jclolz22

[jclolz22]

6. blind date. (💿)

[jclolz22]

── FAVORITE STUDENT ꩜

( SYNOPSIS ) ── your college professor keeps you after class to ‘run some tests’ on his current project, but that’s not really all he wants.. right?

( WARNINGS ) ── no spoilers!! no smut, just making out. teacher!reed, student!reader.

( TAGS ) ── @jclolz22 @pittsick @fishinsuits [to be added]

“What am I doing wrong?” Reed mutters to himself, his eyes scanning the scattered sheets across his desk. Equations, graphs, and scribbled notes form a chaotic mess. He stands with his hands braced on his hips, tension etched across his brow.

“Everything is off in one way or another,” he sighs. His eyes drift across the empty classroom until they land on you by the door, your bag slung over one shoulder as you quietly push it shut behind you.

“Mr. Richards,” you say with a warm smile, walking slowly toward him until you’re on the opposite side of his desk.

A spark flickers in his expression as he straightens. “Just the person I was hoping to see,” he replies, gesturing for you to come around the desk. He grabs one of the sheets and holds it out to you.

“I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what I’m missing here,” he says, a frustrated smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And you’re one of the only students who actually pays attention in my class. I was hoping you might give it a shot.”

You blink up at him, wide eyed. The compliment stirs something nervous in your chest. You glance down at the paper, then back at him. “I can try,” you say cautiously.

The two of you end up working together at his desk long after school ends. Your shoulders are hunched, eyes narrowed in focus as you write, then groan softly and erase what you’ve done. Every mistake, every do over brings another sigh. Reed doesn’t say a word.

He sits with his elbow resting on the desk, chin balanced in his hand, his eyes never leaving you. He watches the way your lips draw in when you’re deep in thought, the little roll of your eyes when a solution slips through your fingers again. His gaze drifts lower, taking in the curve of your posture, the frustrated bounce of your leg, the faint flush growing across your cheeks.

You lean back in your seat, arms folded, clearly stuck. When you glance at him, you catch the way his eyes flick abruptly away. He looks down at a notebook he’s kept to himself this whole time.

“Try this,” he says suddenly, rising from his seat. You follow him to another side of the desk as he sets the notebook down in front of you.

You place your hands on the edge of the desk, peering down at the open page. A second later, Reed steps in behind you. His chest hovers barely an inch from your back as he leans in, his voice low near your ear.

“Why don’t you work through that equation? We’ll test it and see if it holds.”

You turn your head to look up at him. The proximity makes your breath catch, but you nod slowly. “Okay,” you whisper.

After another ten minutes of scribbling and refining, you finally hold up the finished work for his review. He glances over it, barely reading before nodding.

“Yeah. That’ll work.” His tone is casual, almost dismissive, as if he already knew the answer. As if this entire session had nothing to do with the equation at all.

“Let’s test it,” he says.

His hand slips to the small of your back as he guides you toward the teleportation prototype. His body brushes against yours as he leans on the table beside it, watching you immediately start making adjustments. You work quickly, altering the placement of key components, aligning the setup to match your equation.

“Just like that, good job.” he murmurs behind you. His hand remains at your back, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles into the fabric of your shirt.

When you lean back, seeking his next instruction, he doesn’t speak right away. He stares down at you, his expression unreadable but intense. A few seconds of silence before he speaks.

“I couldn’t care less about this project,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you answer, your voice just above a whisper. “I saw your notebook before you gave it to me. You already knew the right answer.”

He raises a brow, a small smirk forming. “So you’ve been running pointless test equations this whole time?”

You nod, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It just felt like you wanted me to.”

For a beat, he doesn’t move. His hand stays planted against your back, but the motion of his thumb slows to a pause.

“I did,” he admits. His voice is barely audible over the stillness of the room. “Maybe I just like seeing how your mind works when there’s no one else around.”

You stare at him. Your lips part slightly. The way he’s looking at you isn’t how a teacher should look at a student. There’s nothing professional about it.

“That’s not really appropriate, Mr. Richards,” you say softly.

“No,” he agrees, eyes dropping to your mouth. “It’s not.”

Neither of you moves. The classroom remains silent, thick with the weight of what’s been unspoken. Reed’s hand slides further around your waist, guiding you closer. Then, without another word, he closes the distance between you.

Your hands come up to his chest instinctively. His arms wrap around you, his kiss deepening as he backs you toward the desk. He leans into you, his lips still moving against yours, until your thighs hit the edge. Without breaking contact, he lifts you effortlessly to sit atop it.

You gasp as he does, pulling back just slightly.

“Mr. Richards, we shouldn’t be—“

He kisses you again, swallowing the rest of your sentence. Your arms loop around his neck as you give in, allowing yourself to be pulled toward him, his hips pressing into yours.

