to place your ear to his heart, “just hurts having her say those words. she probably doesn’t understand the extent of its meaning.” taking a deep sigh as you gathered yourself to lean away from spencer.

“why don’t i go talk to her? try from a different perspective.” his warm palms rubbed at your upper arms as he stared softly into your wet eyes.

you sniffled, “she is a daddy’s girl. listens to you more no matter what.” chuckling wetly when spencer just shrugged. he pecked a kiss to your forehead and guided you to the made bed, telling you to rest for now as he went to talk with your four year old.

spencer knocked gentle on her cracked door, “can i come in?” both of you were making sure to teach the importance of knocking before entering a room. she almost caught the act of making her new siblings.

“yes,” she replied quietly. spencer slowly pushed open her decorated door, his head peaking in first before completely entering and closing them in.

his daughter lay in her bed, her flower comforter swallowing her. only a small lump shifting gave away her hiding spot, spencer took a seat at the foot of her twin.

he gave what felt like her calf a loving squeeze, “wanna come out and talk?” her small heel nudged into his knee, “no.” spencer could hear her pout.

“why not?” “cause i-i-i was a meanie to-to mommy,” annabeth began to hiccup through her words. spencer quickly pulled her sheets back and frowned at her rosy wet cheeks, along with a line of snot leaving her tiny nose.

“oh honey, come here.” spencer wrapped his arms behind her back as she threw hers around his neck. she crawled into his lap, her small legs stopping at his hips. “do we feel bad about our earlier emotions?” spencer rubbed a large palm in soothing circles.

“ye- yes. i-i want to see sti- stingrays, and i-i want to match with mo- my mommy.” her words a blubbering mess as she panicked over something small for the adults but other worldly for her child mind.

spencer cooed in her ear, “why don’t we go apologize first. see if she’ll accept.” he felt annabeth nod in agreement. he carried her the short distance to the master bedroom where you were laying on your back as your palms rubbed your stomach and you stared at the ceiling.

you turned your head at a small knock, your face softening at the sight before you. “someone has something to say,” spencer said as he let annabeth’s feet sit on the bed.

the young girl untangled from her father’s hold and slowly walked to sit beside you. you could hear her ragged inhales and frowned at her flushed face. “i- i- i am sorry for ye- yelling. i want to go to aquarium and you- you can help dress me, mo- mommy.” her tiny hands pulled at the helm of her sleep shirt.

you let a palm caress her warm cheek, “i was a little hurt when you said you hate me,” wanting to be truthful to your brilliant child.

her lip wobbled, “i- i didn’t mean it. i lo- love you with my whole body.” something you say to her to show your complete extent of affections. “i heard that it was an unkind word, i- i re- regret saying it.”

“i know you do, honey.” pulling her into your chest for an awkward side hug. “let’s be mindful of our words, alright? they’re very powerful.” petting down her hair, you felt her nod on your shoulder.

“are my two girls friends again?” spencer spoke up during the moment. he stayed near the edge of the room to give the both of you space.

you pressed a kiss into annabeth’s temple, “i think so. what about you bethie, do you want to wear matching overalls today?”

her eyes peeked at your through clumped lashes, “can- can we also do bows?”

you squeezed her side, “of course, bethie-boo.”

-

a/n: i took this idea from @khxna that they left on a post of mine. thank you for sharing💗

Had a really crazy idea: ( dont stress yourself with writing this lol take your time)

Y/n has been stalking rafe for quite some time

Hes married and almost 18 years older than her

She just watched him f ck his wife through his window

And they are now sleeping peacfully next two each other naked in his bed

Rafe is sleeping on his back

Y/n cant resist

She opens the window , slips into the room and lowers herself very very slowly on his d ck

It feels soo good but she cant move or do much because she doesnt want to wake either of them

So she is just clenching and moving her hips in mini circles

But its enough to make him c m deep inside of her

Stalker

-

You’ve always had an obsession little crush on Rafe Cameron. He was all anybody talked about in this small town. Since the time you were 8 and he was 26, the Cameron’s were somebody everybody feared and respected. They were rich, high-class, successful kooks. By the time you were 16 and he was 34, you were in high school and Rafes name was still muttered in the halls about what a legend he was and how with age he just got more hot.

You couldn’t disagree. In fact, you’d sneak out of the house every night to watch him in his home, touching his wife, kissing her, eating dinner with her, watching movies with her, fucking her.

You weren’t ashamed of what you’d do. You didn’t see anything wrong with it. You just simply had a crush, and an itch to scratch.

When you turned 18 rafe was 36.

In the last two years you managed to place yourself in every aspect of his life, desperately trying to get him to notice you, so much so that you scored yourself a summer job as an intern at his office. Getting his coffee orders, organizing his papers and desk.

Your obsession only grew. And you realized it may have become a problem when you stood outside his bedroom window, watching and listening to the sound of skin slapping and grunts from rafe. Watching his cock go in and out of his wife’s wet pussy and it made you reach your fingers down, slipping past your jeans and panties and gasping quietly as you watched and imaged you were the one he was fucking.

And hour later and they were both fast asleep, with you still standing outside the cracked open window, watching his chest rise and fall in the dimly lit room.

And idea popped into your head, one your weren’t too proud of but you pushed those negative thoughts out and opened the window wider as you climbed in. Carful with every step as to not wake them. With each step you hold your breath until you stand at the foot of the bed. Rafes wife is turned away from his body and still naked while she sleeps soundly, Rafes next to her naked as well with the flimsy sheet barely covering his exposed lower half. You bite your lip anxiously as you start undressing, leaving your shirt and bra on you step out of your jeans and panties and crawl onto the bed, straddling Rafes lap and gently lifting his cock, rubbing the tip with your fingers before positioning it right at your entrance. You sigh as you fully take him in.

Your hand flys to your mouth, the stretch too good, the pleasure making every nerve in your body numb. You don’t want to risk waking either of them up so you gently rock back and forth, side to side, and in small circles, working your clit with your fingers. You feel Rafes cock harden inside you and he gets deeper and deeper. He doesn’t move though, his body still breathing steadily and laying still as you started to move up and down slowly, making sure to not move around too much or make too much noise. But when you sink all the way down again and your fingers circle your wet clit, the pleasure is too much and you clamp down around his thick cock, sucking him in further. You let go and you feel a sudden warmth fill your belly. When you manage to pull yourself off Rafes still body you see his cum drip down your legs, swiping a finger through the warm liquid and bringing it up to your mouth, you suck and moan a little too loud before grabbing your clothes and rushing back out the way you came in.

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10

the downward spiral (one shot)

PAIRING: stepdad!Joel x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 3k

WARNINGS: 18+ smut, stepcest, jealousy, possessive Joel. dubcon if you squint. Manhandling, Unsafe PIV, improvised toy, creampie. Brief allusion to Joel as your father figure. Hair can be pulled, can sit on Joel's lap.

NOTES: title is a nine inch nails album. reader has an apartment, but she's visiting for the holidays.

—---

In the kitchen, Joel listens to the coffee maker and checks the time. Leaning back against the counter, he opens his New York Times Games app. He’s contemplating what to start with in WORDLE. “CUTIE,” he types.  

A snapchat notification from you pops up, making him giddy. He adjusts his glasses, and his thumb hovers over the notification. If it’s erotic, he’d prefer to save it for a more private moment, but not now. He’s been waiting for you to wake up, and he’d rather see you first.  The inner battle furrows his brow, then he watches himself tap the notification. His face relaxes at the sight of you, and his cheeks warm with affection. The shot is pretty innocent, but there’s a look in your eye just for him. And your lips are parted. Ugh, your perfect mouth. 

