#in which case my inbox is always open

[ragana62]

You know what, that get to know you tag game unlocked a rant so here we go. District 13 is located wrong. I get narratively why it has to be in New England, I really do, but it’s incorrect for its industry and it makes me irrationally angry.

District 13 is meant to be NUCLEAR RESEARCH!! That is an incredibly expensive and time consuming industry to set up from scratch, especially by the standards of pretty much every single other industry listed. And sure, things like agriculture, mining, those are region locked a bit, particularly if you’re trying to optimize your zone coverage for various crops and livestock and the like, and you can’t have fishing be totally landlocked, and PNW works best for lumber based on existing infrastructure and forestry practices, but those are largely things that you can kind of just do once you decide where you’re doing them. Same goes for transportation/technology/military/luxury, except those you can largely do anywhere too.

So: WHY THE FUCK IS THE DISTRICT THAT HAS THE HIGHEST STARTUP COSTS ASSOCIATED WITH ITS INDUSTRY STUCK SOMEWHERE WHERE THE BEST ODDS AT OLD INFRASTRUCTURE IT CAN LEAN ON IS FUCKING THREE MILE ISLAND?! (And I guess Seabrook and Millstone but those are both power plants/stations too, not research labs or enrichment capable facilities or even medical grade facilities for radiopharmaceuticals though there are some cyclotrons in the region assuming any of the hospitals/facilities that had them remained accessible and that’s hardly unique to New England, and nobody’s ever heard of them really).

Narratively, fine, it needs to be off on the edge somewhere and by Twelve, it’s fine, it’s whatever. But logistically? That shit should be in Illinois. Namely, because you’ve got not only cyclotrons and nuclear power plants to lean on but the Tevatron (you know, the most powerful accelerator on earth until CERN built the LHC and it got decommissioned in 2011, even if it might get reused for the neutrino experiments or future tests if the board of Fermilab gets it together again and funding issues are fixed) too. Or I guess you could stick in in Tennessee for Oak Ridge even if that’s not what I’d pick for most practical, but that’s still too far south for canonical 13 placement courtesy of that map from BOSAS and where we know 12 is.

Especially after we established the districts aren’t exactly numbered in a logical pattern (distance from the Capitol, some sort of rotating pattern, importance, etc.) I just don’t understand why 13 would be somewhere that isn’t well equipped for its industry (beyond just, ‘it works best there from a narrative perspective, don’t think about the logistics of funding and building a full scale nuclear research facility with enrichment and power capabilities in a post apocalyptic society and why you’d do that instead of idk, taking advantage of the fact your ‘technology’ district is CANONICALLY SITTING ON TOP OF A FORMERLY WORLD CLASS PARTICLE ACCELERATOR ALREADY’). And maybe it’s my longstanding love of Laura Fermi talking, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m fairly certain I’ve thought about this particular logistical question more than Suzanne would even want to because it’s a YA series and most kids aren’t on Manhattan Project Phase number 2 by the time they’re reading it for the first time (or maybe they are, always down to meet more autistic nerds with similar past hyperfixations). But either way, it bothers me. And because the rant was brought up courtesy of a chat with an old friend that coincided with a lovely tag game that let me start the rant, now you all get to hear about it.

[gilverrwrites]

hey I saw in a ask you said you would write for some marvel characters…

how about Matt Murdock? 👀

👀 I could work with that. I especially love lil shit comic book Matt.

[btsbs]

.

[bas-rouge]

I've acquired a bit of an old man sleep schedule. I can't stay awake till 11 most nights and usually wake up naturally around 445-530. Not that I'm complaining, I am much happier as a morning person than I was as a night person, but it is a bit funny.

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 2 ▷ || play next song?

summary : Your inbox has turned into a horny battlefield—six familiar usernames, six neck-down thirst traps, all hard and very, very eager.

No faces. Just bodies. Dicks. Bold lighting choices. Questionable bedsheets.

You sit cross-legged in your underwear like you’re judging Olympic figure skating, except everyone’s naked and begging to be picked.

Time to start scoring.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men, sukuna being sukuna, reader being willfully ignorant for her own sanity.

A/N : time to make your first choice for the first week by voting in the poll at the end, i'll be doing this all in descending order based on who was the most voted to the least - so vote well >:) goodluck reader ! (i wonder who the mystery man could POSSIBLY be)

You sat back for a few hours, letting it really settle in for yourself and your viewers. You had hundreds of messages and you hadn’t even finished scrolling through the first wave of submissions when the familiar usernames started sliding into your inbox—like wolves answering the call. And it was obvious, immediately, which messages you were actually going to open.

These weren’t just horny randos with messy lighting and desperate angles.

These were your regulars.

The six you already knew by username. The six who tipped with the intensity of men bidding for real estate inside your body. And now they were showing themselves to you. You hoped to whatever deity was listening that these guys were hot with huge cocks. What? It was fun to be a little superficial sometimes. First up:

EmoWithaBoner.

His message was soft-spoken, despite the picture attached being the exact opposite of that, just like always. No emojis. No bravado.

“Didn’t know how to pose,” it read. “But I thought about how you’d look on top of me, and it kind of just happened.”

It was soft, unfiltered, and a little shaky. The photo was reflected from his mirror and showed him stretched out across gray sheets, pale skin dusted with faint freckles. He looked like he went to the gym often with how built he was. Narrow hips. His cock sat flushed against his stomach, long and lean—at least seven inches, maybe more—and wait.. was that? You looked closer towards the image, inspecting it like you were trying to solve a case. Yep. It was pierced at the frenulum with a delicate curved barbell. A glint of silver. Great heavens. Saved.

TempleOfSin.

His body was art. Broad chest, warm tan skin like satin, sculpted muscle that looked carved. His torso was tapered, lean and strong, with a small trail of black hair leading down to a thick, curved cock—seven inches minimum, hand loosely resting at the base like he was showing it off without trying too hard. He was neatly trimmed. It looked like there was a bunch of robes beside him haphazardly taken off for the photo. “Consider this a formal offering,” the message read. “You could worship every inch of me truly, my loyal little follower.” Odd as always, but hot. Saved. You could hear your prayers being answered, two down and so far all was good - in fact, perfect. You were surprised these were the guys paying you, and for a second or two you felt like you should be paying them for the photos.

SixEyesOnly’s submission hit next—and of course, it came with a $500 tip before you even clicked on the message. The sight that hit your eyes made you choke a little on your own spit. 

Of course he sent multiple angles—three, actually. You picked your favorite: a half-reclined shot on luxurious navy bedding, torso lit with just the right amount of golden light. He was toned, lean muscle over abnormally long limbs, subtle abs. A soft trail of white hair led down to a perfectly girthy cock, mid-stroke—maybe just under eight inches, thick enough to stretch you open. His other hand was holding a handwritten sign: “Good enough for you?” “Oh, SixEyesOnly, absolutely.” You spoke to yourself whilst your eyes remained glued to your laptop screen. Saved. Then—unsurprisingly unhinged—daddyissuez.

“i jerked off right before i took this and got hard again just thinking about fucking you.”

And the photo… Jesus. The photo was taken in low lighting, like a scene from a noir porno. He was sitting wide-legged on a leather couch that looked like it needed replacing, legs thick and powerful, thighs dusted with black hair. His chest was solid, scars faintly visible across his abs and ribs. You closed your eyes for a second and tilted your head up to your ceiling in a silent ‘thank you’ before looking back down at the image. His cock was huge, just like the rest of him. Probably just shy of nine inches, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. Balls heavy. Tip already glossy with precum. One hand gripped the base. The other rested lazily on his thigh like he was used to being admired. With a cock like that you couldn’t blame him. Saved. OfficeAfterHours was, predictably, meticulous. His message read like an email you’d get from someone managing your retirement plan, if that person also wanted to bend you over a desk.

“Apologies for the delay. Here’s my formal submission. Discretion guaranteed. Let me know if you'd like a second angle.”

Shot in high-resolution against crisp black sheets, his body was a symphony of intention. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, abs that looked like they’d been sculpted from marble. Not huge, but built like someone who took care of himself for discipline, not vanity. A thin trail of blonde hair led down to a cock that was gorgeous—perfect shape, thick but not excessive, probably seven inches on the dot, with veins that begged for attention. Trimmed. Clean. You could almost imagine his voice saying something like, “Breathe through it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” A weird sound came out of your mouth in excitement from your own fantasy. Saved.

You were already overstimulated and halfway folded into your sheets when the final message hit.

KingOfRot.

You hovered over it for a second like it might bite. Which was ironic, considering he probably would. He was always the most feral in chat—filthy, relentless, tipping like his wallet had a death wish.

You clicked.

Instant regret. Instant need.

The photo looked like it had been taken during a crime.

Bathroom mirror. Harsh yellow light. Shirt pushed up to his collarbones, muscles tensed like he’d been fucking someone just before he snapped the photo. Chest broad. Arms thick. Veins roped down to his forearms. Stomach lined with clean muscle. Ink everywhere—heavy black bands around his biceps, tattoos sharp and ceremonial-looking across his chest and stomach like a ritual.

And then his cock.

You actually flinched at the offensive monster staring right back at you through the screen. Long. Thick. Too thick. Heavy. Veins running down the shaft like it had a pulse, flushed red like it had been hard for too long. The kind of cock you’d have to apologize to your body after taking. You didn’t even want to hazard a guess at the size.

He wasn’t even touching it. It was just there holding its own weight up like a pole rather than a piece of actual flesh. 

But what got you, what really made your stomach drop, was the tattoos.

They were familiar.

You’d seen them before.

There was a guy on campus—tall, smug, terrifyingly hot in the way that sent your libido into a frenzy—who had tattoos just like that. You’d seen him walking out of the athletics building once, sweatpants slung low and his shirt mysteriously missing, laughing like he knew every secret in the world. He had loudly shouted “What!?” at you when you had stared for a little longer than needed. Embarrassingly seared into your memory for that exact reason.

You squinted.

“Nope,” you muttered. “No. Not connecting the dots. That’s above my pay grade.” Surely it couldn’t be the same guy, right? The tattoos were probably, like, one of those trends that everyone was getting. That's what you were telling yourself at least.

You were about to save the photo when you finally looked at the caption.

“Pick me. I’ll fuck you so hard your ancestors will feel it. You’ll be a fucking shrine by the time I’m done.” Was that a death threat? Probably. Should you block him? Probably. “Ancestors. Okaaaaay.” You nodded your head slowly as if he was across from you saying it with a gun pointing at you. 

And then you saved it. Of course you did. Then flopped onto your back, one arm flung over your face, trying to mentally prepare for the chaos you had just invited into your life. All at the right price of course. “Thank you to whoever is listening for blessing me with viewers that are hotter than the guys I have wilfully hooked up with for free.” You spoke to your ceiling, a common theme nowadays. Seven men. Seven bodies. Seven chances to let your subscribers watch you get absolutely wrecked on camera.

Your legs were trembling from what you decided was mostly horniness.. and a little bit of fear for your own pussy by the time you shut your laptop fully. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Now, the real question was - who would you choose first?

taglist : @syubseokie @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @gorouenjoyer @linaaeatsfamilies @lov3-ly @des-todoroki @aiicpansion @lazylunarlover @kentoslvr @cherry-berry-21 @cure-alexandrite @yourname-exee @pinkyogoart @sillymortalblob @kyvyes @xxxieli @swoozleee @augustineyukimura @uniquecutie-puff @ayepitita @luna-v-roiya @kill-your-darling274 @babiestarrcandy @b3bybunny @midnightwriter21 @miizuzu

[reidrum]

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

���I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”

[blusool]

Well-Conditioned : Katsuki Bakugou

Katsuki was acting oddly. And that was underwhelming of a statement to put it because he was all over the place. Fidgeting, crackling, and irritation were through the roof. Katsuki was barely in his seat even. Bouncing his leg, he couldn't help but feel like he did something wrong. Why else, wouldn’t you kiss his cheek as you always did whenever he did something for you?

Katsuki sucked ass when it came to talking love. But it wasn’t that he didn’t show it through his actions. Softened gaze dripping honey each time he wiped his sweat palms on his pants before cupping your cheeks. There was no way he’s gonna get the sticky vile flammable on you—his precious. 

Katsuki showed his love when he snatched your backpack off your shoulder, throwing it over his while he dragged you out of the class. He earned himself a sickly sweet kiss on his cheek, showing that you acknowledged his actions and their meaning. It wasn’t an ‘I love you,’ but that’s what anyone but them would say.

Katsuki wasn’t big on grand gestures of love either but he made do with little trinkets and stickers he bought because ‘he thought of you’. And you like it that way. Or at least that’s what he inferred when you would jump into his arms, kissing all over his face.

He surely couldn’t write about his love, he tried that crap and ended up charring his desk black. But he packed you bentos whenever you were to travel back home from the UA dorms. He made sure to put in extra effort and make the fanciest dishes in case your parents were to see the food and judge him off it ( a good potential husband?). Before you would have seen the inside contents or noticed a lacking love note he should have written to you, he would have his arm tugged down, his precious on her toes, to press a big smooch to his cheek. 

Katsuki was more than gentlemanly for you, he was your boyfriend, so, of course, he tied your shoelaces for you (why do you still use the bunny ears method, is his excuse), draping his jacket over your legs whenever you wore skirts, all because he knew you liked to manspread worse than him. He carries pads and hair ties in his bag, but which boyfriend wouldn’t? He holds your heels with a grumpy frown, holding your waist to ensure you didn’t trip in his shoes because you thought you could handle being in heels all day. 

Katsuki did all this not for praise or compliment. No, he wasn’t obligated to do these either, but he did it because that’s what a good boyfriend would do for you. That however didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate or relish the kisses he received each time he showed his love through his actions. 

So what was different today? When he draped his jacket around your shoulder today, why didn’t he get his kiss? And he knows you noticed it, turning your head to him offer your sweet smile, before returning back to your conversation with Mina. 

THAT’S IT? Katsuki was confused, he had even leaned in to receive his daily dose of kiss, instead of awkwardly standing back straight noticing his instinct. Was he desperate? No. Was he needy? Maybe. Why can’t a man get his share of kisses?

Staring at you annoyed he waited for you to notice. 

BUT YOU NEVER DID.  

He even huffed thrice, each time only receiving a distracted rub on his thigh while you gossiped with Mina. Gosh, he wanted to explode her right now. When he finally got over his petty subtle hints he just grabbed your face to face him. 

"How long will it take ya' to kiss me, brat?” 

Katsuki was easy though. Maybe not for everyone, but his little doll had him wrapped around her finger. When you just smiled innocently at him, pecking his lips without a question. The beast was finally appeased. 

“Thank you for the jacket, ‘Suki”

Goddamn, this woman really had conditioned him to seek her kisses without a clue in her pretty head.

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[corensweat]

🌲 road trip.

scott miller x reader Synopsis: when your camping trip with scott gets cut short because of a work emergency, you nearly kill him and every member of storm par, intent on making your ire well known on the drive home. but when you push scott too far, his impatience has other plans. or “If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” Word Count: 13.3k Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!, no use of y/n, bdsm, established dom/sub dynamic, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby), brief mentions of serial killerisms (teasingly… maybe), semi-priv public sex (in a truck), scott has a whore mouth (again), groping, belting (f! receiving), spanking/slapping (f! receiving, breasts & v), oral (m+f), nippleplay (f! receiving), unprotected pinv, orgasm denial, fingering (f), cumplay, breeding A/N: when the "just a quick one shot" turns into a beast... oops? 😬 thank you to my proud sponsor aka the scott rot™️! if you enjoyed, pls feel free to reblog or give it a like and as always, my inbox is open if you want to chat!!! 🤍

On hour two of the drive back to OKC, you think you’ve lost your mind.

What had begun as a much-anticipated weekend road trip with Scott — an incredibly overdue escape, though you weren’t exactly keeping track — had swiftly turned from enjoying the fresh, open air and the promise of an entire weekend distraction-free, to a mountain of frustration that battled the ones in the distance. All because your charming, secretly sentimental boyfriend had wanted a picture of you and the sunset for his lock screen.

If you weren’t so upset about it, you probably would’ve laughed.

But this was the fourth (fourth!) time that something had gotten in the way of your Scott Time, and, look — you needed it. So. Fucking. Badly.

Which was why when his phone had gone off again, after Scott had ignored the voicemails Javi left him, you were so, so very tempted to hurl the fucking thing into the pond. Instead, you sat there, already trying to think of a way to get your lick back with the fact that he was the one who’d insisted that going off the grid meant going off the grid and electronics simply took away from the nature of it all, the hypocritical ass. And you’d watched, with dawning realization and equal devastation, as Scott’s entire demeanor had shifted from peeved that Javi even had the audacity, to shutting his mouth and speaking in yes, sir’s and I understand, sir’s.

Oh, Marshall Riggs was going to get an absolute earful the next time y’all sat down for Sunday dinner.

But first, you had your sights set on Scott. And, quite frankly, he deserved every second of petulant that you were giving him.

When he adjusted the air conditioning, you dropped the temp lower. When he found a good station on the radio, you changed it. When he asked for one of the snacks by your seat, you munched on it first, mumbling a fake apology when you passed him a small piece. And when you finally started talking, it was one word answers: yes, no, dunno, sure, fine, whatever.

And every time he gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter, you felt vindicated by the fact that it was ticking him off.

Good. You were ticked off. And unbelievably, atrociously bored. There were only so many things you could do in his truck while you were half giving him a cold shoulder. And, well, after the last time you’d reached for the volume and he’d caught your wrist with a stern ‘knock it off’, like you were a child, you’d resorted to pouting out the window, then sifting through his middle storage, and then snooping through his glove box.

All of which were boring, in the exact way that only a man’s truck could be boring. Who didn’t have a car Chapstick, but could have packs of gum hidden everywhere? And where were the just-in-case napkins? And what did he even use pliers for?

Your brattiness — no, curiosity — wins over the agitation that still simmers just under the surface. You turn to Scott with a mischievous grin as you hold up the pliers. “Be honest. Are you secretly a serial killer?”

Scott glances at you, then at the pliers, before rolling his eyes with a faint smirk. “Caught me,” he deadpans, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to draw out your giggle.

“I knew it.” You dig further into his glove box like you expect to find a pair of gloves, which stupidly has you giggling because you’d lost your mind, see, and there was no way there’d actually— Oh. Shit. He really did have gloves. “You’re the worst serial killer I’ve met. Your whole murder kit is in here and you haven’t even tried to kill me yet?”

“Getting close to it, honey,” Scott quips, a teasing edge to his voice that makes your heart flutter. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips, betraying his amusement.

Until you keep it up, making an exaggerated show of pulling out every item you find, each discovery more dramatic than the last. The subtle tightening of his jaw tells you that rummaging through his stuff is getting more of a rise from him than your earlier silence had. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, the whites of his knuckles glowing under the moonlight, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sight.

Curling your knees to your chest with his newest item in your lap (a bundle of zip ties), you bat your lashes up at him with feigned innocence. “Am I bothering you, baby?”