His mouth leaves yours only to trail along your jaw, down your neck. You tilt your head back, breathless, barely able to hold yourself upright as he leans over you, still cradling your waist.

The moment shatters with the sharp sound of some other professors heels clacking just outside the room. Reed straightens instantly, pulling away and adjusting his shirt. The footsteps pass by without stopping.

You stare up at him, your lips swollen and damp, your fingers brushing across your mouth to wipe away the kiss he left behind.

“So,” he says after a moment, still catching his breath, one hand planted on his hip while the other rakes through his hair, “you ready to run that test one more time?”

[jclolz22]

── NIGHT LIGHT ⟢

( SYNOPSIS ) ── after another one of reed’s infamous power outages, your boyfriend johnny comes with the solution to all your problems.

( WARNINGS ) ── no spoilers!! being scared of the dark. nothing else!

It had happened again.

Another one of Reed Richards’ late night experiments had blown the power grid, leaving your apartment in pitch black silence. Living just a few blocks from the Baxter Building had its perks, proximity to your superhero boyfriend being the main one, but moments like this made you question whether it was all worth it.

The bad part? Losing power twice a week, like clockwork, thanks to Reed tinkering with things the city’s infrastructure was clearly not built to handle. The worse part? You were still, to this day, hopelessly afraid of the dark. A childhood thing. Unresolved, unimportant. At least that’s what you always told yourself.

But the good part? Johnny always came.

The second the lights flickered out, he was already on his way, like muscle memory. Hovering outside your window, flames crackling gently across his body, casting warm light across your bedroom walls.

You were curled up in bed, flashlight wedged under the blankets like some makeshift bunker, when you heard a soft tap at the glass. That familiar quiet hum of fire accompanied it, comforting, warm, familiar.

You peeked your head out from under the comforter, already smiling. And there he was, floating a few feet from your window, his face illuminated by a soft amber glow, brows raised, that charmingly smug smile already in place.

You climbed out of bed and crossed the room, opening the window just enough for him to slip inside. He extinguished the flames across most of his body the second he landed, except for the steady flame burning on his right hand, casting gentle light across your room like a makeshift lantern.

“I heard someone was in desperate need of a hero,” he teased, his voice soft but playful. “Lucky for you, I happen to know one.”

You rolled your eyes as he stepped closer, his hand finding your hip like it always did when you needed grounding. He bent down and kissed your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than usual.

“I came as soon as the lights went out,” he said more gently now, his voice dropping to something quieter, more gentle.

You hummed softly, leaning into him without a word, because you didn’t need to say anything. Johnny already knew what came next.

The two of you made your way back to bed, you already dressed in your favorite pajamas while Johnny stripped down to his boxers, climbing in behind you. He settled in with the back of his head resting against your headboard, one scorching arm stretched out across the nightstand, casting a warm, amber light across the room.

With a quiet laugh, you climbed over him, nestling between his legs. Your hips rested comfortably against his and your head found its place on his bare chest, your arms curling around his waist. You nuzzled your nose against his skin, the heat of him grounding you.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in my nightstand,” you murmured against him with a sleepy smile.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I did all the shopping for your apartment, remember? Fireproof nightstand, babe.”

Your laugh was muffled against his chest, eyes already fluttering shut. And just like that, you drifted off in his arms, soft snores slipping from your lips, your face relaxed and peaceful against his warmth.

Johnny brought his free hand to your hair, gently brushing it back from your face. He watched you for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. Only when he was sure you were completely asleep did he dim his glowing hand, sighing softly as he shifted to get comfortable beneath you.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to your head. Both arms wrapped around you tightly, like he could anchor you to this exact moment. “’Night.”

It was always like this. He’d come over and stay up just long enough to see you safely asleep before turning off his ‘night light’. And every morning, without fail, you’d wake up in the same place, wrapped in the arms of the boy who swore your nightstand was fireproof… even if the scorch marks told a slightly different story.

( TAGS ) ── @jclolz22 @pittsick [to be added]

[jclolz22]

2k celebration!!!

thank you all for the ongoing support on c.ai, even when i haven't been super, super active on there. it truly means a lot to me, so i wanted to do something to celebrate a bit and allow you guys to share ideas that you'd like made!

thank you to the internet for providing me with these tropes. i was inspired by other people's ideas of doing tropes based on what someone requests with a certain character, but i didn't want to just do the exact same tropes if possible.

i will have 12 slots open, and all i ask is that you request through my asks here on tumblr, with anon off so that i can keep track of who requested what. in order to be fair, please only request one idea per person.

also, please try to be as detailed as possible with your request. although the character and trope is a start, it is most helpful if you include as much detail and thoughts as you can so that i can make something that lives up to the idea you thought of!!

my pinned post includes the fandoms i am apart of, so please check that to see who i'll write for, since it's much easier for me to do a character justice if i've seen the show or movie that they're from.