“Merry xmas eve,” it says. 36 hours since he last touched you. 

A shadow moves on the stairs, and he looks up from his phone to see you watching him, biting your lip with a little smile. You clasp your fingers behind yourself and stretch, then finish descending the steps.   

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice greets you, then he clears his throat. He saves your picture to the chat, then slips his phone into the pocket of his gray sweats. He runs a hand through his hair, then braces his hands on the counter behind himself, leaning back as casually as he can, letting you know you’re in control. 

You take your time approaching, and his eyes lock with yours when you’re close enough for him to smell your shampoo. He takes a deep breath through his nose. You lift your arms to waist height as you close the gap between your bodies. You wrap your arms around his strong middle, and he exhales as warmth radiates from your chest. Your body presses gently into his. Warmth. Comfort. You’re made of joy. 

He hugs you loosely, and you rest your head on him. His chest vibrates with a low, satisfied, “Mm.” He presses the lightest kiss onto the crown of your head. 

“Mm,” you echo. 

His thumb brushes the nape of your neck, and his other hand rests lower on your back, fingers spread, rubbing a slow aimless pattern. You smell just as warm and cozy as you feel. Your hips push forward, making him flinch, but . Warmth rushes to his crotch, and you don’t pull away when it moves against you. He swallows, trying not to push back on you. 

“It’s ok,” you whisper. As he relaxes, his bulge nudges you, and there’s no mistaking his desire. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, 

“Don’t be,” you reply.  

God damn, you’re making this hard. 

The doorbell rings. “Prolly a delivery,” Joel mutters, and his thumb brushes behind your ear.   He savors every moment with you. 

A few seconds later, there’s a bunch of rustling around outside the front door. 

“Alright,” Joel grumbles. 

“Lotta packages out hea,” a Boston accent is heard through the door. Oh, great. It’s your neighbor down the street. The newly single one.  

You start to pull away. Joel’s chest begins to cave in, but the feeling is quickly muffled by irritation. “The fuck is he doin’ here?” Joel grumbles to himself, then accuses you, “That why you’re down here?”  With every muscle in his body tensing, he scratches the back of his neck. 

Your head tilts in disapproval. “Would you keep it together? Please?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“You sure? You good?” you ask. 

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and nods. 

“You’re doing good,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his chest. 

The doorbell rings again, and Joel’s nose twitches. “Get outta here,” he nods toward the stairs. “Now.”

“Chill, I’m going.” 

He waits for you to get all the way upstairs before answering the door. 

—

There’s Harold, crouched over, picking up one last package, trying not to spill his iced coffee in the process. He stands up straight and smiles with his bottom teeth, proud that he hasn’t dropped anything.  His navy, quarter-zip sweater is a little tight for his arms. “Happy holidays,” he says. 

Joel has one hand on the frame, and one holding the side of the door. His body blocks the entry.

They look at each other for a moment. Harold’s tired eyes fall on Joel’s gray sweatpants, tighter than they were ten minutes ago. With a friendly wink in his voice, he asks, “Catch ya at a bad time?” 

“Yeah,” Joel responds flatly. 

When Harold doesn’t leave, Joel bites the bullet and accepts the packages. 

“They were all out here,” Harold mutters as Joel takes them one by one. 

It would’ve been easier for Joel to bring them in himself rather than indulge this ridiculous balancing act. Joel rolls his eyes as he puts the packages down on the floor inside. As he stands up, he glances around and sees no sign of you. Good. He turns toward Harold and grips the side of the door again, ready to close it. 

Harold is standing there with a dumb smile and asks, “How ya doin’, man?”

“Not bad,” Joel forces, silently willing the neighbor to leave already. 

“Good, good,” Harold mutters to himself. “Me too,” he offers without Joel asking. “Well, ya know,” he adds with a defeated shrug. “All things considered.”  Right, his divorce. 

“Daughtah home?” Harold asks. 

As soon as Joel translates it to daughter, his nostrils flare. His blood pressure shoots up. His vision blurs, and his glasses do nothing. He’d like to kill this man. He takes a deep, calming breath and sizes him up in silence. Has he always been that tall? “Just ran into ya wife,” Harold gestures down the street with his thumb, bicep straining his sweater. “She said your daughter might wanna come to the–” 

“No,” Joel interrupts him. 

“New year’s party,” Harold mumbles. 

Joel unclenches his jaw long enough to say, “Kinda in the middle’a somethin’.” 

“Told ya wife I’d invite her,” Harold explains. “Only take a sec.” 

“She’s not dressed,” Joel blurts out. He stops short of clarifying that he’s not your father, either. He wants to be everything. He has to be every man you could ever need, and he cares less and less about who knows it. 

“Heh,” a faint blush rises to Harold’s face with a flash of his eyebrows. He rocks his plastic cup, making the half-melted ice jumble around. 

“bye, Harold,” Joel closes the door in his face, then watches through the window as this asshole walks down the driveway and raises his cup to a passing car. 

-

Joel steps back and cracks his neck in an unsuccessful attempt to release some tension, but it’s only getting worse. His whole body is wound up and ready to fight.   

He can't let you see him like this. He’s supposed to be keeping it together. 

He goes back to the kitchen and steadies his hand to pour half a cup of coffee. He holds the cup, watching the bubbles disappear. 

The bath turns on upstairs, and Joel groans inwardly at the \ urge to charge up the stairs and ravish you. He has a vision of you sitting on the side of the tub, nude. You reach back and dangle your fingers into the water to test the temperature. Every muscle in his body wants to bust through that door and take you. 

Another fantasy he’d never have the balls to act on. Right? 

He puts down his coffee and takes off his glasses, resting them face-up on the kitchen island. He eyes the stairs, then shakes his head at himself. His hands brace on the edge of the island and he straightens his arms, triceps stretching his white tee. Leaning forward, he hangs his head and closes his eyes, calming himself. He stands there and breathes for a minute. 

“Keep it together,” he whispers, but he can hardly hear himself over his inner caveman.

Kill. 

Breed. 

Kill. 

“Fuck,” he curses.

—-------

The water is loud enough that you don’t hear Joel’s heavy steps thudding up the stairs. When the door bursts open, you jump.  Your eyes widen as Joel shuts the door behind himself. He doesn’t look at you yet, despite your nakedness.  He braces one hand on the middle of the door and the other rests lightly on his hip. He looks down, still trying to conjure restraint. 

All you can say is, “Joel?”  

His muscular back flexes rhythmically under his slutty white tee as he catches his breath. After a few seconds, his head turns enough to look back at you. His eyes are dark. 

“Tell me to leave,” he commands, with his voice deep and breathy. 

Your lips part, but you say nothing. You scan his body, lingering on his pumped up muscles. 

He takes his hand off the door and turns to face you head on. His fingers twitch at his sides as his dark gaze roves your body. His head tilts forward, casting a shadow over his eyes as he looks at your face again. “Tell me to leave, honey.”  When you don’t show any sign of answering, he steps toward the bathtub, chest heaving. His brows knit and he slightly shakes his head.

You sit there captivated by his energy. The drum in your neck beats harder as he gets closer. Your chest bubbles with excitement. 