“Nope.” Scott, to his credit (you pretend it’s not because you’re his girlfriend but because he just chooses to be kind), swallows down whatever shitty retort is on the tip of his tongue as he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

His eyes flick briefly to you, then back to the road, as if anchoring himself, before he plasters one of his obnoxiously fake smiles on that doesn’t reach his eyes. Your own smile slips at the blatant irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, hating that look, knowing he knew you hated when he was fake with you. He reaches over, his hand finding your knee — not in the usual affectionate squeeze, but more as a grounding gesture, a silent plea for you to stop before you push him too far.

“You might want to close that now,” he adds, his voice soft but laced with an unmistakable edge as he jerks his chin toward his still-open glove box. “Before I really lose my patience.”

“But...” you start, pouting a little, your fingers lingering on the edge of the glove box. “I was just having fun. I mean, what else could be in here? Secret spy gadgets? Hidden treasures?”

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. His patience is fraying, each word clipped and precise as he says, “Close. It. Now.”

You relent, closing it with a dramatic flourish and an equally exaggerated sigh. “Okay, okay. Glove box exploration time is over.”

Scott exhales, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Thank you,” he mutters, though his eyes still carry a hint of irritation as he changes the radio station a couple of times, scowling at the country crooning through his speakers, before just shutting it off.

“You sure you’re okay?” You test, still pushing his limits. You figured that Scott knew you better than that. That you knew him better than that. Nearly seven months together — again, not that you were counting — and he really thought you couldn’t tell when something was off?

You continue, “Just because… Well, you seem a little stressed. Is it because you didn’t get to tie me up and torture me back there by the pond? I mean, I’m sure you’ll get another chance someday, like when cows fly, but—”

“Are you done?” Scott huffs, shooting you a look.

You don’t back down from it, leveling him with your own hard expression. When he’s forced to return to the road, breaking eye contact first, that prideful part of you purrs. He sighs. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I don’t have any other choice. So sit down, shut up, and stop fucking with my system, please.”

He says the last through gritted teeth, and as much as you loved to antagonize him, you knew when to push and when to not. Putting the last of the stuff back where you’d found it exactly how you’d found it, you stuff your hands under your thighs and pout quietly until he visibly relaxes again.

“You’re not being very nice,” you mumble, the silence that encases you both too much to bear.

Scott runs his tongue over his teeth, then looks over at you, his expression hard. “And you’re lucky I haven’t spanked your ass raw for that attitude yet.” Surprise must flash across your face, because a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth that he quickly masks. “What? Did you think I would just let all that slide?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Liar.”

Damn it.

Before you can say anything else, Scott reaches over, gently but firmly tilting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as his eyes leave the road for a second. “Do I need to remind you of the rules?” he asks, his tone shifting from frustrated to something far more controlled and deliberate — each word laced with a quiet authority that sends a shiver down your spine and makes your blood run hot.

It’s a tone you’ve come to know all too well, one that signals a subtle shift in the dynamic between you, a reminder of exactly who’s in charge.

To anyone else, it might have sounded like another classic Scott lecture — a stern word from someone who was used to being in control. But you knew this side of him intimately well, understood the depths of what he was really asking. This wasn’t just about a conversation or setting you straight; it was a command, a subtle but potent assertion of the power he held over you.

“Answer me,” he prompts, his voice dropping to a low, steady hum that makes your pulse race. “Yes or no, honey.”

“No,” you breathe, testing the waters of defiance.

“Let’s try that again.” Scott’s grip remains steady on the wheel, but the weight of his gaze feels like a tightening hold around you. “No, what?” he asks, his voice low and demanding, leaving no room for anything but the correct response.

You swallow. The tension between you is thick and electric. “No, sir.”

He holds your gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity, long enough for you to actually worry about him being behind the wheel. But a quick glance at the road reassures you — he’s in complete control, staying perfectly between the lines, maintaining a comfortable distance from the cars ahead and behind.

His eyes flicker to your mouth, lingering there with a deliberate intensity. “We’ll see.”

A noise of discontent escapes you immediately when he returns to his side of the truck as if nothing happened, all the air leaving your lungs. We’ll see. That was it? No good girl? It’s a reprimand all on its own, defiance filling you quickly.

What was the point of his rules if he wasn’t going to listen to them?

First with his phone, which had gotten you here in the first place, and now this. You pout, crossing your arms as you glare at the car in front of you, hating everything about this weekend. God, you’d both been so exhausted from the drive to the campsite that you hadn’t even touched him like he’d promised you could **— **on top of the week he’d already instructed you not to touch yourself.

And now Scott was going to be buried in work again. He’d drop you off at home just to drive another hour or two to who the hell knew where, and from there it was back to the office to get the paperwork rolling, call the banks, pouring hour after hour into making sure this deal went through. All because Riggs had decided his time off was more important than yours.

But it wasn’t. You’d waited eons for this. And you were damned if you were going to let both him and Scott stop you.

Slowly, so slowly, you angle yourself toward your boyfriend, his eyes distant as he readjusts in his seat and fishes absentmindedly for a piece of gum to smack on. For a moment you can’t help but admire him, appreciating the way he filled out the seat, the way his jaw worked with the gum, how when he got lost in his thoughts and had a particularly interesting idea he swiped his fingers along his perfect, full mouth.

He was masculine without any effort, intelligent and calculating, and, despite this weekend, was the most attentive boyfriend you’d ever had.

And you ached for him.

Just that tone shift alone — from Scott to sir — had spiked your temperature, leaving you warm with the lack of air conditioning. You knew better than to reach for the knobs, even if the thought of him pinning your wrist down had your thighs pressing together. So you shift forward to unzip his jacket you’d stolen, meaning to shimmy it off, when you catch his eyes on you.

Instead of taking it off completely, you let the gray fabric bunch to your elbows. His eyes slide from the way it now sits on you to your white tank top before focusing back on the road, his gum making that unmistakable snap! he always did. “What’re you doing?” He asks, stealing another glance as you wriggle in the seat.

“Just hot, baby,” you hum, which wasn’t a lie.

But there’s no way to be subtle as you collect your hair into a ponytail and tie it with your scrunchie, just like there’s no way Scott can be subtle as he zeroes in on your hair being up or the fact that your tits jiggle with every bump or dip in the road. His hand flexes on the wheel, quick to snap his attention to the mirrors, as if he’d been checking them in the first place.

You bite back a smile.

By the time Scott is pressing on the brakes, an accident brings the two-lane down to one, one foot is propped up on his dashboard, your head turned to face him with every sigh that leaves your lips. With nothing to pull his attention now other than the slow crawl, his eyes catch yours again, his guard dropping as he falsely believes you’ve listened.

And that’s when you make your move.

“Baby,” you groan, wetting your lips as your fingers brush across his sleeve. Your other hand rests against your knee, slipping down along your thigh while you bat thick lashes up at him. “Can you turn the air on, please? I’m dying.”

“Mhm.” Scott does, following the invisible line your fingers paint across your skin as the air kicks on. The cool air is welcomed and the content noise that leaves you isn’t entirely fabricated. When his hand drops to rest on your thigh, you know he feels how flushed you are under his cold touch. And you know he feels you arch into it. “How’s that? Better?”

“’ Little.” Not even close, but you play it up now that you’ve got him. “Still too hot.”

“Sorry, honey,” Scott’s deep voice is genuine, frowning a bit as he squeezes your thigh. “Got it the lowest it can go. Need me to roll a window down?”

You shake your head. “It’d just bring all the hot air in.” Something he should’ve known, but you couldn’t blame him for being a little distracted. You press on, confident, still inflecting that whine in your voice. “Your hand feels good, though.”

His touch inches up your thigh in response, sure that he’s not even aware he’s doing it. As your touch moves in time with his, you drag your free hand across your chest, pressing against the leather of his seats and pushing a strap off your shoulder. The cool air directly hitting you causes a flurry of goosebumps to rise and your nipples to poke through the fabric, chest rising and falling as you make a show of overheating.

Scott snaps his gum again, removing his hand to tug gently on his jacket. “What did I say about going through my stuff?”

“Oh, you left it at my place. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” You try to play innocent, but the smile you give him is nothing short of mischievous as you intentionally arch up into his touch. “Do you want it back, sir?”

He’s quiet for so long that you think he’s returned to the road. Instead, his eyes are locked on the thin tank top that clings tight around you. A quiet hum echoes in the back of his throat as he runs his knuckles over the swell of your breast, dragging slowly across your nipple, before he seems to think better of himself and places both hands back on the wheel.

“Keep it.” He grunts, “It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Really?” Despite how you try to hide the happiness from your voice, you fail miserably. Scott didn’t offer many liberties, especially not with his personal belongings. You don’t let the distance keep you far, unhooking your seatbelt and leaning over the center divider to beam up at him.

“Really.” Your heart pitter-patters in your chest when he hums again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. His eyes slide back to the road, still at a slow crawl. “Don’t get any ideas, honey.”

Oh, you had about fifty different ones, most of which included seeing how far you could go down this new avenue. You drop a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling against his cold skin, slipping your arm through his and guiding his hand back to your thigh. Scott squeezes again, a small warning to behave. But since when did you do that?

“Come on,” he taps an index against you after a few minutes, “Buckle up. Safety first.”

“But—” You pout, wrapping your arm around him tighter. He could drive with one hand, and besides, you were barely moving enough for a seatbelt to matter. “You feel so nice. And you’re always away for sooo long, baby. And now you’re gonna be gone again?” Brushing your nose along his jaw, you let your hand drop casually to his thigh. “I just miss you.”

“It’ll only be for a few days.” He shifts under you, chewing his gum slower. No doubt weighing whether he should let this continue or end it early.

“A few days too many.” You feel him inhale as your touch roams, sliding over his muscled thigh and across the zipper of his jeans. He’s already half-hard, the outline of him growing more apparent as you continue, “Do you know how lonely it gets without you? Knowing I can’t cuddle you… Kiss you… Touch you?”

You grope him where you know his weak point is while leaning up to scrape your teeth against his earlobe. His hips lift of their own accord as he instinctively searches for more, his grip on the wheel tightening as he squeezes your thigh in his big hands.

You hide your smile as he thickens under your palm. And smile wider at the growl in his voice as he orders, “Behave.”

“Am I breaking any rules, sir?” With your lips at his ear, every needy breath against him has Scott tensing in response.

Your shorts ride up — and so does his hand, until he’s close enough that you can grind your clothed heat into him. It’s just a single roll of your hips, keeping pressure where you crave him, but it has you whining all the same.

“Please, I missed you so much… I miss touching you, feeling how big you are in my hands…” You drag your palm against his thick length, fully straining against his zipper now, his breath coming out heavy as you grip him. “Please, please, just let me taste you. I’ll be such a good girl, I promise. Wouldn’t I look so pretty with your cock stuffed down my throat? Sounding so pretty as I choke on you?” You whimper against him, the sound small and needy. “Please, sir?”

The combination of your fingers wrapped around him and the feel of your tongue lapping at that sweet spot on his neck has Scott groaning, the noise coming from deep in his throat. Before you can react, he presses you firmly back into your seat, keeping you pinned with his hand across your sternum while you try to fight against the distance he forces between you two.

“Behave.” His gaze meets yours, dark and heavy and no-nonsense.

Your cunt clenches at the authority in his tone, nipples peaking in response. Scott slips his palm under the fabric of your shirt, kneading your heaving chest and rolling the hardened nub between his index and thumb. You writhe at the sensation, a moan spilling out of you, until he pinches you hard enough that you gasp. Just as quick as it happens, he pulls out just enough to bring his palm down roughly against your tit.

The sting of the impact has you arching off the seat as your cry pierces the silence.

Scott presses his index to your mouth in warning as the police lights finally illuminate his truck, the accident off to the side. You’re breathing too heavy to pay attention to it beyond that, not caring about anything happening outside of this truck, and you pass by quickly without any incident.

The air is still heavy as you meet his gaze. And you can’t help when your fingers grip the sides of your shorts to bunch the material in your hands, greedily grinding into the taut seam aligned perfectly with your center.

Scott watches it all silently. “You want to be my good girl?” His fingers draw invisible lines down your thigh, spreading your legs apart with just a touch. You comply easily, nodding as he smooths his hand along your skin and ignites a fire inside you. “Then fucking act like one.”

There’s no warning when he slaps your pussy hard, the denim digging painfully into you. Your hands fly out to grip whatever you can as your hips stir against the pain, crying out as another smack sounds, punishing your disobedience.

And still, you can’t help but whine out for him. “But I need you! I’ve been so, so good this whole time, I swear. Even when you told me not to touch, even when I wanted to so badly— I listened, I swear I did.” Pouting over at Scott, you whimper. “Please, I promise.”

“Go on. Keep it up. Do you think you’re listening now?” His hand tightens to a fist as he rests it hard against the center divider. His gaze pings to the time display on the dashboard, then to you. “The more you misbehave, the longer you wait. Was a week too short, honey? Do we need to extend it to two? Three? Can you even wait that long without disobeying me again?”

You can barely answer, only whimpering out as you press yourself into his arm, careening out of the seat. His hand clasps hard around your wrist when you reach for his zipper again, cutting off whatever noise is in your throat with a low growl.

“If I have to pull over,” he grits out, looking you dead in the eyes, “You won’t be able to walk for a week.”

You level his hard gaze with your own even as your heart pounds heavy, his threat thinly veiled as his grip tightens around your wrist.

And you swear you don’t mean to, but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Can you go that long without fucking me? If I can’t touch, neither can you. Not a kiss, not a hug, I won’t even let you fuck my mouth!”

As your frustration boils over, you breathe raggedly against yourself, fighting to rip your hand out of his strong grasp. He’s quiet as he watches you, the look in his eyes betraying nothing that simmers underneath the surface.

Calmly, too calmly, he continues driving, following the road as the dark trees pass you by. When he moves off the pavement to turn down a dirt road, your heart flies to your throat.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, looking behind you as if expecting anyone else to follow, but it’s just you on the solitary single lane, his tires crunching on the dirt road. “Scott?”

His mouth stays shut, turning into a clearing of trees. You usually love the outdoors, but the forest around you looks foreboding and eerie, the trees looming large overhead. You glance out the window to the night sky, but there’s not even a twinkle of starlight here. Just inky black nothingness.

He shuts the engine off, taking the headlights with it.

You think you stop breathing.

“Get in the back.” His order is quiet against the silence but travels along your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Now.”

As much as you want to protest, the words catch in your throat, refusing to form. Instead, you wordlessly climb over the center divider, dropping his zip ties into the cupholder with a deliberate clink. Your bags, shoved angrily into the back when he’d asked you to pack up, tumble to the floor, landing in a haphazard pile as you settle into the backseat.

The sudden darkness engulfs you, your eyes straining to adjust to the dim light. You can barely make out Scott’s silhouette, his intense gaze fixed on you before he opens his door with a determined click.

Silently, Scott slips out of the driver’s seat, the slam of each door echoing through the night like a final verdict. You hold your breath as he rounds the truck, each crunch of his boots against the twigs and leaves sounding louder than meant to be. The backseat door opens, and he slides in beside you, the leather creaking softly under his weight.

You find your breath again when his hand, warm and steady, smooths around your ankle, his touch both grounding and possessive. He makes room for himself, his presence filling the confined space with an electric charge. The air grows thick with anticipation as you sit there, the darkness around you deepening, your heart pounding in your chest.

Scott’s fingers trail up your leg with deliberate slowness, each movement precise and controlled. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you hostage. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, searching for some sort of escape. But it was too dark outside to see, the woods maybe terrified you a little bit without Scott by your side, and even if he chased after you — and you weren’t bratty enough to do that — you had absolutely no idea how to get back to a road, let alone the road.

And, well, you didn’t really want to get away from him. Just the punishment you knew he would dole out for your disobedience.

Still—

“I thought we had to get back to the city,” you squeak out, voice trembling against your better efforts as you try to plead your case to deaf ears, “Riggs– Riggs said you needed to be back, right? And you know how far my place is from your office, and—”

“We have time for this,” Scott interrupts, his voice firm, a low rumble that leaves no room for argument. He presses his index to the pout of your mouth, silencing you. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath hitching as you squirm under his grip, eyes wide and pleading.

If you were a deer in headlights, Scott was a hunter. And he was a damn good hunter.

Scott’s beautiful mouth curves into a grin, his eyes darkening with a hint of amusement. He leans in closer, his presence overwhelming, the scent of leather and the outdoors mingling with his intoxicating scent. The tension in the air thickens, every sound amplified by the stillness of the night. The rustling leaves outside, the distant hoot of an owl, even the faint hum of the truck’s cooling engine — all seem to echo the pulsing beat of your heart.

You can feel the rough texture of his jeans against your skin as he shifts, making himself comfortable, his body pressing against yours in the confined space. His hand, warm and commanding, moves from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” he states, his eyes gleaming, all possession and affection. His words wrap around you like a promise, binding you to this moment, to him.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, the gravity of everything sinking in. Scott’s eyes lock onto yours, a silent command for your complete attention. His other hand slides down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re safe with me.”

Your lashes flutter as a noise sounds in the back of your throat, caught between a plea and a whimper. You trusted Scott more than anything, and knew, without question, without fear, that he would never do anything you didn’t want.

And god, you wanted him bad enough that it ached.

“I need you to understand a few things, honey,” Scott continues, his voice still that deadly calm, his finger dragging slowly down your chin, tracing a deliberate path down the column of your throat. “I can tolerate you being upset. I’m not happy about it, either, despite what you might think.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his gaze lock onto yours, his eyes dark and unwavering. “But what I won’t tolerate,” he says, his tone sharpening as he closes his hand around your throat with a possessive grip, “is your disrespect.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” Scott’s voice is a low, dangerous growl as he tightens his hold on you, his thumb pressing firmly into your pulse. The pressure is confident and calculated — the kind of control that comes from having done this countless times before. “I’m not done.”

Defiance bubbles up and fights Scott at every turn, and despite the way you wriggle under him, your eyes grow hazy with need at the feel of his hand around your throat. God, you knew exactly what those hands were capable of; sweet, delicious torture, doling punishment and reward with equal passion. “But—”

“Why can you never fucking listen?” His voice drops to a growl that vibrates against your ear, his body shifting so that his weight presses down on you. You whimper at the added pressure, your fingers instinctively fisting the fabric of his shirt, trying to hold onto something solid.

Scott notices. With a swift motion, he knocks your wrists away, gripping both of them together with a firm, unyielding hold. When he pins them above your head, possessive and commanding, you can’t help but moan, growing pliant under his weight.

“Maybe I do need to remind you of my rules,” he says, his voice a dangerous purr, “since you seem to like breaking them.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Every word is low and steady, completely in control. “You’re going to pay attention now, aren’t you? You’re going to listen to every word I say.”

Your pulse races under his thumb, the pressure making it difficult to focus on anything other than the commanding presence of his body pressed against yours. The conflicting emotions — fear, need, frustration — swirl together, drawing the breath from your lungs.

