#//just got back from unloading the dishwasher

[mechahero]

//What's with the boop thing?

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[ceesimz]

Panna!

Not my best work, but it was fun to write nonetheless. FYI: panna means nutmeg, but it's also a playground/street football game where it is either a 1v1 or basically a huge free-for-all and you had to get as many nutmegs/pannas as possible - great memories :)

Living with Leah was a much different experience than you thought it would be.

The first time you met her she was a little shy but the more you got to know her, the more enamouring she was and before long you had completely fallen for her, as had she for you. Each date, you peeled back another layer of each other's personality and you saw a side to her that was inexplicably softer than the sometimes rather grumpy, stoic demeanor she had for her career. It was easy to like her, adore her, and eventually love her, and you made sure to offer her a safe space for her to let go in when she was away from the view of the public. She did the same for you, allowing you to switch off when you needed to in her presence. Ultimately, the relationship was so rewarding and comforting, it seemed almost too good to be true. In moments of self-doubt and insecurity, you felt like you were just waiting for the shoe to drop.

And when you moved into your new house together, that shoe did indeed drop, but in a way you didn't expect.

As time went on of you sharing the same space, an extremely irritating side of Leah came out in full force. You had seen glimpses of it so far of course, and it never failed to make you laugh, but living with her? It was next level.

Leah seemed to embody the nature of that of an annoying younger sibling or a tiresome teenager who had a maddening addiction to just being absolutely infuriating. When she was in a certain type of giddy mood, this habit seemed to reach new heights. You loved it, but sometimes it felt like you were going to explode with the aggravation you felt towards her.

You know that saying of if you don't react, they'll get bored and stop? Yeah, that didn't apply to Leah.

"Leah, I'm trying to cook dinner, put the football away please." You started out by asking her politely as you manned the pasta in the pot on the hob, your girlfriend doing kick-ups by the fridge.

"I'm alright here, babe. I won't get in your way, swear. Just wanna be with you, and I am bored." That's kind of sweet, you guess.

Deciding that the pasta can survive without constant surveillance, you step away from it to unload the dishwasher but clearly Leah doesn't agree with that.

"Nah, forget that, I'll do it later. Come here, one versus one." She grins, quickly flicking the ball between each foot.

"And why would I do that as someone who doesn't even know which foot to use?" You raise an eyebrow and stand across from her with your hands on your hips.

"Bit of fun, babe, lighten up. Let's do a game of panna." She teases, passing the ball to you. "You first."

"What is panna?" You frown, confused.

"Just try to nutmeg me." Leah rolls her eyes, though she knows your knowledge of football lacks compared to her as someone who lives and breathes the sport and has done all her life.

You squint your eyes sceptically at her, before slowly inching towards her and attempting to dribble the ball the way you've seen her do it probably a million times. However, as soon as you get close, she removes any gap between her feet and instead stands like a penguin.

"How am I supposed to nutmeg you when you stand like that?" You scoff, but she just smirks smugly at you and shrugs.

"No one likes a quitter."

"No one likes a stubborn girlfriend that forces her girlfriend to play a game that's impossible to win." You hit back, and a smile tugs at your lips as you see Leah suppress a laugh.

"Fine, let me go against you." She steals the ball from your feet in the blink of an eye, and now the cards are stacked impossibly against you.

"Right, 'cause this is totally fair."

You roll your eyes but nevertheless prepare to defend your pride against the decorated footballer that stands before you. This little stand off lasts all of two minutes as Leah performs as many standing tricks as she can - it's hard not to laugh because, despite the talent she's portraying, it just looks like the result of a button-spamming FIFA player.

Finally though, you gain the confidence to lunge at her to get the ball back, but Leah of course spots this immediately, and flip-flaps the ball straight between your legs.

"Panna! You just got your shit rocked, baby." She celebrates as if her performance wasn't as easy as stealing candy from a baby. You watch as she cheers quietly to herself under her breath and dances like a fool. If the world could see her now, you think.

Feeling slightly humbled, you go back to your place at the stove, finding comfort in your cooking skills at least.

...This oddly felt like you were playing into some kind of stereotype.

"Put the ball away now, please." You tell her once more, but as ever her ego takes no prisoners.

"Aw, is someone's ego hurt?" Leah pouts pitifully at you, her hands falling to your waist when she stands behind you. You weren't having it though, not when she had humiliated you purely for her own ego.

"No, I just have many dangerous weapons in my arsenal here and I wouldn't want the leader of England to come to any harm." You return the patronising pout on her face, swatting away her hands and wagging the pasta ladle you had just pulled from the boiling pan in her face.

"Alright, message heard." She walks away with her hands surrendered.

For the next five minutes that the spaghetti spends boiling, you both exist civilly in the same area whilst doing different things. You're preparing for dinner as Leah is of course dilly-dallying with the football again. Each punt against the ball as she does kick-ups or ridiculous little tricks slowly grinds your gears, until she eventually begins occupying floor space in the kitchen that she obviously knows you'll use.

"Move, please, I need to drain this pasta." You say initially, a bit of bite to it but not as much as you easily could reach. However, she doesn't move, and instead gets in the way even more. "I have a pot full of boiling water here, move!"

You shoved past her where she was messing around with the ball near the sink, a shit-eating grin on her face which its only purpose is to infuriate you more. She does move out the way though, lifting the ball up into her arms with the foot, but she only steps so far away.

"What are we having?" She asked in an all too innocent voice, watching as you drained the pasta - the aggression you did this simple task with probably should have been a warning sign to her. But that had never stopped her before.

"Spaghetti, what does it look like?" You shake your head at her. "And you will eat it this time."

You were yet another unfortunate victim to Leah's limited and fussy palate.

"Not my fault you used a rank sauce last time. You better have gotten a new one." She grumbled like a picky toddler, starting her kick-ups again right in front of the next cupboard you need to get into.

"Put that fucking ball away before I stab a knife into it." You snap, pushing her out of the way with one hand and getting out the aforementioned new sauce. "See? Is this better for you, princess?"

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that, sweetheart." Leah smirks, referencing the sassy tone and mocking pet name you used for her as you shoved the jar into her face to prove a point.

"I'd like to see you try." You scoff, heading back over to the stove.

She falls suspiciously silent as you put the spaghetti and sauce into the pan. You try to pay no notice, watching out of your peripheral vision as she slowly makes her way back over with her hands behind her back.

"What are y-"

You're disrupted by her kicking the ball in between your legs, it clunking scarily loud against the glass door of the oven.

"Another one! Call me Ronal-fucking-dhino!" Leah laughs giddily, scampering away like a naughty child.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself so that you didn't chase after her with one of the multiple weapons within reach around you.

However, sticking true to your threat, you grabbed a knife from the draining board beside the sink and sunk it into the ball that had been the bane of your existence for the past however long it's been in Leah's possession. It wasn't a sentimental object, you wouldn't do that to her, thankfully it was just a ball she had picked up from the supermarket one day she had been determined to tag along as you did the grocery shop. The poor thing let out its final breath as the air puffed out of it, a sign you had won the battle. With a slightly manic grin, you went on making the rest of the meal as if nothing had happened.