He looms over you, and you’re lifting your head up to look at him when his large hand seizes your arm and he pulls you to your feet. He wraps his other arm around you from behind and grabs between your legs. Grunting under the roar of the water, he manhandles you toward the double vanity. 

He gropes your breasts, still holding you by the pussy. He abruptly pulls you tighter against him and the hard bulge in his sweatpants makes you throb. 

After releasing your breasts, but not your pussy, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him in the mirror. 

“Last chance, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear.  

You answer, “Do it or leave.”

He releases your jaw.  “Uggh,” he groans in painful desire. Emboldened by your encouragement, he slowly slides his flattened fingers along your slit, finding you wet.  “This is mine.” his stiffening cock nudges you through his sweatpants. When you don’t reply, his voice gets firmer. “Say it.”

“It’s yours. I’m yours.” 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

He bends you over the counterspace between your sinks. A sweep of your forearm sends an unplugged hair dryer, a bottle of lotion, and God knows what else into the sink you barely use. 

Meanwhile, Joel has pulled down his sweats. He holds his hard cock, and his rocks onto the balls of his feet and back. He places a hand on your lower back. You tilt your hips as he lines himself up. His tip nudges into the right spot, pushing at your dripping hole. Then he grabs your hips and shoves into you with a sigh.  You grunt at the sweet burn of his sudden intrusion. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “gotta take it.” 

He only waits a second before withdrawing all but the tip, then slamming into you harder. He withdraws again. A bruising grip on your hips pulls you back as he slides into you, easier.  

The grip of his hands eases up as he buries his cock in you faster. He opts to hold you down. With your breasts smashed against the marble, he grunts as he fucks it all out on you. Your insides bloom with arousal, gripping his cock, pulling at him for more, deeper. Your heart tingles with exhilaration. 

His soft affection is a memory. A wild passion possesses him instead, evident with each thrust and grunt. This primal need has him desperate to own you from the inside out. 

“Ughh,” he groans, snapping his hips. 

You twitch and moan, muffled by the loud water. 

He grunts at the sound and fucks you harder. 

He needs to pour all of him in there. You have to be his. 

He slows down only to wrap a hand around your hair. His firm grip makes your scalp tingle. “Look at me,” he pants. As he begins to lift his fist, you push yourself up on your forearm and look up at the mirror with your breath fogging it. He drops your hair and pulls your upper body closer to his so you can see. 

You brace hands on the counter and marvel at this spellbound wreck of yourself.  Your movements aren’t your own. You’re controlled only by the rhythm of his cock and his hands. They make you feel small.  

 “Me,” he commands, and your eyes snap to him.

It’s the face of a man possessed. His eyes are wild and demanding. He grits his teeth. His neck vein bulges. His hair bounces with each unforgiving thrust. His hips move with a purpose -  deeper. More. More of you. His. Fuck. 

It’s the first time you've met his wild man. You've seen glimpses in the way he lashes out in jealousy. And his intensity has always been evident. But you didn't imagine a whole feral form of him. The way his veins bulge, the power of his body. You never fully noticed the build of his chest or how a v muscle cuts through his tanline. This has all been there, all along.  Every time he’s snapped at you, it's been this guy. 

“fuck, Joel,” you breathe. 

His mouth falls open with a silent moan. About to cum, he grabs your electric toothbrush and races to turn it on. He presses the smooth barrel of your toothbrush against you, with the bottom nearly touching his cock. Your lips part, and your eyelids fall. 

He bottoms out hard, and his shaft twitches against your snug insides as you’re vibrated from the outside. He twitches bigger, harder, and sighs with relief as his seed spills into you. A moment later, another burst, and the warmth spreads in your depths. 

He turns the vibration up. “Give it to me,” he demands. “C’mon, baby. It’s mine.” He holds you tight with another deep thrust. 

A massive throb of his cock sends you over the edge and releases another long rope. The climax seizes you, making you arch your back, grinding against the vibration. “I got ya,” he breathes, then moans with another shot of cum. Your nipples peak. A second later, your spasming pussy squeezes another burst out of him. 

There’s more, and more, until warmth is trickling down your inner thigh and his arms are relaxing around you as you finish. When your body relaxes, he turns off the toothbrush and rolls it onto the counter unceremoniously.  

-

As you catch your breath, Joel hugs you from behind, and his eyes soften. He buries his mouth in your neck, then kisses you on the head and glances at the mirror with a puppy dog look, with a gentle thrust deeper, making you spasm. 

He growls quietly.  God, he’s hot. 

“You okay?” He whispers above your ear. 

“Yeah,” you smile, looking down and tracing his knuckles. 

The bathwater is almost overflowing. Joel slides out of you and pulls up his sweatpants. Cum trickles all the way down your leg to the tile floor. Always such a mess. With a softening tent in his pants he goes and turns the water off, then checks the temp. He reaches in to unplug the drain and lower the water level, then asks, “that good?” 

“Yeah.” 

He sits on the edge of the garden tub, scratching one side of his scruff and manspreading as you approach.

“Hey. C’mere,” he says softly. 

You stand between his legs completely naked, and he runs his hands down your sides, then pulls you into his lap, helping you straddle him.  

“Sure you're good?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you reassure him. “That was amazing.”

He holds you in his arms, then adjusts your weight so his bulge is against your crotch, and your breath hitches. You’ve only come once. You could go for more, but it's not smart. 

He buries his head in your chest, then looks up, and pulls you down for a kiss that starts soft. His tongue parts your lips then he's trying to drink you in.  He pulls you tighter, kissing you hard, grinding you on him in a way that could have you quickly lose control. You're leaking all over him. 

Your lips break away. You cup his cheek, give him a peck, and he asks, “too much?” 

You nod and whisper, “we’re playing with fire.” 

He lets you out of his lap, then holds out his hand and you use it for balance to get into the tub. 

Your voices are hushed. “You want a bath bomb or somethin’?”

“You know about bath bombs?” You tease him. 

“Eucalyptus all the way,” he answers, then crouches down to an under-sink cabinet. 

“Linen closet,” you redirect him. 

He picks a rose one and fumbles with the wrapping until he comes back and drops it in. He sits on the side of the tub and his thumb brushes your forehead. 

“You should go,” you gently urge him. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and leans down for a last kiss. “Can I get ya anything else?” 

You shake your head no.

“silicone Joel's water resistant,”  he offers, pointing back toward your bedroom. 

You crack a smile and tell him, “Get outta here. Now.”

------

THANK YOU FOR READING

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 0. Fate (in all its theory)

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

series masterlist || next chapter

“It is a singular fact that many men of action incline to the theory of fatalism, while the greater part of men of thought believe in divine providence” - Honoré de Balzac

There were occasions, particularly padding across her desolate home, when Cleo Murphy would try to understand where her entangled fate with Spencer Reid all began. Moments engrained in her eidetic memory, playing inside her head like a show rerun she can’t escape from. Maybe this was all pre-destined in the stars or written in some scroll now lost to the sea. Or maybe this was all a series of happenstance, no matter how she believes it to not to be.

Her working theory was easy to explain. That every outcome was pre-destined but it was the choices made that decide when those outcomes will come and it is those same choices that decide how everything ends—with a final goodbye when death comes to take what he is due under labored breaths or with a final goodbye under the darkened sky and a flickering, dying porch light. One of those endings, goodbyes, have been spoken out to the universe and maybe it was tempting fate to retrace her steps for the other goodbye not spoken. 

