reidsmuse01

[reidsmuse01]

Kelly lending his leather jacket to his girlfriend 💜🥰😍

It was more for him than you really. He'd seen you eyeing it, he knew you wanted to borrow it and really he just loved seeing you in it. You were going out for the day with your friends. All of you were off and shopping for upcoming birthdays and holidays. With your insane schedules it was the only way you managed to keep up.

"You wanna wear my jacket baby?" He asked while you were getting ready and you froze, the biggest smile he'd ever seen on your face "You're gonna let me wear your jacket?" he nodded and held it out for you to slid it on. You pushed your arms through and he felt his heart flip "One request?" you nodded "Of course?"

"Can I get a picture for my lockscreen, please?" you shook your head "You big softie" but of course let him get how ever many he wanted. You pulled him into a kiss and whispered "I'll let you get some of me later in just it" he grinned "I'll hold you to it"

You walked out of the door, enjoying the fact that it smelled just like him. It was like having his arms wrapped around you all day.

[reidsmuse01]

Burning Jealousy (18+)

Request: LAPD have to do a seminar across the country at the best academy, which happens to be in Chicago.. but what happens when a fire starts out there and 51 needs to come for help?

And the reader being a helpful paramedic taking care of Tim Bradford, who's shamelessly flirting with her, which just gets a certain lieutenant high on jealousy ? 🤔😵‍💫🤷🏼‍♀️🫠

Pairings: Kelly Severide x Paramedic!Rhodes!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, jealously

Masterlist

A/N: @twistersmaverick thank you for sending in the request and prepare yourself. @imagine-all-the-fandoms here's some more smut for ya!

You are a Rhodes, the younger sister, by 4 years, of none other than Connor Rhodes, even though he was your brother he raised you to be the woman you were today. When he went to medical school you went to the fire academy for being a paramedic and you loved every second of it. 

When you arrived at Firehouse 51 everyone was already in a tight knit group and you were worried that you wouldn't fit in but boy were you wrong so wrong. They opened their arms and hearts to you, one person more so than others. Who? Well, none other than Kelly Severide.

Kelly. Kelly Severide. The man that could swoon anyone's heart and break them without even trying. Kelly Severide the man you were in love with but didn't want to admit it or took his advances but deep down you would in a heartbeat but afraid to have your heart broken. 

The man in question has already tried to win you over but nothing has worked and that just made the mission all more exciting. The advances he made towards you were always shut down because of your past relationships, the worst one was when you were left at the altar. Deep down you were in love with him but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of giving in… well at least not it.

Currently the whole lot of you had just arrived at 51 to start your shift. You were walking in with your two coworkers on Ambulance 61, Sylvie Brett and Gabriela Dawson, they were like sisters to you and very quickly took you under their wing when you first arrived and you were so grateful for that. “Did you hear that the police academy is having a seminar?” Sylvie asked.

“Oh yes! Heard about that. I ran into some of them and man they're good looking. Especially one of the TOs from LA.” Gabriela said “Have you heard about or seen them Y/N?” She asked you. 

“I heard about it through Connor's and I met up at Molly's for our weekly hangout. Jay was going on about it. He didn't seem too thrilled about it.” You said as you three walked into the bay. 

“What did Jay have to say about them?” Sylvie asked 

“He said there are a lot of young ones there still learning the ropes and clearly were not trained like he and the rest of Intelligence were. He said that there was an older rookie that was there and he was amazed. There is one officer he butts heads with constantly.” You said as the rare heat that Chicago was having started to make you sweat. 

“Did you happen to get his name?” Gabriela asked 

“I think Jay said it was something like Tim Bradford.” You said as you put your stuff away. “He said he was strict, almost too strict and he wanted stuff done his way and if it wasn't then he was going to fight you on it.” You said as you three headed through the doors and your eyes locked with Kelly's and you had to stop yourself from smiling or blushing especially when he winked at you. You turned away and continued walking just as soon as the bells rang for Ambo 61 and the three of you were off. 

-

5 hrs. later you three were back at the station exhausted. “Oh man I think that's the longest we've ever been out.” Sylvie said, rolling her shoulders and her neck. 

“I agree. That was a lot.” You said as you opened the backdoor of the ambulance as they got out of the front. 

“I don't know about you two but I'm going to try to get something to eat and rest before our next call.” Gabriela said 

“You two go ahead. I'm going to stock up and clean.” You said and they both nodded as you started to check everything you said you would do. Really you just wanted some peace and quiet to yourself. It was just a lot for you. As you were silently cleaning and restocking the ambulance a set of eyes were watching you without your knowledge. 

-

While you three were gone Kelly was a nervous wreck. It was very unusual for a truck, engine, rescue, or ambulance to be gone for hours on end unless it was a tough call. Everyone knew the liking he took to you and they could see the nervousness in his eyes even though he kept his face neutral and kept busy. When he heard the doors open and the sound of the ambulance engine then did, he actually relax. 

Kelly acted like he was busy as you opened the backdoor. He couldn't help but look over at you every couple of minutes. When he saw the other two girls leave and it seemed like the just the two of you left in bay did, he stopped what he was doing and look at you. The longer he kept staring at you the more in love he was falling for you. It became too much that he strode over to you and leaned on the door. Noticing a presence, you looked over and your stomach started to have butterflies. “Hi Kelly.” You said as you went back to working.

“Hello beautiful.” He said in a voice that made you shudder just hearing. 

“Beautiful? Hardly.” You said scuffing not seeing the frown pop up on his face.

“You're the hardest working, talented, level headed, beautiful, and smartest girl I know. I also think you should let me take you on a date.” He said with a smirk that had returned to his face.

“No, Kelly. I'm none of those.” You said finally looking at him after restocking the things needed and saw that he was cleaning the doors. He turned to you having sensed that you were looking at him.

“Yes, you are. It upsets me that you don't believe it.” He said

“You saw that to all the girls you've been with.” You said trying to deflect that warm feeling pooling in your stomach. 

“No, I don't.” He said “You can ask anyone. Ever since you came along, I haven't been going out with anyone.” He said and something in his eyes made you believe him. You continued to stare in those beautiful blue eyes that you would gladly get lost in. He stared back into yours and then suddenly you were getting closer to each other. So close that you could smell his shampoo that you have fallen in love with. Lips so close but yet seemed so far away. Just as your lips were barely touching the bells rang making you both stand still. You didn't pull apart until the doors leading into the bay opened and he was jumping away to get ready to head to the scene. 

“Fuck.” You whispered as you got situated in the back and shut the doors just as Sylvie and Gabriela jumped up in the front.

“Looks like we'll be getting to meet the cops in question.” Sylvie said 

“Oh?” You asked 

“Sounds like they accidentally started a fire and can't put it out and some part of the building collapsed. Some injuries.” Gabriela said, to be honest you really didn't listen to the call you were too immersed in blue eyes. Then the comment he made about not being with anyone came to your mind and you needed to know the answer. 

“Tell me something.” You said out loud to the both of them as you pulled out of the bay.

“What's up?” Sylvie asked

“Is it true that Kelly hasn't been out with anyone since I've gotten here?” You said 

“Yea that's right. He has set his sights on you and is not going to let up anytime soon.” Gabriela said

“Hmmm.” You said secretly smiling to yourself.

“Yea that's right. Why do you ask?” Sylvie asked

“No reason.” You said as the ambulance was pulled onto the open road heading to the convention center where the convention was being held. You sat quietly as you rode to the scene thinking about a certain blue-eyed man and what information you had been told. You let your walls down as you sat in the back by yourself. It seemed like no time you were pulling up to the building and that made your walls go up and you got into work mode. What you were not expecting when you opened the back of the ambulance door was how attractive some of these officers were going to be but you quickly pushed that to your mind. 

“Woah.” You heard Gabriela say as she met you in the back to grab bags.

“You’re telling me.” Sylvie said as she grabbed hers and waited for you to get down.

“Everyone ready?” You asked and they nodded “Ok, divide and conquer if one of us needs one another then radio each other. The most critical ones need to be seen and taken right away.” You added and they nodded.

“Other stations are coming to help.” Sylvie said and you and Gabriela nodded “Alright let's get to it.” She said and the three of you were headed off in different directions. You could smell the smoke and the dust from the collapsed part of the building was making it hard to breathe but you trained for this and trucked on through it. Every now and then you would see Kelly appear and then disappear but each time he saw you and winked and then got busy. You checked out people here and there and sent the most critical to the hospital, thankfully not many had to go and a lot of them got out in time before the collapse and the fire started. As you were finishing checking an older officer out, a conversation caught your attention. 

“Lucy, I don’t need to be checked out. I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” A male voice sounded and you had to admit that it sounded nice.

“Tim, please. I saw a piece of building hit your wrist. I fear it may be broken.” Lucy said

“No, I’m fine.” Tim said as you finished up with your current patient and then was sending him on his way to get some refreshments and you knew you had to go and check out Tim. You walked over to where the voices were. 

“Everything ok over here?” You asked as you bent down at their height.

“Tim here had his wrist hit as a part of the building was coming down and he won’t get it checked out.” Lucy said and you nodded.

“Hmmmm a tough patient. I've had plenty of those, most of them in the military and first responders.” You said

“I mean I guess it won’t hurt to get it checked out if it is by you.” He said clearly trying to put his charm on you and you had to admit it was somewhat working. You smiled at him and then started to assess him as Lucy stepped away to talk to another younger officer seeming to be from the same department they were from. You started to take his vitals and you couldn’t help feel him stare at you. 

“Lucy said you got hit by some falling debris?” You asked as you pulled the stethoscope out of your ears and he nodded.

“Only on the wrist but I’ve had worse.” He said 

“Oh yea?” You asked as you examined him.

“I was shot on duty and I was a Staff Sergeant in the Army.” He said and you moved his wrist.

“Sorry, I should've warned you.” You said and he shook his head.

“It’s ok. It hurt just a little bit. But pain coming from such a beautiful woman I can forgive.” He said and you actually blushed. As you were continuing to check him out you failed to notice another set of blue eyes looking at you and the jealousy that was lighting them up. 

“Nothing seems broken. I would encourage you to go to the hospital if the pain becomes too unbearable. I recommend icing it and taking some painkillers like Tylenol.” You said as you started to wrap it.

“Maybe you should come over and check it out to make sure everything is ok later on.” He said 

“I would love to, but I have prior engagements.” You said as you stood and so did and you continued to talk to him.

-

Kelly was just putting things away on the truck when he noticed you taking care of an officer and it got something stirring inside of him especially when he started to make you laugh, smile, and even blush. “Kelly you ok man?” Matt Casey asked, noticing his friend preoccupied.

“Me? Everything is fine.” He said though Matt could tell that was a lie he let it slide as he looked at the situation Kelly was looking at.

“You have nothing to worry about.” Matt said 

“Oh?” Kelly asked

“Oh yea, she loves you man. She just won’t admit it.” He said as Kelly looked over at him. 

“Yea right.” Kelly said and was momentarily distracted but when he heard you giggle and Tim placed a piece of hair behind your ear and he gave you a piece of paper that he knew had a phone number on it sent him overboard. He was quick to put everything away and then got into the truck. Everyone was headed back to the station. Kelly was absolutely quiet, fuming with jealousy. He quickly pulled his phone out and pulled your contact information up and hit the text option. 

Meet me in my quarters. I need to discuss what happened at the scene with you.

You answered almost immediately.

You got it. 

He put his phone away and rode the rest away in silence. He was going to make you his one way or the other and he didn’t care who heard he wanted everyone to hear that you were his. It seemed like in no time everyone was arriving back to the station; he was quick to strip out of his gear and stormed off into his office and he waited. He didn’t have to wait too long for a knock to be heard on the door and your voice coming through and he was telling you to come in and you did “You wanted to see me.” You said and he nodded.