Luckily you were able to cook the dinner without any further childish interruptions, though you did have half a mind to pour the whole shaker of salt onto her portion. But no, you can rise above this kind of behaviour. A household prank war against this woman-child could lead to an unfortunate break-up. Though you did just get an adrenaline rush from murdering a harmless football, so maybe it was already on.

"Leah, come here and sort your cheese out." You shout into the apartment, not a clue where she had gone off too.

Although, you forgot the scene she would walk into, only realising when a sharp gasp sounds through the room.

"What... the hell did you do?" Leah whispers in a dramatically heartbroken voice, kneeling to the ground and delicately picking up the punctured ball. You turned and rolled your eyes at the sight that met you, forever astonished at the theatrics this girl pulls off.

"Better a ball than your head." You mutter under your breath. "Sort your dinner out, I'm not being blamed for ruining it this time."

You took your bowl and walked past where she was still on the ground, nudging her shoulder with your knee as you went by to push her over. Okay, maybe you did have tendencies similar to hers.

Leah joins you on the couch a few moments later, an embarrassingly scarce amount of parmesan in her bowl as she slumps down next to you with a groan.

"I'm not watching this right now, I don't want to participate in a fucking reading lesson whilst I'm eating!" Leah complains at the choice of TV show you'd picked for this evening: Narcos.

"Tough, I cooked so I choose." You shrugged and pressed play, the characters immediately talking in thick and fast Spanish that, despite the English subtitles, is too much for your poor girlfriend to deal with right now.

"That's not fair, you always cook." She grumbles, stabbing her fork aggressively into her food. You pause the show at that statement, turning to look at her with a face that conveyed pure and unfiltered rage.

"Did you seriously just complain that I always cook?" You question in a frighteningly passive tone. Leah glances at you from the corner of her eye, not daring to turn away from her bowl. "Really, Leah?

She grimaces at the use of her name when you probe her for an answer. All day, she had been toeing a fine line, pressing all the wrong buttons, and pushing her luck with you. This time though, she'd really done it.

"Watch whatever you want, I'm not eating with you." You stand up from your seat on the sofa and storm away to the bedroom, leaving a glum and regretful Leah in the lounge who does in fact change the show on TV.

Was it an overreaction? In an hour, you'll probably think so. But right now you couldn't bear to look at the woman downstairs. You both eat, sad and alone, in your separate rooms to think over your actions.

In fact, no, you didn't overreact. You were entirely in your right to get angry over a throw-away statement that Leah had made just to win one back against you. Her immature attitude and competitive nature took over and she made an unnecessary comment about an action you not only enjoyed doing anyway, but enjoyed doing for her. So, whilst Leah thought back on how she should have behaved better, verbalised herself better, you were satisfied with your actions.

When there was a quiet knock at the bedroom door twenty minutes later as you lay in bed on your phone, bowl on the floor and meal happily consumed, you gave no answer. Leah came in anyway, a sheepish and guilty look on her face.

"May I come in?" She asks shyly, only her head in view.

"As long as you promise to not be a complete arsehole to me anymore." You grumble, not looking at her.

"I promise, love. I am sorry. I have things to make up for my utterly stupid behaviour." She says, and that does pique your interest.

You grunt in affirmation, and the door opens to reveal her holding a few items: your favourite candle from the lounge, a hot chocolate, your favourite cookies, and the oil you often used to massage Leah whenever her muscles were giving her some discomfort.

"Maybe I could give you a massage, babe? I am sorry. I appreciate all you do for me, I was just being an idiot before who didn't know when to stop. I love that you cook for me, and eating dinner with you at the end of a long day is one of my favourite things, genuinely. I'm really sorry for making that stupid comment, I am." Leah tells you softly, an air of desperation to her voice. Through all the times she loves to piss you off, nothing made her feel worse than when you truly got angry at her.

"You must really be sorry if you're letting me eat in bed." You comment quietly, referring to the pack of cookies in her arms. She smiles and nods, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed beside you.

"I am sorry. Get crumbs everywhere if you want, get your revenge." She replies and a weight lifts off her chest when you giggle slightly. "I love you, truly, madly, deeply. I'm so grateful for you and everything you do."

You reluctantly smile up at her from where you lay, then roll your eyes and hold your arms out for her.

"Come here, you massive idiot." You mutter, watching amused as she rushes to put her things on the bedside table before diving on top of you. "You're a wanker, number six."

Leah laughs into the pillow at the reference, nodding her head in agreement. She turns her face into your neck and places a few light, apologetic kisses there.

"I am." She murmurs, sighing a little and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "I wouldn't appreciate it if you started shouting that at my football games though."

"I don't appreciate you reciting a ninety's song in your apology though. Get some original material next time." You hit back, a smug grin on your face as she laughs again.

"I'll sing it for you if you want." Leah offers, voice slightly muffled by your neck as your body shakes with laughter.

"I think that would reverse all your efforts." You say, her humming in agreement. "Now, did you say something about a massage?"

The next morning, Leah believes all is forgiven from the previous night. But just to be sure, she hops out of bed since she's the first to wake up and decides to bring you a coffee in bed before you both were due to go out for breakfast with friends. It's a delight you welcome immediately, sighing contently when the hot mug is placed into your hands as you sit up against the headboard. Leah joins you in bed again, copying your position, and wraps an arm around you as well as kissing your forehead. She mumbles a few more words of apology into your ear as you drink, ensuring that you know how grateful she is for everything you do. You also welcome that with open arms, happy to hear her feelings towards you when she's not being an irritating little pest.

She watches you the whole time you get dressed for the day, and there's a soft smile on her face as she stood in the bathroom doorway whilst you put your earrings in, the finishing touch of your outfit. You mirror the smile she wears when she steps forward and wraps her arms around your waist, murmuring endless compliments into your ear that send shivers down your spine. It's a sickeningly sweet moment, it would rot any witnesses' teeth had they been there to see it, but it's perfect and it's the couple that you recognise rather than the bickering one from the previous night.

You exit the bathroom together, your fingers intertwined as Leah leads you down the stairs. Though, just as you're about to leave, you spot a smudge mark on your cheek from your mascara in the mirror by the door, so you stop to fix it. Leah, with the patience of a toddler, somehow finds yet another ball and it's one you can't stab this time since it's a Euros 2022 ball. Even though she has just done her hair, begging you to straighten it for her, she starts doing headers. And that's where the morning takes a turn for the worst.

When you'd finished fixing your makeup, you head to the downstairs bathroom to quickly wash your hands. Then you hear a panicked shout, followed by a loud bang, and lastly the sound of glass smashing. Instinctively, you rush out the room to see if Leah's okay, thinking the worst, but it seems that the only damage she has is to her ego. And, subsequently, to her relationship.