Scott’s eyes meet yours again, the dark intensity he’d first set on you softening slightly. “Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, carrying with it both a challenge and an invitation.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe. Always.

“Good.” He presses a tender kiss to your temple and cheek, nudging his nose into the curve of your shoulder and kissing the column of your throat. Your body responds in kind, arching up into his generosity, the calm before the storm, as he slowly releases his hold on you. One tap against your wrist is a silent order to keep them there, and you thread your fingers together, looping them into the door grip as he kisses his way back up to your mouth. “Because you’re going to hate me tonight.”

You want to tell him that such a thing is impossible — there was nothing Scott could do that would make you hate him, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes — but he doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Lifting you up, or at least as much as he can in the truck with his hulking size, Scott draws a hand around the curve of your waist, pushing his jacket aside to expose more of you.

“Take this off.” He orders. His expression melts back into one of superiority, one you’re all too familiar with, and you try not to pout when he continues with, “I changed my mind. I want it back.”

“Want what back?” You hum, fingers twitching. You debate the pros and cons of pointing out that you can’t take off his jacket with your hands still pinned in place, but bite your lip instead. You were already pushing the envelope — a lot — by feigning innocence.

“You know what.” Sensing that you’re still… sort of… listening, Scott, taps your wrist twice, freeing you of your position. Under his tone, your fingers close around the material of his comfortable clothing, lifting to slip it fully off your frame. You drop it next to your stuff with your eyes trained on his. “When I’m convinced you can behave, I’ll consider giving it back.”

That snaps your mouth shut. Pressing your lips together, you nod as you place your hands back in their previous position, the only tell that he’s satisfied by your change of heart being a slight twitch of a smile.

“I didn’t say you were done,” he drags his gaze along the length of you, his touch following where his eyes roam until he hooks a finger around the belt loop of your shorts. “Take these off, too, and turn around.”

Electricity charges through you at the command in his voice. Your movements are slow, careful, as you try not to bump into anything as you slide out from under him and remove your shirt. Your shorts follow, but he stops you as you hook your thumbs under the waist of your panties, both of his large hands sliding on your hips to face you opposite him.

He’s massive against you, your back pressing against his chest as his hands roam freely, trailing up the length of you and then down your arms to place your hands back in their previous position, fingers curling around yours in a silent gesture. And then his touch returns, calloused fingertips dragging over every spot of your soft skin, cupping your breast in his hand as he sighs against your neck.

You feel the hard length of him straining against his jeans as he pulls you to him, every caress coaxing a fire in you. Even though you want nothing more than to touch him, to take him into your hands, he has you caught. You really wanted that jacket.

And you hated disappointing him.

His touch wanders to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he smooths a hand up your spine, signaling for you to bend over. You comply with shallow breaths, the warmth of him missing when he puts even more space between you.

“How many times do you think you disobeyed me tonight, honey?” He asks, the question making your heart stutter. He continues to knead your skin, but with your angle, you can’t see anything happening behind you. “I’ll let you guess.”

You try to think back, but everything is hazy now. When you got in these moods — which was more often than not — you had a hard time telling which rules were broken and which weren’t, because, well, you tended to do it a lot. And you knew Scott well enough by now that even if you guessed any number, it wouldn’t be specific. It wouldn’t be right. Guess lower, and he’d add more. Guess higher, and he’d use your number, then remind you of the true one after it was all said and done.

A gasp escapes from you as your eyes flutter shut. Fuck. “I– I don’t know, sir.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he just hums, adjusting the twisted straps of your underwear higher up on your hips. “Thirty-two times.” He lets that sit heavy in the air for a moment, your breath stalling in your throat. “You know what happens when it gets that high, honey.”

“You use the belt,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Scott nods. “Mhm. I use the belt.” The soft, metallic clink of his buckle coming undone is followed by a steady hand against your hip, smoothing circles along your skin as you begin to tremble in anticipation. “Shhh. You know the rules. Count.”

The first point of contact is always the worst. He lets the moment play out, your body tensing and easing as you wait for any sign that it’s coming, but he gives no indication when he stops touching you. And then the sharp sting as leather meets your rear, the folded-over halves biting into you with practiced efficiency.

Your eyes squeeze shut, fingers tightening around the handle as you gasp out, “One.”

By the end, your muscles are taut and your backside is red and flaming, your whimpers spilling freely from your mouth. It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to hold yourself up, trembling with exertion. Scott rubs his hand along your curves, having given equal attention to both cheeks, a content noise sounding in the back of his throat as you still careen toward him.

“Last one, honey. You’re doing so good.” He praises quietly, the only encouragement you need as his belt goes sailing toward you again, leaving another welt in its wake.

“Thirty-two!” Escaping through gritted teeth, you jerk forward with the impact, breathing hard and heavy when you hear the clink of his belt falling to the floor.

Scott taps twice along your stomach as he brings you up to his chest, careful to leave space between you as he smooths over your sore muscles, easing the pain. He presses kisses along your throat, your shoulder, letting you shake against him as you lulls you down from the high, every touch soft and affectionate. “That’s it, I know… Shhh… Did so good for me, honey…”

Each sweet nothing brings you down, continuing to press kisses against your skin until your breathing evens out. Scott sets his hands to your hips, holding you firmly, nudging the space just behind your ear.

“If you just listened, I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He reminds, letting your hands drift over his. Despite the softness of his tone, you still catch the authority seeping through every word, and you know it’s far from over. “I don’t like how you spoke to me today, honey.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you breathe, meaning them truthfully. Scott presses another kiss to your skin in acknowledgment. “I was just upset. I wanted to spend this weekend with you, and—”

“Am I not making this time now?” He questions, cutting you off. When his touch wanders between your thighs, fingers circling your clothed clit, soaked despite his brutal treatment, he groans against you. “What was it you said earlier… That I couldn’t touch you? That you wouldn’t let me?”

Vaguely, through your hazy mind, you remember saying that. But you keep your mouth shut, quiet little noises escaping as he continues to please you, easing away the pain he’d caused. Your desire for him, so neglected because of his orders, coils deep inside you as he recites your perfect tempo — having spent hours exploring, learning, and committing what you enjoyed to memory.

“Let’s make one thing abundantly clear,” he continues. “Every part of you is mine to touch, spank, suck, lick, and fuck as I please. Any time. Any day. Any place. Those are the rules you agreed to. If I want you just like this…” Adding pressure, he holds you up as your knees buckle against him, “I will, for as long as I want. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Your words come out shaky, breath hitching with every skilled circle of his fingers. “I understand, sir.”

“Then show me you understand.” Within a second his touch is gone, leaving you delirious as you search for him. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you, twisting to watch him slip off his shirt, then ease himself down on the backseat with a foot firmly planted on the floor. His fingers hover over the button on his jeans, flipping it open as his dark gaze trains on you. “Come here.”

You comply immediately, drawing forward as his hand slips in your hair. Scott pushes down the restricting fabric, slipping his hand into his black briefs, freeing himself from his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, thick and veiny and dripping with precum, his fist stroking himself as he holds you there, coating his length with his desire.

“Look what you do to me,” he whispers, drinking in every shallow breath, the way your eyes remain fixed on his hand, how your hips stir with every twist like you imagining yourself riding him. “Even when you’re a fucking brat, I can’t get enough of you, honey. Always so fucking hard for you. You have no idea…” He releases himself to cup your chin, spreading himself over the swell of your mouth. You greedily taste what he offers, tongue lapping at him before sucking on the tip of his thumb. “I’d spend an eternity inside you if I could.”

Those words — the claim, the rare admission — makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Without waiting for his command, you crawl between his legs and sink to draw your hand along his jean-clad thigh, a silent plea echoing in your eyes. As he wets his lips, you grip his length in your hand, his girth barely allowing you to wrap fully around him. Scott’s breath hitches as you stroke him exactly how he prefers, your hand sinking lower with each slow, deliberate movement.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, the tip of his cock as pink as his lips, and you pay special attention to it, thumb smoothing along the sensitive underside of him. The soft action has his hips bucking up into your touch, breath hissing between his teeth as he wraps your hair around his fist.

No matter how many times you were in this position, nothing changed how exhilarating it was to have brief a moment of power over him.

When you move to take him into your mouth, your tongue flat and eager, Scott wraps his fingers around your throat, that playful glint in his eyes replacing quickly with hellish intent.

“Did I tell you that you could touch?” He murmurs, releasing his grip on your hair to pluck your hand off him.

You want to point out that he didn’t seem to have a problem with that when he’d been half-thrusting into your hand, but the look in his eyes silences the retort on your lips. So you let him grip your wrist, and your throat, sure he can feel the heavy pound of your pulse as you whimper at the interruption.

“I just want a little taste,” you plead, jutting your bottom lip out and batting your thick lashes up at him through a heavy-lidded gaze.

Scott just shakes his head. And you feel the coil of defiance begin again.

“Don’t you want my tongue on you, sir? Licking up every thick inch of you? Seeing how much I can take in my hot little mouth?” You know you’re pushing it with how his grip on your wrist tightens, but fuck, you needed to feel him, to touch him, especially after he’d denied you the pleasure of it for so long.

You shift so your free hand wraps around his shaft again. Scott grunts as he watches you play with him, your small hand moving effortlessly along his girth. With both his hands occupied, he has nothing to stop you from doing what you want, what you need, as your gaze flickers down to openly admire his masculinity. “Don’t I look so pretty when I choke on you, baby?”

Despite how his gaze darkens and he twitches in your hand, Scott releases your wrist enough to rest his hand on the edge of the backseat, his brow raising. “You’d look prettier if you listened, sweetheart.”

The condescending nickname rolls through you, your face twisting in disgust at it — he knew you hated it, knew it reminded you of the old men who often tried to make passes at you. It disgusts you enough that you release him from your grip, watching a smile slowly spread on his face.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to sound weak with his fist still around you.

“And I thought I told you to listen, but you don’t seem to be doing a good job of that even after the belt.” He shifts his grip from the front of your neck to the back of it, pulling you closer. “What’s my name?”

You hesitate at how hard his gaze is trained on you. “Sir.”

He nods. “And what did you call me earlier?”

Oh. As the dots connect, realization flickering across your features, Scott’s eyes mirror your understanding. He doesn’t give you a chance to say it, continuing, “Until you can learn to listen, you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

You wait for a day, an end time, something that’ll make counting the days at least a little worthwhile — but it never comes. Instead, he just stares at you, waiting for you to defy him again, waiting for you to open your mouth, to push back. But his fingers twitch like he’s going to reach for his belt again, and the thought of that on your already raw backside makes a whimper escape.

“I understand, sir.”

His gaze softens for a moment — and a small part of you hopes that he changes his mind, that he’ll take it back… But Scott was never that type of man. Once something was final, it was final. No amount of begging or pleading could win your case.

He cups your face in his hands like he knows what he’s asking may push you past your breaking point. Never in the months you’ve been together has he implemented something indefinitely, but you’ve never pushed back this much. When his mouth roams over yours, gentle given the circumstances, you taste the sharp spearmint of his gum as his tongue explores you, soothing your whimpers and whines until you’re somewhat relaxed under his touch.

“Are you going to be a good girl if I let you blow me, honey?” He asks, lips ghosting over your mouth, your jaw, pressing a kiss against the column of your throat. You nod, not trusting your voice. “I mean it. No whining. No pleading. No biting.” His gaze flickers up to yours as a memory passes through both of you, your cheeks heating up, caught. He knew you too fucking well. “If I want you to choke on me, you’re going to choke. If I want you to wrap those pretty lips around my head, you will. And if I want your mouth not on me at all…”

“I’ll listen, sir,” you promise, breathless, squirming with need.

Scott’s eyes flash with approval, pressing one more kiss to your mouth before he settles back down against the leather. You follow, slow, cautious, your hands pressing into his thighs as he grips himself.

And when you wrap your lips around him, everything else fades away. You take him at his pace, slower than you would prefer but dutifully obeying his silent instructions, your hair coiled around his fist. The taste of him on your tongue has your eyes glazing over with desire, flickering up to watch him watch you, your head bobbing around his length, spit sliding down his shaft as he makes you take him deeper, deeper, until he’s hitting the back of your throat and there’s still inches between you.

Scott groans as he pushes you further, trained on how your body instinctively fights him, taking his cock entirely in your mouth when your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen. Your core drips with need, soaking your panties, at the guttural sound that escapes him: all masculine and intoxicating. You crave more of it, more of his approval, more of him — but he pulls you off with a pop, a trail of saliva traveling from his swollen head to your mouth, before doing it again and again, each time longer than the last.

“So fucking good,” he pants, pulling you off him again, his eyes blown as you suck on his tip like a lollipop.

Your tongue swirls around his head, wrapping your hands around the rest of him that you don’t swallow, little moans escaping.

And then he’s pressing you back down again, his grip holding you stationary as he thrusts into you like he can’t help himself, every action powerful and erotic as the sound of your throat taking his vigorous pace fills the truck. As he fucks your mouth, you knead your breast in your hand, pinching hard at your nipple when the desire to slip your hand between your thighs nearly overcomes you.

Scott watches it all with a growing arousal, his voice deep as he groans. “Fuck, honey, just like that. Want you to remember this next time you think of talking back,” he says, eyes closing briefly at how good you feel. “So fucking perfect with my cock down your throat. Does that make you hot, honey? Wanna rub that fucking clit while I fuck your face?”

You moan around him in response, something between a yes and a please that sounds more muffled than an actual word. Every time you take him deeper you feel that hot flash of aching desire pulse through you, your blood hot, sure that even through your panties you were dripping all over his leather seats.

The thought has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Scott’s growls turn positively primal as he pulls you off. “Keep making that face and I’m gonna cum right down that pretty throat.” He lifts enough to bring you to your knees, wrapping an arm around you to pull you flush against him as he drags his heavy touch along your naked frame. “You don’t want that, do you, honey? Fuck, I can smell how soaked you are for me.”

He wastes no time as he slips his hand beneath your panties, fingers sliding easily between your slicked folds as he groans. “My dirty girl. You like my filthy fucking mouth, honey, is that it?” Scott pushes a finger inside you, your body arching up into his as you nod, a breathy noise escaping. “Like when I tell you how good you feel? How fucking hard it gets me? How I dream about fucking you every single night when I’m away?”

God, yes. You assumed — but never asked — about what he thought when he couldn’t be near you, but the confirmation that you were on his mind just as much as he was on yours makes you clench around his finger.

“I’m gonna taste you,” Scott promises, his voice ragged. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll hear you in the city.”

It’s all the warning you get before he presses you down onto the seat, his mouth capturing yours as he settles atop you. Your body is pliant underneath his, gripping every inch of him, while he trails his mouth along your soft skin. Fuck, you felt like heaven to him — so smooth to his calloused hands.

And you made the prettiest noises when his mouth descended on your nipple, sucking and flicking at the hardened nub before giving equal attention to the other, all too aware of how your hips roll helplessly as he kisses his way down your tummy.

“I love how desperate you get,” he groans, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, drawing them down your legs. He nudges your legs apart with his nose, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of your thigh. Thick fingers spread your folds apart as he takes you in, the touch making you reach for something to hold onto.

“Please,” you whine, running your fingertips along his shoulder, propping yourself up as he sucked a possessive mark into your thigh. Scott just hums, moving to the other, relishing in the sharp intake of breath as he nips at you. “Please make me feel good, sir?”

“You gonna be good for me?” He asks again, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, his question serious as he nears the apex of your thighs.

You nod, tongue darting out between your lips as his focus momentarily breaks, darting down to watch how his fingers slide effortlessly over you, teasing your clit. “I’ll be good, sir, I swear.” Just as long as he keeps touching you like that, you’ll agree to anything.

Scott hums, playing with you for long enough that you think he’ll tease you into oblivion. But then his tongue darts out. licking a hot stripe up your center, and he groans, and you… You have just enough time to fall back to seat before his mouth is upon you.

The way he claims you with his tongue makes the wait worth it. Scott isn’t shy about feasting on you, his wet fingers slipping to spread your thighs further apart for him, lapping at you like your pussy is a melting ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Every swirl of his tongue, every flick against your clit, every long drag that has you gasping for breath, your mouth falling open while he readjusts his grip to keep you steady.

Scott groans as he collects your desire on his tongue, pulling back enough to revel at how spread open you are for him. He spits, the lewd action making your head spin, before his fingers rub it through your folds, circling your entrance while his other reaches up to knead your breast.

“I wish we had hours for this.” The admission is low in his voice, ragged from claiming you, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you try to still your hips against his torturous fingers. “Just as sweet as I remember, honey. Better. Fuck, you taste so…”

He doesn’t finish his thought, descending upon you again as his mouth attaches to your clit. You cry out at the special attention he gives it, teasing you just right, his tongue swirling and flicking and lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips move on their own accord, fingers digging into his brown curls as you grind in time with his tongue. Scott gasps as his touch abandons you to stroke himself, the angle uncomfortable in the cramped space of his backseat.

You clamp down on your bottom lip when your orgasm builds faster than you expect it to, hoping to stifle the increase of noise as he brings you closer and closer. Scott just keeps his brutal pace, those dark blue eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“Sir—” Your breath comes out hot when he groans, the vibrations of it nearly toppling you over the edge. You want so desperately to listen, fighting the way he coaxes it quicker, something heady and mischievous sparkling in those eyes, but it’s too much, he’s too much, that invisible rubber band pulling tighter and tighter, your control slipping, the wet sounds of his tongue dragging over your heat too much to bear—

You scream out as Scott pulls away entirely from you, all that tension coiling tight with nowhere to release, and watch helplessly as his expression flickers somewhere between smug and disappointed. You tremble against the loss, little twitches that give away how close you were from disobedience, your whine high and keening.

“Oh, honey, were you close?” Scott coos, his tone full of condescension as he rests his cheek on your thigh, an evil, wicked, vile grin teasing the corners of his mouth. You glare at the dimple in his cheek. “You think I’m dumb enough to not know when you are? That your pussy doesn’t tell me when you’re trying to be quiet? I know all your tells, honey. Every. Single. One.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his palm coming down hard against your open heat. The slap has you spiraling, a cry escaping you as your back arches up off the leather, the pain lingering uncomfortably as your ass grinds against the seat. Scott wastes no time crawling up your body, swallowing all your pitiful noises as you taste yourself on his tongue.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip as he pulls away. “Not tonight, honey.”

Your heart seizes in your chest at the confirmation — having suspected it, but half-hoping that he’d forgive your past sins if you were good enough. Scott just grins, lifting so all his weight isn’t settled atop you, running his hands down the still-twitching frame of your body, pushing his jeans down further as one hand drags along your hip.

“Please?” You beg, taking his face in your hands, blinking big doe eyes up at him. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His confidence in you is unwavering, pausing his movements to give you his undivided attention. One kiss, two, three, to the corner of your mouth, each softer than the last, bringing you down from a high he stole away. “We’ll test those limits properly another time. I have so many ideas…” He trails off with a groan, seeming to think better of listing all the ways he could make you bend to his will. “But you can. And you will.”