“Close the door.” He said as he stood up and started to close the blinds. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were getting close to that cop you were treating before we left.” He said.

“Oh Tim?” You asked “He was just flirting with me. I’m not going to go out with him. I was just treating him.” You said feeling something pull in the bottom of your stomach and it made you feel good. He strode over to you until the back of your knees hit his desk. 

“Tim is it. Does Tim make you feel the way I make you feel?” He asked as he caged you in. His cologne filling your senses. You could tell he was jealous and you wanted to keep it up.

“I think given him a chance he certainly could.” You said and you could’ve sworn you could hear a growl come up from his throat and it just turned you on more. You both stared at each other eyes darkening by the second until the both of you were crashing your lips onto each other. Both of your eyes were closed. His hands came to your waist and he helped stabilize you as you put your hands on his rock-hard abs. He licked your bottom lip asking for entrance and you welcomed it tongues battling for dominance teeth gnashing together. He ended up winning the battle. He stopped kissing you as he started to tug at your shirt and you opened your eyes to look at his opened ones and you nodded. That was enough for the kissing to resume and he pulled your shirt out of your pants and lips parting so he could take it off of you. Now you were in your sports bra and uniform pants. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He said and you blushed like mad as you started to take off his shirt and threw it where your shirt landed after he took it off of you. You looked him up and down and had to stop yourself from drooling. “If you like what you see now, wait until the pants and boxers come off.” He said and you quietly moaned and he smirked as he and you started to work on getting each other's pants off and once they were off his boxers were next and he was right you liked what you saw. 

“Holy shit.” You said and he smirked.

“I’m going to make you feel good baby.” He said as he crashed his lips onto yours and worked on getting your bra off and once it came off, he was sweeping everything off his desk and laying you on your back. The cold of the wood bit into your bare back but you didn’t have long to think about it as he latched onto one of your nipples and your hands were flying to his hair and gripping it tightly. As he was giving your nipples attention, he was taking your underwear off and throwing it into the pile of clothing that was being collected. His hands resumed their position on your hips and you could feel his cock on the inside of your leg and you loved how girthy it felt. 

“Fuck me.” You moaned and he smirked and pulled off the second nipple after giving it the same amount of treatment he gave the other.

“Oh Baby, I plan on it.” He said something in his voice that made you shudder with need as one hand ran up and down your slicked folds. “So wet for me.” He said and you knew how to rile him up.

“Are you sure it’s not for Tim?” You asked smirking looking at him and that growl came back and his eyes darkened and a thick digit slid into you and curled and that smirk slid off your face and a moan slipped out while your eyes rolled into the back of your head. 

“I bet he couldn’t make you feel this good.” He said started to finger you and hit your g-spot.

“Kels.” You moaned and right before you came, he was pulling his finger out and you whimpered and looked up at him. You watched him pump himself once and then he was guiding himself to your entrance and slowly sliding in. The stretch was welcoming and had you moaning and eyes rolling to the back of your head and he was moaning because you were tight and squeezing him. 

“Squeezing me so tight. This pussy was made for me.” He moaned as his head went to your neck and you turned it so he could have access to it. You both didn’t care that you both were still at work and you both were trying to be quiet how successful you two were being well you both really didn’t care. He was biting into your neck as he was thrusting in you. Sweat started to pull on both of your foreheads and your bodies. 

“Making me feel so good.” You moaned as your legs wrapped around his waist and hands going to his shoulders and digging and you heard him inhale but started to suck on your neck more and slightly bite it. You knew he was trying to leave a mark, well if he was going to do that then you were going to leave your own mark. So, you slid your nails down his back leaving long scratch marks that were red and angry. He kept thrusting in and out of you and you were loving it and so was he. Heavy breathing took up the room, not a lot of talking was taking place due to you both trying to be quiet. One of his hands held your waist to keep you steady and the other traveled to your clit and started to rub it bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “I’m going to cum.” You moaned and he came out of your neck and looked at you. 

“I’m right there with you. Cum with me.” He said as he kissed you as his thrusts started to become erratic and the knot in your stomach started to tighten until it was close to bursting. With the added pleasure on your clit and the stretching in all the right places and not to mention him hitting your g-spot each time you were coming and squeezing him and true to his word he was coming right behind you painting your walls white. Once he stilled, he released your lips and panting was heard throughout the room.

“I should’ve made you jealous before.” You panted and he smirked.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you and have sex with you ever since I laid eyes on you. I love you Y/n.” He said and you smiled and leaned up and kissed him.

“I love you too, Kelly.” You said 

“I’m going to pull out now.” He said and you nodded and he did so. He helped you sit up and kissed your swollen lips. He picked up clothing and separated everything and handed your clothing and the both of you got dressed in silence but it was comfortable. After getting dressed you helped him pick up his things and straightened his desk out and then the two of you were going to lay on his cot. 

“Who knew a call with officers would make you admit your feelings.” You chuckled as you laid in his arms looking at him.

“Hey I was trying but you shot down my advances.” He said 

“I know I’m sorry about that but I liked the way you admitted your feelings.” You said and he chuckled.

“I did too.” He said and he kissed your forehead and you closed your eyes. “I love you.” He said as your breath was evening out and he knew you were asleep when you didn’t answer and when he looked down your eyes were closed. He knew that you loved and that is all that matters.

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[reidsmuse01]

learning sign language so you can make inappropriate comments to spencer while at work and you sign “want to suck your cock” and spencer just looks at you all bewildered like “since when did you know ASL?”

dirty talking to spencer in ASL genre: sfw with sexual innuendos word count: 1,8k a/n: a lil something while i'm working on kinkfest :)

Spencer Reid is a man of many talents. People say — well, specifically, Spencer once told you that learning a new skill is easiest around the age of ten and how the process will be more difficult once you reach the age of eighteen. Something about neural connections forming rapidly, the unconscious system, the critical period… To be honest, you lost your focus the moment he mentioned the new skill he’d learned: sign language. 

Spencer was excited to tell you about this new skill. He already knew a handful of languages, from Russian to Yoruba, but what appealed to him most about ASL was the hand motions. How he didn’t need to pronounce any of the words. You still chuckle to yourself when the memory of him pronouncing a Spanish sentence pops up in your head. How vividly you could picture Elle correcting him. There was nothing funny about him using ASL, though. In fact, you remember the way your throat tightened and your cheeks heated when his hands started moving — long fingers, decorated in veins, flexing into different symbols at a speed that other beginners would envy.

“That means ‘I love you, and that sweater looks pretty on you’.”

You had laughed. Had leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you replied. A hot pink flush made its way onto his face, a shy smile tugging on his lips. 

“Does this mean you’ll be speaking to me in sign now?”

Your comment was meant as mere teasing, but Spencer had taken it as a challenge. He’d made sure to at least communicate a couple of ASL sentences to you every day. You could imagine it being a good way of practice for him. For the both of you, actually. Because over time you started to recognize some of the movements. A sign you had mistaken as rock and roll before, you had now concluded meant I love you. A swipe of his hand over his face? Pretty. There were a few others you could recognize, but as the sentences grew longer and his signs faster, you gave up.

You had always assumed everything Spencer signed to you was something sweet. You’d smile, kiss him as a thank you, and forget about it, assuming he was complimenting you. That was until Derek caught Spencer in the act, signing something to you before the elevator doors closed in front of him, ready to head over to the lab for another case you were on. 

“My man,” Derek chuckled heartily, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Your brows furrowed, the smile that had lingered on your face moments before dropping instantly. “What?”

He kept laughing, not noticing the clear confusion you were in.

“Derek!” you said, giving a soft punch to his arm to catch his attention.

“Oh, you don’t-” He raised an eyebrow, pointing to you and the closed elevator doors before laughing even harder.

“Stop it!” You cried, getting embarrassed by the scene you were causing in the middle of the bullpen. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, pretty girl,” he started, taking a deep breath to recover, still grinning widely. “Pretty Boy over there should be getting the title of Dirty Boy from now on.”

Your mouth opened, then quickly closed when no words came out. “I don’t understand.”

Derek looked around the bullpen, finding no one near. Still, he leaned in, shielding his mouth with his hand as he recited Spencer’s words to you.

You gasp, hand clutching your chest dramatically as if starring in a soap opera. “He didn’t,” you say in full disbelief.

“Oh, yes he did,” Morgan smirked in full pride.

“How would you even know that?”

“My buddy works at a youth center. I teach the kids football from time to time. Some speak ASL.”

You scoff. “Kids have taught you these words?”

Derek shrugs. “What can I say? It’s the dirty words that are most fun to learn.”

-`♡´-

You had struggled to think of anything else after that encounter, your mind wandering to every possible naughty sentence when Spencer signed to you from then on. It was frustrating, really, how he must be gleaming knowing you had no clue what he was saying. As long as he knows that you’re also up for a challenge. 

After work that day, you told Spencer you’d be home later, having to pick something up from a friend’s house. It wasn’t completely a lie — you had to pick something up, just from a different location. You parked your car in the parking lot in front of the public library, feeling like a criminal as you knocked on the glass doors. A woman in her late sixties greeted you, her kind beady eyes framed by thin glasses that hung low on her nose.

“You’re the one who called? From the FBI?”

You nodded, smiling. “Hi, yes, that’s me. I am so sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but we’ve got a killer on the loose, and it’s very urgent.”

The older woman cringed at the mention of a killer, muttering some words under her breath, and turned to grab an entire stack of books. You reached your hands out, accepting the heavy weight of the books, the title A Beginner’s Guide to ASL written on the top one. 

Her hand trembled lightly as she tapped the front cover. “This one comes with a DVD.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you for your help.”

“You better catch that bastard!” You nodded confidently in response as you turned on your heel.

-`♡´-

Unfortunately, Spencer was right: learning a new language as an adult was far from easy. Especially with the lack of time you had because of working a demanding job. You had to make do with the rare free weekends and some late nights during the week to study as much as possible.

You were tucked underneath a blanket on the couch, laptop in your lap, as you were watching a YouTube video Derek had recommended: “Sign Dirty to Me: A Guide to Dirty Talk in Sign Language”.”

“The next sentence we’ll be learning is ‘I want to give you a blowjob’.”

“A what?” 

You screeched, lifting yourself up on the couch at a speed that made the laptop fall on the ground with a thud. You mutter a string of curses as the video continues playing, using your foot to stomp the laptop shut.

“Jesus, Spencer, can’t you knock?”

You turn your body, spotting your boyfriend's tall figure leaning against the open bedroom door, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “I think you’ve forgotten that you’re in my house.”

You groan at his smug grin, trying to find an excuse. 

“What were you watching anyway?” He asks in curiosity before you could explain.

“Nothing!”

He takes a stride toward you, and you scramble from the couch to grab the laptop, holding it tight in your arms as a safety measure. Spencer leans on the plush frame of the couch, appearing rather relaxed as a gleam sparkles in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were watching-”

“No!” You exclaim in offense.

“I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”

“I was not watching anything.”

The content look doesn’t fade from his face. He looks rather pleased by the scene you’re making. The tips of his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. Those damn fingers. “I don’t mind, angel. I would just offer you my help instead.”

You swallowed. He was distracting you, and you were not going to fall for his dirty ploys yet again. No way.

“I’m good,” you squeak, hurriedly standing up from the couch. You point at him while your other hand clutches your laptop. “I will go to the bedroom now, and you will stay here. Don’t even think about moving an inch.”

Your words were only making you sound more suspicious, but you didn’t care. It would be worth it in the end.