The sight that greets you fills you with more fury than you'd ever felt in your life. Your mirror, the antique one you had been adamant at buying when decorating the house, lay broken on the ground. The frame was cracked, it was surrounded by glass, and the ball laying next to it was very clearly the offending weapon. The culprit cowered in the corner of the hallway, looking at you and waiting for a reaction.

And boy did it come.

The walls of the house shook with the scale of your voice as Leah flinched like she was physically impacted by each punch that your words delivered. Nothing offensive or harmful was said of course, but your language was certainly colourful and impactful. Each word was spat with a lethal amount of venom, and Leah wasn't sure she would ever see the light of day again; living a life banished to her house, individually glueing each piece of the mirror back together as you endlessly lecture her. Eventually though, you did have to take a breath. Leah took one at the same time, though she was a shell of herself as you glared at her.

Composing yourself, you stepped over the mess and opened the front door before turning to Leah with an unnerving smile. She smiled anxiously back at you, and it took everything in you not to laugh at the nervous, apologetic look on her face. At least she knew she had messed up.

The next time you speak, it's like nothing had happened, and that fills Leah with more fear than she'd ever felt in her life. She knows she's in for it when you get back later.

"Come on, my love, we have a breakfast date to attend."

[thewulf]

Never Let You Go || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Hiya! Can i request an angsty/fluffy aaron fic?Aaron and reader get into a fight because reader has been ignoring hotch since he forgot her birthday (its been a week after at that point) so he confronts her and they fight.... Read Rest Here

A/N: You guys have the best requests. Please keep sending them in. Hope you like a good little hurt/comfort.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

TW: Yelling, intentional hurt

It was a rainy Saturday night when your heart broke for the hundredth time under the false promises from your longtime boyfriend, Aaron. You knew what you were getting into when you got into the relationship all those years ago. You knew he worked long hours. You knew he had a son who was his, and now your, priority. You knew he would have to cancel plans, dates, anniversaries. You knew it all. What you didn’t expect was him to forget about your birthday completely. He was home, at the BAU, and worked late instead of coming home and taking you out. You had plans! But he just… forgot.

It wasn’t until you brought it up the next day, mumbling it to him with a saddened look did he recognize he had forgotten. What broke your heart was the fact that he didn’t even make up for it. He didn’t get you flowers or a gift or even apologize. He just… moved on. And you had no idea how much it bothered you until that fateful Saturday night as the rain poured down. You were angry at him. You had accepted the misses and the cancelations. What you couldn’t get over was the fact that he had forgotten it completely and didn’t even want to make it right.

When you heard the lock twist and Aaron entered your shared residence all you wanted to do was run away from him. You didn’t want to talk to him. You didn’t even want to look at him. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to be with him anymore.

When he walked into the kitchen you turned away, busying yourself with unloading the dishwasher.

“Hey baby.” He walked over to you giving you a hug from behind. Aaron wasn’t remiss to the way you tensed under his touch. How you simply mumbled something incoherent to him. It was when you pushed him away did he finally realize something was off.

“Honey, what’s up?” He asked.

Was he playing dumb? Did he really not know just how deeply he had hurt you by ignoring something you loved so much? You knew it was silly, but birthdays were your thing. You were the friend who went all out for others. You just wanted someone to celebrate you the way you had to others, especially Aaron.

You felt tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as your brain got yourself worked up. Maybe it was best to just keep quiet because you had no idea if you could hold back the waterworks. So, instead of answering him you simply walked away. Your momma always taught you it was best to not get into an argument when you were feeling emotional about the situation.

But that seemed to set him off further. You had been cold to him all week. Not greeting him like you normally did. Not leaving out his dinner like you so often would when he worked late. Yet you just couldn’t seem to care. If he didn’t care for you why should you return the favor?

He couldn’t take it anymore. So, he snapped at you. "Are you ever going to talk to me?" Aaron's voice breaks the suffocating silence in the home, the frustration evident in his tone. You were thankful Jack was sleeping over at a friend’s house now. You knew the inevitable fight was bound to happen.

You sat down on the couch, but you didn’t dare turn to face him. "What's there to talk about?" Your voice is icy, the bitterness seeping through each word.

Aaron took a step closer to you, the distance between you feeling like an icy rift he wasn’t quite used to with you. "You know exactly what we need to talk about," he retorts, his patience wearing thin. "You've been ignoring me ever since—"

"Since you forgot my birthday?" You cut him off sharply, your voice laced with resentment. "Yeah, I remember. You’re a profiler. Profile it Aaron." Venom was laced in your voice as you finally made eye contact.

His jaw clenches at the reminder, guilt gnawing at his insides. He messed up, and he knows it. And he knew he had been ignoring it. Ignoring the subtle signs, you left him. He knew how important these things were to you. And he took the cowards route of simply trying to ignore it. He knew better than to do that with you. He had been taking advantage of your kindness thinking you would simply ignore it. But you were reaching your breaking point. And he was exhausted from work. He simply knew this wasn’t about to be a good conversation.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He offered. But the effort felt hallow.

You shook your head blinking back the tears. “You’re just saying that because I’m angry! You had no intention of making it right Aaron!” You hardly ever raised your voice yet here you were, yelling at the man who looked overly tired. He rarely brought home his work with him, but it must’ve been something about his last case that had ravaged him.

He let out a rather obvious sigh of frustration, clearly exhausted. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You bit back the harsh words you wanted to use. “I wanted you to remember! To apologize for forgetting. I want you to pretend like you give a single shit about me! You couldn’t even remember my birthday?” That was a low blow, and you knew it yet somehow you couldn’t care.

Things were bound to spiral when you saw the anger in his gaze. “I apologized! If you didn’t make such a big deal about something so small this wouldn’t even be a problem. I’m starting to see why I forgot.”

It felt like the wind was knocked out of you right then and there. Each word feeling like another dagger to your already broken heart. Physically, you recoiled as if he had hit you, your eyes were wide with disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that.” You stood from the couch knowing you were going to run away from him. Your voice wavered just above a whisper as you spoke.

Regret washed over his face as he heard your floundering voice. He had taken it too far. Gone a step further than he needed. He crossed that invisible line that held the relationship together. “Baby… I didn’t mean it like that.” His eyes were wide as he reached for you. But you wouldn’t let him touch you, no. Not after those comments. “I’m just tired and frustrated and I just wanted to hold you tonight. I hate that we are fighting over something so stupid. But baby, I don’t know how to fix this. Tell me what I need to do.”

You shook your head rapidly frustrated beyond belief with him. “Something so stupid?” Your voice gave way to the weakness you felt in the moment, “My birthday is stupid now?”

Your words hung heavy in the air between the two of you. Aaron felt that lump form in his throat knowing he had used the wrong words yet again. It felt like he was being crushed over the weight of his mistakes now.

Before he can find the words to respond, you turn on your heel, your shoulders slumped with defeat. "I'm not so sure if there's anything left to fix," you say softly before walking away, leaving him standing alone in the wreckage of your shattered relationship in the living room of your home.