A whimper escapes at the finality, but you manage a weak nod. It’s all the encouragement Scott needs to draw your leg around his hip, slotting himself between your parted legs. The weight of him dragging through your slicked folds presses a gasp into his shoulder, your arms sliding around his broad frame.

And then he’s sinking into you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your taut body stretches to accommodate his size.

He’s massive — and delicious and throbbing and every other perfect word in the dictionary as you forget how to breathe, how to think, the more he buries himself inside you. You hear his strangled moan against your neck as your head tosses back, pulling him closer, hissing as he draws back just to press right back into you.

He works you just like that for what feels like hours, pushing and pulling, slow as he presses kisses to your skin, holding your hips steady. You know he’s holding himself back, that he’s letting your body get used to him after so long apart, after little more than a press of his fingers and tongue at your entrance. It makes your heart flutter in your chest — he could have fucked his way ruthlessly through you and you would’ve taken every second of it just the same, but the fact that he pauses to take his time now, to lengthen a moment that he shouldn’t be having in the first place…

God. You loved him.

You both moan as he bottoms out inside you, his hips driving forward just a little further on instinct. “Fucking missed this,” Scott pants, careful as he slides a palm under you, lifting your ass off the seat to thrust inside you again. Your gentle touch trails across his broad shoulders and down his arms, a silent message for him to keep going.

And then he fucks you like he promised.

It’s a combination of everything: the time apart, the time you had left, how neither of you could seem to get close enough to each other. He splits you apart and brings you back together with every snap of his hips, filling you exactly how you need, gasping against each other as you angle up to meet him halfway.

Your mouth presses feverishly to his, the sound of your desperate moans filling the small space against the way your body greedily accepts his. Scott stalls his tempo just enough to pull away, sliding his hands back to your hips to lift you onto him before returning to his brutal pace, the new angle giving you a perfect view of his cock stretching you out.

“Being so good for me,” Scott hums, pleased, his fingers splaying over your belly as he ruts deeper into you. The intensity of it, of him, makes you blink back stars as his heady gaze is trained on yours, grabbing onto him as he continues, “Feels so fucking good, honey, fuck.“

Your eyes slip down to watch as he slides in you, the sight of him hard and coated with your arousal making you moan. Scott grips the back of your neck to keep you there, your body curled up into whatever mold he desires, pressing your knee back to the cushion as he shifts himself closer.

“Dirty fucking girl, you like that?” Scott’s voice turns guttural with how you tighten around him, your pretty moans like music to his ears, “Like watching your little pussy take my cock? Seeing how fucking good I stretch you out?”

You nod, another moan spilling from your mouth, only to whimper when he slides fully out of you. The crude smack of his cock against your clit only makes you hotter, your skin on fire as he plays with you, always in control. “Tell me,” he groans, teasing as he grinds himself against you. “Let me hear you, honey.”

“I love it,” you pant, unable to tear your gaze away from his thick length. You want desperately to reach down and press him where you crave him most, but you resist, fingers curling into fists at his sides as you plead, “Please fill me up, sir, I need it. Need you to fuck me, need you to claim me, need you to make this little pussy all fucking yours, please.”

It’s all Scott needs to press into you again, his pace hard and demanding with your wishes. He slides an arm underneath you to hold you steady, his teeth leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, your collar, pressing moans into your skin with every rough piston of his hips, the sound of skin on skin, and your hard, labored breathing filling the space. And then he’s flipping you over, your hands and knees pressing into the leather as you push back against him, delirious with the new angle as he tugs you up, your back to his chest.

The possessive, strong grip on your waist slides up to knead your breast while he thrusts into you from behind, his lips at your ear, growling every profanity under the sun.

“This what you want, honey?” His hips snap hard into you, the contact against your sensitive ass making your eyes roll back into your head. The mix of the pleasure and the pain he gives you is unlike anything else you’ve ever felt. Scott always finds the perfect balance, his hand sliding between your thighs to tease your clit, your body wanton against him. “Being claimed? Owning you completely?” At your answering moan, he grins. “Could you handle it? Being mine in every way?”

“Yes,” you moan, trying in vain not to swirl your hips and failing, searching for more while he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I’m already yours, sir.”

“Yeah, honey, I feel it.” They come out strangled as you clench around him, your body responding eagerly to every touch. “So sweet right now, aren’t you? Wanna cum so badly, don’t you?” You whimper out as he angles himself deeper inside you, hitting that spongey spot in time with his ministrations. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, as he finds the perfect pace to drive you closer to the edge, dangling just on the precipice of release. “Bet you’d agree to anything right now just to cum, wouldn’t you, honey?”

Head tossing back against his shoulder, you dig your nails into his jeans where you hold him to you, looking at but not seeing the reflection of how he commands you, his mouth drawing along your neck. “Please,” you beg, trembling with the exertion of holding yourself together. “Scott— Sir, please, I’m so close—”

“I know.” Cooed, mockingly, along the column of your throat, he ceases every torturous move as he stills inside of you, his hands quick to press your hips down against his. The sudden lack of attention makes you cry out, chest heaving, as he steals your orgasm away again, the frustration and desire mixing until you’re growling through clenched teeth.

Scott just grins, watching it all with a gleeful expression, that dark look swirling in his eyes as he doesn’t dare move an inch. “You can be as nice as you want, honey,” He presses a patronizing kiss to your shoulder, that alone having you twitching against him, small little sounds that you can’t control escaping as he toys with your fraying edges. “I’m still not letting you cum tonight.”

“But—” You think better against talking back, clamping your mouth shut as you whimper again. “When?”

“When you’ve earned it.” Scott slides his hands over your body, dragging along your peaked nipples, taking both breasts in his large hands and groaning as he touches you. “You want to earn it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp automatically, your hands fisting handfuls of his brown locks as he sucks another possessive mark on you. “Please, sir.”

“How far would you go?” His voice carries that inquisitive tone that speaks of danger, the kind that has your cunt fluttering around him in response. He grunts against you at the sensation, still unmoving, just thick and hard and throbbing in you enough to leave your mind reeling. Your breath stalls when his touch wanders down to press at your belly. “Would you let me cum inside you?”

Every thought in your brain scatters at those words, wanting and needing before you can even voice it. He’s never asked; always pulling out to paint your chest, your back, your face. But the way he asks, his voice quiet yet desperate, the unmistakable edge to it that tells you he’s been thinking about it for a while, waiting for the right time, the right moment — suddenly his insistence on if you’d brought your birth control comes to the front of your mind, and you know. Know he’s been planning this. That if it weren’t here, it would’ve been sometime this weekend.

Scott is patient as he lets it all sink in, studying you, waiting for a shift of an expression, or your body responding against his desires. Something dark awakens in him at your whimper of approval.

“You’d look so fucking pretty like that,” he continues, slowly resuming his pace, much slower now than it was before, as he groans every fantasy he’s dreamt of for the past week into you. “So full of my cum… It wouldn’t all fit, would it, honey? But you’d beg me, wouldn’t you? Beg me to fuck it deeper in your sweet cunt?” Your breath labors as he grunts out, teeth sinking into your skin. “Beg me to put a baby in you?”

Fuck, yes.

You writhe against him with every word out of his mouth, your moans spilling freely as you nod, desperate, agreeable, unaware of how much he wanted it, obsessed about it. How the sight of you in his clothes made him want to put a ring on your finger, how every time you came over to his place he had to fight to ask you to move in, how the idea of your belly swollen with his child made him so horny he couldn’t think about anything else some days, how the thought of you and forever were so intertwined to him now that he couldn’t imagine anyone else to spend the rest of his life with.

All sappy, sentimental things that he didn’t dare voice, locked tight between his teeth, letting only a little spill out.

The need to own you, to claim you, was overwhelming. Scott wanted nothing more than to fuck you hard enough to make your brain flicker off until you couldn’t even speak, until you were completely at his mercy, until every drop of him was spent inside you. Possession and desire bleed into one — just waiting, aching, throbbing, bruisingly so, for your voiced consent.

“I need it,” you finally choke out, trembling, your voice utterly broken. “Please give it to me, sir? Please, please, pretty please?”

Scott moans, long and deep and loud, as he buries his face in the curve of your neck. And then he’s pounding into you, every muscle of his body pulled tight as you wrap around him like velvet perfection, his grip hard and unyielding against your hips as every rough slam of his hips into yours sends your body jolting forward. Your hand slaps to the window in front of you, leaving prints against the foggy glass, and he follows greedily, pressing his weight into you as he spreads your thighs further apart with a growl, fucking you into the seats.

Your orgasm painfully lingers, every needy moan spilling from your mouth only driving him further into you, wild with need, no longer the controlled man you knew but something more animalistic, primal.

“Fucking take it just like that,” he growls, not even sounding human, every word gritted through his teeth as you feel every thick inch of him around your slick walls, his hand slotted between your thighs to part your folds, sinking deeper until there’s no space left. “F-fuck, that’s so fucking— Perfect, honey, fuck— Pussy’s fucking made for me—”

He’s close — you can feel it in the way his thrusts grow uneven as he chases his release, the way he roughly grasps your chin to kiss you, sloppy and more tongue than lips, how his fingers leave Scott-shaped bruises wherever he grips you, his blunt nails biting into your hip, your sides, your breasts as he struggles for purchase. You don’t realize you’re sobbing in pleasure until he wipes your tears away, until he praises how good you’re being taking him like this, groaning when your body responds eagerly to his positivity.

You dance in time with him, meeting him halfway, angling your hips up just right. And you feel, rather than hear, the way Scott moans in ecstasy as he finds that perfect spot in your heat, numb to anything and everything that isn’t his thick cock pounding your weeping, used hole.

You think you cum — or maybe it’s just the last shreds of sanity leaving as Scott reaches his peak, nothing but your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fills you with his seed, rutting up against you until it’s painful, the warmth of him spreading into you. His heart pounds against you as he slips his hand to your belly, pressing you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as his hips twitch until he’s emptied out, fucking the last drops of his cum into you exactly like he’s dreamt.

And when you come down your orgasm sits uncomfortably high and untouched, a broken sob escaping you as he pulls out with a wet pop.

You feel his cum slide down your swollen cunt and flinch with sensitivity as he’s quick to collect himself on his fingers, fucking it back into you. The tension coils tightly inside of you until you’re sure you’re begging him to stop, the pleasure and pain completely overwhelming, exhausted with the effort of obeying his orders as he presses his digits into your used hole.

When you think just about to break, he stops.

And you know you’re going to kill him as he steals your release for a third time.

“Good girl,” Scott whispers, pressing kisses along your soft skin, his hands soothing every part of your twitching frame. You don’t have the strength to ask for more as he pulls you into his arms after sliding your panties back into place, letting you come down as he finds his peace in caring for you, murmuring sweet nothings while your body is pliant against him.

You nuzzle into him when you feel more in control of yourself, your heart slowing to a more steady pace. His name falls softly from your lips, your arms snaking around him to hold him close, his fingertips soft along the small of your back.

When he presses his mouth to yours, you melt into his embrace, exploring him lazily until he’s pulling away, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. “Mine.” He praises with a smile, that dark expression gone, leaving nothing but bright, shining blues you could drown in for hours. “All fucking mine. I own you.”

“Mmm,” Despite the weary in your bones, you can’t help but smile back, a giggle escaping, “Do you?”

Scott doesn’t need to slip his hand between your legs for you to get the picture, just hooks a finger along the waistband of your ruined panties. “You just let me prove it, honey.” He leans forward to kiss you again, slower this time, before pulling away with a regretful sigh when the distinctive chime of his phone goes off. “Need help getting back in your seat?”

“Already?” You whine.

“Gotta go, honey.” He taps your hip, twice. Non-negotiable. “Come on, before the bears smell you and want you for themselves.”

That has you cracking a grin. “You wouldn’t fight a bear for me?”

“What do you think the murder kit is for?” One last kiss to your mouth. “’Course I would. Just not tonight.”

You pout further, but let him grab your long-forgotten clothes off the floor, making yourself presentable again before he does the same. And when you settle back into the passenger seat as he starts the engine, you let your head rest against the window, bubbly and content and happy. Even if you know it won’t last when he has to leave.

As Scott drives through the familiar city streets, you hate the knot of apprehension that clogs your throat when your mind wanders too far about him being gone. Out on the field, anything could happen, even if it was just one of his routine visits. The people he spoke with — if he approached the wrong one, it would be so easy for them to lash out. Scott was a big man, he could take care of himself, but that didn’t stop your fears from pressing down against you.

His hand is firm on your thigh, thumb stroking soft lines in your skin as he catches your expression. And then his truck takes a turn in the opposite direction of your apartment, heading toward his house.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice tinged with confusion as you try to shake off your emotions.

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens just a fraction, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “My place,” he answers simply. “You’ve been up all night, and I’m not about to drop you off and leave you alone like that.”

You frown, the earlier emotions fighting to come back; you glance quickly out the window, cheeks flaming as you’re caught, hating that he’d noticed your weakness. “I’m fine, Scott. I can—”

“No,” he cuts in gently, but firmly. “You need rest. And I’ll rest better knowing you’re somewhere comfortable.” His eyes flick toward you, catching your reflection in the dim light of the street lamps. “Besides,” he adds, his voice lowering to something more intimate, “I’ve got a bed that’s been missing you.”

It’s not a request, and the way he says it makes your heart skip. You know he’s right. As much as you’d wanted to protest, the thought of sleeping alone in your own bed feels wrong, especially with the lingering warmth of his touch still buzzing under your skin.

By the time you pull into his driveway, the familiar sight of his place is almost a comfort in itself. Scott’s fingers brush over your thigh before he parks the truck, a silent reassurance. “I’ll be gone for a few days,” he murmurs, shutting off the engine, “but I want you here. I want you safe.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with a meaning he’s too stubborn to say out loud, but you feel it all the same. He reaches over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nod, unable to find the words, so you just lean into his touch. Scott doesn’t need more than that. He’s out of the truck and rounding it to your side before you can even blink, opening your door and offering his hand.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says softly, tugging you out and pulling you close against him. His arm slips around your waist as he guides you to the front door, his hold steady and reassuring.

Once inside, the warmth of his home envelops you both, and you feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt away. He’s quick to guide you to his bedroom, knowing the layout of his place better than anyone, but still taking the time to make sure you’re comfortable, handing you one of his shirts to sleep in.

As you slip under the covers, Scott pauses at the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on you. “Get some sleep,” he tells you, his voice gruff but tinged with affection. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You reach for him, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide in beside you, pulling you against his chest. For a moment, you both just lie there, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothing you into a drowsy haze. Scott presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting protectively over your hip.

“Sleep, honey,” he murmurs, his voice the last thing you hear before sleep claims you.

In the morning, you wake to the sound of his alarm, the room still dark. Scott’s already dressed, but he hasn’t left yet. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with a softness in his eyes that he rarely lets show. He reaches out, brushing his fingers through your hair as you try to rustle yourself awake.

“Go back to sleep,” he says quietly, his thumb grazing your cheek. “I’ll be back in a few days. Promise.”

Before you can respond, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his lips. You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you drift back into a peaceful slumber, the last thing you feel is the comforting weight of his hand slipping from yours.

When you finally rise, well rested but achey from the night’s exertions, the sun is high in the afternoon sky and his house is empty, his truck missing from the garage. You wander into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea, pulling the kettle out from underneath his cabinet. And when the steaming mug is in your hands, settling into the breakfast nook that overlooks his backyard, your eyes fall upon his jacket, folded neatly atop all the stuff he’d unpacked while you were sleeping.

And you know he loves you as much as you love him.

[enderlovez]

Oooooo I have a Spencer x germaphobe reader where everyone knows how Spencer is with germs, which isn’t that bad. But imagine everyone’s surprise when they find out he has a huge crush like I mean in love with their coworker who is an extreme germaphobe (think of Ms, Pillsbury from glee) so she’s extra clean but he doesn’t mind he only has eyes on her so he tries to help her while also helping himself and she already has a crush on him but thinks he sees her as a patient in a lab even when he doesn’t but their feelings come to surface and they get a lil dirty lol angst, smut, and fluff thank u❤️

Germaphobe, Too

Spencer Reid x Female Germaphobe Reader WORD COUNT: 3600+ (yeah I got a little carried away)

Summary: You hate germs more than anything else in the world, and Spencer is so very much in love with you, so he's always trying to help you in any way he can — little does he know, that maybe you're feelings about the situation are a little bit different.

Content Warning: reader shows traits of obsessive compulsive disorder, germaphobia and germs, probably misinformation about germaphobia, NSFW content, reader is a freak, dry humping, reader bites Spencer a few times, miscommunication, Spencer likes boobs, groping, nipple play (sort of), unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss on both ends, Spencer doesn't pull out, and I think that's it!

A/N I've never actually watched Glee so I went on a bit of a search-spree to try and find out how I would write this, so I hope I did it justice! Also, thank you so much for being the first person in my inbox, you have no idea how excited I was when this popped up, and I hope I did your idea justice!

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From the moment you joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, everyone knew you were different — from the way you open doors with your sleeves rather than your bare hands, to how you scrub your hands raw after touching something that's not even really that dirty.

And it's not necessarily a bad thing that you're so conscious of these things, it can just be a little... difficult to navigate sometimes.

Take that one time for example, when you were helping out on a case! Morgan had no writing utensils on him, so without thinking, plucked a pen from the breast pocket of your blouse. To anyone else, it might not have seemed like such a big deal, but you were close to tears.

To put it plainly, you are a germaphobe. You're like a female version of their very own Doctor Spencer Reid, but on steroids, and somehow still a whole lot more sociable despite this fact!

Seriously. It's not to say they don't still see you as the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things, nor is it to say they don't frequently talk about you when you're not around, but they think you might just be the sweetest human being to ever grace the BAU.

Which is why it really shouldn't have seemed like such a secret, shouldn't have shocked everyone as much as it did, that Spencer was absolutely and irreversibly smitten with you.

At first, it was just little things like watching you from across the room with this strange look on his face — he was just watching the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things!

When he started spending more time around you than anybody else at work, and when it became apparent that he preferred your quiet company, it was just because you showed some similar traits to him, right? Nobody thought anything different, because come on, this is Spencer we're talking about here.

But in truth, Spencer is beyond mesmerized by you, the most beautiful woman he's ever met, and so kind to everyone even though they clearly treat you different to your other coworkers.

The poor man doesn't think he could ever admit this to you, though, considering he's a blabbering mess of hot skin and stutters every time he talks to you. So instead of further embarrassing himself (and giving Morgan ammunition to tease him for the rest of eternity), he shows his affection towards you in other ways.

Spencer himself is not a big fan of germs, so he can understand, to an extent, how you must feel most of the time. You've explained it to him before, while he was standing beside you at your desk, watching as you wiped the surface down with an antibacterial wipe.

"I know it probably seems like I overreact, but it's not something I can just turn off," you'd said to him in a whisper once. "I don't do this because I want to annoy people or make life harder. It's just... if I don't, I feel like I'll unravel."