-`♡´-

Two weeks had passed since you and Derek had exposed Spencer’s dirty, little secret. Two weeks in which you had spent all your free time learning ASL. You had been nervous all morning while getting ready for work, trying to resist the urge to sign something to him. But you wanted to do it in the bullpen; you needed to see him get flustered in a crowd. 

Your fingers had been nervously tapping on your desk, eyeing Spencer at his desk opposite yours. You were waiting on Derek, who you had promised could be there for the “big moment”. 

“Where are we going?” Penelope’s voice sounded through the bullpen as Derek grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the desks. You throw your hands up in frustration, it wasn’t the plan to make it that big of a show. “Are you kidding me?” You mouth toward Derek.

“Now,” he mouths back as he stays at a safe distance against the far wall.

Here we go.

A single kick to Spencer’s shin was enough to grab his attention. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

Biting down on your lip to hide your smile, you began moving your fingers, a little exaggeratedly, to make sure he understood. 

Look what new skill I learned.

Spencer beams, smiling brightly as the realization dawns upon him. “Hey! Since when did you know ASL?”

You don’t give him an answer right away, not wanting to get out of your flow, so you continue signing the variety of sentences you’ve learned, each one even dirtier than the last.

You knew you were doing a good job when a few snorts came from your right at certain words, Derek understanding what you were saying. Looking at Spencer confirmed it — his eyes stood wide open, red blotches of heat forming on his neck as his lips moved in a struggle to find the words.

Stop it. Right now. He eventually signed.

You grin, pride washing over you as you can understand him. This new method of communication truly opens up worlds.

But I mean it. You sign back.

He hides the small smile that forms on his face, tugging away a piece of hair before finding the courage to respond back to you.

What else would you like to do, then?

Penelope nudged Derek, looking puzzled. “What are they doing? Are they…? Oh my god, they’re trying to get in each other’s pants? Right in front of us?!”

Derek threw his head back laughing. “That’s right. They’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”

“But dirty talk is our thing!” Penelope protested.

Derek shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you, baby girl, but they’re outdoing us.”

[reidsmuse01]

Cravings

18+ MINORS DNI!!!

Full Masterlist Legend Masterlist

Pairing: Reggie Kray x fem!pregnant reader

Summary: Your pregnant and get cravings…

Warnings: Swearing,cravings,pregnancy!!! (Please tell me if I missed any!!!)

"Reggie!" I whispered into his ear, poking his side with your pointer finger.

"Mh?" Reggie groaned turning in his sleep.

"Reggie baby..m'craving a'gain" i whispered louder in his ear.

"Again? What do'ya want this time?" He muttered into my neck, his other hand massaging my hips.

"Mmh...an ice lolly" I whispered with a shit eating grin.

"Of course why am I shocked" Reggie chuckled as he gave me a kiss and got up from the bed.

-

"Thank you baby" I said as I tried to take the lolly off of Reggie but he kept pulling it away smirking widely as he did.

"Reg..give it please..." i whined but he didn't give in.

"What's the magic word?" He smirked

"Give it"

"Nope" he grinned pulling his hand away.

"Pretty Please..the boys are hungry" i whined with a pout looking down at my bump,

"Fine.. the magic word was noodles but I'll give it to ya cause I feel bad" he handed it to me smiling.

“Dick” i gave him a playful nudge when he sat back down giving my bump a kiss before giving me a kiss.

[reidsmuse01]

I FEAR IM HAVING DIRTY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS MAN AGAIN 😏😏

[reidsmuse01]

“The Camping Trip”

Jim Street x Female Reader

Summary: the whole team and their partners go on a weekend camping trip. When Street gets way too horny after a few beers, he can’t help but drag you to the tent for a quickie that somehow lasts all weekend.

Warnings: smut, no minors, 18+, p in v, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol

The fire crackled and popped, casting warm, flickering light across everyone’s faces. The whole team was sprawled out in camp chairs, bottles of beer or whiskey in hand, partners snuggled up close. Someone was telling a ridiculous story about a bust gone wrong, and laughter echoed through the clearing.

You were curled up in Jim Street’s lap, half-drunk, heart light with the warmth of the fire and the booze. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly, his fingers tracing little circles on your hip through the thin fabric of your leggings.

He kept sneaking kisses to your neck, behind your ear, his breath hot against your skin — each one getting a little lower, a little less innocent.

“Street,” you whispered, laughing breathlessly, “stop it. We’re in public.”

He just smirked, voice low and wicked. “Exactly. That’s what makes it hotter.”

You squirmed on his lap, trying to refocus on Deacon’s story — but Jim’s hand slid lower, between your thighs, a slow, teasing brush that made your breath hitch.

“You’re killing me here,” you muttered under your breath.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

“I can fix that,” he promised, voice thick with need.

Before you could react, Street was standing, hauling you up with him like you weighed nothing.

“Where you two going?” Hondo called out, amused.

“Bathroom!” Jim lied way too quickly.

Chris snorted into her drink. Luca made a kissy noise.

You giggled, letting Jim drag you into the trees where the tents were set up. He practically threw open the flap of your tent, yanking you inside, crawling in after you.

The second the zipper was closed, Jim tackled you onto the sleeping bags, mouth crashing against yours, hungry and desperate. His hands fumbled at your leggings, yanking them down impatiently.

“You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you all night,” he groaned against your lips, biting down on your bottom one before kissing you even harder.

“Couldn’t tell at all,” you gasped, helping him shove his jeans down just enough to free himself.

He slid his fingers between your legs, finding you already soaked.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Always so ready for me.”

He didn’t waste time — lined himself up and thrust deep inside you in one rough, desperate push, making you bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whimper that escaped.

Street grunted, hips jerking forward, setting a fast, messy rhythm right away. The tent walls shook with every thrust, and you knew — knew — there was no way you were being quiet enough.

You tried to hold it in, clinging to him, gasping into his neck.

“Jim, they’re gonna hear us,” you hissed.

He just chuckled, low and breathless, still fucking into you relentlessly.

He shifted your leg higher around his waist, hitting deeper, making your breath stutter.

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” you whispered, voice breaking on a moan.

And from outside:

“YES WE CAN!”

It was Luca’s unmistakable voice, followed by hysterical laughter from the whole team.

You buried your face in Street’s chest, mortified — but he just laughed, pressing a filthy kiss to your cheek.

“Good,” he growled against your ear. “Let ‘em hear how good I fuck you.”

He pounded into you harder, grinning like a devil as you struggled to keep quiet — and failed miserably.

It didn’t take long — the roughness, the thrill of being caught, the way he stretched you perfectly — it all crashed over you fast and hard. You clenched around him, crying out into his shoulder.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, thrusting harder through your orgasm. “Milk my cock, just like that—fuck.”

A few more messy, brutal strokes and he buried himself deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking helplessly.

You collapsed together, tangled in sleeping bags and clothes and breathless laughter.

After a long moment, Street nuzzled your neck, still catching his breath.

“You think if we go back to the fire they’ll pretend it didn’t happen?” you mumbled.

Street snorted. “Not a fucking chance.”

From outside, someone shouted again:

“Hope you guys at least brought protection! There’s kids camping nearby!”

You groaned, covering your face.

Street just grinned, rolling you under him again. “Guess we gotta stay in here all night, huh?”

And judging by the wicked gleam in his eye, you weren’t getting much sleep anyway.

The next morning the sun was already high when you finally stumbled out of the tent, bleary-eyed, sore in the best way, wearing Street’s oversized hoodie over your shorts.

You hadn’t exactly gotten much sleep — not with Jim deciding round two and three was absolutely necessary around 3AM.

The second your foot hit the dirt outside the tent, a slow, sarcastic round of applause broke out around the campfire.

You froze. Jim just laughed behind you and tugged you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you like you were his personal trophy.

“Good morning, campground legends,” Chris called out, grinning wickedly.

“You two kept half the woods up last night,” Deacon added, shaking his head but laughing too.

Luca handed you a paper plate piled with pancakes and bacon. “Gotta refuel after all that cardio, huh?”

You flushed redder than the campfire, hiding your face in Jim’s chest. He was absolutely thriving, holding you even tighter, chin resting cockily on your head.

“Not our fault these tents have shit insulation,” Jim said shamelessly, smirking.

“You say insulation like you weren’t deliberately making her scream,” Tan shot back, sipping his coffee with a grin.

Hondo pointed his fork at you two.

“Next time, a little discretion would be appreciated. Or at least a soundproof tent.”

Street just chuckled lowly, unbothered, and dropped a kiss onto the top of your head. “No promises.”

You peeked up at him, smacking his chest lightly. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t stay quiet, babe,” he whispered against your ear, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The entire team groaned dramatically.

Chris fake gagged. “I’m gonna lose my breakfast.”

“At least they’re in love,” Luca added with a shrug. “Loudly. Aggressively. Violently.”

You hid your burning face behind your plate while Street kept smiling like he just won a damn trophy.

He tugged you closer, whispering in your ear again, low and smug:

“Don’t worry, baby. Tonight, I’ll just have to make you even louder.”

You choked on your coffee. Chris high-fived Luca across the fire.

The teasing didn’t stop all breakfast — but neither did Street’s arms wrapped around you, holding you safe and proud like you were his whole world.

That evening after everyone got back to camp after a hike you knew Jim was up to something the second he leaned down while everyone was laughing and eating around the fire and murmured, low and dangerous:

“Meet me by the truck in five minutes. And don’t let anyone see you.”

You blinked up at him, heart hammering already. He shot you a sly smirk and disappeared into the dark.

You waited exactly four minutes before slipping away, pretending you were headed to the bathrooms. Your pulse raced as you darted toward the parking area, tucked behind the trees.

The second you rounded the corner, strong arms grabbed you, pulling you flush against a hard chest.

“Jesus, Jim,” you gasped.

He just chuckled darkly, crowding you back against the side of the truck. “Missed you.”

“You literally spent the whole day glued to me.”

“Not the same,” he growled, hands already sliding up your thighs, pushing under the hem of your shorts. “Didn’t get to be inside you.”

You gasped as he lifted you easily, opening the truck door behind you and shoving you inside.

The truck cab was dark, cramped, and hot. Jim didn’t waste a second — slamming the door, pinning you against the passenger seat, tugging your shorts and panties down with frantic hands.

“Spread ’em for me, baby,” he ordered roughly, voice pure gravel.

You obeyed without thinking, the heat between your thighs unbearable. Jim fumbled his sweat pants down just enough to free himself, already rock hard, leaking against his stomach.

He lined up, rubbing the thick head of his cock along your soaking folds.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he rasped.

“Yes, Jim, please,” you whimpered.

That was all he needed. He thrust into you in one rough, brutal push, making you cry out before he slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered against your ear, thrusting deep again. “You want the whole campsite knowing you’re getting railed in my truck?”

The filthy thrill of it — the danger, the tight cramped space, the way he filled you so perfectly — it was dizzying.

He fucked you hard and fast, messy and desperate, the windows fogging up immediately from the heat. Each slam of his hips rocked you harder against the seat, the creak of the leather dangerously loud.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he groaned. “About how tight you’d feel. How fucking good you taste.”

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, trying to hold on as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“God, Jim,” you gasped. “You feel so good — so deep—”

“Yeah? You love being my dirty girl don’t you ?” he growled, fucking you even faster.

“You love sneaking off so I can fuck you like you deserve?”

You nodded frantically, unable to speak through the pleasure crashing over you.

You broke apart with a choked sob, clenching around him so hard he cursed loudly, hips stuttering.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it — fuck —” he slammed deep one last time, spilling inside you as you came, his hips jerking through it.

He stayed buried in you for a moment, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

Then he laughed, low and breathless.

“Think we were quieter this time?”

You giggled weakly, still trembling, and whispered:

“Maybe until someone sees the fogged-up windows.”