also... i may or may not be working on a fic for the beloved dr. jack abbot 👀

tropes:

found family

arranged marriage (potentially set in an au such as a bridgerton au)

unrequited love

love triangle (provide second character from the same media that is part of the triangle)

widow(er)

grumpy x sunshine

best friend's brother/sister

from a small hometown

oblivious

drunken confession

fight turned confession

college au

secretly dating

western au

fake amnesia

enemies with benefits

childhood friends

royalty au

misunderstood jealousy

[jclolz22]

2k celebration!!!

thank you all for the ongoing support on c.ai, even when i haven't been super, super active on there. it truly means a lot to me, so i wanted to do something to celebrate a bit and allow you guys to share ideas that you'd like made!

thank you to the internet for providing me with these tropes. i was inspired by other people's ideas of doing tropes based on what someone requests with a certain character, but i didn't want to just do the exact same tropes if possible.

i will have 12 slots open, and all i ask is that you request through my asks here on tumblr, with anon off so that i can keep track of who requested what. in order to be fair, please only request one idea per person.

also, please try to be as detailed as possible with your request. although the character and trope is a start, it is most helpful if you include as much detail and thoughts as you can so that i can make something that lives up to the idea you thought of!!

my pinned post includes the fandoms i am apart of, so please check that to see who i'll write for, since it's much easier for me to do a character justice if i've seen the show or movie that they're from.

also... i may or may not be working on a fic for the beloved dr. jack abbot 👀

tropes:

found family

arranged marriage (potentially set in an au such as a bridgerton au)

unrequited love

love triangle (provide second character from the same media that is part of the triangle)

widow(er)

grumpy x sunshine

best friend's brother/sister

from a small hometown

oblivious

drunken confession

fight turned confession

college au

secretly dating

western au

fake amnesia

enemies with benefits

childhood friends

royalty au

misunderstood jealousy

[jclolz22]

“just hold me”

( synopsis ) — a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.

( warnings ) — none. suuuuuper fluffy n cute. i love sensitive crybaby puppyboy clark!

( tags ) — @pittsick @dumbbandpoetic @alvi-alvi-alvi @jordiemeow @hrtfilm @ryyvkkr @freddyfazblair @cryptic-doe @summerwriting @eeveedream @cestdommage @ohyouluckysaint @weeeeeeeeeeeezle @matildavol6 @fishie-baby-apple @drunkinthemiddleoftheday [to be added]

“Shit,” you whisper from where you sit on your bed, a deep frown tugging at your mouth as your teeth press down on your index knuckle. Your eyes are locked on the screen in front of you, anxiety etched into every part of your face.

The TV plays live coverage of the chaos downtown. The setting sun casts a warm hue through your window, an almost cruel contrast to what you’re watching unfold. Superman soars across the sky, moving fast and focused, his fist connecting with the kaiju’s eye and forcing a roar of pain from its throat. The blow stuns it, but only for a second.

The monster recovers quickly, lashing out with a powerful arm. Its massive claws grip Superman’s cape, yanking him out of the sky and slamming him through a high rise. You flinch as glass explodes outward, his body crumpling against the steel frame inside before disappearing into the shadow of the building’s interior.

You can’t watch anymore. Your hand reaches for the remote and shuts the screen off just as the Justice Gang steps in, finally giving Superman a chance to catch his breath.

Silence fills the room like smoke. You sit there, frozen, your hands still clutching the fabric of your blanket as your mind races through everything you just saw. You know Superman is stronger than anyone. Practically invincible. But that kind of impact would break bones on anyone. And he’s still human in some ways. He still feels pain. That has to mean something.

Before you can sink too deep into your thoughts, the sound of glass crunching in the distance makes your head snap up. The noise barely registers before your bedroom door creaks open and Clark steps through.

He looks wrecked.

There’s blood on his lip, slowly trailing down to his chin. His suit is in pieces, torn in too many places to count, revealing scrapes and bruises along his torso and arms. His eyes are red, glossy with unshed tears, and for a second he just stands there, chest heaving from exhaustion. Then he moves.

He crosses the room and collapses onto the bed on top of you without a word, his arms wrapping tight around your middle. His face presses into your chest, the heat of him soaking into your skin. You hear him sniffle before everything else goes still.

“Clark..?” you whisper, hesitant, your hand slowly lifting to rest in his hair. Your fingers begin to move without thinking, brushing gently through the tangled strands. He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders starting to fall, the tension draining from his body with every slow movement of your hand.

“No,” he mumbles into your chest. His voice is rough, strained. “Don’t wanna talk. Just hold me.”

“I can do that,” you whisper, your fingers continuing to move gently through his hair, the quiet rhythm comforting for both of you.

You sit together like that in silence for a while. The room is dim now, lit only by the last slivers of sunlight filtering through your window. The sounds of the city outside feel distant, like they belong to another world. All you hear are the soft groans of pain Clark tries to muffle against your chest.