As he watches you disappear down the hallway, Aaron knows that he has lost more than just an argument. He has lost a piece of your heart, and he isn't sure if he will ever be able to win it back. But he is determined to try, no matter what it takes. Because you were worth fighting for, worth every moment of pain and heartache it would take to earn your forgiveness. And as he stood there alone in the empty room, Aaron vowed to do whatever it takes to make things right again. Even if it means confronting the darkest parts of himself and facing the harsh truth of his own shortcomings.

The silence in the house is deafening as Aaron stands outside the closed bedroom door, his heart heavy with regret. He can feel the weight of his mistakes coming own on him, each passing second only serving to deepen the ache in his chest. With a trembling hand, he reaches out and knocks softly on the door, the sound reverberating through the empty hallway. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely above a hoarse murmur. "Let me in."

There is no response from the other side, no indication that you have even heard him. But Aaron refuses to give up hope. He knows he has hurt you, but he can't bear the thought of losing you, not now, not ever. And you laid there in your bed, hurting beyond measure trying to ignore the man you loved more than life itself.

"Please, just talk to me," he pleads, his voice cracking with every emotion. "I know I screwed up, but I'm begging you, give me a chance to make it right. Please baby."

Still, there is nothing but silence from the other side of the door, and Aaron feels his heart sink even further. He presses his forehead against the cool wood, his chest constricted with the weight of his longing. You wanted to forgive him, to let him in. But you couldn’t, not yet. No matter how desperate he sounded.

"I can't do this without you," he pleads, his voice barely a whisper. "You mean everything to me, and I'll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. Just... please, let me in." He tries once more to get you to crack. And it worked. You’d never heard him so desperate. His voice so raw with emotion.

For what felt like an eternity, there was no response, and Aaron feared that he had lost you for good. But just as he is about to give up hope, he hears the faint sound of movement from within the room, followed by the soft click of the door unlocking. As much as you wished you knew you couldn’t ice him out completely. You had both thrown unkind words at the other

His heart leaps with hope as the door cracks open, revealing your tear-streaked face, your eyes red and puffy from crying. Aaron's breath catches in his throat at the sight of you, his heart breaking at the pain he has caused. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I never meant to hurt you. Please, let me make it right."

You hesitate for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, with a resigned sigh, you step aside, silently inviting him into the room. Without a second thought, Aaron crosses the room, pulling you into his arms with a fierce, desperate longing. He holds you close, his heart overflowing with gratitude as he vows to never hurt you like he had just done.

As Aaron holds you tightly against him, he feels the weight of your sorrow pressing against his chest. He can sense the tremors wracking your body, the silent sobs that wring tears from your eyes, and it tears at his soul with a sharp, agonizing ache. "I'm not supposed to be the one who makes you cry," he whispers, his voice thick with remorse. "I'm the one who's supposed to dry your eyes, to chase away your tears, not cause them."

His words hang heavy in the air between you, a painful reminder of the mistakes he had made. He had never wanted to hurt you, never imagined that his actions could bring you to such sadness. And yet, here you are, crumbling in his arms, your heart laid bare for him to see. "I'm so sorry baby," he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head as you bury your face against his chest, your tears soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right, I promise."

But his assurances feel hollow, meaningless in the face of your pain. He knows that mere words are not enough to mend the wounds he has inflicted, that it will take more than empty promises to earn your forgiveness. For he had let you down so many times before. As Aaron holds you close, he knows that his actions will speak louder than any words he could offer. He will need to show you, day by day, that he is truly sorry, that he is committed to making amends and rebuilding the trust he has shattered.

He begins by being there for you in every way that he could possibly be, anticipating your needs before you even have to ask. He cooked your favorite meals, not because he wants to impress you, but because he wants to show you that he does in fact care about you. He knows you more than you knew yourself.  He listens to you, really listens, to every word you speak, hanging on to your every thought and feeling, eager to understand the depths of your sadness caused by him.

He showers you with small gestures of affection, leaving little notes around the house, reminding you of his love and devotion. He holds your hand when you walk as a reassurance that he will always be by your side, no matter what.

But most importantly, he gives you space when you need it, allowing you the time and freedom to heal at your own pace. He doesn't push you to forgive him, doesn't demand your trust before you are ready. Instead, he remains patient, steadfast in his determination to prove himself worthy of your love once more. And as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, Aaron watches with bated breath as the walls you had erected around your heart begin to crumble. He sees the flicker of hope in your eyes, the tentative smile that graces your lips more and more often. He sees you returning to the light he had let burn out.

And when you finally reach out to him with a certain uncertainty, Aaron knows that he has been given a second chance. A chance to rebuild what they had lost, stronger and more resilient than ever before. And so he takes your hand in his vowing to never let you go, to cherish you, to protect you, to love you with every fiber of his being. As you walk hand in hand into the future, Aaron knows that you have weathered the storm together. The two of you emerged on the other side, whole once more.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

Request Taglist: @spookyparadisesheep @nelliebug18 @fictionallifestuff

[girlgenius1111]

she'll be the best you ever had if you let her

r recovers from her injury. and realizes she may not be ask okay as she says she is with what Alexia did.

angst, fluff. hurt comfort. you know the drill :)

Recovering from a concussion was hard, even when you hadn't been in a coma because of it. You'd never before struggled this hard in the few days following an injury. You felt like your body was betraying you: you were constantly tired, and your brain felt like mush.

Alexia seemed determined to prove herself to you, waiting on you hand and foot. She could tell that, although you'd forgiven her, you were still hurt by what she'd done, still holding back from her, just a little.

The few days following your return from the hospital were pretty rough. You were bored, in pain, clingy, and irritable; all of which Alexia had to balance with going to training.

-----

On your 3rd day home, you woke up as you normally did, with your head aching, to the sound of Alexia's alarm. You groaned into your pillow, the noise making the pounding in your head worse.

"Buenos días bebita," Alexia called softly, after turning the alarm off, placing a hand on your back. You rolled on your side to look at her, cracking your eyes open only slightly. She rubbed your cheek gently, watching as your brow uncreased at her motions. "How are you feeling today?"

"Hurts." you responded, as was customary. She'd asked you the same question the past 2 mornings, and you'd given the same answer.

"I'm sorry, amor," she said, leaning forward to gently kiss your forehead. She'd been incredibly gentle with you since you'd come home, her touches featherlight. You leaned into her, wrapping your arms around her waist to tug her closer. She smiled against your forehead, hugging you back.

"When d'you have to go?" You mumbled, from your spot nestled against her chest.

"A half hour. I should get up now, and you should go back to sleep."

You lightly pecked her jaw, before rolling over and tucking your head back against your pillow, pulling the blankets up tight around your shoulders.

You drifted in and out as Alexia got ready to go, barely grunting out a goodbye when she tucked you in tighter, before telling you she was leaving.