Street just grinned, kissed you long and slow, and muttered:

“Totally worth it.”

You and Jim tried to be stealthy. You really did.

You straightened your clothes, wiped the fog off the truck windows, and crept back through the trees, aiming to slip into your tent unnoticed.

Yeah. No such luck.

The second you stepped into the firelight, Luca was the first to see you — and immediately burst out laughing, practically choking on his beer.

Chris caught sight of you next, grinning so wide it was criminal.

“Oh my god. They went for round four.”

“Truck’s still steaming, by the way,” Tan added helpfully, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Classy.”

You turned bright red, clinging to Jim’s side like maybe you could disappear into him.

Street just fucking beamed, holding you tighter, looking way too damn proud of himself.

Hondo just shook his head slowly, sipping his whiskey. “I don’t wanna know. I don’t wanna know.”

Deacon looked up from the fire with full-on Dad Disappointment Face.

“I hope you at least checked for wildlife first,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Luca chimed in, grinning like an idiot. “I heard bears are attracted to…sweaty activities.”

Chris snorted her beer out her nose.

Street didn’t even pretend to be sorry.

He just smirked, leaned down close to your ear, and whispered, low and cocky:

“Guess we gave ‘em a real show tonight, huh, baby?”

You elbowed him in the ribs — hard — but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

You grabbed your plate of s’mores and stomped toward your tent without another word, flipping them off over your shoulder.

The whole team howled with laughter.

Jim just followed you proudly, wrapping his arms around you from behind, planting a loud, sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured against your skin, cocky and sweet.

“Maybe tomorrow we can find a tree to fuck against instead.”

You choked on your s’more, smacked him again — but you were laughing too hard to be mad and you already knew you wouldn’t say no.

After surviving the team’s nonstop roasting, you finally collapsed into the sleeping bags with Jim.

The sleeping bags were a mess, half-unzipped and tangled from last night’s activities — but you barely cared.

You stripped down to just one of Jim’s huge t-shirts — it smelled like him, all fresh laundry and sweat and soap — and crawled into the sleeping bag.

Jim followed a second later, sliding in behind you and immediately pulling you flush against his chest.

His arms wrapped around you like a vice, one big hand splayed low on your stomach, keeping you pinned to him.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, strong and sure.

“You warm enough, babe?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Yeah,” you whispered, snuggling closer.

“You’re a furnace.”

He chuckled, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your bare shoulder.

“Good. Gotta keep you in top condition. Gonna need you ready for tomorrow night’s adventures,” he teased, squeezing your hip.

You groaned. “If you try to sneak-fuck me up against a tree, I swear to God—”

“You love it,” he interrupted, grinning against your skin.

“You’re addicted to me.”

You turned in his arms just enough to swat him — lightly — across the chest.

“God, you’re so cocky.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, threading his fingers through your hair.

“I’m just cocky ‘cause I got the best girl here,” he murmured, voice dropping to something way more genuine.

Your heart melted into a puddle.

You smiled sleepily against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his warmth, his safety wrapping around you like armor.

“Love you,” you whispered.

Jim tightened his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Love you too, baby. Always.”

A long, comfortable silence settled over you both.

You were half-asleep already when Jim muttered, teasing but affectionate:

“Bet they’re already placing bets on where we’re gonna bang next.”

You snorted into his chest, laughter muffled.

“God, we’re never gonna live this trip down.”

Jim just laughed, the sound deep and warm, and whispered:

“Wouldn’t change a thing.”

You fell asleep smiling, tangled up in Jim Street’s arms — safe and sore but loved.

[reidsmuse01]

Please 🙏🏻 More Luca xfem reader ❤️ With alot of smut of course 😉

Of course. You can never have too much Luca smut 😩❤️ can you tell I was ovulating when I wrote this 😂🫠

“Starving for You”

Luca x Female Reader

Warnings: smut, no minors, 18+, mentions of light choking, dominant Luca, p in v, oral (female receiving)

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day and you buy new lingerie to impress Luca. Before leaving to meet him at a restaurant you send him a pic to get him hot under the collar. After a night of teasing, Luca finally snaps and fucks you senseless.

You sent the photo right before heading out: black lace lingerie hugging every inch of your body, barely hidden beneath your black dress. The garter straps, the sheer fabric — it was designed to destroy him. The second Luca saw it, his reply buzzed through:

You’re playing a dangerous game, baby.

At the restaurant, you spotted him instantly — seated in the back, black shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight. He looked like he was ready to commit murder or sin. Maybe both. You sauntered over slowly, hips swaying just enough to tease. His eyes locked onto you, dark, dangerous, following every step you took. When you leaned down to kiss his cheek, you purposely let your lips graze the corner of his mouth. You felt the sharp inhale he took. Good. You wanted him wrecked.

Dinner was torture — for him. You crossed and uncrossed your legs under the table, the hem of your dress sliding higher. You dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf, up his thigh. Every few minutes, you leaned forward to take a sip of your wine, letting your cleavage spill forward just enough to catch his gaze.

Luca barely touched his food. His hand stayed clenched in his lap or around his glass, knuckles white from the force of his grip. Every time your foot brushed higher, his leg jolted under the table. He was trying — really trying — to keep it together.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” you teased, sipping your wine.

His nostrils flared. “You keep testing me, princess, and you’re not gonna make it to dessert.”

You gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile—and slowly, deliberately, dragged your fingers up the inside of your own thigh under the tablecloth. Luca pushed back from the table so suddenly the waiter flinched nearby. He threw down enough cash to cover the bill three times over, stood, and yanked you up by the wrist.

“Let’s go,” he growled into your ear.

The ride home was pure tension. His hand gripped your thigh the entire time, squeezing hard every time you shifted and the edge of your dress slid higher. His jaw was clenched so tight you thought he might break a tooth. The second you stepped inside his house, the door slammed behind you. He had you pinned against it before you could blink.

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he growled.

Before you could answer, he scooped you up and carried you straight to the kitchen, tossing you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. His hands tore at your dress, shoving it up to your waist, revealing the black lace he’d been fantasizing about all night

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

He dropped to his knees right there, spreading your thighs wide. You barely had time to gasp before he buried his face between your legs. Luca devoured you like a man starved — no teasing, no gentle warm-up. His tongue licked a long, filthy stripe up your dripping core, groaning low in his chest when he tasted you.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” he growled against your skin.

You cried out, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight as he feasted on you. His tongue flicked your clit in devastating little circles, then flattened and dragged down again, slipping inside you. His hands gripped your thighs hard, keeping you spread wide, grinding you closer against his mouth until you had no choice but to practically ride his face. He didn’t care — if anything, he loved it, growling hungrily, sucking your clit between his lips hard enough to make you sob his name.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he demanded roughly, pulling back just enough to look up at you — his mouth wet, his pupils blown.

“You’re gonna come right on my fucking tongue.”

You shattered with a desperate cry, thighs trembling violently, hips bucking against his face. He licked you through it, slow, possessive, drinking down everything you gave him. When you finally slumped back against the counter, trembling and breathless, Luca rose to his feet, towering over you.

“Not done,” he muttered darkly, voice shredded with need.

He unzipped his jeans, cock springing free, thick and heavy in his hand. Without warning, he lined himself up and thrust deep inside you in one brutal stroke, making you scream his name

“Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight”

He set a brutal rhythm immediately fucking into you hard, deep, the counter jolting with every thrust. His hands were everywhere — one gripping your throat lightly, making you look up at him, the other splayed across your lower back, arching you perfectly into him.

“You tease me all fucking night,” he growled, pounding into you so hard the counter creaked. “You wear that little fucking outfit and send me that picture and then expect me to behave?”

You whimpered, trying to hold onto the edge of the counter.

“You wanted this,” he snarled, driving even deeper.“You fucking begged for it.”

Your body was already close again, the roughness of his thrusts, the way he stretched you perfectly, hitting that spot over and over.

“You’re gonna come again,” he ordered, voice shaking from how close he was too. “I wanna feel you squeezing me when I fill you up.”

It hit you hard, blinding white heat ripping through your body as you shattered around him, gasping his name like a prayer. Luca followed a second later, thrusting deep once, twice, before spilling inside you with a guttural groan, hips jerking helplessly.

You sagged against him, completely wrecked, your body limp, chest heaving.

Luca pressed a few soft kisses to your shoulder, murmuring soothing nonsense in your ear. He slipped out of you carefully, helping you off the counter, keeping a steady arm wrapped around your waist.

“Hold on, baby,” he whispered, voice raspy but gentle.

He disappeared for a second, grabbing a warm washcloth from the bathroom. When he came back, he knelt in front of you again, so tender it made your heart ache. He cleaned you up slowly, carefully, murmuring sweet praises under his breath.

“You were so good for me,” he said softly, brushing a kiss against your knee. “Took everything I gave you like a fuckin’ angel.”

You flushed at the praise, sinking your fingers into his messy hair.

Once he was done, he tossed the cloth aside, scooped you into his arms effortlessly, and carried you to the bedroom. He set you down on the edge of the bed, rummaging in his drawers for a second before tossing one of his big, soft T-shirts toward you.

“Here. Wear this before I get distracted again and fuck you stupid on the floor.”

You laughed breathlessly but pulled the shirt over your head. It drowned you, hanging loose and soft against your thighs. Luca just stared for a second, pupils darkening all over again.

“You in my clothes might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

You crawled into bed, and Luca climbed in right after you, dragging you into his arms like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

He kissed your forehead, your temple, your jaw—soft, worshipping little kisses.

“You good, baby?” he murmured, threading your fingers together over your stomach.

“Perfect,” you whispered, snuggling closer.

There was a beat of silence before he smirked against your hair.

“You realize you’re responsible for me almost fucking you on a restaurant table, right?”

You laughed, chest shaking. “Was that before or after you almost murdered the waiter with your eyes?”

“Definitely after,” he teased. “If dessert had shown up, I’d have bent you over the damn table and made you scream for it right then and there”

You groaned, burying your face against his chest. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love it,” he murmured smugly, arms wrapping tighter around you.

And yeah you did. Luca could fuck you senseless one minute and the next be the most gentle and cuddly person ever. He knew how to push you to your limits while always making sure you were safe and comfortable.

You drifted off to sleep in Luca’s arm knowing damn well you were gonna be sore tomorrow.

[reidsmuse01]

I just found I few pictures of Kenny Johnson when he was young...OMG LOOK HOW BABY!!!

[reidsmuse01]

hi!

Can you do one where reader gets injured but doesnt want to bother anyone so she doesnt sag anything. The catch unsub, and maybe spencer notices something is off but is not sure. Eventually she loses so much blood and collapses on spencer or something like that. Not sure how it ends. Fluffy and angst

thankkkssss

xoxoxoxo

collapse — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , reader is hurt , lots of blood , mention of stitches , reader got stabbed a/n: hi hi !! hope you like this <3 i might've gotten carried away

The adrenaline was the only thing keeping you upright.

You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic tang of blood blooming across your tongue as you suppressed a groan of pain. The unsub thrashed violently between you and Spencer as he fought against your grip.

Your side burned—a deep, throbbing ache—but you refused to loosen your hold.

Just a little longer.

To your relief, the unsub finally stilled, his resistance crumbling as Spencer adjusted his grip and shoved the door open with his shoulder.

Spencer’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

You could see the concern etched into the lines of his face—the way his brows furrowed, the slight downturn of his lips. You had taken a nasty hit during the struggle, but you had brushed it off, insisting you were fine.

You weren’t fine.

But now wasn’t the time.

You forced a soft smile, willing your voice to stay steady. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Derek was already at the car, his expression hardening as he took in the unsub’s snarling face. He reached out, wrenching the man from your grasp and shoving him into the backseat with a muttered, “Nice try, pal.”