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Sometimes it feels like the world is too loud. A stranger is screaming in your ear, you can't see them or touch them, but they're there; there's a bee buzzing in front of your face, but you can't swat it away.

How are you supposed to get rid of something you can't see?

You can't — it's as simple as that, but you can try you're very best.

As if sensing that your thoughts are headed somewhere unsavory, Spencer appears beside you on a rolling chair, as he does most days.

Out of all your coworkers, he's the only one that doesn't poke fun at you behind your back. That's how it's been your whole life, people testing your boundaries and teasing you for something you have no control over, so it's... a nice change of pace.

"Good morning, Spencer," you say softly, offering him a warm smile before turning back to your work. "How are you today?"

"Good—um, good morning," he responds awkwardly, smiling even though you're not looking at him anymore. You see it out of the corner of your eye, his little smile and his firetruck-red face, smiling faintly to yourself as you type away on your laptop.

You ignore how he completely dismisses your question, knowing he'd probably just say the same thing as always — 'Yeah, I'm doing great, thank you. As—as long as you're doing alright.'

He always gets so strange around you, and while you try your best to ignore it most of the time, it still irks you.

No, he doesn't join the teasing with Morgan and Jareau when they think you can't hear them, but he still treats you differently.

"I got you something," he says in a quiet voice, reaching into his bag and pulling out a book. You eye him nervously as he carefully places it onto your desk, using one finger to push it towards you. A tiny smile pulls at your cheeks when you see it's encased in a protective plastic film, but it quickly drops when you see what the actual book is.

'Overcoming Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: A Journey to Recovery' by David Veale and Rob Willson.

You peel the plastic away, tossing it into the little trash can under your desk and sanitizing your hands before picking up the bright yellow book, opening the front cover with a blank expression.

It's not like you aren't grateful he's trying to help, of course you're happy he cares so much. But a book isn't going to fix your problems, despite what he may think at times. And right now he doesn't feel like a friend, he feels like a doctor, and you feel like a patient laying on a lab table, vulnerable and stripped bare for the world to see.

For once, you just want to have a normal conversation without it turning into some kind of therapy session.

"Thank you, Spencer — um..." You voice shakes ever-so-slightly as you put the eyesore book in your bag. "I will be reading that tonight, that was very kind of you."

You know you'll probably put that book in a box and never look at it again. He doesn't seem to pick up on your unease, smile widening at your apparent acceptance of his gift.

"Actually," you continue softly, in a voice so quiet it's almost silent, head bowed forward, "I'm actually not feeling too well right now, think I might head home for the day."

The smile on his face falters slightly as you push away from your desk and stand up, packing your things away into your backpack. "Is everything — would you like me to drive you home?"

It's not unusual for your mind to trick you into thinking you actually are sick, but on the off chance that you really are feeling something, he doesn't think it's a good idea for you to drive yourself home.

"You know, about twenty-one percent of fatal car crashes involve tired or impaired drivers."

"I'll be fine," you reply blandly, though those statistics do alarm you mildly, stepping around him and walking in the direction of Hotch's office. "Thank you, though, Spencer."

As you disappear into the Unit Chief's office, Morgan give him this curious look from across the room, eyebrow cocked in question, but all Spencer can do is shrug, his own face twisted with confusion.

Usually when you get like this, there's some kind of trigger that sets you off, like a chain reaction of sorts, but right now, he can't for the life of him come up with something that might've set you off.

You're only in the office for thirty-seven seconds (Spencer was counting) before you reemerge, your head still bowed as you rush out of the bullpen, like there's something chasing you away.

"What'd you do to get Miss Sunshine all blue and teary-eyed?" Morgan asks mockingly when you're out of earshot. "She looks like you just kicked a fluffy little kitten in front of her!"

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Spencer's never been to your apartment before — nobody on the team has, the only reason he's standing here now is because your address is on your information.

It feels a bit like an invasion of your privacy being here when he's not even supposed to know where you live, but Morgan was right. You did look like Spencer smushed a kitten under his shoe as you were leaving, and he couldn't in good conscience not check on you.

He reaches a tentative hand up, hesitating for a (very) brief moment before knocking thrice.

There's some muffled shuffling behind the door before it opens, revealing you, wearing a cream colored cardigan with delicately embroidered flowers on it. And while you're still neatly put together, there's a more casual air about you now, like you're more relaxed.

"Oh — Spencer, what're you doing here?"

Your voice rasps slightly, and when he takes a closer look at your face, Spencer finds that your eyes are a little red.

"I was just..." He pauses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed upset when you were leaving work."

You purse your lips and give him as once-over, then shift out of the doorway — inviting him inside? You close the door behind him once he's inside, guiding him towards the living room with a gentle hand on his back.

It's shocking, to say the least, that you're actually touching him right now, but he doesn't say a word.

"Would you — um — like some tea, or something?" you ask awkwardly, pushing him to sit on the sofa. "Or — or some water?"

"No, but thank you for offering."

You leave the room for a few minutes, presumably to make yourself something to drink, but come back with two steaming mugs, placing one in front of Spencer regardless of what he said.

Another couple of minutes pass where neither of you say anything, sipping on tea and glancing at each other every now and again. He's pleasantly surprised to find that you've used lavender tea.

Your apartment is very clean, looking more like a set you'd find at a department store than anything, but it's still so warm and inviting. You have a couple of candles lit around the place, and Spencer's fighting the urge to warn you about candle safety.

"I don't want you to try and fix me."

Spencer turns his head away from the tall bookshelf across the room to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Fix you. What do you mean, he's trying to fix you?

"The book," you reply meekly, "I don't want you to try and fix me."

That catches his attention, the emphasis on that one little word — it's not that you don't want anyone to help, you just don't want him to help.

You must see the flash of hurt cross his expression, because you're rushing to elaborate, stumbling over your words.

"It's just that — um — I really like you, Spencer, and — uh — when you're giving me stuff like this..." You gesture to the coffee table, where the yellow book he'd given you is sitting. "I don't know, you kind of make me feel like I'm a patient in a lab. Something to be studied and prodded at and — and fixed."

"There's nothing about you that needs to be fixed," he murmurs, trying his best to ignore what you said — 'I really like you, Spencer.'

You place your half-empty mug of tea onto the coffee table and pull your feet up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them.

"I wasn't trying to fix you — everything about you is perfect," he says, quiet and without thinking. "You just seemed so uncomfortable at work all the time, and I wanted to help you out."

"Why, though?" you ask sadly, a faint heat rising to your cheeks. "Why not just join in on all the teasing and mockery? It would be easier than dealing with me all the time."

"Because..." You raise an eyebrow at his entire face quite literally turns the same shade as a tomato. "Because I really like you, too. I didn't think about how it might come off, and I'm so, so sorry for—"

You hold up a hand to shut him up, leaning a little further towards him than he would have thought you'd like.

"Spencer, it's alright," you assure him, placing your hand on his knee, much to his surprise (and embarrassment). "You didn't need to worry, though — you're really the only person at work I spend much time around, and I'm not uncomfortable around you."

"You're... not?"

A soft smile graces your lips. "Not even a little bit. Not even at all."

Spencer deflates into himself, every inch of his his skin uncomfortably hot — this is news to him.

"That's a relief."

Your voice takes on a teasing lilt. "Why? Because you really like me?"

And just like that, his face gets infinitely hotter, but he gives you the tiniest nod, knowing that if he said anything, he would fumble.

"I don't understand why you're embarrassed," you whisper fondly, "I am the one who said it first, after all. You should be teasing me."

He might be the only one you'll accept it from, just like how he's the only person you'd ever accept physical contact with, the only person you'll ever trust enough to put your mouth near him, like right now."

Spencer has to restrain himself from physically recoiling in shock when you press the softest of kisses to his blazing cheek.

Your instincts are screaming on the inside, but if you're being honest, you couldn't care less.

This isn't a stranger, you assure yourself, this is Spencer, and he could never make you sick.

Spencer could never make you sick.

"Is this alright?" you ask as you press another slightly firmer kiss to the skin under his jaw, your voice dripping with something unfamiliar.

Unable to form a single word, Spencer nods, reaching to place a hand on the back of your neck, gasping when your teeth nipped at the sensitive skin.

It's a complete one-eighty from the shy, germ-conscious girl you usually are, but he can't find it in him to complain.

The girl of his dreams, the one who can't even bring herself to touch his hand at work, currently has her mouth on him, she's biting him, and his mind is in a frenzy.

"I'm not gonna freak out if you touch me, Spence," you tease lightly, lips fluttering over the space just beside his mouth. As if to prove your point, smirking against his skin, you take his hand in yours and settle it on the space just below your breasts — under your clothes.

Where you're not wearing a bra.

His mind reels and melts into goo at the feel of your bare skin against his hand, so soft and warm.

An embarrassingly loud whine escapes his mouth as you bite down on his neck again, sucking the skin into your mouth. His hand drifts slightly upwards, brushing against the supple skin of your breast and gently grabbing onto it.

Your breath hitches as he gropes at your chest, lips pulling off his neck with a little pop and head resting against his shoulder.

"Can I take your shirt off?"

Your question leaves him speechless, but he nods nonetheless, reluctantly letting go of you to help you get his shirt over his head.

The sigh of his bare chest has your mouth watering, and you want nothing more than to leave a trail of hickeys down his stomach, but first, you press your lips to his, hands threading through his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs into your mouth, hands resting on your hips as you grind down onto him. "Absolutely breathtaking."

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering as your hips wildly buck down on him. You've never been like this, desperate for the touch of another person, let alone a touch so intimate.

Spencer's grip on you tightens some, and he uses this new leverage to guide your hips, carefully pressing you clothed heat against the hardness straining against his pants.

"P-please," you choke out, arms wrapping around his shoulders, gripping him for dear life as he moves you.

"Hm?" he hums quietly, shifting the angle so he's rubbing right up against your covered clit.

"Please," you breathe out again, clenching around nothing. "Please, Spencer."

You're not even sure what you're begging for, only that you want — no, need more of this stimulation.

He seems to understand what you need better than you do, gathering your body to him and laying you on your back.

Your thighs automatically fall open for him, allowing his body to fit between them, one hand holding himself up. He presses himself against you again, drawing a desperate moan from the back of your throat as he works on undoing the buttons of your cardigan, letting the fabric slide off your body and pool at your sides.

The hand he's not using to support himself reaches for you, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple. The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches upward as you arch up against him, eyes screwed shut.

"You like that?" he asks genuinely, doing it again. You nod frantically, mouth dropping open, but no sound coming out of it.

"Yes," you pant, bottom lip catching between your teeth. "Yes, I like that — please."

"Please what?" His mouth descends upon your neck, fingers continuing their attack on your sensitive nipple, clothed cock still rubbing up against you oh-so wonderfully.

"Please... please touch me," you beg, unable to stop your hips from bucking up against him. "I need you to touch me, Spencer."

Such vulgar words coming out of your mouth. It shocks the man, but he complies, shifting his body backwards so he can pull your skirt and underwear down your legs.

The sight between them is magical — your folds glistening in the soft light of the room, you writhing in anticipation in front of him — and something he has, admittedly, thought about once or twice.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asks, running his middle finger through your slick and pressing down gently on your clit. You shake your head lazily, face screwed up in pleasure, a sight Spencer will cherish forever.

A strangled moan rips out of you as Spencer presses a finger against your hole, thumb rubbing soft circles on your sensitive bud, and enters you with little resistance.

"Neither have I," he admits sheepishly, pumping his finger in and out of you rhythmically, curling it until he finds that spongey spot within you that has you crying out his name and spilling over his hand.

"Two virgin germaphobes," you mumble jokingly, trying to wiggle closer to him again. You fumble with his belt, somehow managing to pull it through the loops, and toss it on the ground carelessly.

He helps you to push his pants down, just enough for his cock to slip out.

"Two virgin germaphobes," he agrees quietly, adjusting your bodies so you're both in a more comfortable position, sliding his heavy tip through your slick folds. "Are you sure—"

"I'm sure, Spence," you abruptly cut him off, running your fingers through his hair, subconsciously pulling him towards you. "Please just — just fuck me."

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice, slowly pushing into you, gasping as your warm walls suck him in, gripping his cock like a vice. He holds his breath, trying not to immediately blow his load.

You're writhing, gasping, clawing at his back, whispering his name out into the air, and it only works to make him more hungry for you. But he stills one he's fully sheathed inside you, giving you time to adjust.

"Does it — uh — does it hurt at all?" he asks in a whisper, directly into your ear.

"N-no," you gasp back, the small pain slowly morphing into one of pleasure. "It doesn't hurt, you can — fuck — you can move, when you're ready."

He doesn't think he'll ever be ready, with how tightly you're gripping him, but he still finds himself pulling out until only his tip is nestled in you, and slowly pushing back in all the way. You hum shakily, trying to press yourself closer to him as he repeats the action, then again.

Already so sensitive from your first orgasm, you know you're not going to last long with his slow movements, thighs clenching around his. Pressure grows in your abdomen as he thrusts back in, slightly harder this time, grunting into your neck.

"God, I'm already so close," you choke out, head thrown back, sounds you didn't even know you could make raking out of you. Spencer can't get enough of them, leaning down and catching one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on the sensitive nub.

Without warning, you're spasming around him, drool dribbling out of your open mouth as you come, body going slack against the couch.

"W-where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you mumble incoherently, biting your lip hard enough to leave marks, tears building on your waterline. "Please, Spence, I want you to come inside me."

Your words alone are enough to have him spilling inside you, thrusts sloppy and unrhythmic. Your hum in content, clinging to him like a koala as he gently pulls his softened cock from inside you, rubbing soft circles onto the skin over your breastbone. It's comfortably quiet.

And then...

"Hey," you whisper in a tired voice, "you wanna go on a date with me?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your hip. "I would love to," he whispers back fondly before standing up from the couch, "but first, we need to get you cleaned up and rested.

[bunny-jpeg]

hiii first I would like to say that I LOVE your writing and I was wondering if you could do smth with Lando. This is quite a long order so you can pick and chose what you would like.

dark hot chocolate

milkshake

a vodka shot

spicy upside down cake

crème caramel

hot cross buns

bakery menu

thank you so much for the order! i've been really getting back into doing these bakery orders, so it's been fun working through the requests i've gotten! i always love doing a good lando fic, the fans i get in my inbox always have some of the most creative prompts i've ever seen so thank you! i hope you love this!

spicy upside down cake: "let's play a game: don't get caught." + crème caramel: "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?" + hot cross buns: "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." + dark hot chocolate: sub!reader + milkshake: size kink + a vodka shot: rough sex served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, rough sex, size kink, sub!reader, semi-public sex, brattiness, dirty talk & degrading language, filthy (!!)

lando norris loved a good brat. he loved when a girl thought she could snap at him. it was cute, and it got him hard. cute things with pouty lips and fluttering eyelashes, crossed arms that framed perfect, fat tits. drew him in and made his jeans tight.

nothing like fucking a brat back into submission.

so after being put through the ringer in silverstone, lando couldn't help himself. especially when you said his favourite word in a venomous tone, "no."

you ended up in his driver's room with his hands up the back of your t-shirt and he near slammed the door with his foot. he was moving you like a puppet. you weren't going anywhere too far, too fast. he kissed the nape of your neck and loved the feeling of his hands on your soft skin.

"oh. you thought you were getting away from me?" he teased as he rubbed the front of his jeans up against your behind, "tell me no and then expect to skitter off. you wouldn't get far and you know that. should've chased you through the garage and fucked that pretty pussy of yours over my car. rub those tits of your raw up against it." he was panting already, turned on by how deep his want was for you.

"lando." you whined and you ended up over the couch. your cheek almost pressed against the wall behind it. your knees on the cushion and your round behind on display for him. you crumbled so easily, it was cute.

lando licked his lips and admired you. the shape of you, the feel of you, how hot your skin got when you were turned on. made his cock throb in his jeans. he didn't take him the victory this weekend, but he was going to take your pussy. which was almost as good as a trophy.

"get undressed or else you'll be leaving for the car in a lot less clothes." he remarked, "but i'd be you love that, huh? bare tits out across the paddock, covered in my bite marks. because you're just a little slut aren't you?"he noticed you covering your face with your hands, "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." he then grabbed your roughly and got your ass on the cushion your legs spread open as you forced yourself to hold onto the couch.

you looked beautiful.

"strip or it becomes shreds." lando said as he grasped his cock through his jeans, "and don't hide your face, got it?" he was dominating, putting you in your place. and it made you heavily aroused. and he knew it. he knew that you were a sick puppy that way.

you quickly got out of all of your clothes, you were left naked. lando preferred when you were naked, even in cases where you could be easily caught. he was certain that if someone caught sight of your bare tits while you rode him, you'd cum on the spot. dirty girl.

lando kept most of his clothes on, didn't need his round ass to be on the cover of most major sports papers tomorrow. he crowded in your space and braced his hands over the top of the couch, on either side of your head. he watched you swallow and he grinned like a wolf. "pretty little thing." he said, "see, things are much easier when you drop the bratty-act."

"i thought you loved a challenge." you remarked as you looked at him with a cute little wink. it only pulled lando in and he stroked his cock at the sight of your cute figure. you really were something else. naked on the couch, your breasts and cunt on full display for him. and yet, you remain defiant.

"i do, but i also love girls who know when to shut up and take it." he sank his cock into you. you let out a sweet moan and he chuckled lowly, "let's play a game: don't get caught. think you can do that? keep that whore mouth quiet while i fuck you?" he pushed to the base and shakily exhaled. he felt a stir in his gut while he admired you.

you felt hot all over a she started to move against you. your body didn't feel like your own, you were under lando's spell as he fucked you. you tensed up around him as you kept your legs open for him. there was something that ran hot through you. it wasn't fair, he made you a panting dog for him.

"a real bitch in heat, huh?" he chuckled lowly as he continued to move against you. he pressed into you harder, "pretty eye though, gotta keep them interested somehow. or else they'll hit and leave." he continued to move against you. his thrusts made you see stars. who allowed for him to be this hot. this painfully good at making you moan.

you let out a whine and he gave you a firm pat on the cheek, he'd never harm you. he'd just make his presence known, after all he was your boyfriend, your love, your dominant in your life. he was rough, but not abusive. he made you squirm and enjoyed the feeling of you under him. on the stupid couch they gave him, fucking tomorrow out of you.

there was something about him. the way he carried himself, the way he moved through your space. he wasn't like others, he was like no man you had been with before. he made you pant. whine and more of all, cum at the feeling of his cock inside of you. he could work with what he had and it often made you moaning with heated pleasure.

he looked at you, he kept his eyes on you as he fucked up into you. he held onto the couch while he thrusted up into you. he kept his expressions under control while your face displayed all the feelings of pleasure he was giving you. he loved how you looked, he made you feel heaven, why not enjoy it too?

"please, lando. fuck, i love you."