Eventually, your other hand lifts to tilt his face up. His cheek is warm against your palm. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, barely there but enough to make him look at you. His eyes are glassy and tired, and your heart breaks all over again.

“Let me clean you up,” you whisper. “Just some ointment. A few bandages. We’ll get you home to heal tomorrow. The sun’s already down.”

Clark nods. The motion is small, slow. Tears slip from his eyes again, rolling down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt as he whispers, “Alright… yeah.”

You help him out of what’s left of his suit, easing him into a clean pair of sweatpants. His skin is warm and bruised under your touch, but he doesn’t flinch. He just sits on the edge of the bed, breathing slowly, his hands moving under your shirt to rest against your sides. He keeps his touch gentle, steady, like he needs the connection to ground him.

You press the last bandage over the cut on his forehead, then place the ointment tube aside. Your hands come to his face again, thumbs resting on either cheek as you look at him closely.

“How’s the pain medicine feeling?” you ask quietly.

“Hasn’t kicked in yet,” he mutters. His tone is flat, but you can tell it’s more than the pain. It’s everything else. The failure he thinks he’s shouldering alone.

“You did a good job out there,” you murmur, brushing one of the bandages flat softly. “That was more than anyone should’ve been expected to handle.”

“I lost,” he says, barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your waist to wipe at his eyes. “I didn’t do anything good.”

“You did everything you could, Clark. That’s what matters,” you say softly, tilting his chin up again to keep his eyes on yours. “You might be a metahuman, but you’re still only one man. And you saved people. A lot of people. That thing would’ve crushed half the city if you hadn’t slowed it down. You gave others time to escape. You gave the Justice Gang time to arrive. You did that.”

He doesn’t respond right away. You can see the war behind his eyes, the stubborn pride he’s trying to hold onto, clashing with how much he wants to believe you.

“I’m really proud of you,” you whisper, and the change in him is immediate. His eyes lift to meet yours again, wider now, a new kind of emotion breaking through.

“You are?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. His pupils dilate by ten sizes at the simple fact that you’re proud. He made you proud, that’s all he’s ever wanted. “You’re proud of me? You mean that?”

“Of course I do, baby,” you reply, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. “Everyone’s proud of you. You’re Superman. The one people count on. The one kids pretend to be when they play heroes. You’re more than just strong. You give people hope. And you’re loved for it.”

“And what about you?” he asks after a second. His hands slide up your waist, pulling you closer between his legs.

“And I also love you, Clark,” you whisper with a chuckle, leaning in until your forehead rests against his.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips. There’s no urgency behind it. No need for anything more. It’s slow, full of gratitude, and when he pulls back, your hand rises to nudge his chin playfully.

A small, tired smile appears on his face.

“I love you too.”

[jclolz22]

omg juliana new theme!!!

this is so good i need to eat it aaaa

thank you mika!!! I love your theme it’s literally so fierce

[jclolz22]

omg juliana your theme eats so hard !!

eeeek thank you eliana!!! A change was LONG overdue

[jclolz22]

clingy clark

( synopsis ) — after insecurely taking advice from jimmy and spending hours online, clark distances himself from you. scared he might’ve overwhelmed you with his clinginess. all for a crying clark to come back home to you.

( warnings ) — none! just an insecure, clingy clark.

( tags ) — @jordiemeow [to be added]

“Just leave them alone for a second, Clark!” Lois laughs, watching as Clark’s arms stay locked around your waist, his face practically buried in your shoulder like a big, needy golden retriever.

“Yeah, dude. Clinginess isn’t cute. I should know. I’m probably the best guy in the room when it comes to women,” Jimmy adds from beside Lois, nudging her playfully before he’s met with a sharp glare.

“Oh, shut up,” you say to Jimmy, leaning back into Clark’s hold. “Just give me a few minutes, baby. Lois and I are talking about the article.” You give his arm a quick pat before slipping out of his grip.

When you and Lois walk off toward the printing room, Clark stays behind. He frowns, glancing at Jimmy and leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed.

“Do you think that’s true?” he mutters. “Do you think they get annoyed when I’m too… affectionate?”

Jimmy barely looks up. “Most definitely,” he says flatly. “I mean, come on, man. You’re like a big dog. Always all over them.. hugging, touching, laying your head on them. If I were dating you, I’d lose my mind.”

And that conversation sticks in Clark’s head longer than it should. Later that night, he’s alone in his cold, quiet room. The only light in the room comes from his computer screen. He’s slouched in front of it, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stares at the headline on the screen:

“Are Clingy Boyfriends a Turn-Off?”

His eyes scan every word. Each line feels like a hit to the gut. And the comment section? Even worse.

voidsuites: “I dated someone like this once. It was suffocating. I couldn’t even stand next to them without their hands on me.”

jordiemeow: “Clingy partners are exhausting. So glad I got out of that relationship.”

hrtfilm: “Clingy usually means controlling. Red flag behavior, honestly. Be careful, guys.”

jclolz22: “It’s not bad at first.. but after a while, it gets annoying.”