The moment the weight was gone, your knees nearly buckled.

You leaned against the car for support as the world tilted slightly. Spencer stood in front of you, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You swallowed hard, willing the black spots at the edges of your vision to fade. “Yes, Spence. I’m okay.”

You pushed off the car, determined to prove it—to him, to yourself. You took a step forward, reaching out to touch his arm, to reassure him—

And then, everything gave out.

Your legs crumpled beneath you, the pain exploding in a white-hot burst as your vision blurred. The last thing you registered was the warmth of Spencer’s arms catching you, his voice cracking as he shouted your name.

Then—

Darkness.

Spencer barely caught you in time, your weight slamming against his chest as his hands scrambled to keep you upright.

“Hey—hey! Look at me!” His voice was too loud, too sharp, cracking under the weight of sudden terror.

Your skin was pale, your breathing shallow. His fingers brushed against your side—and came away wet.

Blood.

His stomach dropped.

“Morgan! Hotch!” The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

Derek whipped around, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “What the hell—?”

“She’s bleeding!” Spencer’s hands were shaking as he lowered you to the ground, his mind racing through symptoms, probabilities, how much time—

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, struggling to focus on his face.

“Sorry…” you slurred, the word barely audible.

“No, no, no—don’t apologize, just stay awake, okay? Look at me.” His palm cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in frantic, soothing strokes. “You’re gonna be fine. Just keep your eyes open.”

Hotch was already on the radio, calling for an ambulance, but every second stretched into an eternity. Spencer could feel your pulse under his fingertips—too fast, too thready.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He should have noticed. He should have known.

His breath hitched as your eyes started to close.

“No—hey, no! Stay with me!” His voice broke, fingers tightening around yours. “Please.”

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

The sound should have been a relief. But as the paramedics rushed toward you. Spencer couldn’t breathe.

“We need to move—now!”

Hands reached for you, but Spencer’s grip tightened instinctively, his fingers tangled in the fabric of your shirt. A paramedic pried his hand away—gently but firmly.

“Sir, we need to treat her.”

He forced himself to let go.

The seconds it took to lift you onto the stretcher felt like hours. The moment they strapped you in, Spencer was moving, climbing into the ambulance before anyone could stop him.

“I’m not leaving her.” His voice left no room for argument.

The doors slammed shut. The ambulance lurched forward.

And then—there was nothing but the sound of the heart monitor’s steady beep and the too-slow rise and fall of your chest.

The paramedics worked quickly, cutting away fabric to reveal the wound—a deep, angry gash just below your ribs, still bleeding.

His stomach twisted.

The EMT pressed a fresh bandage to your side, and even unconscious, you let out a weak whimper.

Spencer’s hand shot out before he could stop himself, his fingers tangling with yours. Your skin was ice-cold, your grip limp.

“Hang on,” he whispered, voice cracking. His thumb traced frantic circles over your knuckles, as if he could somehow transfer his own warmth into you. “Just hang on, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

The ambulance hit a pothole, jostling you slightly. Your face contorted in pain, and Spencer’s free hand hovered uselessly above your shoulder, desperate to comfort but terrified of hurting you more.

“Can’t you go faster?” he snapped, his voice fraying at the edges.

The paramedic didn’t look up. “We’re almost there.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes darting between your face and the heart monitor. The numbers taunted him—too low, too slow.

This was his fault.

He should’ve seen it. Should’ve known. He’d watched you take that hit during the struggle, seen the way you’d stumbled afterward, the way your hand had pressed discreetly to your side. But you’d smiled at him—soft and reassuring—and like an idiot, he’d believed you.

A sudden twitch of your fingers against his snapped him back to the present.

His breath caught. “Hey—?” He leaned closer, his free hand brushing your cheek. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

The ambulance screeched to a halt. The doors flew open.

And just like that, you were ripped away from him again, whisked into the bright, sterile chaos of the ER.

A nurse stopped him at the doors. “You’ll need to wait here.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue—but the doors swung shut in his face.

Alone in the sterile, suffocating silence of the waiting room, Spencer Reid— man who always had an answer—could do nothing but stand there, your blood still drying on his hands, and wait.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. He couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe.

So he paced.

Back and forth, back and forth—wearing a path into the linoleum like a man possessed. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers stiff with dried blood. Your blood. The sight of it made his stomach twist.

The team came and went in shifts, each checking on you, each casting worried glances his way.

Then, the adrenaline crashed.

Exhaustion hit him like a physical blow, but he refused to sit. The hospital chairs were too stiff, the silence too loud, the waiting unbearable. His mind, always too sharp for its own good, raced through worst-case scenarios.

He should’ve seen it. Should’ve known.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the static in his head. Spencer hadn’t even heard him arrive.

The unit chief stood beside him, his usual stoicism softened by the faintest crease of concern between his brows. “Any updates?” he asked as his eyes flickered toward the treatment doors.

Spencer shook his head, his throat too tight to speak.

Hotch didn’t push, before stepping aside as Garcia burst through the entrance, her heels clicking frantically against the linoleum.

“Oh my god, is she okay?” Her voice was high with panic, eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses. She zeroed in on Spencer immediately, her hands fluttering toward him like she could physically tether him to the present. “Spencer, talk to me—”

“They haven’t told us anything yet,” Hotch answered for him.

Garcia’s lower lip trembled. “But she’s tough—she’s gonna be fine, right? She has to be—”

Morgan arrived next, his usual swagger replaced by a grim tension. He took one look at Spencer’s ashen face, the blood still streaked across his sleeves, and exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn't say anything.

Spencer's gaze was fixed on the clock above the nurses’ station, barely noticing anything around him.

Twenty-seven minutes.

Too long. Too long.

Rossi appeared with coffee no one drank. JJ murmured reassurances no one believed.

And Spencer paced.

At the fifty-three-minute mark, a doctor finally emerged.

Spencer’s heart stopped.

She looked at him first—of course she did—and offered a small, exhausted smile.

"She's going to be okay."

The words struck Spencer like a physical blow to the chest. Oxygen flooded back into his lungs so violently it burned, his knees nearly buckling under the sudden weight of relief. Behind him, Garcia gasped - a wet, shuddering "Oh thank God" muffled against Morgan's sleeve as she fisted her hands in his leather jacket.

Spencer remained frozen. Rooted to the spot.

Because the doctor was still speaking, her lips forming words that dissolved into meaningless static before they reached him.

—significant blood loss—

—no organ damage—

—lucky the blade missed the artery—

Lucky. The word turned to ash in his mouth.

There was nothing lucky about how your body had gone limp in his arms, your blood seeping through his shirt as he'd screamed for help. Nothing lucky about the way your eyelids had fluttered weakly before going still—

"—kept asking for you."

His head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. "What?"

The doctor's expression softened around tired eyes. "During moments of consciousness. She was disoriented, but she kept saying your name."

Something vital fractured behind his sternum. You'd asked for him. Even half-conscious. Even bleeding out.

"When can I see her?" The demand ripped from his throat, jagged and desperate.

"She's in recovery now. Give us another hour to get her settled, then one visitor at a time."

An hour. Sixty more minutes of this agony. Spencer's fingers twitched at his sides, still tacky with your blood.

"Reid." Hotch's voice dropped into that particular tone that brooked no argument. "Sit down before you collapse."

Spencer barely registered the hard plastic chair biting into his back. His hands trembled violently in his lap - the same hands that had failed to notice your injury, failed to protect you—

Garcia thrust a paper cup of lukewarm coffee between his shaking fingers. "Drink this," she ordered, her usual bubbly cadence replaced by steel. "

The coffee tasted like ashes, but he drank it anyway, if only to stop the trembling.

The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly. Each second stretched into eternity. Around him, the team moved quietly - Morgan pacing like a caged panther, JJ making hushed phone calls, Rossi leaning against the wall with a tension that belied his casual stance.

And Spencer sat. And waited. Counting each breath, each heartbeat, until he could see for himself that you were truly alive.

The hour passed in agony.

At first, there had only been relief—a dizzying, all-consuming wave of it that left Spencer lightheaded. You were alive. That was all that mattered.

But as the minutes crawled by, other emotions began creeping in, slithering through the cracks in his composure like poison.

Anger.

It started as a spark, small but insistent.

How could you not tell him?

The question burned through him, relentless. You’d lied to him. Smiled right at him, blood soaking through your shirt, and told him you were fine. He could still hear the way your voice had wavered—just slightly—when you’d said it. He should’ve known. He should’ve—

His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms.

And then, worse than the anger at you—the anger at himself.

He was a profiler. It was his job to notice the details, to see what others missed. He’d watched you fight the unsub, watched you stumble afterward. He’d seen the way your hand had pressed to your side, the way your breathing had turned shallow. But he’d let you brush it off. He’d believed you.

Idiot. The self-loathing settled heavy in his chest.

Across the room, Morgan shot him a look. “You good, Reid?”

No. He wasn’t.

“Peachy,” Spencer bit out, the word brittle.

Garcia frowned, reaching for him, but he stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. He needed air. Needed to move.

The hallway outside was quiet, sterile. He braced his hands against the wall, head bowed, breaths coming too fast.

He’d studied every microexpression, every twitch of every unsub they’d ever hunted—but he hadn’t seen this. Hadn’t seen you.

What if the unsub had gotten another hit in? What if—

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral. Spencer didn’t turn.

“She’s alive,” Hotch said, quiet but firm. “That’s what matters.”

Spencer’s jaw worked. “She could’ve died.”

“But she didn’t.”

Because she got lucky. The unspoken words hung between them, heavy as a verdict.

A nurse appeared at the end of the hall. “Agent Reid? She’s asking for you.”

The nurse's shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she led him down the hallway, the sound grating against Spencer's frayed nerves. His pulse hammered in his throat with each step closer to your room. When they reached the door, he froze in the threshold, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Thank you," he muttered to the nurse, barely recognizing his own voice.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And then—your eyes flew open, locking onto his like you'd been waiting.

"Spencer."

Your voice was rough, but the relief in that single word nearly undid him. A shaky exhale escaped you, as if you'd been holding your breath until this moment.

Each step was measured, unsteady, as if his body had forgotten how to move without trembling. He had counted every agonizing second until this moment, had played it over in his mind a hundred times—how he would rush to your side, how he would take your hand, how he would finally know you were alive.

But now that he was here, his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

And then he was at your bedside, close enough to see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lashes fluttered weakly with each blink. His throat tightened.

"You're awake," he whispered, the words cracking under the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets—a weak, aborted movement, like you wanted to reach for him but didn’t have the strength.

"Told you I was fine," you murmured, voice hoarse but laced with the faintest tease.

A broken sound escaped him—half-laugh, half-sob. His hand finally lifted, hovering just above yours before he let it settle, his touch feather-light, terrified of hurting you.

"You collapsed," he said, the words raw. "You—you bled out in my arms."

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching weakly beneath his. Then, with effort, you patted the empty space beside you on the hospital bed—an invitation, a silent plea for closeness.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. His gaze flickered over the IV line taped to your arm, the bandages peeking out from beneath your hospital gown, as if weighing the risk of hurting you against the unbearable need to be near you.

Then, carefully—so carefully—he sat down on the edge of the mattress, his weight barely disturbing the sheets. His hands trembled as he reached for you again, but this time, you were the one who bridged the gap. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles, tracing the dried blood still smudged there—your blood—before curling loosely around his palm.

"But I'm okay now," you murmured, your voice soft but steady.

His breath shuddered out of him. He turned his hand beneath yours, intertwining their fingers with aching gentleness, as if you were something fragile. Something precious.