Alexia was trying not to hover; she knew you hated that. She was so worried though, all the time. You were recovering well, but your head clearly still hurt, you had a hard time thinking straight, and you had to be careful about the dizzy spells you'd been experiencing. All of it was normal, and would improve as your concussion did; this, however, did not make you feel any better, or any less frustrated with yourself. As she left the house she hoped that you'd have a better day today.

-----

A better day did not seem to be in the cards for you. Once Alexia left, you couldn't fall back asleep, missing the warmth of her body snuggled up next to you. You were exhausted, but you tossed and turned for an hour, before giving up and slowly making your way downstairs. You ate something, before moving to the couch. You did fall back asleep there, but when you woke up, you were groggy, it had been hours, and Alexia was due home any minute.

You'd wanted to do something today. A load of laundry, or unload the dishwasher. You felt like you were slacking off, and you hated not doing things. More than that, you hated feeling too reliant on someone, and you didn't want Alexia to get annoyed with you for being useless. You didn't let yourself think about why you were so worried about that: you'd told Alexia you'd forgiven her, and you had. That didn't mean that it didn't still hurt, or still scare you.

You'd slept the entire half a day away, and you wouldn't have any time to do any of the things you'd wanted to. Still, you got up, thinking that you could maybe make Alexia a snack before she arrived. As you walked, a wave of dizziness hit you and you stumbled, before losing your footing and collapsing into the wall. You let yourself sink to the floor in the hallway, fighting back tears.

Everything was so hard, and you were so desperate to do something normal, just one time. But you couldn't even walk to the kitchen without ending up on the ground.

Keeping in tune with the days events, you heard the front door open, and the sound of your girlfriend entering the house. She softly called out for you, not wanting to wake you, but not seeing you on the couch. You took a deep breath before answering, knowing that she would freak out when she saw you on the ground.

"I'm here, Ale," you responded, and as Alexia made her way to you, she noted the dejection clear in your tone. Once she spotted you, though, all she felt was panic.

"Amor! What are you doing on the floor?" She said, all but running over to where you sat, leaned against the wall, chin resting on your knees.

"Got dizzy," you told her, trying to keep yourself together. Alexia already had to deal with the fallout of this stupid injury, she didn't need to deal with your chaotic emotions too.

"Did you fall? Did you hit your head?" She asked, worry filling every part of her being.

"No, I just kind of tripped. I didn't hit my head."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Alexia, I think I would have noticed if I hit the part of my body that throbs at all times," you snapped, immediately regretting it when you saw the blonde's face fall. "Sorry," you said quietly.

"It's alright, y/n. Let's get you off the floor, okay?" Alexia responded, shaking off your apology. It made sense to her that you were frustrated, she couldn't blame you. "Can you walk?"

You tried to stand, feeling the dizziness come hurtling back, before you sunk back down to the ground, biting your lip as you shook your head.

If Alexia noticed your semi-emotional state, she elected to ignore it, instead easily lifting you off the ground and carrying you back to the couch. She placed you in the corner of the sectional, her favorite spot, and your heart melted, just a little, at the gesture.

You took in her appearance, freshly showered and dressed in comfy clothes. Her hair smelled like green tea oil, and the scent wafted into your nose, filling your body with warmth. Not saying a word, Alexia wiped away the tears that had fallen off your face with the pads of her thumbs, pulling the blanket you'd been using earlier over your legs almost absentmindedly. She patiently waited until the world stopped spinning before speaking again.

"Were you going to the kitchen?" she asked. "Did you want something from in there?"

"I was going to make you a snack," you mumbled back.

"Amor, you don't need to do that, you should be resting," Alexia scolded softly.

"All I do is rest. I just wanted to do something for you," you cried. Alexia was looking at you closely, seemingly confused at your desperate need to do something for her.

"Why?" she questioned.

"Because, Ale, you're doing too much for me. It's not fair. I'm not doing enou- anything in return." Alexia caught what you were going to say; you weren't doing enough. Things were starting to make more sense.

"I'm taking care of you," she replied, "that's my job as your girlfriend. Because I love you, and I care about you. You don't need to do anything in return for that, mi amor."

She paused, watching as you didn't reply, looking anywhere but at her.

"What's going on, niña bonita?"

"I don't want you to get tired taking care of me and break up with me again," you murmured, voice cracking slightly as pain spasmed across your face. Alexia felt her heart fall out of her chest.

"No, mi niña, no. I'm not going to get tired of you, ever."

You didn't look convinced. "Those days where we weren't together were awful, Ale, I don't think I could do that again,"

Alexia had never felt guiltier in her life. She scooted closer to you, turning your face to look at her. Her touch was soft, her gaze even softer.

"You won't ever have to do that again. I'm so sorry I put you through that, cariño. I promise, what I did had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. You are perfect. I could never get tired of you, and I am not going to break up with you again. Te prometo que." Alexia vowed, and you nodded your head once, leaning into her. She held you easily, kissing the top of your head repeatedly, thinking for a minute as you stayed silent.

"I know I messed up, and I know everything isn't going to be perfect right away, but I promise, I will prove to you that I'm here for good," Alexia said into your hair.

"I trust you," you told her, voice shaking slightly. "I'm just a little scared I guess."

"I know, amor. That's okay, you can be scared. I'll be right here, though, even when you're scared."

"Te amo mucho, Alexia," you said, sitting back to look into her eyes. You wanted her to know that you loved her and trusted her, even if you were still hurt from what she'd done.

If the watery eyes were any indication, she got the message. You only spoke spanish occasionally, when you were saying something you really wanted her to understand. You telling her that you loved her in her language was one of her favorite things.

She kissed you, then, harder than she'd dared to in days, yet still cupped your face with her hands like you were made of glass. You kissed her back, just as hard, ignoring the pain in your head. Sometimes, a little pain was worth it.

-----

[hachixko]

Breaking Dishes

Summary: You send your boyfriend Sukuna a text you instantly regret.

MDNI

WC: 1355

You bite your lip nervously eyeing the door to the shared apartment for probably the fifth time in the last fifthteen minutes. You fucked up. You fucked up badly. Half of you wishes you had a time machine to correct your mistakes. Like really wished. There are no sorries when it comes to your boyfriend. He believes strongly that whenever someone says something they mean it. He isn't wrong. You meant it in the moment, but certainly not now. You only said it to get him angry. The bratty part of you is still relishing in the fact you got a rise out of your usually level headed man. Your level headed man that was definitely on his way to fuck your shit up. 

You check your phone again to see no new notifications. Just the last message he sent before you squealed and tossed your phone on the bed. Standing up and walking into the kitchen you shakily pour a glass of water just to give yourself something to do. It was a petty argument. Of all the things. The fucking dishwasher is what you decide to argue about. Not barely seeing each other for the last two weeks (only in passing), not the endless late nights out, not the lack of phone calls and communication. The fucking dishwasher.