Clark checks every box.

He was always touching you, his hands under your shirt, his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, even in public. He’d pull you into his lap in front of anyone. You were a constant source of peace for him. A calm he never wanted to be without. But maybe that wasn’t how it felt to you. So he thought. So he stopped.

Over the next few weeks, he pulled back. He stopped bugging you at your desk. Stopped waiting outside the bathroom for you. Stopped finding excuses to pass by your apartment after work. No more arms slipping around your waist. No more hands brushing against yours. No more sudden, warm weight of him behind you while you were reading.

And of course, you noticed.

Clark might’ve thought he was giving you space, but you felt the shift immediately. He was always the one who made you feel grounded just when you got too lost in your own head, he’d appear out of nowhere and wrap you up in that warmth like a big blanket. Now, it felt like something important had been quietly taken away.

But being you, you didn’t say anything right away. You just kept thinking. Replaying things over and over.

Did you do something? Say something? Had you pushed him away without realizing? Why didn’t he want to hold you anymore? When was the last time he stayed over? It was driving you crazy. So you decided to fix it.

On your walk home one night, you nodded to yourself, already planning it out. You’d invite him over. Cook for him. Make his favorite, rhubarb pie, using Ma Kent’s recipe (which you were absolutely going to call her for).

But while you were lost in your head, something strange happened. A shadow passed over you. The sun was still high, the sky clear. No tall buildings around you. No trees. No reason for a shadow. So you looked up.

And there he was. Clark, flying overhead in full Superman gear, clearly trying to look casual. A blur in the sky, pretending he wasn’t watching you from above like some lovesick satellite.

You just smiled. Because you couldn’t exactly call him out in public. Superman was supposed to be busy saving people, not floating above his partner on their walk home like a weird, adorable stalker.

But the next day? That was different.

You had the day off. You were in your apartment, music playing quietly from the radio. You leaned against the counter, sliding a tray into the oven. Ma’s rhubarb pie. You were trying your absolute best to get it right before inviting Clark over for dinner.

And as you stood back and wiped your hands on your apron, your eyes drifted to the window. There it was again. That familiar blur of red and blue just outside.

You sighed, walked over to the window, and pushed it open.

“Clark,” you said dryly. “Get inside.”

He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard you at first, looking away dramatically. But eventually, he floated in, landing softly on your floor. He didn’t say much, just sat down on the couch, eyes glossy, face tight with emotion.

You stepped between his legs, placing your hands on his shoulders as he instinctively held your hips, his touch cautious.

“What happened?” you asked, gently.

“What do you mean?” he tried.

You raised your brows. Really?

“I just…” he started, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Jimmy said I was being too clingy. And then I read this article online. And all these comments. And I thought… maybe I was making you uncomfortable. I thought giving you space was the right thing.”

You lowered yourself into his lap, taking his hand from his face and wiping his wet cheeks with your thumbs.

“And you listened to Jimmy Olsen?” you teased softly, trying not to smile too hard.

He sniffled, nodding. “He said girls hate guys like that. And everyone online agreed. I just wanted to do right by you, baby.”

Your hands moved to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones as he looked up at you, big eyes full of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, Clark,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed you back, slow and soft, holding onto you like he was afraid you’d disappear. When you pulled away, you stayed close, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, barely loud enough to hear.

“I told you it’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m not mad. I just wish you would’ve talked to me first before disappearing like that, alright?”

He nodded, still holding you close. Then suddenly, his eyes widened, nose scrunching.

“Wait… do you smell something burning?”

You blinked. “Shit. The pie.”

[jclolz22]

THE PITT BOTS .ᐟ

★ DENNIS WHITAKER. in nebraska.

★ DENNIS WHITAKER. oops, found you.

★ FRANK LANGDON. coffee and calm.

★ JACK ABBOT. pregnancy insecurities.

★ JACK ABBOT. ptsd bond.

★ JACK ABBOT. nurse.

★ JACK ABBOT. cancer treatment.

★ MELISSA KING. fake sick day.

★ MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH. compassionate.

★ MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH. night shift confessions.

★ SAMIRA MOHAN. hello again.

★ TRINITY SANTOS. chronically ill. (wlw)

★ TRINITY SANTOS. arguments.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @ryvkkr, @soulxinxthexsky, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie, @elsieblogs (to be added)

[jclolz22]

the face of neurosurgery

did you remove ur bot that was Derek w the magazine? i can’t find it anymore :(

I did not! I have no clue why it was taken down but after looking through the greeting I suspect it was due to “annals” in the title of the magazine. I will make a new bot and reblog this with the link once I know it works. Thank you for letting me know

[jclolz22]

did you remove ur bot that was Derek w the magazine? i can’t find it anymore :(

I did not! I have no clue why it was taken down but after looking through the greeting I suspect it was due to “annals” in the title of the magazine. I will make a new bot and reblog this with the link once I know it works. Thank you for letting me know

[jclolz22]

his kitty

( synopsis ) — the progression of hotch and his love for his new nickname for his girlfriend!