"You scared me," he whispered.

"I know. And I’m sorry," you whispered.

A flicker of guilt passed over his face, but before he could spiral further, you added with a weak smirk, "The nurses told me about a tall, pretty guy not letting them work properly."

They hadn’t, of course—but you knew him. Knew he’d hovered, frantic and pale, demanding answers they couldn’t give fast enough. Knew he’d probably been seconds away from reciting medical journals at them just to feel some semblance of control.

Spencer blinked, then huffed—a startled, breathless sound caught between indignation and reluctant amusement. "I—that’s not—" He faltered, then exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. "Okay. Maybe."

You grinned, despite the dull ache in your side. "So you admit you’re pretty?"

His cheeks flushed, but his grip on your hand tightened—just a fraction—like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. "I admit," he muttered, "that you’re impossible."

"And yet," you teased, shifting slightly—then wincing.

Instantly, his expression sobered. His free hand hovered over you, uncertain. "Don’t—don’t move, just—"

"Spencer." You caught his wrist, guiding his palm to rest gently over your uninjured side. His breath hitched as his fingers skimmed the dip of your waist—careful, reverent, like he was relearning the shape of you.

He bit his lip, his thumb brushing once, twice, over the soft fabric of your hospital gown, as if to reassure himself that this part of you, at least, was unharmed. Then, with a quiet exhale, he murmured, "The rest of the team is waiting outside. I’m pretty sure Garcia got you a bunch of different plushies."

You could practically see it—Garcia bursting in with an armful of absurdly cheerful stuffed animals, each one louder and more ridiculous than the last.

"How many are we talking?" you asked, lips quirking. "Enough to start a zoo?"

Spencer’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. "At least three with googly eyes. One of them might be a neon pink llama."

You snorted, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through your side. His hand tensed against you, his face flooding with concern.

"Hey—easy," he murmured, shifting closer instinctively. His other hand came up to brush a stray hair from your forehead, his touch lingering. "No more making fun of Garcia’s questionable taste in plushies until you can laugh without wincing."

"That might take a while," you admitted, but you were smiling again—small, but real.

Spencer’s gaze softened. "I’ll wait."

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension. Then, Spencer uttered the words like they'd been clawing at his throat:

"You lied to me."

His voice was quiet—too quiet—but the hurt in it cut deeper than any blade. His fingers still rested against your side, but they'd gone stiff, like he couldn't decide whether to pull away or hold on tighter.

You swallowed. "I didn't lie. I just... didn't mention the part where I was actively bleeding out."

His jaw clenched. "Semantics."

"Spencer—"

"No." His hand finally withdrew, raking through his hair instead. "You smiled at me. You said you were fine. Do you have any idea what it was like, watching you collapse like that? Thinking—" His voice cracked. "Thinking I'd just let you die?"

The raw pain in his words stole your breath. You reached for him, ignoring the protest of your stitches. "Hey. Look at me."

He did—reluctantly—and the guilt hit you like a punch. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale with exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't want you to worry. I thought I could tough it out until we got him cuffed."

"That's the problem," he said hoarsely. "You don't have to tough it out alone. Not with me."

Your throat tightened. "I know. And next time—"

"There won't be a next time," he interrupted, voice fierce. Then, quieter: "Please."

You caught his hand again, pressing his palm to your cheek this time. "Okay," you murmured against his skin. "No more lies. Even the stupid ones."

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "...Even the stupid ones,"he agreed.

And just like that, the weight in the room shifted—not gone, but lighter. Bearable.

Outside, Garcia's voice suddenly carried down the hall, "—FBI, ma'am, I promise the emotional support alpaca is essential to her recovery—"

Your gaze drifted down to his hands—those beautiful, trembling hands still streaked with rust-colored stains. The sight punched through you harder than the wound ever had.

"You should wash up," you whispered, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the dried blood caking his knuckles.

Spencer flinched as if burned. He hadn't even noticed. But now the evidence clung to him like a second skin, flaking when he flexed his fingers. Your blood. The realization sent a violent shudder through him.

"Right," he choked out, standing abruptly.

He made it two steps before turning back, his voice cracking. "Don't— Don't disappear while I'm gone."

The joke fell flat, undercut by the raw fear in his eyes.

"I'll be right here," you promised, patting the sterile sheets. "Go."

The bathroom fluorescents buzzed overhead as Spencer scrubbed at his hands with surgical precision. Steam rose from the scalding water, turning his skin an angry red. He didn't stop until every last trace was gone.

The water ran pink, then clear, swirling down the drain with the last physical remnants of your blood.

Then — voices. Loud. Familiar.

Garcia swept in first, arms overflowing with plush animals—including, as promised, a neon pink llama with absurdly large googly eyes. "Oh, sweetheart!" she wailed, nearly tripping over her own heels in her haste to reach you. "Look at you, all brave and beautiful and—oh my God, is that a bullet wound?!"

Morgan followed close behind, rolling his eyes. "She was stabbed, Garcia."

"Details!" Garcia sniffled, dumping the stuffed animals onto your lap with surprising gentleness before cupping your face. "The important thing is, our favorite badass is still kicking."

JJ appeared next, balancing a tray of suspiciously green hospital Jell-O. "We brought contraband," she said, grinning as she set it on your bedside table. "Well, contraband adjacent. It's still hospital food, but it's the lime flavor, so…"

Rossi lingered near the foot of your bed, arms crossed, but his usual smirk was softer than usual. "You gave Reid ten years off his life, kid."

"I know," you admitted, your gaze flickering toward the bathroom door.

Hotch stepped forward. "You did good work today," he said simply. "But next time, maybe mention when you're bleeding out."

The apartment was quiet when Spencer brought you home.

He'd already fluffed the pillows on the couch, laid out your favorite blanket, and arranged a small army of Garcia's plushies along the back—including the neon pink llama, which now sat proudly on the armrest like some kind of fuzzy sentinel.

You barely had time to take it all in before he was at your side again, hovering. His arm hooked gently around your waist, his touch feather-light, like you might break.

"Sit," he murmured, guiding you down onto the couch with the same careful precision he usually reserved for rare first editions. "Do you need water? Pain meds? I bought those crackers you like—"

"Spencer." You caught his wrist as he started to turn toward the kitchen, tugging him back gently. "Breathe. I'm okay."

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over you—checking, always checking—before exhaling sharply. "I know. I just…" His hands flexed at his sides, restless. "I need to do something."

You understood. This was Spencer Reid, after all—the man who needed equations to make sense of the world, variables to control. And right now, the only equation that mattered was you, alive and here, and he had no idea what to do with the leftover terror still humming under his skin.

So you gave him a task.

"Okay," you said softly, nodding toward the blanket. "Then sit with me. And tell me about the book you’ve been reading."

Something in his shoulders eased. He sank onto the couch beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours, and reached for the blanket.

"It's about quantum entanglement," he started, his voice warming as he draped the fabric over your legs with meticulous care. "The theory that particles can become linked, so that what happens to one affects the other, no matter the distance."

You smiled, leaning into him. "Sounds familiar."

His breath hitched. Then, slowly, his arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you carefully against his side.

"Yeah," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It does."

Outside, the world kept turning. Cases would come, and wounds would heal.

But here, tangled together on the couch, you were perfectly, irrevocably linked—and nothing, not even blood or time or space, could change that.

[reidsmuse01]

“In Good Hands”

Luca x Female! Reader

Summary: when Luca is struggling with the boredom of recovery after his hip injury, you decide to take care of him.

Warnings: smut, 18+, no minors! 🔞

(Not proof read)

Luca had never been good at sitting still. The house felt too quiet now—days blurred together, measured by physical therapy stretches and the occasional football game playing low on the TV. His hip ached less now, but the real pain came from the restlessness. Not being able to work? Torture. Not being able to touch you the way he wanted? Agony.

He didn’t mean to pout, but you caught him doing it every day. Lounging on the couch in those grey sweats, hair slightly messy, beard a little scruffier than usual. You knew that look. A mix of boredom and desire.

You’d been waiting for the right moment—and tonight, it had finally arrived.

“Luca,” you called from the bedroom, voice dipped in honey. “Time for your check-up.”

He barely had time to react before you stepped into the living room, lips tugged into a sly smile, wearing the shortest white nurse dress he’d ever seen. Stockings hugged your thighs, the soft fabric stretching just enough when you moved. The little red cross stitched above your chest should’ve looked innocent—but it didn’t. Not on you.

Luca blinked, his mouth parting. “What… are you doing?”

“Taking care of my patient,” you said, sauntering toward him. “You’ve been so tense lately. Thought I’d help ease the stress.”

He opened his mouth to object—maybe something about the doctor’s orders—but you were already straddling his lap, carefully settling above his recovering hip with a slow grind that made his breath hitch.

“Easy,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his jaw. “You just sit back. I’ll do all the work.”

His hands gripped the couch, knuckles white. He didn’t dare move—not yet. You rocked your hips, slowly, teasingly, as you kissed down the side of his neck. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the taut muscles twitching under your touch.

“God, Y/N…” he muttered, voice low and desperate.

You looked him in the eyes, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “Think of this as… physical therapy. Just the fun kind.”

His breath hitched as you leaned in, lips brushing against his ear, your voice low and commanding.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

That tone—firm, sweet, laced with promise—sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes darkened, jaw tense. You could feel the effort it took for him to stay still beneath you, even as you slowly ground your hips in a lazy rhythm, deliberately dragging out every second.

You tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up over his chest. His abs tensed instinctively as your fingers traced lazy circles over his skin, your nails light enough to tease.

“You’ve been good,” you murmured, leaning down to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his collarbone. “But I think you’ve been waiting long enough.”

Luca’s hand twitched against the couch cushion. You caught it.

“No touching,” you warned, your voice silk and steel. “Not yet.”

He groaned softly, biting his lip as your hips rolled again, perfectly aligned to make him feel every shift of your body. The nurse costume had ridden up high on your thighs, revealing the thin lace of your panties—black, just for contrast—and you knew exactly how much he could see from where he sat.

You leaned back just slightly, giving him the view. His eyes dropped to your chest, the way the buttons strained with every breath you took.

“This isn’t fair,” he muttered, his voice low, rough.

You grinned, hooking your fingers under the edge of your panties and slowly dragging them down, making a show of it as they slipped past your thighs. “Fair? I’m helping you recover.”

“And torturing me in the process.”

You arched an eyebrow, straddling him again, this time with nothing between you. You rocked against him once—slow, deep, enough to make his head drop back with a moan.

“Think of it as motivation,” you whispered. “The better you behave, the more I give you.”

His head fell back against the couch, throat exposed, breath coming heavier now as you moved your hips again—slower this time, just enough pressure to tease but not satisfy.

You could feel how badly he wanted to move. His hands twitched again, fingertips curling into the cushions. Every muscle in his body was tight, on edge. He was unraveling under you, and you hadn’t even touched him properly yet.

Your voice dropped to a whisper as you leaned in close, lips brushing against the stubble along his jaw. “You want to touch me, don’t you?”

Luca groaned, his voice strained. “So bad, baby.”

You trailed a single finger down his chest, past his stomach, stopping just above the waistband of his sweats. “Then ask nicely.”

He let out a shaky breath, pride slipping just a little beneath the weight of desire. “Please, Y/N… let me touch you.”

You smiled, letting your finger slip under the waistband. “One hand.”

He didn’t hesitate. His right hand slid to your thigh, fingers firm as they traveled upward, finding the curve of your ass, pulling you just a little closer. His eyes locked on yours, hungry, needing.

You let out a soft sound as you rolled your hips again, this time pressing directly against the hard length beneath his sweats. The friction sparked between you—hot, electric.