She was named after Clio, the Greek Muse of History. Perhaps that was where her near-perfect memory came from. A curse or a blessing, depending on who she asks. The Muse of History was also generally depicted to attend political relations between nations and men. And perhaps that was also where her attraction for the law and the administration of government came from. An attraction to the government that manifested itself through Spencer—a highly thought of individual working for the FBI. The Muse was also punished by the goddess Aphrodite to fall in love with a single man. And she herself was not spared, not even in modern setting. 

Did it all begun when she uttered the line ‘I’d like to work for the law when I grow up’ during her 5th birthday party? Did it begun when she chose to attend Caltech instead of Harvard for an undergraduate degree in Political Science? Did it begun when she approached the Bambi eyed stranger in the library for the last copy available of a pre-requisite read for one of her classes? Or perhaps it was just all of the above and she was damned to fall utterly and ridiculously in love with her best friend. 

A platonic relationship that was at limbo. After all, they haven’t even spoken for almost a year. Their last moment was filled with fighting words, mainly his, that she couldn’t un-absorb and pleas, mainly hers, that wish to break the hold his choice of poison in the shape of a needle had on him. Ending with a slam of a door and an unheard sob of goodbye, Cleo doesn’t know where to start untangling her string of fate from Spencer’s. So she pushed the mess of history in the deep recesses of her brain, locked in a vault, out of sight but never forgotten. And she was okay with that. Or she thought she was okay with that, until that fateful second chance encounter at the coffee shop down the street.

Coffee spilt on the floor and patrons weaving all around, unaware of the workings of fate to bring two tortured souls back together. 

“Cleo,” Spencer whispered her name almost reverently. 

And just like that, the vault that houses their entangled fate was unlocked and all she could ever do was watch as fate brought her back to the man who once and possibly still holds her mind, body, and soul.

not to "baby" spencer, but the team forgetting his birthday that one time is so much sadder when you remember the fact that he's always gonna remember there's

Polaroid perfect

Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader 🔞

Rick learns the truth about his daughter's relationahip in a very unpleasant way.

A quick in and out, that was all Rick and Daryl had planned for the day.

Rick sat crouched in an abandoned hallway, planning their strategy of going through the section of houses they had selected.

"You brought the list, right?" Rick asked Daryl who was busying himself with the initial walker check.

"S'in ma bag." The archer's voice sounded as he stepped back after declaring the house safe. " ya know, like e'rythin' else cuz ya refused ta bring yers."

Rick only responded with a mumbled repeat of Daryl's words and reached over to grab the dull green canvas bag that sat against the dust covered side table.

He had to take another folded up bag out that laid on top of their supplies. 'Really? We've got bags in the car..' Rick shook his head to himself and fished for the supply lists people had given them, pulling the papers out and scattering them over the floor as a corner caught on the bag's drawstring.

"The hell?"

Rick's voice of surprise had Daryl turn and look his way, freezing the second his eyes landed on the items scattered on the wooden floor.

Both men were silent as they stares from one photo to the next.

A simple photo of you smiling, with Daryl kissing your cheek.

"Oh, look! It has a tiny mirror thingie! Can we try to take a photo together, please?" With an eye roll and a huffed laugh Daryl complied and sat down next to you for a photo. "Dunno why yer willin' ta waste film on a guy like me." He mumbled against your skin as you raised the camera to position it right.

Just as you pressed the button to snap the photo, Daryl pressed his lips to your cheek.

Next to it a less innocent one, of your chest. Rick easily recognized it with how your hair was visible and the scar on your shoulder he tended to when it was a fresh wound. Daryl's tattooed hand was covering one of them, a gauze patch peeking up from underneath his hand.

"Tha' wasn't so bad now was it?" Daryl kissed your cheek as he readied a gauze to place over the freshly cut lines in your skin. You winced as you moved, but shook your head. "It was okay I guess.."

After Daryl had applied the gauze you slumped down on your back, arms crossed around your chest. It was a sight to see, according to Daryl, who had placed his hand over your gauze covered skin and snapped a photo.

As Rick scanned the images one by one, Daryl stood frozen with his eyes on just one of the frames.

Your lower half, marked in bruises and fresh bitemarks. Legs spread around scarred hips and a cock buried to the hilt inside of you. On your thigh a small fresh cut heart still bled.

Sighs and pants filled the air in the small, dusty room you were holed up. "Shit, yer gonna be the end'a me one day.." Daryl's gruff voice was barely above a whisper, thrusting into you and staring at where you teo connected. It looked like he was in a trance, until your voice pulled him back. "Why don't you take a pic? For when you're on the road."

There were more, some laying faced down but it was clear the whole collection had the same theme.

"Daryl.." Rick didn't bring his eyes up to meet the hunter. Instead they were focused on the most explicit photo that was in his view. He had no interest in seeing what Daryl packed below the belt. And even less in seeing it inside of his daughter.

A hand slammed down on the printed paper, a loud smack sounded through the hallway.

"You're sleeping with my daughter?" In his eyes a dark stare, his hand still spread over a photo. Daryl knew exactly what photo.

Daryl nodded his head. "..yeah. She asked me. Asked 'er ta keep quiet, dun wanted folk talkin' bout shit tha had nothin' ta do with 'em." Daryl paced the two half steps between the walls of the hallway, chewing his thumb til he broke the skin.

With a sigh Rick picked up the photo his palm rested on.

"This?" His palm covered the worst of the image, his other hand pointed at the bleeding heart. "And m'not even going to mention the obvious, is in no way acceptable."

Daryl struggled to find his footing, nervously staring anywhere but at his brother who looked dead at him.

"I swear, I.." He stumbled over his words, unsure which ones would anger Rick the least. "She was fine with it. Ne'er did anythin' she didn' want."

There was a moment of silence between the two men. The only sound heard was the shuffling of pictures being gathered and stacked.

"We're going to drop this and finish this run." Rick stuffed the photos back all the way at the bottom of the bag.

"You, me and her. Tonight over dinner." With the bag on his hand he walked over to Daryl and shoved it against his chest. "First we do what we came here for."

And the run went well. They found the needed items, along with some requested things as well. Their haul was better than expected, but the two men still shared no words besides the needed ones for the job.

The drive back to the community was silent and getting all the items to their destinations was done in seperate ways.

There was no way the two men could look each other in the eyes right now. Rick went home and hoped to not find you until dinner, too afraid he might snap, unable to hold back all that he was feeling at this moment. His mind was reeling the second he sat down, making him jump up from the chair and pace around.

Dinner. He was going to focus on dinner.

With that in mind he set off to the pantry, going through all the recipes he knew, deciding on a meal with the ingredients he found.

A couple of houses down, Daryl needed a nap. He laid down on his couch but sleep wouldn't take him, his mind wandering off to all possible bad outcomes of tonight's dinner. He as well couldn't lay still, tossing and turning until he sat back up in frustration and hauled himself up the stairs and into the shower. He focused on cleaning himself up, scrubbing off the thoughts of a ruined friendship and rinsing away the fear of banishment.

Rick stood in the kitchen, thanking whoever listened for the fact that his family was busy and not available to question his clearly frazzled mind as he busied himself chopping down the greens he picked and cutting the few potatoes he was given in thin slices.

With care Daryl sifted through his clothes, trying to find any that didn't scream 'dirty redneck' at him from where they sat in the drawers. He dug past checkered flanels with torn sleeves, black buttown downsthat were once nice clothing items but now were nothing more than once expensive fabrics with holes in them.