You've reminded him time and time again just to unload the dishes, He remembers to do everything except that. Cooks you dinner before heading out to work, stuffs your messenger bag with your favorite snacks before you head to your classes, takes out the trash and even folds your laundry from time to time. You probably shouldn't have even got as angry as you were in the first place.

Is it that fucking hard to unload the dishwasher Sukuna?

You watch as within the minute your message is marked as seen and within that same minute three dots jump rhythmically as he types his response.

On my way to fix that rn.

You know he's not talking about the dishwasher. 

He's talking about your attitude.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the lock on the front door turns. You suddenly hate the open layout of your apartment, Wishing there was a wall that blocked out the living room. You make eye contact with him as he locks the door behind him before stalking into the kitchen. Clearing your throat you push back some of the flyaways from your messy bun suddenly feeling cold in your pink slip nightgown. You try to damage control as he clears the living room in long unhurried strides.

“Uhm im sorry. S-shouldnt have lashed out like that. I-”

You think he's reaching for the dishwasher but he grabs you by your hips and pins you over it. The cool granite makes you shiver as he rests his weight against  you. You squeak when he pushes your legs together tightly. You try again.

“Kuna i'm really sorr”

“I dont give a shit how sorry you are” He sighs out boredly before pushing your short nightgown over your plush rear. You gasp when he squats down without warning. Warm palms on your ass spread you so far your nether lips separate and your pussy is on full display for him. “I wanna know how sorry she is about that fucking attitude.” 

You moan loudly when a familiar pierced tongue finds your clit. Tracing it lightly before he presses a wet smooch against your folds. Instead of giving your clit the attention it so desperately needs he turns his head and kisses your left thigh. You try to spread your legs and he chuckles “Mmm keep your legs closed baby” he speaks into your pussy before turning away again and kissing your right thigh. You feel him smile when you shuffle your legs a little closer. You can't help but be a little fidgetly. He has your pussy spread and hes just-

“Fuck”

Tongue fucking you. 

You try to reach for anything to keep grounded as he groans into your slick. Moving his head with tongue. Alternating between burying his tongue into your cunt and placing wet open mouth kisses around your entrance. Rising on your tiptoes and whimpering when an arm locks around the front of your thighs pulling you more fully into his face. Moving his tongue in and out your hole at a fast pace. And there's still no stimulation on your clit but it's okay. If he keeps this up you can cum like this. One of his hands is sliding up between your thighs. You barely pay mind to it too busy grinding your ass into him finding a rhythm where your practically fucking his face. He pulls away from you watching your hole clench around nothing. Desperate to be filled. His eyes drop down to your clit. Swollen and almost pulsing with need. 

Smirking he slides the hand in between your thigh higher watching you pathetically rub your clit against it. It's not really enough to get you off but it's still entertaining to watch you try. You let out a frustrated groan before stomping your foot and he checks that fast by unexpectedly sliding two fingers into your cunt and just as quickly they're gone. He thinks he knows exactly what you need when you let out a frustrated huff. 

“Quiet the temper tantrum for such a needy fucking pussy sweetheart.”

There's a loud smack on your ass before he pulls back spitting on pussy before standing. You whine when you hear him unzip his jeans and there's another smack on the opposite cheek. The pierced head of his cock finds your entrance and you feel tears spring from your eyes as a hand settles on to the back of your neck.

Your cheek is pressed into the cold granite with a squeeze. Mouth hanging open in a silent moan as he sinks into you in one fluid stroke and stills. Trembling you reach a hand behind to rest on his stomach. Freshly manicured french tips curl into his black shirt and pull him into you  because forget the trash-dishes you just missed him and his dick. You really didnt give a fuck about the dishwasher. Leaning over you Sukuna chuckles at your senseless tears. 

“Your such a fucking brat you know that?” He murmurs into your ear as you still try to adjust to him. You can barely hear him over the sound of your own heart beating so loudly. You can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks because he's not moving. He's just watching you struggle to take him. Sukuna kisses your ear before his tongue traces your upper ear. Bringing it into his mouth and sucking it loudly- exactly how you wished for him to do with your clit that's still pleading for this kind of attention despite being so full. He straightens back to his full height. “Texting me bitching about dishes when all you really want is some fucking dick.” He's pulling back slowly, dragging his cock out of your cunt before snapping back into you. Your entire body jerks when he repeats it over and over again. Continuing his pace until you can feel yourself climbing right back to that peak he so rudely denied you a few minutes ago.

A hand tangles itself into your messy bun before dragging you up so that you make eye contact with the ceiling. “My poor little girlfriend huh?” he makes an exaggerated pout at you before grabbing the hand that is still tangled in his shirt. “No one to fill her little pussy for a few days and starts acting bitchy instead telling me she misses me.” 

As loving as your boyfriend is, it's times like this that he reminds you of how mean he can be. 

Confused, you let him guide your hand down to your clit before rubbing slow circles around the bud.

“Gonna make you wish you played with this pussy tonight instead of me princess.”

Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 🩵 TY for reading ^.^

[ragingbookdragon]

But Are You Really?

COD Boys x Reader Blurbs

**********************************************************************

Price:

She frowned at the guards before her who were too busy chittering to notice her. “Excuse me,” she repeated herself for what seemed like the millionth time. “I’m here to see Jon. Can you please call him?”

One of the guards looked at her and rolled his eyes. “Look love, we were born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Fuck off.”

“I’m telling you, he works here! Jon!”

“There’s a fuck-ton of John’s here, lady, be specific!” the other griped and before she could respond, a voice echoed across the gate.

“Missus Price!”

The guards spun as she made eye contact with the Scotsman jogging over; relief flooded her. “Oh, John, thank goodness.”

Soap looked over the guards. “Is everything alright here?”

One of the men snorted. “Ah, you must be the John she’s looking for, Sergeant. Keeps telling us a John is waiting for her.”

The Scot cocked a brow. “Because the Captain is.”

The two went white. “Wait—you mean, she’s…?”

“Captain Price’s girlfriend? She is.” Soap took her arm in his like a gentleman. “C’mon, Missus Price, I’ll take you to the Skipper.”

Gaz:

“I’m telling you that Kyle is my boyfriend,” she sighed for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Bullshit,” one retorted. “You’re too sexy for a guy like him.”

“First of all, sexy coming from you isn’t a compliment. Secondly, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? ‘A guy like him?’” she glared at them. “Kyle’s a fucking hero and one badass motherfucker who works hand-in-hand with the Captain Jonathan Price while your asses are sitting here guarding a fucking gate.”

The other guard held his gun and took a step towards her. “What did you just say to us?”

She inhaled sharply, suddenly aware that she was very much so unarmed against two armed guards. “I—uh, I—”

“There you are, babe, I thought you got lost.”

They turned to see Gaz coming through the gate, a grin on his face; her sour expression flipped into a dazzling smile, and she greeted him with a kiss that had the guards looking away, and Gaz blushing when they pulled away.

“Nah, the modeling shoot just took a bit longer than I thought.” She took his hand as he walked her through. “Wanna see the promo-shots?”