“God, you feel good,” he rasped, his hand tightening on you. “You’re killing me.”

You leaned forward, lips grazing his, not quite kissing yet. “Not yet,” you murmured. “You don’t get everything at once.”

Then, finally, you reached down between you and slid your hand beneath his waistband. The first touch was slow—fingers wrapping around him, heat meeting heat—and Luca swore under his breath, hips jerking instinctively.

“Easy,” you whispered, giving him a teasing stroke. “I’m in charge, remember?”

His hand gripped your thigh harder, but he didn’t fight it. He let you control the pace—your palm moving with maddening rhythm, just enough to make him tremble. The tension between you burned hotter, every moment thick with want.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned.

You finally kissed him—deep, slow, possessive.

“Not death,” you said against his lips. “Just a very, very good recovery.”

Your hips rolled in slow, deliberate waves, taking him in over and over, every motion smooth and controlled. You weren’t in a rush. You wanted him to feel every second—every squeeze of your body around his, every flicker of pleasure building between you like a fire catching fast.

Luca’s hands gripped your thighs now, tighter than before, but still letting you lead. His restraint was breaking—you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the sweat at his temple, the way he bit back every desperate sound like it might hold him together.

But you could feel him trembling beneath you. On the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” you whispered, voice thick with heat, “but you’re close, aren’t you?”

He nodded, eyes half-lidded, chest rising fast. “So close… fuck, Y/N…”

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his as your pace deepened, rhythm growing just a little faster, more intense.

“You don’t come,” you said, your voice a low command against his mouth, “until I tell you.”

He groaned—almost a whimper—his fingers digging into your skin. The way he held on, how he gave you that control, it turned you on even more. You were burning now, tight and aching, every grind sending sparks straight through you.

You shifted just slightly—adjusting the angle, letting your clit drag against his skin perfectly with each stroke—and your breath hitched.

“Oh—right there…”

Luca’s head dropped back, a low, broken sound escaping his lips. “Y/N—please…”

You were both close now. You could feel your orgasm coiling, sharp and hot, just under the surface. You reached down, slipping your fingers between you, circling your clit in time with your rhythm.

It didn’t take long.

You clenched around him as the first wave hit—your body tensing, your moan spilling out loud and uncontrollable. You moved through it, grinding down harder as you rode it out, trembling, eyes fluttering shut.

“Now,” you gasped, voice wrecked. “Now, baby. Let go.”

Luca surged up into you, one last desperate thrust as he spilled into you, his moan rough and raw and perfect. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot and shaky.

You stayed there for a while—panting, pressed together, the world falling away as you both came down.

When the silence settled, warm and heavy, Luca finally looked up at you, lips curving into the laziest, most satisfied smile you’d ever seen.

“You’re the best nurse I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, breathless. “Recovery’s going to take a while. Better get used to the care.”

You curled into him, your legs still tangled around his, chest pressed to his as his heartbeat gradually slowed beneath your ear. The room was warm with the afterglow, heavy with the scent of sweat and skin and something that felt like satisfaction down to the bone.

Luca let out a long, shaky breath, one hand sliding up your back lazily, the other cupping the back of your head like he never wanted to let you go.

“Jesus,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “What the hell was that?”

You smiled against his chest, pressing a slow kiss to the center of it. “That was me taking care of you.”

He let out a breathy, stunned laugh. “You mean ruining me? Because, babe… I’m gonna need another month of recovery after that.”

You lifted your head, propping yourself up on your elbow so you could look down at him. His hair was a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes still a little dazed—and that smile, god, that smile was all yours.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love every second,” you teased, brushing a fingertip along his collarbone.

“I did. I do,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious under the teasing. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone make me feel like that. You took your time… you knew exactly what I needed.”

Your expression softened too, your fingers drifting up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “You’ve been through a lot. You needed to feel wanted. In control of something again—even if I was the one calling the shots tonight.”

He pulled you down into a kiss—gentle this time, unhurried. When he pulled back, his hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“I’m seriously impressed, Y/N. That outfit, that attitude, the way you—” He broke off, shaking his head with a grin. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

You smirked. “I’ve been holding back. But don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more surprises for you.”

He groaned dramatically, pulling you in tighter. “You’re gonna kill me. I swear. I’ll die happy, but—dead.”

You snuggled into his chest, your fingers tracing slow patterns over his skin. “Nah. You’ll live. Just barely. Besides, I like having you under my care.”

He kissed your hair, voice thick with affection. “Yeah? Well… consider me your full-time patient. Forever, if that’s what it takes.”

You smiled, already plotting your next move. Maybe next time it’d be silk restraints. Or a “routine exam.” The possibilities were endless—and Luca, clearly, was more than willing.

[reidsmuse01]

"Comfort"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mentions of period and vomiting, reader being in pain, use of Y/N

Words: 600

Summary: Crippling period cramps leave you weak and nauseous, and Spencer steps in to take care of you.

a/n: This was requested by anon! Thank you, enjoy!

The pain comes in waves, sharp and unrelenting, twisting your stomach into knots. It’s bad this time—worse than usual. You had barely managed to drag yourself from bed before the nausea hit, and now you’re curled up on the bathroom floor, weak and shivering.

The sound of your phone buzzing on the counter is distant, but you know who it is before even looking. Spencer.

You reach for it with trembling fingers, barely managing to press accept before whispering, “Hey.”

There’s a pause. “(Y/N)?” His voice is already concerned, picking up on the strain in yours. “Are you okay?”

You swallow hard, closing your eyes. “Cramps,” you murmur. “Bad ones.”

Spencer is silent for half a second—calculating, probably. “Have you taken anything? Are you drinking enough water? How’s your—”

You cut him off with a weak laugh. “Spence, I can’t even move.”

That does it. “I’m coming over.”

You try to protest, but the call has already ended.

Fifteen minutes later, your apartment door swings open—thank god you gave him a key—and the sound of hurried footsteps reaches your ears. “(Y/N)?”

“In here,” you croak.

Spencer appears in the doorway, eyes scanning you with full-blown concern. He doesn’t hesitate before kneeling beside you. “You look pale,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair from your face. “Have you thrown up?”

You nod weakly.

He exhales softly and, without another word, hooks his arms beneath you, lifting you as if you weigh nothing. “Let’s get you back in bed,” he says, voice gentle.

You don’t argue. You barely have the strength to keep your eyes open as he carries you, setting you down with the utmost care. The warmth of your blankets feels heavenly as he tucks them around you.

“I brought some things,” Spencer says, reaching into his bag. “A heating pad—it helps with uterine contractions. Ginger tea for nausea. And I picked up some electrolyte water in case you’re dehydrated.”

You blink up at him. “You’re amazing.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he only smiles as he plugs in the heating pad, carefully placing it over your stomach. The warmth soothes the pain almost instantly, and you sigh in relief.

Spencer sits beside you, his hand resting lightly on your arm. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head, reaching out weakly. “Just stay?”

His expression softens. “Of course.”

He adjusts so that he’s sitting up against the headboard, letting you rest your head against his chest. His fingers stroke soothing circles against your back, and slowly, the tension in your body eases.

Spencer keeps talking—soft facts about serotonin levels and how warmth helps pain management—but his voice is low and lulling, and eventually, you drift into sleep, safe in the warmth of his arms.

[reidsmuse01]

"Grease & Sparks2" pt.2

Jim Street x Mechanic! Female! Reader

Summary: Street comes to pick up his bike from your garage with the hopes of asking you out. When you agree, there is sparks between you, and when Street's lips meet yours, he knows he is in trouble.

Warning: Flirting, some light references/illusions to sex

It was 5 days later and you heard the familiar rumble of Luca's truck outside the garage. He was dropping Street off to collect his bike.

You were closing up, wiping grease from your fingers, when the door swung open and he walked in.

Helmet under his arm. T-shirt stretched over his chest. That easy-ass smile on his face like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Is she ready for me?” Jim asked, nodding toward his bike.

“She’s purring,” you said, tossing your rag over your shoulder. “Tuned her up, replaced the clutch, adjusted the suspension too. She should feel smoother than ever.”

“I don’t know,” he teased, stepping closer. “I kind of liked the rough ride.”

You gave him a look, one that sent a flush crawling up his neck. He couldn’t help it—around you, he was all instincts and hormones.

He eyed your hands, the faint smudge of grease still on your wrist. “You look good with dirty hands.”

You smirked. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that if you want a discount.”

“Forget the discount,” he said, stepping right into your space. “What I want… is a drink with you.”

You blinked once. “A drink?”

“Yeah. Music, maybe some fries I’ll pretend I’m not stealing off your plate.”

You tilted your head. “You asking me on a date, Street?”

“Only if you say yes.”

There was something in his voice. Confidence but also a little shy. Completely sincere.

You didn’t hesitate. “Pick me up at 8.”

You hadn’t even walked out your door yet, and Jim was already regretting not dressing better.

You opened the door in tight black ripped jeans that hugged your hips like sin, a fitted black corset that left his mouth dry, and a worn-in leather jacket slung over your shoulders.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You trying to kill me?”

You smirked. “This is me going easy on you.”

He held his hand out. “Come on. Let’s see if I can keep up.”

The bar was low-lit and loud in all the right ways. A blues-rock band was jamming on the stage, guitars grinding, drums pulsing. You slid into a booth with him, legs brushing beneath the table.

“Drinks?” you asked.

“I’ll grab ‘em,” he offered, heading to the bar—only to come back seconds later.

“What, change your mind?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “Just wanted another look at you .”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

Two drinks in, you were leaned in close, laughing at some ridiculous SWAT story he told about Deacon and a taser mishap. The kind of laugh you didn’t fake—the real, belly-deep kind that made your eyes crinkle.

He stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You do this a lot?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink. “Date the girls who fix your bike?”

He shook his head, smile softening. “No. But the girl who fixed mine? She’s different.”

Something electric sparked between you. Not just attraction—connection. And he knew in that moment: he was in trouble.

The ride home was quiet in the best way. Your arms wrapped around his middle, head tucked behind his shoulder as the city lights blurred around you. His heart was pounding harder than it did during a raid.

He pulled up outside your place, engine idling low.

You climbed off, tugging your helmet off, hair a little wind-tossed, and damn if that didn’t hit him all over again.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said.

He was already looking at your mouth. “Can I do it again?”

You stepped closer. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re gonna just leave me standing here or actually kiss me goodnight.”

He didn’t need a second invitation.

His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek as he leaned in, slow and deliberate. His lips met yours like he meant it—firm, warm, a little hungry. The kind of kiss that said this is just the beginning.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “Not bad, Street.”

He grinned. “I’ve got more where that came from.”

You smirked, stepping back into your doorway. “Then you better call me.”

“I will.”

He watched until your door closed, heart beating stupid fast.

Yeah. He was already all in.

And he hadn’t even gotten to the real ride yet.

[reidsmuse01]

daddy dom spencer moodboard

[reidsmuse01]

Grease & Sparks

Jim Street x Mechanic! Female! Reader

Summary: Street brings his bike to your shop to be fixed. he doesn't expect you and he defiantly doesn't expect a spark!

Warnings: None, just some flirting!

Jim wasn’t used to trusting people with his bike.

It wasn’t just a machine to him—it was therapy. The rumble beneath him on open roads, the smell of fuel, the feeling of control when everything else in his life felt like chaos.

But something wasn’t right. A shudder in the engine. A sound that didn’t belong.

And Luca had told him, “Take it to Y/N’s garage. Trust me, she’s the only one I let touch my ride.”

But Street wasn’t expecting you.

When he pulled up, your back was to him—bent over the hood of a Camaro, tank top clinging to your skin, grease streaked across your arms. You had a socket wrench in hand and a look on your face that said you didn’t take shit from anyone.