Rick sighed as the warm water his his skin as he cleaned the cutting board. Pans with the greens and potatoes sat ready on the stovetop, and the meat sat prepped in the fridge. He was content with his work, looking around the kitchen as he dried the used items and placed them back in their respective cabinets.

Daryl's hands found plastic at the back of the drawer, pulling at it to reveal the bag Carol had gifted him, an outfit she brought back from a run with the Kingdom.

He stared at the thick, fancy patterned fabric. Shining threaded flowing patterns over a dull black fabric. The sleeves were long, with a small button and clasp to keep them rolled up. Along with the nice button up were sleek black pants that fit him perfectly.

Back in the kitchen Rick stood at the stove, finally having changed out of his gear and into home clothes. Now that he had a full kitchen and ingredients available again he enjoyed cooking, and even though Michonne and Carl weren't joining tonight he still put effort into it.

He had just put the meat in the pan when you came home, quickly questioning him about the food.

"Just go change and get back, dinner's almost ready." You watched your dad wavee his spatula in the direction of the stairs and for a second you wondered if he had found someone's stash and Daryl had comvinced him to smoke some as well before you did as he asked and went to change out of your dirty work clothes.

Before he left Daryl gave himself one last look in the large mirror that hung by the front door. He looked nice, he heard Carol's voice in his head as he looked ar how the few strands of shorter hair fell around his face while the rest was held together in a low ponytail.

By the time you came back downstairs your dad had set the table and was moving pans onto their coasters.

Wait.

Why was the table set for three? No one else was home for dinner tonight.

Rounding the corner the kitchen came into view and your stomach fluttered but you were unsure about what caused it.

Was it the butterflies that came with Daryl standing in your kitchen, seemingly filling three glasses with water in what looked like clean, fancy clothes? Or was it the anxiety moths that made thoughts of why he was here dressed up nicely in the first place?

"Looks good, dad." You mused as you walked past him to the sink.

"Let me take one." Next to Daryl you took one glass and the full pitcher, mouthing a subtle 'what the fuck?' at him, getting an eyeroll and a nod towards Rick.

"No need to fake the niceness, hon. I saw your little private photo collection."

You felt the glare at the back of your head and your body froze, hands stuck on the glasswares, unmoving.

Daryl murmured a soft apology before he moved to set the glasses on the table, coming back to take your items as well.

"C'mon, let's sit down 'n eat." With careful hands he maneuvered you to your seat at the table, where you had not dared to look anywhere outside of the scratched white of the plate in front of you.

The sound of spoons hitting pans and cutlery scraping plates all muddled as the panic rung in your ears.

You had kept part of your life secret with the utmost care, never a single moment of worry yet and nkw here the two most important men in your life sat, and ate in peace.

"Sweetheart, you should eat." Your father reached a hand across the table to take yours in comfort.

How were they so calm under all of this?

"I won't scream, or yell. I just need you to eat." With his hand withdrawn from yours he tilted the pan of potatoes for you to scoop some onto your plate.

The atmosphere at the table slowly settled as you all ate, but the more empty your plates became, the closer the dreaded topic came.

With pans and plates empty, Rick's voice cleared the awkward silence.

"So, how long?" He glanced between you and Daryl, seeing who'd answer first.

"After the prison fell." At Daryl's quick response you perked up. You listened how he recollected the events of your time spent separated between the fall of the prison and reuniting after that unfortunate meeting with the Claimers.

"Oooh look at this! Do you need some help, pretty lady?" The door to the storage unit you hoped up in got toen open to reveal a group of men, old and clearly mad in their doings.

"Claimed."

A voice you recognised sounded from the back of the group.

Daryl.

He went on to share how laying claim on you kept the men away from you and how he thought after reuniting it'd be done and over, but the oposite proved itself fairly quick.

"You know you didn't have to do all that, right? I mean, I know it was all to keep up the act, but I also know you don't like getting close like that." You and Daryl walked along the tree line, carefully eyeing a boar in the distance. "Hmhm, s'alright. Was nice, really." He dropped the subject immediately after and decided to focus on teaching you to hunt properly.

With focus and precision you took the shot, hitting the animal and joining Daryl to go see. "Great shot."

Upon seeng the animal lay lifeless on the forest floor you jumped into Daryl's arms with glee, quickly pulling back upon realizing your mistake.

Daryl's mind raced those few seconds, screaming at himself to make it happen now or never and his body moved out of its own.

His hands had remained on your hips and pulled you back in, ever so carefully nuzzling your cheek and making his way to press his lips against yours.

It was clear in Daryl's wording he wasn't having fun sharing the stories, but the glances he couldn't keep from happening told Rick more than Daryl's words.

"Ya gotta know, I care fer 'er. Really do." There were no truer words, nothing he could make it more clear he never had any ill intentions with you.

So now Rick stared at you, a look in his eyes that told you he was waiting for you to speak.

His look did nothing but frustrate you. "Really? You really think I'd sleep with just anybody just because the world went to shit?" Daryl could do nothing but smile behind his glass of water as you glared at your father. It was all true and he knew it firsthand.

"Reminds me of when ya smacked tha' Woodbury guy cuz he assumed ya were an easy fix." You sputtered out a laugh at the memory. "I don't even know how he thought that would work.."

"Hell, ya even turned me down lord knows how many times 'fore we found 'im again." Daryl nudged at Rick, recollecting the time you spent together with the Claimers.

His comment had you shy away again a little, still not comfortable to discuss any of that with your father in the room.

"Look." Rick interrupted the silence that had fallen again. "I'm not entirely agreeing with this, but at least I know Daryl's able to take care of you."

A stern finger pointed between the two of you next. "I just don't want to see any of it. Understood?"

You looked at Daryl and then at Rick. "So, that means you're okay with it?" The blessing turned the moths from before back into fluttering butterflies that spilled the words right past your lips, not even time for your brain to filter them.

"I promise it's not just what you saw in the photos, there's so much care and love, too. He even taught me how to hunt so I'll have food if we ever got separated." There was excitement in your voice, happiness even. It sang through the room as you rambled on about the feelings shared between you and the hunter.

"Think yer dad's heard 'nough fer today." There was a smile on Daryl's face as he could feel the unease radiate from his dearest friend. "M'headin' home. Ya get sum rest an' we'll talk t'morrow, yeah?"

As Daryl retreated you moved to go wash the dishes in silence, only the sound of running water and clanking plates to be heard. You didn't even notice the scrape of the chair across the floor, or the shadow cast beside you as your father joined you at the counter to dry what you washed.

"You know what?" His voice spoke suddenly beside you, pulling you away from your task."I'm glad it's Daryl you picked to be your partner."

A/N: Lords this took way too long. I hope it's any good 🙏🙏

ADDITIONAL P*LINKS FOR LOGAN HOWLETT <3

logan brat taming you after your tantrums

logan eating you out

logan breeding you

getting pounded

logan and his breeding kink

getting fingered before bed

you and logan on the couch

logan helping you cum

riding logan pt1

logan sending you a vid

logan and you

getting fingered

logan being rough

riding him

size kink with logan

logan eating you out

getting roughed up on the couch

getting into competition

logan using you

logan manhandling you

i need some air-

This is still the most Spencer Reid coded thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

Reblogging so I can find it later

Please Let Me Be Enough

Summary: After missing an important date for something you can’t fathom, Spencer has to convince you that you’re the one for him.