“Always.”

Soap:

She cocked a hand on her hip and glared at the guards. “Look, I’m not even going to try and be nice. Call John MacTavish down here now.”

“We aren’t privy to taking orders from civilians,” the guard griped. “Get lost, lady.”

“JOHN MACTAVISH! BRING YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW!” she bellowed from outside the gates, cupping her hands to her mouth for added distance. “IF I HAVE TO COME IN THERE TO FIND YOU, I’M GOING TO—!”

The guards tried to shush her when a yell echoed from the courtyard, “OR YOU’LL WHAT!” they all spun around to see Soap stomping over. “BEING YOUR BOYFRIEND IS LIKE BEING IN HELL ITSELF!”

“OH, THAT’S RICH CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT YOU KEEP MY FUCKING APARTMENT SEVENTY-SIX WHEN YOU’RE THERE!”

The guards weren’t even going to try and pry the two apart as they yelled in each other’s faces about leaving the toilet seat up and forgetting to unload the dishwasher, but while she had that on him, he seemed to have the fact that she moved his shit around the apartment as revenge.

She tried to walk away, but Soap’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, tugging her back over the base line and into the base. “You let go—”

“Aye, shut ‘ur trap,” he retorted. “Nattering like a fucking cicada in my goddamn ear. Might as well chatted it off.”

“Oh, you fucking bas—”

Ghost:

She could feel the weight of their stares on her, and their laughter chipped away at her mood. “I’m being serious,” she muttered. “Simo—Ghost, and I are dating.”

The guard cackled. “Yeah, and I’m the fucking Queen of England.” He waved her off. “That bastard doesn’t have a girlfriend. Look at him. He doesn’t even have any friends.”

Indignation shot through her, and she got up in the guard’s face. “Simon has friends. He has Price, and Gaz, and Soap. He doesn’t have many, but he does have friends. And he has me. I am Simon’s girlfriend.” Fear dripped in her veins as the guards seemed to stand offensively at her, and she added with her heart pounding in her chest, “And I’m as cowardly as they come, but if it came to it, I…I would lay down my life for him. The world needs Simon. I need Simon. He’s a hero and a better man than either of you.”

One raised their hand at her, either to strike her or intimidate her with a feint but his hand didn’t get farther than beside his head when someone grabbed it, spun him around and slammed him against the wall. “You gonna strike a civilian, soldier?” a cold voice rumbled behind his ear. “That’s an offense I’d see you punished for. Even more so for it being my lover.”

Her expression eased as she saw Ghost appear before her. “Simon,” she murmured, and his eyes darted to hers, softening a quick moment before turning frigid again.

“If you ever raise a hand to her again, I’ll cut it off and make you eat it one finger at a time. Am I clear?”

“Crystal!” the guard hurried and Ghost shoved him to the ground and secured a hand around her waist, bringing her over the gate.

“C’mon, love.” His voice was low and gravelly. “Sorry about that. Tried to come earlier but the meeting ran late.”

“You were there when I needed you,” she replied, leaning her head against his chest. “Like a knight in masked armor.”

He looked at her, eyes shining in a way that told her he was smiling at her.

[nottsangel]

ur whole page brings me joy i didn’t know i had omg. can i request one where the reader is mad at jj over something but he makes it up w sex 😋 ty i love ur fics

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings: smut, dirty talk, mentions of sex

nav. // m.list // taglist

not my gif. credits to owner.

You let out a sigh as you tossed your bag on the table when you got home. You made your way to the living room before your attention was drawn to the dishwasher— more specially the fact that it wasn’t unloaded. You cursed quietly as you plopped down on the couch, annoyed at JJ since this wasn’t the first time he forgot to do his chores at your shared house. Just as you were about to text him, you heard JJ rushing down the stairs like an excited puppy, happy to hear that you had arrived home.

“There’s my girl!” he said with excitement, coming up to hug you but you swiftly pushed him away. He gazed at you confusedly before his facial expression shifted to one of realisation as he looked over your shoulder and noticed the dishwasher.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I-“ “So what’s the excuse gonna be this time, JJ? I’m so fucking sick of it” you spat out with more annoyance than you normally would. It had been a very long day and you simply couldn’t deal with anything right now.

You got up from the couch and made your way to your shared bedroom as JJ stood motionless, unsure of what do to. You were well aware this wasn’t the right moment to argue, given your state of exhaustion and your desire to avoid letting your emotions get the better of you.

From your peripheral view, you could see JJ following you upstairs, causing you to let out a deep sigh as you tried your hardest not to snap at him— but you lost all control when he grabbed your arm.

“I swear to god JJ! I’ve already asked you, what, five times to do the chores this week? Can’t you do anything in this house?” you snapped at him. You felt your anger intensifying when he gazed at you with a slight smirk on his face as he bit his lip.

“Seriously? Are you enjoying this?” you asked, your brows furrowed while he eyed you up and down. “No. But you look hot when you’re angry. Kinda scary, yes. But very, very hot” before you had the chance to react he abruptly lifted you by grabbing your thighs and encircling your legs around his muscular torso. Your breathing quickened as he kissed your neck and pushed your back against the wall.

“There is one thing I can do, baby.” he whispered, sucking on your earlobe as his hot breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine. “How many times did you say you had to ask me, sweetheart?” “Uh-uhm… 5 times, J” you stammered, feeling yourself lose control as he continued nibbling on your neck and marking you with hickeys.

“I see, I see… I’ll make it up to you, pretty girl.” with each kiss on your neck, you felt the anger inside you subside. “I’ll give you an orgasm for each time you had to ask me” he whispered in your ear as his hands squeezed your ass.

“B-but-“ “No buts. Gonna make you feel so good, baby. From now on I’m only gonna make you scream my name in pleasure”

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated since they keep me motivated to write more!!

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[kdogreads]

Imagine being Gibbs’ girl

He tries to keep his rough exterior, but he totally melts for you

He’ll definitely dance with you in the basement if you ask sweetly enough, and even if he pretends not to, he loves just swaying with you to some old country loves songs.

(This would definitely play through his radio)

Or kiss every one of you fingers if you come home from work and say they’re sore.

He will put you back in the car if you try to open your own door.

He’ll learn how to put your hair in a pony tail or a bun if you hurt your shoulder and can’t do it yourself. Plus he’ll keep brushing your hair for you, sitting snugly between his thighs and enjoying his warmth, long after you heal.

He sings to you if you wake up in the night reliving your darkest times in your dreams. He’ll wrap you up as tightly as he can in his strong arms, strong enough to remind you you’re safe with him, and whisper the words to any old song that pops into his head.

He loves to leave you little notes by the coffee pot or on your bedside table when he leaves before you do:

Have a good day, my love. See you tonight

- J

You agree not to marry early in the relationship

You’d both been around that block more than once, and it seemed like that fancy piece of paper just complicates things.