"and i love you, baby. look at you, you take my cock like a champ. can you believe it? i guess you put your money where your mouth is, silly little slut." he licked his lips as he continued to move against you. his thrusts were heavy and they left a certain cloudiness in his brain as he fucked the daylights out of you. you were a slut for him and he loved that, he loved that he could bend, twist and fuck you however he saw fit. it was a good feeling in his soul as he rutted against you.

he knew that you loved him, you loved him as deep as veins ran deep in the body. he knew you were needy for him, you yearned for his heavy cock inside of you. his breathing was heavy in your ear as eh moved against you, the feel was overwhelming and you tried so hard to keep quiet. you didn't want to be the front page tomorrow because your boyfriend decided to fuck you until you saw stars.

"that's it, baby." he said as he thrusted up into you, "you feel amazing. all mine, who let you feel this good. you got a pussy most would die for." his pace continued, "i need you beautiful, always in my heart as i ruin your fucking pussy." his words were heated as he fucked you. there was little time for tenderness as he ravaged you.

you kept your tone quiet as you held onto him, letting him fuck your sweet cunt. it was hard to keep quiet with the pace so quick and so erotic that it left your core quivering for him. you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

"gonna behave for me now, be a good girl for me?" he asked as he held your throat. he didn't choke you, he held you so you'd keep your eyes on him. as he continued to rut against you, the feeling was hot, the weight of his hand against you as he made your core flutter around him.

you nodded dumbly, not much else to say as he fucked you with a heated want. you reached out for him and clung to his t-shirt while you climaxed around his cock. you squeezed around him, eyes shut and held onto him tightly. he continued to fuck you, he fucked you through you orgasm and only grinned at the blissed out expression you had. you looked like a total dream, even in the heat of climax. he kissed your neck and fucked you roughly.

he was in total control and he felt the fire in his core as he moved against you. your wetness stained the front of his jeans, which only spurred him on to make you a panting, whiny mess. he eventually shut you up with a heated kiss and kept you pinned to the couch by your shoulders.

he was going to fuck the brattiness out of you, and with a few more heavy strokes of his hips he finished inside of you. he watched your eyes flutter close for a moment before you loosely held onto him. it was erotic to see you in a state of total bliss as he came. you two fit together beautifully and lando couldn't help but kiss your neck as he moved against you slower and let himself feel your entire body.

hands trailed across your sides before he held you hips tightly and pulled out of your cunt. he looked at you and exhaled deeply against your neck, "beautiful." he said with much more tenderness.

he looked at his soft cock and then to you. he then asked as he admired your messy expression. you were all blissed out from him. he patted your thigh and said, "now be a good girl and get dressed. you can louder in the hotel." <3

[copperbadge]

ADHD and (Communications) Productivity

Recently @goodnightmoonvale hit me up by email to ask about some of my processes for keeping myself from getting snowed under when it comes to digital communication. The main question was about finding ways to ensure that you stay in touch with people and, at work, give updates in a timely manner.

I sent back a long email about the systems I use, then asked if I could post up my response publicly as well, since a couple of other people both online and in brickspace have asked me similar questions. I've cleaned it up a little and included it below -- although I feel just slightly weird about posting it since admittedly outside of work I am still not fantastic about prompt responses to email.

Still, I feel like it's good to share this stuff -- I think people take away what they can from this kind of post, and it's nice when something works. So here's what I wrote, tidied up a bit for posting.

SHORT VERSION

When I have a backlog in email or asks or similar -- as I often do -- I set aside a time, between 15 minutes and an hour depending on how I'm feeling, to do "communication rotation". I open up every inbox I need to respond to in a separate tab, and crucially these are the ONLY tabs open -- I set up a new browser window if I have to.

So I have a browser open and I have tabs within the browser -- Gmail, Tumblr Askbox, AO3 Inbox, etcetera. If you have Discord you might open the DMs in Discord to see if you have ones to respond to there. If it helps, you can create a bookmark file of "inboxes" so you can open them all at once every time. Sometimes I have multiple browsers open so that I can have multiple Gmail inboxes (personal, fandom, work) open at once.

Then I cycle through them, answering messages in one inbox until I feel like I can't anymore, and I move on to the next one. I try to set a goal -- say, five messages from each platform, or one "difficult" message that I've been putting off per platform. Or trying to get every inbox down to under 20 messages that need response, or similar.

The goal is not to answer every single message, but to attack the mountain. If you find you're skipping one inbox because only the really hard-to-respond-to messages are left, close out the other inboxes and just focus on replying to ONE hard-to-respond-to message, then get up and walk away and give yourself a treat. Maybe come back and start again in ten minutes, maybe you're done for the day. The point is to reduce the backlog little by little while still retaining enough energy to respond to new things as they come in, so they don't add to the backlog.

There may be a better way for some people -- maybe some people would do better to pick one platform each time and just deep focus on that one, for example. I always say that people need to find what works for them, but the attitude in this case is what's important -- not "Gotta do it all now" but "Little bit now helps me later". 

NOW, for the long version that's more work focused! 

LONG VERSION

Responding to people and keeping them updated are two different things, and I think there's an implicit third thing, which is "making sure I make time to respond to messages". So in sequence what you need to figure out how to do is: 

1. Set up your workflow so that you are consistently reminded to read and respond to email.

2. Respond in a timely and appropriate manner to email. 

3. Set up your workflow so that you are reminded to provide update emails as you progress in various projects. 

So for 1, only you know what will trigger you to consistently read and answer email. For me, I just constantly have my work email open on one monitor (I have two) and whenever a new email comes in I see it. Sometimes I need to use both monitors for other things, and for that reason the only email notifications I get on my phone are work email notifications*. So if I'm working on something and my phone nearby dings, I know it's probably important, and I see what it is fairly quickly.

* Reader, if you have ADHD and have not tried turning off all but the most necessary phone notifications, I do recommend trying it. For some it might be difficult or even counterproductive, but for me, it helps enormously with brain fog and executive function. The only notifications I get on my phone are text messages, work emails, and alarms. Nothing from social media, nothing from retail or game or banking apps. Zippo.

Once I'm aware I have a new email, before I read it, I decide: do I want to read and reply to this now? If not, if I'm in the groove of something else, I leave the email unread, so that it's there nagging at me when I'm done with whatever I'm doing. If I'm in a good place to break, I open the email -- but only if I have concluded that I will respond to it immediately if response is needed. 

This is a difficult habit to form. It may not work for some people. The key is to figure out what will a) draw your attention to new email, b) allow you to decide whether to read it, and c) respond if you do read it. 

2 ("respond in a timely and appropriate manner") is actually the easiest of the three steps in my opinion because you don't always have to have all the answers at once. I sometimes fall into the pit of "I can't respond unless I have a full answer or a finished assignment" and have to pull myself back out. It helps that I have become master of the "acknowledgement email" -- basically if you open an email and you can't answer the questions in it immediately, or if you can't work on the assignment that moment, you fire off a quick email just to let them know you've received the message and are working on it.

For this, I have several stock phrases such as "Thanks for the email! Let me look into this a little further and I'll get back to you" or "Sure, I can get that done in [timeframe]." Importantly, if they have not given you a deadline, it's SUPER helpful to say, "I'll have this to you by [reasonable date in your opinion] -- if you need it sooner please let me know ASAP so I can prioritize it." (or "If you need it sooner let's discuss the scope of the project, since I have a lot on my plate.") 

You then need to make sure that you do the task in the allotted time, but that's a different ballgame -- we're focusing here on responding and updating.

People, truly, just want to know that you've seen their request and are working on it, and just sending that email goes a long way towards giving the impression that you are a prompt responder and strong communicator. Also if you have any questions ("before I proceed, can I ask") now is the time to ask them since that puts responsibility back on them to provide information before you go further and possibly waste your time.

3 ("Set up your workflow so that you are reminded to provide update emails") is where I struggle, because it's not just about remembering to Do The Thing, you have to also remember to update the person on the thing. The way I do this is to use my inbox not as a temporary repository for new emails but as a to-do list. Until a task is complete, the email regarding it does not leave my inbox (see next paragraph for exceptions). If it's important I might even mark it unread (despite having replied to it) so that it "bugs" me when I look at my inbox. 

If I have replied and can't go further until I get a response, I might file the email in a folder. I make a new folder for work every month, so for example any requests from February are in the 2025-02 folder, and for big projects with multiple emails I make a folder like "2025 Holiday Cards" or "2025 Database Audit". Since there's nothing I can do until the person hits me back, it doesn't need to stay in my "to do" inbox -- when they email back it'll get moved there anyway. However, if I have replied and need a response but can work on other aspects of the task, even if I'm not going to immediately, I leave it in my inbox. That way, whenever I'm concerned I've forgotten something, I can check my inbox and see all the stuff I need to either reply to or update people on.

I also use Google Tasks to run my life, and have it open in a sidebar next to my email, so any task I should be working on is generally noted there as well, but that goes back to the "make sure you do the tasks promptly" which again is a different issue. 

CASE STUDY

So, say someone asks me for a spreadsheet on Monday. I reply "Thanks, I'll have this for you by end of day Friday, let me know if you need it sooner." They don't respond so I assume Friday is fine for my purposes. I leave the request email in my inbox and start work on the task OR I put the task in my Google Tasks with "Due Friday EOD" on it. (Sometimes I do both.)

I work on the project all week and by Wednesday I've made reasonable progress but haven't heard back from the person who asked for it. Around the end of day Wednesday, I might open the thread again and send a quick email saying "Hey, I'm making good headway on this, still on track to have it to you EOD Friday." Or I might have a question, and shoot that off. For some people, you get a feel of whether or not they need that kind of update. I don't do this for, say, my super laid-back boss, but I do for the head of Data who definitely wants status updates. 

On Friday, I open that same email thread as the original request (for consistency) and send them the finished product. At that point I know I'm done with the task so I can shift the email into my 2025-02 archive for good. All the communication is in one place, and it's neatly filed away, so I no longer have to worry about it. 

CONCLUSION

The ultimate point is that you want to develop a system for your own personal use that reminds you to check email frequently, helps you respond immediately when you read an email, and reminds you to send updates as they're needed. Maybe that's alarms instead of Google Tasks, or a calendar app, or a handwritten to-do list in place of keeping stuff in your inbox. The point is to know what will cue you to do things you wouldn't do naturally, then implement those -- and change them if they stop working. What I wrote above is my system, but it's mostly demonstrating the framework I used to build it, which is what I hope other people will also find useful.

[lucy-literates]

“Happy Birthday Baby”

A/N: in honour of @livelaughleclerc having her birthday today, here is a fic of Arthur pampering you all day for your bday. Enjoys, my inbox is open :)

Synopsis: Arthur knows it’s your birthday but doesn’t let on. You haven’t told him. You thought you’d have a quiet, uneventful day but Arthur makes sure that’s not the case.

Past birthdays were always quiet, no one ever did much and that was the expectation. Your family didn’t really celebrate birthdays. You had come to think that birthdays weren’t all that special, there was no hype behind them.

You and Arthur had never spoke about birthdays, not in your 9 months of dating. So, you thought your birthday was going to be just another day. That was until Arthur rolled over in bed, waking you up with a kiss to your cheek and a quiet “happy birthday baby”.

You eyes shot open, staring at him.

“How did you know that?” you questioned.

“Magic” he joked, his voice still deep from sleep.

You chuckled and sat up, about to get out of bed when Arthur’s hand stopped you. You looked at him and found a tray of food in his lap. He set your pillows up so you could sit up and placed the tray on your lap.

It was filled with pancakes, topped with strawberries, blueberries, and maple syrup. A smiley face had been drawn with whipped cream on the top. On the sit was another little bowl of strawberries and some melted chocolate. A glass of juice accompanied the spread.

“Wow Arthur, thank you. You didn’t have to do that”

He looked at you, slightly confused “of course I did, it’s your birthday. You deserve to be celebrated”

You gave him a kiss, ignoring his morning breath, and dug into breakfast.

After getting dressed and brushing your teeth, you and Arthur made your way to the living room. You walked in to see boxes and bags on the table. Just a couple of each, but enough you make you feel incredibly special (and a little awkward).

You stood there looking at them, while Arthur was looking at you. “Going to open them?” He pressed gently.

You nodded and walked over.

There was jewellery, clothes, shoes, skincare. All of which you had pointed out while shopping with him at some point.

You spent the rest of the day watching whatever movies and playing whatever games you wanted to play. Arthur was thrilled to be doing all of it with you, we didn’t want to be anywhere else.

When it came time for dinner, he ushered you to your shared room where you found a dress and shoes laid out for you. You turned around to find Arthur closing the door.

“Get changed” he said with a wink, and closed the door.

The dress was a gorgeous emerald green, with black heels to pair. You curled your hair nicely and did your makeup, a simple but effective night look.

You walked back into the living room, elegance and confidence radiating from every pore. Arthur stood up and turned around when he heard your heels clicking on the tiles.

He was in a simple black suit, a matching emerald green tie and pocket square. He stood frozen in time, watching you close the distance between you.

He knew you were absolutely stunning, nothing could ever change that.

“Hey-I-um-you” he stuttered. It was good to see you could still make him nervous like he was 9 months ago.

“You look good” you whispered “really good”

Your breath ghosted his lips while you whispered.

“You look stunning, mon coeur” he whispered back.

He offered his arm and led you out of the apartment, to the car and into the restaurant he had chosen for dinner.

It was a swanky Italian place you had been dying to try for a while now. He opened the door for you and confirmed his reservation.

You were led to a secluded booth, up a flight of stairs.

The entire deck had been cleared with only a small table in the middle. String lights hung from the ceiling, candles were lit around the border of the platform. Rose petals were scattered across the table while tall candles flickered between you.

Within 5 minutes, wine had been poured into your flutes and the entree had been served.

Without needing to order, your 3 course dinner was served. You had the floor to yourself so you spoke about anything and everything. You asked him about racing and he asked you about work.

The conversation and flirtation flew effortlessly. Then you heard a shuffle of feet and turned to see the waiters carrying a cake towards you. They starting chorusing the happy birthday song and placed the cake in front of you.

You looked at Arthur, who had his signature smirk and sung along with the waiters.

You blew out the candles and thanked the waiters. Then turned to teasingly scold Arthur.

“You didn’t need to do that, you’ve already done so much for me. I could never repay any of this.”

He chuckled and shook his head “you never need to repay anything, you are all I could ever need”

He leaned across the table and you did the same, meeting him in a passionate kiss.

You wrapped up the night, taking the rest of the cake home in a box.

You stripped off your clothes and showered together, staring tenderly thank you’s and kisses.

You fell asleep, heart (and stomach) full. You could not have gotten any luckier.

[malevoreenthusiast]

Freddie's Feat pt. 2

Hey all! Here it is--the second installment of Freddie's Feat. I hope you enjoy, as I certainly enjoyed writing this! As always, please feel free to flood my inbox and dms with anything your heart desires. I love hearing feedback and am always open to new ideas. Enjoy!

In case you missed it, here is part 1^

“Dude,” Will gaped, “what the fuck happened?”

Freddie’s belly was actively wobbling about. He couldn’t feasibly deny what had happened, especially because Brayden’s discarded clothes were in one hand while his other was methodically rubbing the swell of his bulging belly. Freddie felt somewhat ashamed, but only because he had gotten caught. These were his friends, so surely if he explained what had happened, they would be understanding, right? The college sophomore dared a look at Alex, whose jaw was on the floor. Fred’s belly let out a low, cacophonous groan between the remaining three friends. They stared in awe.

“Well,” Freddie explained, trying to form a rational story that his friends would accept, “Brayden and I…wanted to see how much I could fit…in here?” Even to Freddie, the story sounded false. The truth—that Brayden forced himself down Freddie’s gullet—was even more absurd, and neither Will nor Alex would’ve believed him. Freddie continued, “Do you—BBBBUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP—mind if we go to the living room? I think I need to sit down.”

In a deafening silence, Freddie led the way towards Alex’s living room, never taking a hand off of his belly. Brayden, of all times, had chosen to stop speaking, letting Freddie deal with the consequences of his actions alone. Still, he could feel jerky movements inside of his stomach chamber. Presumably, Brayden was pleasuring himself to the feeling of being in Freddie’s gut, which was just perfect, as now Freddie had to deal with the fallout alone. Plopping in the center of the plush couch, Fred had to spread his legs far apart to make room for his belly. Alex and Will sat on either side of him, waiting for Freddie to explain himself further.

“Look, guys…” he started, unsure how to talk about the massive belly in the room, “Brayden kept on asking about my stomach: how much I could fit, if he tasted good, how good it felt swallowi—”

“Dude!” Will snipped, just below a yell. “You ate Brayden!”

“How did you even…” Alex trailed off, starting to move his hand onto Freddie’s bloated abdomen before Will slapped his hand away and shook his head like a disappointed parent.

Freddie prodded his Brayden-filled belly like it was a bomb about to explode, “Yeah… but look, he wanted it, too.” A massive gurgle escaped from Freddie’s gut.

“How can you say that?” Will spat, incredulous.

“Brayden was jacked, and I’m not small,” Freddie’s ego got in the way here, “I mean, I could probably take him in a fight, if I got in close and—”

“Dude!” Will yelled at his gluttonous friend.

“Right, sorry, not the point. Brayden was much bigger than me in height and muscle, Will. Do you really think I would’ve been able to—UUUURRRRRPPPPP—’scuse me. Do you think I would’ve been able to do this if he didn’t want it?”

Freddie’s belly growled, telling Freddie that his belly could handle even more. Alex looked awestruck, while Will was a mixture of disbelief and personally affronted. Freddie tried another method, as he wasn’t really getting anywhere with just explaining it with words. Wrapping his muscled arms around both of his friends’ shoulders, he brought them in close. The heat radiating from Freddie’s gut was alarming, yet it felt really comforting to all three guys, whether they liked to admit it or not. The air had turned colder because of Freddie’s insatiable stomach, but here, it seemed like the very thing that would warm all of them up.

“Here, feel him in there,” Freddie grabbed his friends’ hands in his and moved to place them on his belly. Will jerked away, standing up off the couch, but Alex let it happen.

“I’m not going to give you a belly rub after you ate Brayden,” Will spat out the last two words with vitriol.

Fred scoffed, feeling a little awkward. He did understand Will’s perspective, but also, couldn’t he just listen to reason? On the other hand, Alex started rubbing Freddie’s belly, leaning in to his big-bellied friend and intently fixated on Freddie’s stomach. Freddie looked down at Alex and hummed, rubbing his back in an intimate gesture between long-time friends. If Will wasn’t in his corner, he was glad he had Alex at least. Alex continued rubbing and doting on Fred’s gut, massaging it gently and listening to the loud noises it produced every few seconds. With each gurgle and churn, Alex snuggled up a little closer to Freddie, getting a better angle to rub his belly. Smitten with Alex, Freddie didn’t notice Will left the room and returned with a bedsheet and a determined look. Will cleared his throat, wrenching Freddie from sweetly rubbing Alex’s back and head whilst he massaged the behemoth of a belly beneath him.

“Right, you two are insane, but I’m not. We’re gonna fix this, okay?” Will knelt down before Freddie, getting eye level with his navel. “Hear that, Bray? We’re gonna get you out of there!” Will placed his flat palm on Fred’s belly, sending shivers of pleasure through the voracious college student.