( warning ) — 18+. cute n innocent at first but just a little paragraph of smut at the end! nothing too in detail. uses of the nickname ‘kitty’ and ‘kitten’.

( tags ) — @pittsick @jclolz22 @voidsuites @bluestrd @b1tchyr1ichy @userhotd @cestdommage @bernelflo [to be added]

It began playfully. Hotch had glanced down at you one afternoon, a rare smile tugging at his lips as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. With a quiet chuckle, he murmured, "You look just like a cat."

What started as a joke gradually evolved into something more personal. Before long, your name in his contacts changed, simple and unassuming, now replaced by "Kitty." It didn't go unnoticed. Morgan, Reid, and the others exchanged curious glances whenever your name flashed on his screen, though he'd answer without explanation, unfazed by their questions.

The nickname began to slip into daily moments, small yet deliberate. Each morning, as Hotch passed your desk in the bullpen, he'd pause just long enough to run his hand gently over the top of your head, like a pet, a brief touch accompanied by a soft, "Hey, Kitty," spoken just for you.

But the name truly cemented itself one late evening when the office had emptied, leaving only the two of you behind. Alone in the quiet of the BAU, the tension between you ignited.

Bent over his desk, your dress bunched at your waist and his pants around his ankles, he moved with intensity, each thrust sharp and deliberate. His breath was hot against your ear as he growled, "That's it, Kitty. Just like that. Bein’ good for me, aren’t you?" His words, rough and low, sent shivers through you as the two of you unraveled in each other.

Afterward, he settled you gently on the desk, the same one that had moments ago fucked you on. With surprising tenderness, he wiped the smudged mascara from beneath your eyes using a cotton swab, his other hand lifting your chin so your gaze met his.

A quiet smile played on his lips as he whispers, “Just like a little kitten.”

[jclolz22]

mystery girlfriend

( synopsis ) — when a random woman pops up in the bau looking for hotch, no one really knows who she is until accidentally stumbling upon a moment they definitely shouldn’t of had seen.

( warning ) — implications, nothing really happens in detail though. just a needy hotch! this is a reupload. no bot this time, got lazy :[.

( taglist ) — @cherrygirlfriend @jclolz22 @pittsick @voidsuites @bluestrd @b1tchyr1ichy [to be added]

No one truly knew much about Aaron Hotchner's personal life following his divorce from Haley. He was notoriously private, reserved even among close colleagues.

Unlike Morgan, who wore charm like cologne, Hotch never flirted, never hinted at a workplace crush, never so much as entertained office gossip.

The general consensus was that he simply went home to an empty apartment and a quiet, solitary routine. But that couldn't have been further from the truth.

Each evening, Aaron returned home to you. His radiant, warm hearted girlfriend. You met him at the door with that bright, effortless smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, grounding him in a peace he rarely found elsewhere.

It wasn't something he broadcasted. His relationship with you was his own.. private, meaningful, and not something he felt compelled to share with coworkers. Especially not Morgan.

That privacy, however, came crashing down on a rare paperwork heavy day. The team was still at their desks, buried in reports, when the elevator doors opened and you walked confidently into the bullpen. All heads turned as you made your way over to the first familiar, looking face, Emily Prentiss.

"Hi," you greeted with a kind smile, a paper bag in hand. "I was looking for Aaron? I'm dropping off his lunch."

Emily blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Hotch?" she repeated, brows raised. "His office is just over-" But before she could finish, Hotch was already descending the steps from his office, eyes only for you.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, his hand settling instinctively on the small of your back as he gently ushered you away from the now very curious stares of his team.

"Not so fast, Hotch!" Morgan called out behind him, followed closely by Emily, JJ, and Reid. "You're not going to introduce us?" Emily added, a playful glint in her eye.

"No," Hotch replied without missing a beat, smoothly guiding you into his office and closing the door behind you, shutting out the murmurs from the bullpen.

You laughed softly, leaning against his desk, still holding the lunch bag. "Work got you all grumpy?"

"Not work," he said, stepping closer with a faint smile. "Just them." He took the bag from your hand, setting it aside before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You giggled against his mouth, looping your arms around his neck as he steadied himself with a hand on the desk behind you. "Thank you for lunch," he whispered.

"Of course." You reached up to wipe a smudge of your lip gloss from his mouth, making him chuckle as he playfully nipped at your finger.

"There's pasta, some greens, and I slipped in a snack cake. Just in case," you added with a grin.