Tags: angst with a happy/hopeful ending, feelings of worthlessness, feelings of not being good enough, mentions of season 8 love interest and spoiler of that arc ending, gender neutral reader, no physical descriptors - an outfit is mentioned that reader wears of Spencer's but it is described as being "extra large for him" (Think the XXXL hoodie he wears in season 15), established relationship, pet names, no y/n.

Around 4,500 words.

*The poll said angst with a happy ending, so I hope anyone who voted enjoys!

Hi! Thanks for reading! I welcome any and all feedback - yes, even constructive criticism! Be nice but if you think something is out of character or incorrect, let me know!

He doesn’t know how he doesn’t recognize you immediately, why it takes a few seconds to place the curve of your cheek and the way you stand.

Logically, he knows it’s because he didn’t expect to see you here. If someone had asked him to guess where you were, this wouldn’t have made the top 100 guesses. If it wasn’t for that “find your friends” app that Penelope had created and forced you two to download for “safety reasons”, he never would have come here searching for you.

Confused, Spencer quietly approaches, hiding his body behind a nearby tree, something deep inside him telling him to not alert you to his presence just yet.

From this spot, he can just barely make out that you’re speaking, your voice soft and broken.

“… and that’s the thing. I can’t even hate you, because I could never hate anyone for loving him. He makes it so easy you know? But sometimes - God, sometimes I wish we could trade places. Even if it meant I was dead, at least I would have lived in a world where I had Spencer Reid’s entire heart”.

Spencer is shocked at your words, confused that you could ever think he didn’t love you with everything in him. He knew things had been a little tense for the past few days, since he came home late one Friday to find you with red rimmed eyes, but this, this sadness, couldn’t be from just one night.

You pause for a moment and Spencer recognizes your shaky inhale, knows that you’re trying not to cry. You’re holding an umbrella above you to ward against the sprinkling rain, but something else hides at your side, and it crinkles as you move. You raise your arm to wipe your eyes, giving him a view of what you’ve brought here of all places.

Flowers.

A bouquet of flowers.

With a start, he notices they look exactly like the ones he just sent you today. He actually moves to step forward but stops once more at your voice.

“I don’t even like this kind of flower. Not even in my top five. But they were your favorites. I know that because every time he misses you, he sends them to me. I haven’t figured out if it’s because he feels guilty or because he wishes I was you.”

You bend down, balancing an umbrella on your shoulder, arranging the bouquet along the headstone in an artful way. As you do this, you continue talking, as if the bones lying beneath the dirt will actually answer you, your voice sad and wistful.

“I know your favorite book and passage, as well as which philosophers resonated with you. The songs you liked, and your favorite color. I know that you hated peppermint tea and have powered through novels you despised because you never wanted to leave something half-finished. I know all these things, because he carries you with him, in everything he does or says. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not begrudging the man for having a life before me! Everyone has a past… I just… I wish he would leave you there. God, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s why he prefers you.”

Your huff out a self-depreciating laugh, shoulders shaking as you struggle to hold in your sobs. Spencer notices his hands are shaking as well, silent tears escaping his eyes. He lets them roll down his cheeks, too ashamed to even wipe them away. He catches himself against the tree at your next words, can feel his heart shattering at how much he feels he’s failed to make you feel his love.

“But I’ll never be you, and that’s the problem Maeve. That’s the issue. You’re Dr. Maeve Donovan, the most beautiful girl in the world, renowned geneticist and the love of my boyfriend’s life. You’re gone and you’re never coming back but he still picks you.  I can never be you so I’ll never be enough.”

Spencer hears you let out a painful sob, one he’s never heard from you before, and he watches as you raise one hand to cover your mouth in a futile effort to silence yourself. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t know if he can, his mind racing, his heart beating faster and faster and faster —

He doesn’t know what caused this. How he didn’t know these poisonous thoughts had taken root in your mind.

He still doesn’t know why you’re here, why you’re talking to the grave of his maybe-ex-girlfriend as if you have some shameful secret. Spencer realizes with a start that he’s been zoning out as his thoughts race, and when he looks back over to where you were, all he sees is the headstone, with the flowers he had sent you arranged all around.

Stepping out from behind the tree, Spencer looks around, trying to find you in the empty graveyard. He spots you as you are getting into your car, and he knows you won’t be able to hear him even if he yells your name, the soft rain of before coming down harder now. He rushes out to the street, ignoring the raindrops hitting his face and the puddle he absolutely stepped in – making a mental note that he should take Derek up on his offer to train more often as he pants – and hails a taxi. Maybe it’s his voice or the way he’s fidgeting, but the driver senses his urgency and Spencer pretends he doesn’t care as the man goes at least 15 over the speed limit. Anything to get back home and talk to you, to make things right.

As the taxi rolls to a stop, he throws cash at the driver, and rushes to take the stairs two at a time, making it to the apartment just as the door swings shut. He hastily throws himself against it, startling you as he pushes inwards. At the sudden intrusion, you raised your umbrella to defend yourself, and Spencer lets out a startled yelp as it crashes down on his head.

“Spencer! Oh my – I’m so sorry!”

You drop the makeshift weapon, mouth dropped open as you stare at your boyfriend in shock and regret. He’s wet – as if he’s spent 30 minutes in the rain and you have no idea why he would have done that. His eyes are staring at you widely and you can’t name the emotion you see swimming in them, but you do notice the small puddle forming where he stands.

“Why… Come inside, we need to get you changed. I know you said that rain doesn’t cause sickness, but it can’t be good for you!”

Spencer lets you usher him inside, watches as you run around grabbing him a towel and blanket. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until now, and he feels his eyes well up with tears watching you rush to take care of him, even though you think that you’re somehow not enough. You notice the tears forming along his lash line and gasp,

“Oh, please tell me I didn’t hurt you. I’m so sorry, I was turning to lock the door and when you pushed in I thought you were an intruder or someone had followed me and I hadn’t noticed and so I just reacted –”

Spencer drops the towel you had given him to the floor, stepping out of his soaked shoes and approaching you. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, his large hands cupping your face as he leans back to stare directly into your eyes,

“I love you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, absolutely puzzled by what has gotten into your boyfriend. Deciding that your emotions were already drained for the day, you go along with him, leaning to brush a kiss against his lips.

“I love you too, Dr. Reid. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes though, okay?”

He hums, nodding only because he knows that logically, he needs to talk to you, and the conversation will not be a short one. Before he moves away though, he pulls you close to him, kissing you once more.

“Can we talk, once I get changed?” his voice soft and tender.

Hesitantly, you nod, your mind racing with what he wants to talk about. As Spencer goes to change, you make your way to the kitchen, making tea to both warm him up, and to give yourself something to do as you wait.

Spencer goes through the motions of drying off, and makes his way into your closet, searching for a particularly extra large sweatshirt of his he knows you often steal. As he’s looking through the variety of fabrics that are hanging, his eye catches on an outfit he’s never seen before, and his hand reaches out to touch the silky material.

It’s purple, his favorite color, and he can already imagine how beautiful you’ll look wearing it, and he wonders just why you haven’t modeled it for him before. He starts to imagine the two of you all dressed up, and where he would take you to show you off.

Suddenly, it hits him, the smooth fabric falling from his fingertips as he realizes just why he’s never seen this particular outfit before, and why you had been crying a few days ago.

He had missed your make-up anniversary date.