“Yo,” he called out, pulling off his helmet, raking a hand through his hair. “I got an issue with my bike.”

You didn’t even glance up. “What’s it doing?”

“Vibrating weird. Like it wants to throw me off at 60.”

You wiped your hands, turned around and he stared.

Not because you were hot (you were), or because you had a smudge of oil on your cheek that should’ve made you look messy but somehow made you look even more dangerous.

No, he stared because of your eyes.

Sharp. Unbothered. Like you’d seen guys like him a thousand times and didn’t give a damn.

“You ride it hard?” you asked, stepping closer to the bike, finally glancing at him sideways.

Jim smirked. “You asking about the bike or me?”

That earned the smallest of smirks from you—barely there, but it lit him up like a win.

“I’m asking if you redline it like an idiot.”

“Well… yeah. Sometimes.”

You gave him a look. “Then it’s probably the crankshaft bearing. Maybe your clutch basket’s chewed up too.”

Jim blinked. “You got all that just from what I said?”

“I’ve been listening to engines longer than you’ve been riding them.”

And damn if that didn’t do something to him.

You walked around the bike, kneeling to inspect it closer, fingers brushing over the chrome. Confident. In control.

“So what’s your name, SWAT boy?”

His brows rose. “How’d you—”

“Cocky, muscle build, cop buzzcut. You scream tactical.”

He laughed. “Jim Street.”

You nodded. “Y/N. Leave her with me for a day and I’ll have her purring again.”

Jim tilted his head. “And what do I owe you for that?”

You gave him a look that made his stomach flip. “We’ll figure it out.”

He grinned. “You always this friendly to customers?”

“Only the ones with nice bikes and worse flirting skills.”

“I’ll work on that,” he said, walking backward toward the door. “Maybe stop by tomorrow and see how I’m doing?”

You just raised a brow. “Don’t keep me waiting, Street.”

And he knew—he knew—that this wasn’t just a fix-it job.

This was the start of something dangerous. And maybe a little bit perfect.

[reidsmuse01]

"Coming Home To You" Part Two

Luca x Fem Reader

Summary: After a steamy reunion turns in a lazy day, you fall in love with Luca all over again.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+, mentions of sex, smut

Part one

You didn’t make it out of bed for another hour.

Every time you tried to move, Luca was there—kissing your shoulder, running his hands along your thighs, whispering something cocky in your ear about how good you felt last night and how you looked even better this morning with his marks on your skin.

Eventually, though, the promise of coffee and the undeniable need to clean up pulled you both out from under the sheets. You shuffled to the bathroom, still sore, still smiling, and leaned over the sink in one of his old t-shirts while brushing your teeth.

You didn’t notice Luca behind you at first. Not until his hands slid up your bare thighs beneath the hem of the shirt.

“You think you’re sneaky,” you muttered through toothpaste.

“I’m not sneaky,” he replied, kissing the back of your neck. “I’m starved. I went months without this. You really think one night’s enough?”

You shivered as his hands found your hips, pulling you back against him. Even through his boxers, you could feel how ready he already was again.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mumbled.

“I am,” he agreed shamelessly, taking the toothbrush from your hand and setting it aside. “And you’re irresistible.”

He turned you toward him, lips claiming yours in a kiss that tasted like mint and coffee and home. Before you knew it, he was tugging you into the shower, the spray warming your skin as he pressed you against the glass wall.

Water streamed over both of you, but neither of you cared. Luca kissed down your neck, his big hands gliding across your wet skin with reverence, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“Turn around,” he rasped. “Hands on the wall.”

Your heart pounded as you obeyed, bracing yourself against the tile. He slid into you slowly, the water adding an extra layer of sensation as your body welcomed him again.

This time was different—needier, somehow. Not as rough. Not rushed.

Luca moved in long, deep strokes, his chest pressed to your back, lips at your ear. “I missed this. Missed you.”

You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut, letting yourself feel everything—his hands gripping your hips, the slick press of his body against yours, the low growls of pleasure he let out every time you gasped his name.

When you came, it was quiet, intense, like a wave crashing over you in slow motion. He followed with a grunt and a shudder, arms wrapping around your middle as he rested his forehead on your shoulder.

Neither of you said anything for a long moment.

Eventually, he kissed the back of your neck and whispered, “Still jelly-legged?”

“Worse,” you groaned.

He chuckled, wrapping a towel around you both before lifting you into his arms. “Guess we’re doing a lazy day.”

The rest of the day passed in a haze of warmth, skin, and tangled limbs. The two of you stayed in bed, ordering takeout you barely touched, wrapped in the comfort of being together again.

Luca never stopped touching you—fingers tracing shapes on your stomach, lips brushing over your collarbone, hand cradling your jaw every time he kissed you slow and deep.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, eyes drinking you in like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You straddled his hips, your body sinking onto his with a soft gasp, and his hands found your waist instantly. This time was slower. More intimate. He watched every movement, like he didn’t want to miss a second.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, nails dragging lightly down his chest.

“So do you,” he groaned, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb teasing your nipple. “You always do.”

The rhythm between you was lazy, sweet, almost hypnotic—skin on skin, breath against breath, the quiet creak of the bed the only sound between kisses.

When you came this time, it was with your forehead pressed to his, your name on his lips like a prayer.

Afterward, you laid on his chest, fingers tracing the scars on his arms, your bodies still tangled beneath the covers.

He stroked your hair and whispered, “Feels like we just fell in love all over again.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed.

“Maybe we did.”

[reidsmuse01]

Swat Masterlist

Dominique Luca

"The New Girl"

"Coming Home to You"

"Coming Home To You" Part Two

"You're More Than Enough"

"Please Talk To Me"

"How He Treats You on Your Period"

"You Don't Need To Cover Up The Bruises/Hickeys"

"You Find Out You're Pregnant After Years Of Trying"

“In Good Hands”

“Starving for you”

Jim Street

"Grease & Sparks"

"Grease & Sparks" pt.2

“The Camping Trip”

[reidsmuse01]

"Coming Home To You"

Luca x Fem Reader

Summary: Luca returns home from Germany and you’re the first thing he wants to do 😉😭

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, 18+, no minors

It had been months.

Too many days of lonely mornings and even lonelier nights. Too many late-night calls that ended with promises of “soon.” You had counted the weeks, the hours, the minutes. And now, he was finally on his way back from Germany.

Luca. Your Luca.

You stood in front of the mirror, breath catching as you took in your reflection. Denim shorts hugging your curves just right. A black lace corset top that showed just enough without giving away everything. And those platform black Converse he always teased you about—said they were your signature look. You didn’t dress up for just anyone. But tonight? Tonight, you wanted to knock the wind out of him.

You wanted him to see his girl standing there and forget every second he’d spent away.

Butterflies fluttered wild in your stomach as you pulled up to S.W.A.T. HQ. His flight had landed hours ago, but debriefs always came first. Still, the second the doors slid open and you spotted that familiar stride—broad shoulders, duffel slung over one arm, baseball cap pulled low—you nearly forgot how to breathe.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

You leaned against your car, trying to play it cool, until his gaze lifted.

And then everything changed.

The second his eyes locked on you, he froze mid-step. His lips parted just slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, like gravity snapped into place, he started moving faster.

“Holy sh—Y/N,” he breathed when he reached you, voice rough with disbelief and hunger. “You look…”

“Hi, baby,” you said softly, grinning as he tossed his duffel to the ground and pulled you into his arms so hard your feet left the ground.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your hair. “Missed you like crazy.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder. “It’s been too long.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you again—eyes roaming slowly over your outfit, down your legs, back up to your lips. You felt it in your stomach. That look. That heat.

“You wore this to pick me up?”

“Mm-hmm.” You smirked. “Did it work?”

Luca groaned, running a hand down your back, fingers dipping just beneath the lace. “Baby, I’m about five seconds away from forgetting where we are.”

“Well,” you whispered, close enough for your breath to tease his skin, “we could go home.”

____________

The door had barely clicked shut before Luca’s mouth was on yours again—hot, desperate, wild. You didn’t even make it all the way down the hall. He had you up against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck, breath ragged. “You wore that for me?”

“Only for you,” you whispered, voice breathy as your hands tangled in his hair. “Missed you too much not to.”

“Jesus, baby… I could’ve taken you right there in the parking lot.”

Your laugh came out as more of a whimper when his teeth grazed your collarbone. “Not exactly the homecoming I planned.”

He carried you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, tossing you gently onto the mattress. You landed with a soft gasp, back arching as you watched him strip—hat, shirt, belt—all of it hitting the floor with impatient thuds. When he looked at you again, his eyes were practically black with hunger.

“Get up here,” he growled, voice rough with need.

You scooted back onto the pillows, your denim shorts already unbuttoned, corset top half-undone from the way his hands had been all over you. He climbed over you, his body caging you in, every inch of him humming with tension. He pressed his hips down against yours and you both moaned.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered into your ear, one hand trailing down your ribs, across your stomach, slipping beneath the lace. “You’ve been on my mind every damn night. Dreamt of this. Of you.”

You tugged his boxers down just enough to feel him against your thigh—hot, hard, ready.

“Then take it,” you whispered, eyes locked with his. “I’m yours.”

That was all it took.

His mouth was everywhere—trailing down your chest, pulling the corset aside with agonizing slowness. Tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, his stubble dragging deliciously against your skin. You squirmed beneath him, moaning his name, fingers digging into his back.

When his hand slid into your panties, his breath hitched. “So wet already,” he groaned. “You missed me this much?”

You nodded, lips parting in a gasp as he slid two fingers inside, his thumb circling your clit in perfect rhythm. Your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the high you hadn’t felt in months.

“Luca—” you gasped, “I need—”

“I know,” he whispered, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “I’ve got you.”

He took his time teasing you to the edge, then pulled back just before you could fall over it. You whined in protest, but he just smirked, tugging your shorts and panties off in one slow, torturous motion. Then he lined himself up, tip teasing your entrance, waiting.

“You ready for me, baby?”

“I’ve been ready.”

He slid in slow, deep, every thick inch filling you until your back arched off the bed. The stretch, the heat—it stole the breath from your lungs. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders as he started to move, slow at first, then faster, deeper, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force.

The headboard hit the wall. The sheets tangled around you. You moaned his name again and again, barely aware of anything except the way he felt inside you, the way his lips claimed yours between thrusts, the sound of his groans as he buried his face in your neck.

“You’re mine,” he grunted, thrusts turning erratic. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, digging your nails into his back. “All yours.”

You came hard—legs shaking, body trembling, cries muffled by his shoulder. Luca followed seconds later, groaning into your neck as he spilled inside you, hips jerking with every pulse.

He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms instantly, pressing kisses to your forehead, your shoulder, your bare stomach.

“I’m never leaving again,” he whispered. “Never.”

the next morning you blinked awake slowly, muscles deliciously sore, your limbs tangled with Luca’s under the blankets. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, golden and warm—and completely at odds with the ache between your legs.

You stretched, only to groan and immediately stop. “Oh my God…”

Luca stirred, propping himself up on an elbow. His hair was a mess, stubble dark on his jaw, but that damn smirk was already in place. “Morning, sunshine.”

You glared half-heartedly. “I don’t think I can walk.”

He laughed, low and smug. “Legs feel like jelly, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing. “You broke me.”

He leaned in, brushing your hair back, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Damn right I did.”

“You might have to carry me downstairs.”

His smirk turned into a grin. “That was the plan anyway. Gonna throw you over my shoulder, caveman style.”

You groaned, hiding your face in the pillow. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

And you did. Every cocky smile, every teasing kiss, every last inch of the man who made coming home feel like the best kind of wildfire.