"A snack cake?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "What am I, ten?" Still smiling, he moved around to his chair and sat down. "Why don't you stay with me while I eat?"

You followed, walking around the desk and settling onto his lap. His arm wrapped securely around your waist, hand resting warmly against your stomach as he tilted his head to press a kiss just beneath your ear.

You smiled at first until the kiss lingered, deepened, his mouth moving deliberately against your skin. You squirmed slightly, breath catching.

"Aaron?" you murmured.

He didn't answer with words, just a hum of affirmation as his other hand pulled you closer.

"Turn around," he murmured, voice low and coaxing.

You obeyed, as you always did, shifting to straddle his lap. His hands found their place on your hips, then lower, as his lips sought yours once more with increasing urgency.

Outside the office, Spencer's voice broke the stunned silence. “Guys... maybe we should get back to work."

The rest of the team stood frozen, eyes wide and cheeks red, as they quickly realized that Hotch had, for once, forgotten to close the blinds.

All of them staring just long enough to see Aaron's hand slip somewhere it definitely shouldn't have in a federal building.

"I didn't see anything," JJ said quickly, turning around.

"Yep, back to work, back to work," Morgan muttered, practically jogging away.

Emily just blinked, then slowly followed, shaking her head. "Well. That explains the mystery girlfriend."

[jclolz22]

work wife

( synopsis ) — emily questions a married!reader, not knowing the very man standing behind the two of you was your husband.

( warning ) — none! a lot of people liked this on my old writing acc so i thought i’d repost it here, 3k is the most interactions ive ever had on something other than my rafe fics lol

( bot link ) — here

"You're married?" Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.

She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she's afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.

"How have I never noticed this before?" she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.

You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. "It's not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy, unless you're actively staring at my hands."

Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.

Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup. Neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she's only now just discovered.

"No picture of your husband anywhere?" she asks, clearly surprised.

You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. "Nope. I see him every single day. I don't exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I'm working."

Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. "Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like." She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.

Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to go cup next to your keyboard.

"Did you know she’s married?" Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.

Hotch doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah," he says plainly. "I proposed a couple of years ago."

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, "They were out of hazelnut creamer, so l got you caramel."

Emily blinks and there's a pause one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

"Okay, very funny," she scoffs. "Good one, Hotch."

"I'm not joking," he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.

Emily's laughter dies immediately. "Wait. What?"

"There's no way in hell she would marry you," she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.

Hotch glances down at you with a look that's equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.

"Oh, you poor thing," you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. "That was so mean!"

Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.

Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. "Oh my God," she breathes, shooting to her feet. "I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn't know- I thought you were kidding.. You're not the kind of person who jokes like that!"

Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn't bother responding— he's far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.

"Poor baby," you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips.

"Don't listen to her. I'm very happy to be married to you."

Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily's wide eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she's trying to physically take the words back.

He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that's rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow," he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. "Please?"

You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. "Promise," you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more, quick and sweet, before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.

[jclolz22]

with benefits

( synopsis ) — after a painful night in his house alone after being stood up by fwb!user, jack decides to get his relief in at work.

( warning ) — mdni, smut, friends with benefits, handjob at work, slight teasing, super short quickie.

( bot link ) — here

It all began just a few weeks after you started your residency at the trauma center. Jack had taken an immediate interest in the new night shift recruit. His new resident, as some had started to say. He’d shadow you through the hallways and patient rooms, offering guidance, explaining protocols, pointing out the quirks of the place as if it were second nature.

It didn’t take long before others started noticing it too. Whispers circled among the night staff, subtle observations that Jack never seemed far from your side. Even when he was neck deep in a critical case, his eyes would scan the room until they found you, as if he needed to confirm you were still there.

Something began to grow between the two of you, though at first it was difficult to name. Was it just professional mentorship? An older, more experienced doctor taking care of the new hire? Or was there something beneath the surface?

Now, over a year into your residency, the answer had become much clearer.

The way he walked you home after shifts. The nights spent tangled in each other’s sheets. The secret looks exchanged across trauma bays. It wasn’t defined, there were no labels, no conversations about what it all meant. You weren’t dating, at least not in the way people typically define it. Only you and Jack knew the truth of it, and that was how you preferred it.

For now, it was something you could only describe as friends with benefits, if ‘friends’ ever whispered that they loved each other while the other was knee deep into them.

Today was no different. You walked into the trauma center in your fitted scrubs, stethoscope casually slung around your neck, and made a direct line toward Robby, who was still posted up at Dana’s desk. You had something to ask him before the night got too hectic.

But Jack intercepted you, his tall frame blocking your path, a tense, unreadable expression on his face. “Hey, we need to talk. I—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Not now, Jack. I need to ask Robby something,” you replied, brushing past him.

Without a word, Jack caught your arm and gently pulled you into an unoccupied exam room, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. He flicked the lights off, drew the curtains, and suddenly the outside world faded away.