Your anniversary had been a few weeks before, but as it fell on a weekday, you both knew he would likely be called out on a case. You had suggested a make-up anniversary date for the following weekend – knowing that Jack had a soccer game on that Friday, so he was a teeny tiny bit less likely to be called out that night. You had teased him that you’d bought a new outfit, had hinted that you had bought something to wear underneath as well, and assured him that you had taken care of all the details. You had been so excited – and he had forgotten.

The team had returned from a case extremely late the night before, and the paperwork that he could normally breeze through took much longer than normal. It had been a stalking case of a high profile government employee, and the stalker had been murdering innocent people to get their attention. To top it off, the stalker had multiple personalities and he had felt as if all his past nightmares had piled on to each other at once. His mind had been swirling and when he had left work in a daze, he hadn’t planned on going to visit Maeve. One moment he was thinking of all the different aspects of his past and how lucky he was to have survived to find you, and the next he found himself before her headstone.

He hadn’t visited Maeve in a while, and while it wasn’t his plan for the night, he found himself telling her about the case and then about what new books there were, the new coffee shop down the street that gave him all the sugar he asked for. He told her updates about his life. About you. About how he thought she would like you, and how much better you made him want to be. He had spent over an hour talking about you when he realized the time, pulling out his phone to find missed calls from you. When he’d called you back, you had frantically asked if he was alright. When you found out where he was, your voice had changed, although you had tried to play it off as relief.

Suddenly, your words from earlier made more sense and he feels the panic well up inside him.

“You’re gone and you’re never coming back but he still picks you.”

“…picks you”.

That’s what you thought he had done. He hoped you knew he would never purposefully miss a date, especially for something like this. He replays every single word he heard you confess to Maeve’s grave, his mind picking up on details he hadn’t paid attention to. He doesn’t notice that he’s having trouble breathing, still standing in your closet staring at the purple outfit, until he hears you call out his name as you come into the bedroom.

You had partially expected to see Spencer fast asleep, or perhaps taking a hot shower. You had not expected to see him standing in your closet, crying as he stared at the outfit you had thought about trying to return.

“Spencer”… you call out again, not wanting to spook him.

He turns to you and whimpers.

“I’m so sorry”.

His shoulders shake much like your own did just an hour ago and you hurriedly set down both tea cups you carried, approaching him like he’s a wounded animal. Spencer launches himself into your arms, his face buried into your neck as he whispers apology after apology. The words run together and you can barely hear him anymore, but you understand all the same.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own still brimming with tears.

“I didn’t pick her.”

You furrow your eyebrows and Spencer forces a deep breath into his lungs, and speaks quickly, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t get the words out now that he never will.

“I wanted to talk today, so I came home early and you weren’t here. After a while, I got worried, so I used that app Penelope made? The one that says where someone is?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he knows where you had been. You don’t think he’d be angry with you, and it isn’t as if what you had done was wrong. But if he had been there… had he heard?

As if he could hear your thoughts, Spencer continued,

“I… I heard you, not everything, you sounded like you were in the middle when I got there. You think I picked her because I missed our make-up anniversary night. Angel, I’m so sorry. It just slipped my mind, work had been intense all week, and the case was too much. I left work just thinking about it and my feet led me there. I didn’t plan it at all, I never would have… I’m so sorry”.

You step out of his embrace, your eyes finding the floor and he pays special attention to every micro expression you try to hide. When you look back up, your eyes don’t meet his, and you stare to his left, to the outfit still showing behind him. He waits, wanting to apologize more, to convince you of his sincerity, of his truth, but knowing you are working up the courage to speak.

“I waited at the restaurant for an hour. I’d left you a note here with the address along with a matching tie. They finally asked me to leave – it was that physics-magic place, the one you mentioned? They were having a Nicola Tesla night, and I ended up bartering with the owner for a reservation because they’re booked for six months. I took on some admin work, some marketing style things that they didn’t have done… but they, uh, well, it’s almost a show, you know? You’re at a private table, but everyone in the room starts at the same time. They couldn’t hold up the show for just me. And you weren’t there. So I left.”

You meet his gaze now and Spencer can see the hurt in your eyes. Hurt that he caused.

“Honey…” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“Why her? You, you just said that you were upset and your feet led you to her. What was so, so special about her?”

Tears are in your eyes but you’re determined to not let them fall. You’re hurt and you’re angry but most of all you’re scared. You’re so scared of what his answer will be, if this is the night you’ll officially lose him to a ghost of a memory.

“That’s not…” Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I ended up there but it’s not because she’s special or anything. I hadn’t been there in a while, and I think my brain knew I needed somewhere to go to just talk.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Spencer knows they weren’t the right thing to say. The tears you were fighting so hard against spill over, but when he takes a step towards you, you take a step back.

“72 days.”

Puzzled, Spencer cocks his head to the side, staring at you in utter confusion.

“That’s the last time you were there. I know that because that’s the last time you sent me those flowers. Her flowers. And because when you came home that night, you read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and E.E. Cummings. Her favorite author, and her favorite poet. The next day you wore the gray cardigan that itches because you knew she owned one similar.”

Spencer can’t help his mouth from dropping open, and he roughly swallows, his mind going over that day and wondering how it was that he had never stopped to profile himself.

He can’t find words. He has the entire English language at his disposal and he finds himself speechless.

“2,412 hours. 100.5 days. That’s how long you two had. Do you know, without calculating right now, how long we’ve had? Do you know the number of days? Do you remember our first conversation – our first phone call? What do I have to do to be good enough for you, Spencer?”

“I…you are more than enough for me” he whispers, his voice fraught with distress.

You snort at his words, wrapping your arms around yourself before remembering that it shows you’re defensive. Instead you move to the arm chair in the corner of the room, grabbing the large sweatshirt Spencer had been looking for in the first place and putting it on as if it were a shield against him.

“Maeve…was special. She was my first love. My first real relationship. But that doesn’t make you matter any less, doesn’t make you any less special and important to me. It doesn’t make me love you less.”

He looks at you with love shining in his eyes and it makes you angry. It makes you angry that he can say pretty things and that you want so badly to believe him when you have the proof that they aren’t true. You know you shouldn’t, but you voice the negative thoughts you’ve harbored for far too long.

“That wasn’t a real relationship”. You mutter the words softly, almost hoping that he doesn’t hear but wanting to say them out loud all the same.

“Pardon?” he replies, his voice sharper than before.

You inhale slowly, and count to ten before letting out an exhale. When you meet his eyes, he can’t name the emotion he sees in them, but he knows that he hates it.

“She wasn’t real, Spencer. You talked to her for days on end but none of it was real. You learned that she spent Fridays looking at a microscope and not on dates but she somehow didn’t ever mention the dates that led to her being engaged? You told her about one of your worst childhood memories but you censored it! You told her about your shirt being removed but never told her the rest. You both, both cherry picked what you would share and that’s not a real relationship!”

You’re frantic and heaving by the end, your hands waving as you talk, eyes wide as if you’re pleading with him to understand but not hopeful that he will.

Meanwhile, Spencer doesn’t know what to feel, his first reaction to become defensive and to fire back. He hasn’t responded and he almost misses your last sentence.

“But it was real to you. And that’s what matters. That’s why you pick her”.

You’re so quiet by the end, and you’ve given up on trying to appear as if you aren’t defensive, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking down at your feet.

At first, Spencer wanted to be angry. He wanted to rage and lash out against you that what he had with Maeve had been more than real, more than special, more than love. But then he looked at you, huddled in his clothes, staring at his mismatched socks with tears streaming down your face, and the bubbling anger cools. Left in its place is the desire to soothe, to fix, to love.