“What are you doing…?” Freddie asked, feeling somewhat uncertain about Will’s approach to “getting Brayden out of there.”

“Well,” Will sounded annoyed, “you know he can’t stay in there.” Will glanced down at the wobbling mass attached to his best friend. “So, we’re gonna get him out, right Alex?”

Alex squeaked and nodded, standing up to show that he ultimately knew that Freddie was in the wrong, despite not being able to pry his gaze away from his gut.

“You’ll let us do this, right, Fred? You agree that Brayden needs to get let out, right?”

This felt like gentle parenting. Of course Freddie knew that Brayden shouldn’t stay in his belly…but, it felt really nice to have his muscular body massaging him from the inside. Hesitating for a moment, Freddie gave in, “Yes, Will. You’re… right. Okay.” His response sounded far too robotic to be convincing, and he himself wasn’t convinced about letting Brayden go. His belly, for the first time in so long, felt full and satiated. Why couldn’t he enjoy this for just a little while longer? Freddie, saddened by their soon-to-be separation, rubbed his belly fondly and patted his stomach where he thought Brayden’s head would be. Then, the thought hit him, “Wait, how are we going to get him out?”

Will answered, matter of factly, “Easy, the same way he went in.” Will stripped his shirt, revealing his own chiseled torso. While not as toned and jacked as Brayden, Will had been hitting the gym alongside Freddie, and he managed to build up a nice amount of bulk over the years. Why exactly he needed to take his shirt off, Freddie was unsure, but he explained his plan. He took a deep breath, as if to say “why am I friends with these lunatics,” but he spoke with a cool head, “Alright, we’re gonna tie this bed sheet around my waist and Alex will hold on to it for dear life. Freddie, do I have your word you won’t…do the same thing to me that you did to Brayden?”

Freddie was unfailingly loyal, and he would never betray a friend. In essence, that was how he swallowed Brayden in the first place—he was just fulfilling Brayden’s wishes to be in his belly. To that end, he responded, “You do.”

Will still knew Freddie like the back of his hand, so he truly wasn’t worried about Freddie’s gluttony getting in the way. Plus, with his promise, Will’s determination was cemented into fruition. “Good, what we’re gonna do is have Freddie…take me in…then I’m gonna hold on tight to Brayden. You two will pull the both of us out together, understand?”

The two nodded in unison, giving way to their group-leader. Freddie’s stomach growled, which he silently cursed for being excited to have Will down his throat. Now that he knew he could swallow someone as big as Brayden, he wanted to test the waters more. Still, he made a promise, and he intended to keep it. The nagging thought plagued him, however: what about what Brayden wanted? The reality, something Will and seemingly Alex refused to believe, was that Brayden wanted to be swallowed up by Freddie. Regardless, the plan was almost in motion. Like a high-stakes bank heist, Freddie and Will and Alex all steeled themselves for what was to come.

“I can’t believe you, man. How did you even…” Will sighed and shook his head before tying the final knot around his waist. He awkwardly approached Freddie, unsure of how to begin this strangely erotic process. He participated earlier in the banter about Freddie’s belly, but he never imagined it would get this…peculiar. Turning back to Alex, the two exchanged a look, regarding each other about their ravenous friend and the trouble he’s caused. Alex’s knuckles whitened around the bed sheet, and Freddie started feeling guilty only because of the gravity Will was treating this situation with. With a stern look, Will demanded of his big-bellied friend, “Don’t swallow. Let me do the moving, okay? I swear, Freddie, if you gulp me down like Brayden,” he dared a look at Freddie’s wobbling gut, “...just, don’t.”

Freddie nodded profusely, obeying without hesitation. Despite that, his belly growled. “Do I open wide, or…”

“Don’t make it weird, bro.”

Freddie didn’t know how to make this situation any less odd, but he opened his maw once again that night, ready to take Will into his stomach. Will jumped up and down a few times and shook himself out, as if he was preparing for a sporting event. Freddie just sat there, wrapping his hands around the obscene dome of his gut. After several long, tense moments, Will approached Freddie, eyes narrowed. Freddie tried to relax, spreading his legs out and resting his arms on the back of the couch. He figured having his arms away from Will would make it harder for him to want to take control and start pushing Will deeper down his velvety gullet. However, in Will’s perspective, he only saw Freddie getting ready for another taste of friend. He shook it off. This was Freddie—one of his best friends—and Freddie would never break a promise.

Will leaned down and put a finger in Freddie’s open, awaiting, and salivating mouth. The group leader shuddered like a withering plant. The hot, slimy texture from his friend’s tongue wrapped around his finger like a snake enveloping its prey. Fred stared deep into Will’s hazel eyes, waiting in anxious anticipation for another taste of his friend. His leg started bouncing in an attempt to stop himself from swallowing more of his friend down his throat. Every impulse in Freddie’s body was screaming for him to add Will to the bulge in his belly—to reunite him and Brayden. But, he resisted. He made a promise, and he was going to keep it.

After what felt like years, Will pushed his other hand into Fred’s mouth and began to dive deeper into the hot, wet confines of Freddie’s throat. It smelled rancid: a half digested mixture of the sushi Freddie devoured earlier and Brayden’s cologne burned the nostrils like a chemical accident. Freddie eagerly accepted Will’s arms down his throat, feeling the familliar bulge in his diaphragm that Brayden made in his similar descent. With an iron will, Freddie didn’t swallow, almost choking himself just to appease Will’s request. His friend was clearly uncomfortable as his head and shoulders slid into Fred’s unhinged gullet, but he was doing this for Brayden. Freddie looked down at Alex, who was still eyeing his gut with a trance-like stare. Alex was so encapsulated by watching Freddie open up wide enough for Will to fit inside that he began to lose his grip on the bed sheet that tethered the group leader to the outside world. Then, an unfortunate series of events took place.

Freddie moaned, trying to get Alex’s attention. He pointed to the bedsheet loose in Alex’s hands, but in doing so, Freddie’s moan turned into a cough, then a gag, then a deep, guttural, slow swallow. The two boys heard Will yelling from inside. Freddie had done the one thing Will had asked him not to. Freddie could feel Will’s head and arms enter his stomach chamber with a wet, slimy squelch. Freddie bucked his hips, fraught with desperation to fit the rest of his friend down his gullet. Rivers of drool pooled out of Fred’s mouth, lubricating his friend and dropping onto the couch with loud, rhythmic plopping noises. To try and quell his urges, Freddie thrummed his belly roughly, hoping that Brayden alone would satiate his desires. Unfortunately, his friend seemed to have other plans that would make that difficult.

Deep breaths through the nose eventually let Freddie calm down and excruciatingly, painfully, finally let him resist the overbearing urge to belly the rest of Will. Nodding his head at Alex, Freddie patted his monstrous gut, telling Will and Brayden that it was okay to come up. They waited for a moment, then two, then for about thirty seconds, nothing happened. Freddie’s two friends inside his digestive tract seemed to be arguing about something. Faint, muffled voices could be heard that carried the tone of urgency and intensity. Then, all of a sudden, Will was yanked deeper into Freddie’s throat. Eyes wide, Freddie looked at Alex bewildered. Freddie didn’t swallow, and Will certainly didn’t want to go any deeper into his friend’s belly, so what was going on? Another yank pulled Will’s thighs down Fred’s drooling maw, happily accepting more food whether Freddie’s mind wanted it or not. The two outside started panicking, not knowing how Will was getting pulled deeper.

“What the hell do I do?” Alex practically shrieked, watching Will get pulled deeper into Freddie, ballooning out his gut even more.

Freddie flew his arms out to the side in an “I don’t know” gesture. Feeling Will started kicking his legs in a frenetic passion, he signaling to both guys to pull him out. Through all the shock and confusion, both guys took a hold of Will by the legs, getting ready to wrench him out. They pulled and pulled to no avail. Something was keeping Will stuck inside Freddie’s throat, pulling him deeper…

“Come on, Will, just give in!” Brayden yanked Will’s slippery torso deeper into Freddie’s stomach chamber. He had been quietly pleasuring himself since arriving in the pit of Fred’s belly, listening intently to the commotion going on outside. Will’s plan was to excavate him from Fred’s belly, but he knew that this was exactly where he was meant to be. He did force-feed himself to Freddie, after all, so he was here purely because he wanted to be in here. Will didn’t seem to grasp that. What’s worse, he didn’t understand like Brayden did how amazing it was to be inside of Freddie’s gut. So, in an attempt to get Freddie’s belly stretched even further, and to allow Brayden to stay inside the hot, wet, gurgly confines of his friend’s gut, Brayden used his overt strength to pull Will in alongside him.

“Let go of me man! Are you insane?” Will wriggled from Brayden’s grasp only to be clung onto again. Will’s psychopath of a friend was trying to get them both stuck in Freddie’s belly, even though Will was trying to rescue Brayden.

Slippery as it was, Brayden was by far the strongest and largest in the friend group. Will had no purchase to cling to, and Freddie and Alex on the outside couldn’t contest Brayden's strength and devotion to Freddie’s gut at once. Grasping Will’s moist skin by the armpits, Brayden tugged hard, feeling something come loose. With a great strain, Brayden’s constant back days came in great use as he pulled Will all the way inside Freddie’s stomach chamber, feeling the cramped confines of Fred’s belly expand two-fold to fit in two of his best friends now as opposed to the one.

“There you go,” Brayden panted, “see how nice it is in here? Come on bro, admit it, you know you want to…” Brayden rubbed over his friend's naked torso and legs, covering him with Freddie’s stomach juices. In here, the noise was deafening. Their glutton of a friend’s belly truly never knew a limit, seeing as how Fred’s belly easily contained both Brayden and Will now. His shorts had inexplicably excused themselves from Will’s legs, leaving him completely naked alongside Brayden. Will hated that his body was accepting this, as his cock was rock hard alongside his other belly-filler that he used to call a friend. Very proud of himself, Brayden nudged the stomach walls of his friend, signaling to the young predator that he had fulfilled his belly even more.

Outside, a shocked silence filled the room, broken up by Freddie’s belly, which was a harbinger for stomach gurgles and groans. Freddie smacked his lips and limply played with the bedsheet that was once anchoring Will to the outside and was now attached to nothing. With an immense amount of guilt, his primary thought was that he wished he had gotten to savor Will a bit more before feeling him grow his belly out twice as big. He patted his disproportionately rounded gut and looked up to Alex.

“So, uh…” Freddie patted his belly, “what now?”

A huge burp erupted from Fred’s mouth, caused by the fighting that seemed to be happening inside his belly. As a consequence, Will’s gym shorts came flying out of Freddie’s mouth and slapped Alex directly in the face. The saliva-covered fabric seemed to be all that was left of their friend, if you discounted the titanic belly Freddie now sported and rubbed over possessively. Looking down, Freddie saw the bulges of Brayden’s hands, and he began to piece together what had happened.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP — BBBBBBBWWWWAAAAAAUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPP — BBBBUUURRRRPPPPP – “Fuck!”

“I think, uhh,” Freddie rubbed his chin, unsure how to say this in a way that sounded digestible, “I think that Brayden pulled Will down into my belly. I mean…You saw me. I didn’t swallow him once. I kept my promise, and yet, he’s…” Freddie trailed off and looked down at the squirming bulges that comprised his stretched abdomen.

“Huh… Will’s in there, too.” Alex spoke like he was hypnotized. Without warning, he kneeled down and began rubbing the crest of Freddie’s belly with a sensual spark of desire. Eye to eye with Freddie’s navel, Alex gave his friend’s belly button a light kiss.

Exasperated, Freddie belched and put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his stomach. Now he had two friends in here, and it felt so, so good. But, Will definitely wasn’t happy in there, and Alex wasn’t going to be of any help getting him out. Brayden couldn’t be more overjoyed, having added not only himself but Will in there, too. Leaning back, Freddie took a look at his engorged stomach with a little bit of awe. As ashamed he was to admit it, he was really proud of how he could fit two whole guys in there at once. The curve, the spherical shape, the noises his gut made as it sloshes around his food—Freddie was pretty much in heaven. Plus, Alex rubbing his belly, hypnotically fixated on his aptitude for swallowing his friends whole, which really helped make the college student feel great.

Inside, the belly-captives were essentially oil-wrestling, with Brayden favored as the clear victor. Freddie’s jam-packed gut kneaded them together, constantly rubbing cocks in the midst of their violence.

“Fuck you!” Will panted, finding difficulty in finding oxygen within the moist, squishy belly. His cock was at full mast, constantly getting stimulated by the wet, enveloping organ that contained him as well as Brayden’s brash movements.

“We belong in here, bro! Don’t you like how it feels?” Brayden pushed Will to the bottom of the belly, soaking his body in the mush that Freddie devoured at dinner. Pinning Will’s wrists next to his head, Brayden slowly lowered his torso to sit on Will, letting his wet, hard cock slide up into Brayden’s lubricated hole. Both boys moaned in unison, quickly shifting the vibe inside Freddie’s belly. What once was a sweaty mess of hatred and violence quickly turned into a sloppy, sweltering fuck session. Both guys dropped their hands and immediately clung to the other, kissing each other with so much passion that any romance movie would be jealous. The soft, wet folds of Freddie’s belly really did a number on both guys’ sex drive. Brayden began bouncing on Will’s leaking cock, whilst Will groped Brayden’s pecs for dear life as he was ridden within an inch of his life. 

“Fuck, me, you take that cock so well,” Will breathed, completely forgetting how angry he was at the meathead.

“Yeah, you like that, Will? You like how your big cock feels in my ass?” Brayden spat, cupping Will’s head and quickening his pace, grinding his bubble butt harder onto his friend. Will’s thick meat slid easily in and out of Brayden’s plump cheeks, wet slapping sounds accompanying each bounce on his cock. On the outside, this sloppy sex was stirring up a great deal of gas for Freddie.

BBBBUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP — BBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

“Ugh, what the hell are they doing in there?” Freddie touched his belly delicately as if it were about to explode. After a prolonged lack of movement, his gut started shifting back and forth in a rhythmic kind of motion. He seriously didn’t know what the guys were up to, but it really made his belly feel good with all of the movement inside. 

BBBUUUURRRRPPPPP UUURRPPP

“Jesus, they’re really moving around in there,” Alex looked up for the first time in a long while. His own aching cock was visible through his shorts, yet Freddie tried not to pay attention to his friend’s throbbing member.

This night couldn’t have been more strange, so Freddie decided to throw the towel in and go crazy with his ambitions. He had already swallowed two thirds of his friend group. He might as well finish the last guy off. His belly still had room for more, and he knew that Alex would taste delicious. Freddie, ever rubbing his belly, casually spoke, “So how do you want to go down?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah. So how do you want to go down? Feet or head first?” Freddie seemed transfixed on a spot on his stomach as he rubbed it without making eye contact. He belched out the side of his mouth, a casual display of his immense greed.

“Freddie…no…” Alex wanted to back away, but Freddie quickly seized him by the wrist. His stomach made a cacophonous sloshing sound with the other guys inside.

“Don’t worry, bro. It’ll be fine. Just tell me how you wanna — BBBBUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPP — go in.” Freddie’s casual tone for speaking about swallowing up his last friend was chilling. For the first time this night, Freddie was taking charge of the situation and doing exactly what he wanted to do. No more meals would shove themselves down his gullet; he was gonna gulp down someone for himself. And, as it happens, Alex was going to be that someone. “Which way will it be?”

Alex was tugged down onto the couch to meet Freddie eye-to-eye. He couldn’t help but stare further at his friend’s massive belly that held two of his friends within it. Gulping nervously, he suddenly felt like he was trapped in this situation. Will wasn’t here to save him. In fact, Will had also fallen victim to Fred’s belly. Brayden wasn’t here, either, to try and knock some sense into the predator. Brayden also ended up inside Freddie’s hungry tummy. These thoughts sent Alex reeling. How did Freddie do this? How could he do this? Why was he so casual about gulping down his entire friend group that he's been with for years? As he pondered this question, Freddie gave up on waiting for an answer. He clicked his tongue, chuckled, and licked Alex’s neck, tasting his final meal for the night.

“God, you taste so fucking delicious. Just as meaty as Brayden, and almost as salty as Will. You’re gonna feel so good going down, Alex.”

“F-Freddie, please,” Alex whimpered, cowering at his friend’s curious tongue. This sudden change in attitude was like a piercing bullet to the heart, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Shhh,” Freddie whispered, “hear that…?” The predator’s stomach let out a long, deep rumble, sounding like a brutal threat to anyone that wasn’t Freddie. “I'm still hungry for more, Alex. You know what that means,” Fred licked hip lips.

“No. No, please! Feddie, I’m your friend, I’m not—”

Alex was cut off by Freddie wolfing down his head, forcing him in like he was meant to be dessert for his hungry friend. The salacious, formidable predator bunched up Alex’s shoulders and pulled his delectable body deeper into his throat. Inside his belly, the other two were still brutally fucking, so poor Alex would be having the shock of his life once he was swallowed down further. Freddie, in a euphoric fervor, did not seem to care about Alex’s well-being at the moment. His only concern was filling up his avaricious belly, which he was beginning to love and cherish more and more now. Alex’s flavor was a symphonic mix of his other two friends, which cascaded down his throat and kindled a warm, pure glow of pleasure in the pit of Freddie’s being. He moaned out, loudly signalling to Alex how good he tasted.

Freddie’s meal began struggling desperately for escape; however, he would find no solace besides the warm-wet embrace of Fred’s esophagus and digestive tract. Still, Alex began kicking his legs out, shouting for help. Unfortunately, all he looked like was a fish out of water, and Freddie was bringing him back into the sea. His severe gluttony propelled him to swallow more of Alex down, completely consuming his torso in a rapacious swallow. His throat muscles contracted against his friend, tightening then opening wide to allow his journey deeper into the yearning belly. For the third time that night, Freddie’s esophageal sphincter opened up, welcoming Alex’s head into his chamber, rife with activity.

Freddie pondered for a moment if what he was doing was right, but his head was far too clouded with how big his belly was going to be once Alex was safely tucked inside. A man’s gotta eat, right? Sometimes, if you’re hungry enough, you just need to make do with what’s around you, right? Freddie patted himself on the back for being resourceful and tilted his head back, letting Alex’s lower half slowly slide down into his belly. Like this, Fred could feel his stomach actively bloating out, which felt like a constant stimulation of satisfying pleasure, and he could also watch as Alex’s legs disappeared behind his plush lips, which was equally as fulfilling. A low, wet, sliding noise sounded as his tortured friend thrashed wildly but ultimately slipped deeper and deeper into his friend’s throat. In his mouth, a pool of saliva had formed, making Alex nice and wet to facilitate his travels. If Freddie could be honest with himself, this was amazing. It felt so good to be able to swallow his friends whole, and as time passed, he was convincing himself that this is where they belonged—inside his belly, gurgling and churning away.