You leaned back against the door under the pressure of his palms, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What’s going on?” you asked, frowning.

“Fuck, baby…” he exhaled, almost a plea, closing his eyes as his hands settled on your hips. He pulled you against him, resting his forehead on your shoulder as his hips pressed forward instinctively.

“Jack,” you half laughed, incredulous, “You cannot be serious right now.”

But he didn’t respond, his movements slow, needy, almost desperate. His brows were furrowed in silent frustration as his lips grazed your neck, his hips rutting against your side.

“You said you were coming over last night,” he murmured against your skin, his voice strained, breath heavy. “But you never did.”

“Apologies,” you playfully murmur, glancing over at him with a hint of amusement. “Got caught up with something. Need a hand over there?” Your soft laugh meets his eager nod as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hand drifts forward, slipping past the waistband of his scrubs with practiced ease. Your palm presses against his boxers which are already damp with pre cum as you begin to rub him through the thin fabric.

“That didn’t take long,” you whisper with a sly grin, noting just how hard he already is. Jack lets out a breathy laugh, his hips grinding toward your touch.

“Can we hurry this up?” he murmurs against your neck. “We’re still on the clock.”

“Yeah?” you reply, voice low. “And whose fault is that?” Without waiting for an answer, you slide your hand inside his boxers and wrap your fingers around his length. A sharp gasp escapes Jack’s lips as his body jerks in response.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. You continue, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head before gliding back down, your strokes firm and fast, driving him closer with each pass.

His face contorts with pleasure, quiet groans spilling from his mouth muffled slightly by your shoulder as he leans into you, riding the edge. And before the two of you know it, he releases with a soft cry, his breath hitching as he spills into your hand, his body tensing then sagging in relief.

You slow your pace, offering a few gentle strokes to ease him through the wave of pleasure. Then, you pull your head back, eyes dropping to where he rests against you.

“Jack?” you whisper.

He lifts his head slowly, catching your gaze as you withdraw your hand. Without a word, he reaches for a nearby rag tucked discreetly in a drawer, carefully cleaning your hand before tossing the cloth aside. His fingers linger around your wrist, warm and tender.

“You’re incredible,” he says, brushing a kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your waist, grounding the moment in a quiet intimacy.

You laugh softly, arms looping around his neck as he pulls you close again. “You coming home with me after shift?” he asks, his voice husky as one hand slides down, fingers resting just under the waistband of your scrubs.

Your nod is all he needs. His lips meet yours in a fleeting kiss before he pulls back, a smug smile playing at his lips. “Thought so.”

small a/n: i want to write more of fwb jack and reader so i think if enough people like this ill make it an actual thing..!

[jclolz22]

TASHI DUNCAN BOT RELEASE !!! (7/1/25) ⌢ 🎾 .ᐟ

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．bid day. wlw. getting this far into the recruitment process for xi omicron upsilon’s no easy feat; even though you might as well be a regular pledge considering your legacy status holds little weight with the sisters. however, it looks like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew when a midnight meeting turns into some stereotypical college hazing trope where the sorority president’s interest in you is more personal than you’d first thought. sure, xi girls have a strict set of rules to follow— but where’s the fun if they can’t put the hell in hell week? (sorority sister!au)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．manEATER. while tashi may be your closest friend at stanford, you should have been more careful about who you let into your circle. this isn't her flirting openly with your boyfriend across the cafeteria table, making bedroom eyes at art and denying it when you catch her, it's worse. god, you wish you never, ever met her at all. (bones and all/eater!au)(based off of “maneater” by nelly furtado!)(tw: blood + cannibalism)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．she gets the job done. wlw. tashi’s never been selfish, nor has she been one to hold her tongue when others dance around the truth. it’s what’s earned her the title of lead ranch hand on your father’s ranch and the #1 spot in your heart for the biggest ego. she can’t just stand by and watch you languish in a relationship where your boyfriend can’t give you what you need even if you tell her otherwise. she’s a giver, baby— it's just in her nature. (cowgirl!au)(based off “the giver” by chappell roan!)

TASHI DUNCAN ・゜゜・．under the sea. the human world above the surface has always called to you and tashi, even with growing up hearing your father’s stern warnings about mankind. you’ll evade your guards as many times as necessary if it means scavenging another shipwreck or catching a glimpse of a human along the coast— though the latter possibility better include her lest you run into trouble. the life of mermaid royalty may not be for the faint of heart, but tashi alone makes the risk of being caught worth the reward of human treasure. (mermaid!au)

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 18.5K! my girl deserves the world, but i think that goes without saying. challengers doesn’t happen without tashi duncan so let’s keep that in mind before we try and brush off her role or whatever. argue with the wall… tashi duncan hive rise tf up!!!!! anyways join my community if u want to… or don’t. we are very close to hitting a big milestone so stay tuned… keep your eyes peeled! love you all!