He approaches you, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him. His large palm lands on the back of your head as he encourages you to lean against him entirely, your face in the crook of his neck. His other hand moves up and down your back in a soothing motion, while his head drops down to whisper in your ear.

“She was real to me. She was my first. You’re… you’re right. I’d never thought about what we didn’t share with each other. I didn’t want to admit that because then I’d have to wonder if she would have said she loved me if she knew all of me and I didn’t think anyone ever would, until I met you”.

You shake in his arms, your own arms encircling his slim waist and you bury your head further into him, trying desperately to listen to his heartbeat.

“You’re the first person to love me unconditionally. To be there when I don’t deserve you. I think of her fondly, and I think she changed me for the better. She… well, without her, I wouldn’t have told you I loved you so soon. She taught me not to wait, not to let an opportunity slip through my fingers. That love can be fleeting and sorrowful. You’ve taught me it can last and bring more joy than I ever thought I’d get.”

He pulls you away from his chest, cupping your face in both palms,

“Two years, and twenty days. Two years, two months, 6 days, and 9 hours, if we go by the moment I first saw you. It did take me an entire week to see you again, and have the courage to approach you. I’d planned out the conversation in my head but you didn’t stick to my script – and I was so flustered.”

You gave a half smile at the memory of him, coffee cup in hand and hair a mess as he approached you to talk about the book you carried. The same book you carried to avoid talking to strangers. Instead, it led to a wonderful first conversation, an exchange of names and numbers.

“I don’t know why Blake ever told you that I called Maeve the most beautiful girl in the world.  I did say that back then, but I never told you that in that moment, when I first saw you, I couldn’t come up with a single adjective to describe you because none of them were enough. I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of my own heart beating, and it was calling out for you. It sounds silly, and, and ridiculous, and I’m a man of science – of logic and structure – of rules. But the moment our eyes met, none of that mattered and I found myself wondering if fate and destiny might be real after all. By the time I had gotten myself under control, and had the thought to actually approach you, you had walked away”

His thumbs brush away the remaining tears from your cheeks, his lips press against your forehead softly.

“I got called on a case right after, and we landed in the middle of nowhere, late at night. I had been berating myself the entire flight for not talking to you and when we were in the car, I saw a shooting star. And, and I remembered when I was a child, my mom telling me to make a wish on a star and how even then, I didn’t understand how it could ever help. But that night, I made a wish to see you again. I even tried to make a bargain with it – with whatever magic the star had. That if I saw you again, I wouldn’t mess it up, and I’d approach you and get your name.”

He looks at you tenderly and you’re doing your best not to sob once more.

“You wished on a star…for me?” you whisper.

Spencer nods, smiling a smile meant only for you, kissing your forehead once more, then both your cheeks, and the tip of your nose. He presses butterfly kisses against your eyelids before his lips finally meet yours for a brief touch.

“I’m so sorry, for missing our make-up date, especially one you planned for me. I’m sorry for making you feel as if I was stuck in my past, instead of looking forward to a future with you. The flowers – her favorites – I never sent them because of that. I sent them because they mean love for all eternity. In some cultures, they represent divine perfection. It wasn’t because I missed her but because she reminded me to never take you for granted, to appreciate every moment I get to love you. You said that you wished you could trade places with her so you could live with my whole heart but you already have more than that. You have my entire soul, my every atom vibrates with love for you and only you. You are more than enough.”

You reach up to kiss him deeply, your fingers wrapping themselves in his hair.

“I’m sorry” you whisper against his lips and he just smiles at you gently.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry for ever making you doubt how much you matter, how absolutely incredible you are. I love you and I don’t want you to be anyone but you. I don’t want Maeve or anyone else. You’re the only one for me, from the moment we met until the moment our ashes turn to dust, and if there is time after that, you’ll still be the only one I desire. I love you.”

Another kiss, another long embrace. Spencer whispers his love to you, swaying side to side as you hold each other close, bodies molded together like puzzle pieces. Eventually, you move to the bed, lying to face one another, and continuing to whisper truths you have somehow kept hidden, baring the shadowy parts of your souls to each other. You tell him of your own love for him, of your fears and how afraid you are of losing him. He soothes every thought, and tells you about the future he imagines with you. He talks about buying a farm with cattle to pet, and laughs when you tell him you’re imaging him wearing chaps with a cowboy hat. He talks about an actual future, painting a picture so clear there is no doubt it will happen.

The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is his lips pressed against your head once more and the last thing you hear is his honeyed voice, reminding you that you will always be enough.

"dom spencer is so ooc" if we're being canon-compliant that man suffers from terminal virginity and we all have to delete our blogs. next question

But also, WHAT IS BOTTOM RIGHT SPENCER WEARING I’M ABOUT TO BUST

I like my men smart

we all joke about and objectify this man, but do we stop to think how sad his story is? he grew up friendless and ruthlessly bullied for being a literal genius. constantly picked on by his coworkers, and he’s never in on the joke. he’s always being laughed at, never laughed with because no one understands his existentialist humor. he never has plans or places to go on the weekend after work. he goes to work then goes to his lonely home with all his books to keep him company. on occasion, he haunts the chess table at the park or meets with an old professor. no one takes the time to appreciate his weird little quirks. no one took the time to ask him if he was okay after the several traumatic incidents he endured. no one takes care of him because everyone’s too busy leaving. he could be a male model, yet he’s never thought of himself as attractive. when he does find love, he’s brutally stripped of it before he can blink. spencer reid, the lonely genius who learned of love too late and loss too soon.

PEDRO PASCAL APPRECIATION WEEK ↳ DAY ONE: FAVORITE PEDRO CHARACTER

Pedro Pascal as Javier Peña in Narcos | 2015 — 2017

She’s so relatable, I also alternate between wanting to be loved and then feeling annoyed by the attention.

New Moo Deng!

oh how id treat the worst!logan with the best head 24/7. he deserves it just for looking as hot as he does.

I need him to cum inside me so bad. I’m not joking. I am in literal heat worse than a stray dog. SOMEONE TAKE ME TO THE VET AND PUT ME DOWN. I just know his cock is veiny and fatter than a coke can.

That's Wade ramming into the fourth wall full force

COVER ME UP

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Joel x f!Reader OC

Status: Complete (97k words)

SUMMARY: After you spare the lives of two kids who break into your isolated cabin in the woods, they lead you back to their settlement. You intend to get in, trade for valuable supplies, and get out, but end up staying. Four years later, you're a solitary but respected pillar of Jackson's close-knit community when Joel Miller shows up, kid in tow. You think nothing of him or the kid. You like your quiet life. Too bad it won't stay quiet for long. Or: Joel and Ellie make you human again.

READ ON AO3 | masterlist

chapter links & content warnings below the cut!

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve chapter thirteen | chapter fourteen | chapter fifteen | chapter sixteen chapter seventeen | chapter eighteen | chapter nineteen | chapter twenty chapter twenty-one | chapter twenty-two | chapter twenty-three chapter twenty-four | chapter twenty-five | chapter twenty-six chapter twenty-seven. (new!)

CW: Description of and reference to canon-typical violence, gore, illness, and body horror. Descriptions of / mention of panic attacks. Explicit smut, allusions to smut. Reference to pregnancy (NOT reader), childbirth (NOT reader), the death of a child, and the death of a sibling.

he is a prince of Dorne. girls and boys will line up to fuck him till the day he dies.

I’ve been waiting a year to post this