After an agonizingly long time for Alex but a tragically brief time for Freddie, gravity had done its job. Alex was safely past Freddie’s open maw. He gulped one time, sending Alex’s feet barrelling into his rapidly growing gut. When his gargantuan stomach rounded out, he felt relieved to have finally finished his dinner for the night. He leaned down and kissed his squirming belly: a monument to his insatiable hunger.

“Fuck me, you guys were good,” he moaned. “Just look at this thing! You made me huge, but it feels so good– UUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP–settle down in there, okay you guys?”

Fred jostled his belly, hearing the roaring sloshes and feeling the frenetic movements inside of it. If he could reach his aching cock around his behemoth of a belly, he would have ejaculated twenty times by now. Who knew the process of swallowing your entire friend group whole could be so erotic? With a herculean effort, Freddie used the momentum of his belly to stand himself up and begin something of a penguin waddle over to Alex’s bedroom where he would sleep these guys off for the night. His hands were magnetic to his belly—Freddie was addicted to feeling his stomach gurgle around his friends, coating them in his juices and massaging their meat until they were tender. He had to pause in the hallway to take deep breaths because walking around while carrying your best friends in your stomach was tiring work. Plus, his friends were still definitely moving around in there. It seemed like they didn’t want to give up just yet.

As Fred finally made his way to Alex’s soft, queen-sized bed, Brayden, Will, and now Alex were all about to reach their climax. Somehow, Will had maneuvered Brayden to the middle of Freddie’s gut so he could fuck his mouth. As he was doing so, Alex spilled into the stomach chamber with them, and Brayden taunted Alex with his perky bubble butt. Alex figured he might as well because there was nothing else to do, so he joined in on the fun, ravaging Brayden’s used hole with his rock-hard dick. The boys, now engaged in a passionate threesome, were kicking up a lot of gas for poor Freddie, who was belching up a storm on the outside. The air gradually became more stale as time passed. To Freddie, this was just a food coma after a big meal, but to his friends, this was their last night to truly live, so they had to make everything worth it. As Alex and Will Eiffel Towered Brayden, they kissed deeply whilst pumping in and out of their muscular friend. The oxygen supply was slowly running out, so their movements quickened, knowing they had little time left. With a rough pounding, all three guys came gallons at the same time, letting their cum paint Brayden and the stomach walls that kneaded them like dough.

“Fuck..!” Brayden, exclaimed, short of breath. “I love you guys…Fuck you Brayden,” he said, kissing him angrily on the lips.

“You were the best friends I’ve ever had,” Alex rubbed his cock between Brayden’s ass cheeks and collapsed onto his back.

“I’m glad we’re all here to experience this together,” Brayden moaned, grinding against Alex and kissing Will deeply.

With that, the sweltering confines of Freddie’s belly took control, siphoning any oxygen the boys might’ve had left over and replacing it with digestive enzymes and stomach juices. It was unfortunate, but it’s not like anyone there didn’t know what happens inside a hungry belly. In a hazy fervor of passion and lust, the guys all fell asleep on top of each other, letting Freddie’s belly get to work on them.

Freddie, still dozing, woke up in the middle of the night to rub his belly and feel his friends stop moving. He groaned in dissatisfaction, as their movements felt really good, but he rubbed his belly once more and smiled, cooing softly to them, “You guys tasted so good. Thank you for filling me up, bros.”

The morning sun-rays filtered through Alex’s blinds like beams of heaven themselves illuminating Alex’s bedroom. Brayden woke up first, just in time to see Freddie entering the room, four coffee mugs in hand. He himself looked like an angel with his short, curly hair, striped boxers, and muscular frame. And, curiously, his flat six-pack had returned to its shredded state. His predatory friend beamed at Brayden lovingly before handing him a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Freddie fluttered his eyelashes in a mock-girlfriend type of manner to Brayden, who looked down at his coffee with a confused expression, like it was drugged.

“What…? But didn’t you…?” Brayden trailed off, still feeling somewhat sticky. He was naked, which was bizarre, given that Freddie didn’t seem off-put by it in the slightest. Looking over, he saw two other naked, sleeping figures—Alex and Will—cuddled up against each other tightly and snoring softly. They looked cute together, but that didn’t shake the confusion Brayden felt stirring in him.

“I did,” Freddie admitted, nodding his head and taking a sip of coffee casually. “But, Bray, you know me enough by now, don’t you? You knew you guys were never actually on the menu…”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Brayden slumped, somewhat disappointed, and Freddie climbed into bed next to his larger friend to comfort him about not being digested.

Rubbing Bray’s back in slow circles, Freddie squeezed next to him and whispered, “And, plus, I want…” Freddie murmured something into his coffee mug that Brayden couldn’t hear.

“Huh?”

“I wanted…”

“Freddie, speak up bro.”

“I want to do it again with you guys. Here, listen,” Freddie’s stomach was growling with a deep primal hunger. Last night had unlocked something in him that needed satisfying.

Brayden looked at Freddie in his charming, handsome face, taking a moment to analyze and scan his friend’s handsome features. The, Brayden leaned in slowly and kissed Freddie passionately on the lips. Freddie was taken aback, but he put his coffee mug on a bedside table and kissed Bradyen back with equal amounts of lust.

The two boys went on like that for quite some time, fooling around with each other and listening to Freddie’s stomach growl. Eventually, Will woke up to the sight of Brayden’s hand wrapped around Freddie’s massive cock and he jumped back in shock. The two laughed and decided to wake Alex up to explain everything that had happened last night. After a great deal of apologizing from Freddie for making it seem like they were his food (Surprisingly, Will forgave him almost instantly, but Alex needed more convincing), and after a lot of…previously unsurfaced feelings were hashed out in the folds of Freddie’s belly, the guys all took turns washing up in Alex’s shower, making sure Freddie’s digestive juices weren’t anywhere on their person, they all got together to walk down to a breakfast place down the street (Freddie’s idea, of course).

Brayden grabbed Freddie by the elbow before he went out the door to follow Will and Alex, who were already down onto the street. Sheepishly, Brayden asked, “Hey, Freddie?”

“Yeah Bray?”

“One day, will you let me stay in there,” Brayden nodded down at Fred’s stomach. “Like, permanently.”

Freddie smiled warmly, kissing Brayden on the cheek, “Sure thing, bro. One day. But for now, let’s just go get breakfast.” Freddie’s belly rumbled softly, telling them it was time to go.

In elation, Brayden picked up Freddie with ease, spinning him around several times and kissing Freddie everywhere he could think of, stopping for a moment at his abdomen, giving a slower, more meaningful kiss there, which earned him a deep growl. Freddie blushed a crimson scarlet, barely able to hold himself back from swallowing his friend right then and there. “Alright, Bray, you’ve had your fun. Let’s go catch up with the others. I’m starving.”

[ursuu-la]

Just in time. - S. Reid.

summary: Where Spencer was at the right place and time.

wc: 1.9k

tw: mentions of suicid3, suicid3 att3mpt, not feeling enough, driving at full speed(?).

a/n: this is not exactly romantic, but I felt the need to post something angsty and this was the first thing that came to my mind. I hope that you enjoy it, but that you don't identify with the feelings :( if so, my inbox is open♡

Also, requests are open!! I think I'll write about Hotch too, just so yk

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"See you guys tomorrow!" Spencer waved goodbye and walked out the door. You smiled before he left and turned your attention back to your stuff.

You were organazing all the things on your desk, at the same time you kept on your bag the ones you always took home: your phone, your keys, and some paperwork that you didn't want to finish in the office. It was almost 9p.m. and there were now only three members of the team left in the office: Morgan, JJ and you.

Once you finished clearing your desk and had everything you needed inside your bag, you walked past JJ and Derek, greeting them both goodbye. You spoke a little with both of them, making sure that the case hadn't affected them so much. You cared about your friends, and wanted to be there for them if they needed someone to vent to. Both of them told you that they felt as usual, which conformed you.

"And you? How are you doing, (y/n)?" JJ asked when you finished checking up on her.

"Fine, I guess." You spoke and smiled to her. Your friend just returned the gesture, wished you goodnight, and then dragged her attention back to the paperwork.

You walked out of the office and, for a second, you kept the smile on your face, but then it slowly started to fade as you walked towards your car.

Even though you had just told JJ that you were feeling fine, the truth was that the last couple of months had been rough on you. The explanation was hard to find, but during this time, you were feeling... just bad about yourself. No matter how many people you saved or how many cases you solved with the team, whenever you got back home, you couldn't help but feel that you hadn't done enough.

The feeling started growing bigger and bigger as the months passed by. You had tried to speak about it with the rest of the team: but something was stopping you. It was frustrating because you didn't usually have any trouble communicating your emotions, and the fact that no one noticed you were struggling made you feel even worse.

Now you were driving back home, no music playing, only your thoughts filling your head. You remembered every part of the case, and as you replayed it in your head over and over, you found new ways in which you could have been more helpful.

"Agh... I hate this..." Your voice sounded frustrated. What was the point of keep going to cases if every single time you felt the same afterward? What was the point of having people around you if you couldn't open up to them and vent your feelings? What was the point of it all?

Suddenly, you felt one tear falling down your cheek. You wiped it off. It brought you back to reality. You were driving, and since it was late, there was no one on the street. Your hands started to shake as the thought appeared in your head.

The whole street was empty, your car would be the only one damaged. You would be the only person hurt, the only mortal victim. Your hands were still shaking, anxiousness creeping inside you as you tried to think of a reason why that was stupid.

But nothing came to your mind.

Nothing was stopping you.

Not even red lights.

Now there was more than one tear falling down your cheek, and you were wiping none of those off your face: you were letting them fall. Your foot pressed the gas with all of its strength, you could hear the engine getting louder each second.

Your heart rate accelerated, your eyes were blurring because of the tears, and you could feel how every part of your body shook. You were about to turn aside your car, knowing that at that speed there was no way of getting out of there intact, but you heard a noise: it was another car.

You stopped the car as fast as you could because your vision had suddenly been cleared, and you noticed that a car was in front of you waiting on a red light. That same car had made the noise. Scared of not stopping at the right time, you turned sharply the steering wheel, causing you to end up in another lane.

When your car was still, you took your hands off the steering wheel and placed them in your head. Just in that moment, you noticed what you were about to do, which made you burst into tears.

"What the hell was I think- AAH!" You yelled out of fear when you heard a knock on the car window. You rolled it down, ready to yell at whoever was standing there. But when you saw the person, your words got stuck in your throat.

"(y/n)?" His voice was like a slap across your face. You felt like you couldn't move. "Hey, are you okay?" He placed one hand on your shoulder, taking you out of the state you had gotten into.

"Spencer..." Was the only thing you were able to say. "Did you...?"

"Yes. I mean- I saw a car coming at full speed behind me, and I tried not to get killed. But... Are you... Are you okay? What were you doing driving like that?" Spencer questioned, yet he didn't have an accusing tone. It was a worried and concerned one.

"I was..." You couldn't speak. How were you supposed to tell him that you almost committed suicide and that almost got him into a car crash? 'Hey Spence, guess what? I wanted to kill myself and almost took you with me, haha!' There was no easy way to say it nor a way to disguise it as something else.

You looked up at Spencer, his gaze met yours. His face was scanning every inch of yours, looking for an answer. When you saw him properly, you felt like you didn't need to speak: you felt like you needed a hug.

"Step back, I'll open the door." You spoke, Spencer took a few steps back and looked confused at your every action. When you walked out of the car and suddenly hugged him, his face turned surprised.

"I don't know what to..." His voice was low. He was hugging you back, perceiving that you needed it. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

You nodded with gratefulness, appreciating Spencer's words. The two of you remained silent for a while after you let go of the hug until you dared to speak about the situation. Both of your cars were parked on the side of the street, and you were sitting on the sidewalk.

"Spencer, I was... trying to end it all, I just wanted to..." He lifted up his gaze to meet your face, but you were looking down at the floor. Not sure if you wanted to make eye contact while confessing the situation.

"Where you about to...?" Reid couldn't finish the question, he averted what you were about to say, he just didn't want to believe that it was true. You were one of the happiest people Reid knew, and thinking that behind that bubbly personality he knew, hid an amount of pain that made you think of suicide as a solution, made his heart sank.

"Yes. I... I don't know what I was thinking... I just reached the edge, and everything feels like too much." Now you dared to look into his eyes, concern filled his face. Seeing Reid like that made you feel worse because you felt like you were only bothering him. "Oh, dear lord. Now I'm just taking away your time. Maybe I'll just need to sleep this off..." You started speaking as you tried to get on your feet, but Spencer stopped you.

"Wait. Don't try to escape the problem." He spoke as he gestured you to sit comfortably again. "I'll be here until the sun comes up if it's necessary. I care about you (y/n), and what just happened is not something to take lightly."

Spencer's words were simple, but they were the right ones; as soon as you heard him, you started crying. Reid tried to hide it, but seeing you like that made him want to hug you as tight as possible and never let you go. How could someone so good be suffering this much? He thought you didn't deserve to feel that way.

"I just don't know what's happening to me... I don't usually feel like this, but these last months have been from bad to worse."

"And we didn't notice?" His voice was loaded with guilt. He was a profiler, and he couldn't have been able to notice your mood or signals. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)."

"It's fine. I jus-"

"No, it's not. We should have noticed, I should have noticed you were struggling. Because what would have happened tonight if I wasn't there with my car?" Reid's voice cracked at the end of the sentence, you could swear that you saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

"But you were there. You saved me." You spoke as you rested a reassuring hand on his arm. Spencer chuckled and shook his head. "What is it?"

"I'm the one that's supposed to be reassuring you. Not the other way around." You couldn't help to smile, which had the same reaction on Reid. "You're always putting others first and yourself last... You're too good for this world."

"I'm not that good. I can always do better on cases, and I barely help to resolve anything." The words that had been repeating inside your head for the last couple of months were spoken for the first time. Spencer looked at you, his face getting sadder than it already was.

"Stop putting yourself down. You're literally the best human being I know." He spoke with a sad smile on his face. "I truly can't understand where you got those awful ideas about you."

You didn't speak. Every word that came out of Spencer's mouth made you feel worse for even trying to do what you tried to. For the third time that night, you were crying, but this time, a hand was caressing your face. You looked at Spencer, who had started to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

"I just... Don't understand myself... I feel like everything I do has a negative effect on people. I need to take a break... from everything..."

"I get it. Maybe it would be better if you just take some time off work. Take some time to care about yourself, treat yourself with some love, and maybe that will help you to heal whatever has triggered these emotions." Spencer took his hand away from your cheek. "Furthermore, I could help you to find any kind of professional help to overcome this. There are plenty of ways in which I can help you, just say the word."

"Thank you, Spence." You spoke with a soft voice, he only nodded lightly.

"I didn't do anything, really. I just happened to be there." He was trying to be modest, but you were way too grateful to let him be like that.

"Spencer, you saved my life. Take a little credit for that." You chuckled, and Reid's face lighted up: seeing you at least a fraction as happy as you were before made him feel better.

Reid wanted to tell you how happy he was for being there at the right moment. He wanted to tell you how important you were to him and how he would have been devastated with your loss. But now was not the time: he knew you needed to think about yourself, and once you felt better, maybe then he would dare to confess his feelings to you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[cesienthusiast]

It’s been a week, this offer still stands Tumblr goers.

Yall ever just scroll through your empty ahh Inbox and wish to yourself someone would ask you a freaky ahh, sexual ahh question?

Like no legit, someone pull up to my inbox and send me an ask calling me a good slut. Do it, pussy, I dare you-

[rivendell-poet]

heyy, i love your work and i was wondering if you could do a scenario of a teen!reader that looks like they could be a child of arwen and aragon.

Thanks so much anon, and yes - I can do that! Hope you enjoy it (focused more on Aragorn/Arwen's side - but if you want me to do one that also showcases other people's reactions please hop back into my inbox and let me know. I'm always a sucker for platonic lotr.)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 & 𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenario »

Gender-neutral reader | Wordcount : 0.6k | TWs : None

✧ When Aragorn first sees you, there is a second when he pauses. It’s almost imperceptible as he looks you up and down, mainly seeing Arwen in you. A little bit of himself.

✧ As he greets you it’s like he would any other, respectfully and asking your name.

✧ But as the two of you travel together he tries to keep you close to him.

✧ He claims that it’s because you’re young and he wants to make sure you’re safe - which is true - but there’s an extra instinct for protection in this case. Because he can’t see you get hurt.

✧ Definitely helps you with blade skills (think the training session between Boromir and the hobbits except it’s you and Aragorn).

✧ Always gives you first or last watch because you need your sleep. Strongly denies Pippin’s accusations of favouritism.

✧ Tries to pass on some of his skills to you, so in the downtime you have you might be identifying plants together or lighting a fire.

✧ Wishes he had more wisdom that his father could have passed down to him. In fact, generally feels unprepared for how he should treat you. Aragorn knows you’re not his child, but there’s still something that makes him want to look out for you and he would appreciate the extra guidance.

✧ Tells you quite a lot about Arwen - he looks forward to you finally meeting her.

✧ You’re always the first person he looks to find after battles, checking you over for injuries and patching them up the second he sees them.

✧ Is privately very proud of you - he wasn’t told his heritage until he was twenty-one, and yet you are here with him now.

✧ Oftens sings when everyone is trying to get to sleep, he doesn’t do it specifically to sooth you but it is very calming, especially after a long day.

✧ After the battle where you’re both injured, he stays with you until you fall asleep.

✧ You’re just slipping unconscious when he pulls the blanket slightly higher, whispering to you, “Good night, senya.”

✧ At the time you don’t think too much of it, at least until you ask him what it means the next day.

✧ He freezes for a second, before he admits it translates to ‘my child’. There’s a second more of pause as he waits for you to say something, before you smile. And he realises that you don’t mind.

✧ When he finally introduces you to Arwen he spends slightly too long making sure you look good (smoothing your outfit, tucking in a stray bit of hair).

✧ Arwen can see the resemblance when she first sees you, although she thinks you look more like Aragorn.

✧ There’s a knowing smile on her face as she greets you before looking to her betrothed.

✧ Seeing the two of them together for the first time, you finally see the resemblance as well.

✧ Making eye-contact with Aragorn he realises you know, and gives you a sheepish smile.

✧ Afterwards he apologises for being overbearing, and perhaps over-stepping boundaries, but you reassure the man that it’s ok - and he doesn’t have anything to apologise for.

✧ Arwen enjoys spending time with you as well, asking if you’ll meet her and enjoys getting to know you. She’s a lot more open about your looks, but it’s never suffocating. She says it rather affectionately, as though it is something she wants you to be proud of.

✧ No-one particularly acknowledges it when the three of you are together, but to the unknowing eye you truly do look like a family.

Bonus : When Elladan and Elrohir first meet you they have to do a double-take. Elrohir checks you, semi-secretly, for elf ears. Also a few pointed looks from Aragorn, to Arwen, to you.

A/N : Hope you like it :) It's always lovely to write for platonic lord of the rings. Also we're back to green, feels weird using it after all the trick-or-treats being orange.

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / cont. in comments ✧ wish to be tagged?