Of course, you’re exclusive to one another, but you just can’t bring yourselves to risk changing what you have by changing your last name. It seems so insignificant when you think of it that way.

Most of your neighbors and friends just assume you’re married, anyway. So when a letter arrives in the mail addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, you aren’t surprised. It makes you smile to see it on paper, but nothing is going to change your minds on this.

His love language is 100% acts of service

He’ll unload the dishwasher, fold the laundry, bring you home fresh flowers for no reason at all, have dinner ready if he somehow makes it home before you do one day. He rarely lets you bring in any groceries or luggage. Even though he knows you are tough enough to literally take him down, he wouldn’t dare letting you carry something too heavy or inconvenient.

Any little thing he can do to brighten your day, he does.

In turn, the small acts you grant him, like taking his suit jackets to the dry cleaners, setting his shoes and thermos out for him before work, picking up a new book about boats, make him fall even more in love with you.

He makes you things

J will make you anything he thinks you might like. A wooden stand for your plants, a step stool when you mention that the bed is just a little bit high off the ground for you, shelves to proudly display your knick knacks, a sled for Christmas after you tell him you never had one as a child.

He’d even try his hand at a ukulele if you mention wanting to learn to play.

Of course he’s made boats named for Kelly and Shannon, but his newest project is adorned proudly with your name, sprawled across the hull in flowing letters.

His hobby turns into more than just that, it’s his way to show you how much he loves you, and you soak in everything he’ll give you.

He’ll use his jacket to shield you from the rain

Jethro is usually prepared for anything, but rain can sneak up on you. In that case, he’ll peel his jacket off and cover you as best as he can. Even if it means he’ll get soaked to the bone, he’ll make sure you’re covered a least a little bit more than he is.

He tones down his crazy driving for you

The first time you got in the car with him, you about passed out from an anxiety attack. You don’t want to be a backseat driver, so you just grin and bear it for a while, but he picks up on your discomfort pretty quickly.

He slows down, starts using his turn signal, and stops cutting people off, but every now and then, when it’s late and the roads are empty, he’ll take you for a high-speed cruise just to get your blood pumping.

He’s much touchier than you ever imagined

A strong hand on the small of your back, fingers ghosting over your exposed thigh, a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder when you’re uneasy, or just brushing against you to pass, even when there is plenty of room to spare.

Anything he can do to have his hands on you, he’ll do. You two are like a safety tether for each other, always there to make sure you don’t drift too far away.

As far as PDA goes, Jethro is pretty limited in what he’s willing to show the world, but he’ll always find a discreet way to connect himself to you. A brief brush of your pinkies, a quick kiss to your forehead, or a full-on embrace if you find a moment alone. Whatever it is, his touch still sets you on fire every time.

He is so gentle and fatherly to children

The two of you decided early on that you would avoid having kids. Given his past, you understand and agree to the arrangement. When you get together with your young nieces and nephews, though, Jethro turns into a total kid right along with them.

He’s quick to join in a game of cops and robbers, always quipping how it’s so much more fun being the bad guy, or plop down in the grass and find pictures in the clouds.

When someone takes a tumble or scrapes up their knee, though, he’s the first to scoop them up in his strong arms and hug the pain away. He’ll make them feel better with a story about when he hurt his knee, too, or how chicks dig scars (you always smack him playfully for that).

He makes a mean cup of coffee

You’d never thought of yourself as much of a coffee snob, but after tasting Jethro’s version, brewed slowly over the fire if time allows and mixed with the perfect amount of cream and sugar, you could never go back to any coffee shop again.

Same goes for his cooking. He doesn’t make much, but when he does, damn it is good.

“The secret ingredient is love,” he’ll joke to you, mocking your own phrase, and you’ll roll your eyes as the flavors envelop your tastebuds.

All in all, our man Jethro is basically the best partner you could ever ask for, and you love showing him how much you appreciate him.

Tagging some of my LJG lovers 💕

@instantnoooodles @daphne-bourne @museofbooks @ilovemark1951 it won’t let me tag you :( @yestwlightfan

[the-guilty-writer]

I second the ask about Hotch's daughter with endometriosis!!! I'd like to see that

I just finished it ♡

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

You truly wondered how women with endometriosis survived periods before thermotherapy products were invented. Hot water bottles and heating pads were a necessity for you during this time of the month. It wasn’t that they made the pain go away - they just made it bearable enough to allow you small bits of time where you could do something more than laying down.

At the moment, a hot water bottle and a maxed out dose of Ibuprofen were holding you together - barely. After twenty minutes at school, you were sent home by your English teacher, who was concerned about your nauseous complexion. Somehow, you'd managed to do some make-up work before taking a long (and much-needed) nap.

With your dad away on a case, the list of chores was longer than normal, but the pain made moving nearly impossible, much less cleaning. Dishes needed to be put away, the kitchen table needed to be cleared, and he laundry hamper was flooded with clothes, but there was no way you could do any of it while your insides felt like they were going to fall out. The only thing you absolutely had to do was pick Jack up from school. Everything else could wait.

All the energy you’d gathered went into the ten minute drive to and from picking up your brother. He requested a snack as soon as you got home, which you somehow managed to make him food without screaming in pain. It took every ounce of energy you had left to sit at the table with your brother as he did his homework.

The pain and fatigue clouded your brain, so much so that you hardly noticed the door to the apartment open.

“Dad!” Jack jumped up his seat and down the hall toward him.

“Hey buddy,” Hotch said. The tone of his voice was a testament to his exhaustion, but a happiness to be home.

“Dad, I made this painting in art class and I really want to show you. It's in my bedroom. Come look!” Jack didn’t give your dad a moment of rest.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I'll be there in a minute.”

Jack’s feet pounded against the floor, running to his room in anticipation. Your dad’s longer, slower footsteps followed behind. As soon as he appeared in the doorway, you could tell the case has been a hard one. He looked beyond exhausted, horrors still haunting his eyes and crushing his spirit. Not even your little brother's innocent greeting could extinguish what your dad had endured over the past few days.

“Hey, dad,” you greeted him with as much enthusiasm as you could muster up.

“Hi sweetheart.” He planted a quick kiss atop your head before moving to the kitchen. “Where are all the plates?”

A displeasement crossed your dad’s face. You'd meant to empty the dishwasher earlier that day, but the pain body had stopped you.

“Still in the dishwasher,” you said, holding back a wince as your stomach cramped.

“I thought we talked about this.”

“We did, but-”

“You’re almost an adult. I expect you to start showing up like one.” He was calm but stern. Unblinking eyes bore into you. It made you want to cry.

Hotch turned and left the kitchen, his calm footsteps indicating he was going to Jack's room.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, you stood up and carefully made your way to the dishwasher to unload it. As soon as you leaned over to lower the door, a stabbing sensation penetrated your gut. Dizziness washed over your head and blackened your vision. In an instant, you had crumbled to the floor.

You weren't even aware that you'd let out a cry of pain until your dad was kneeling next to you, a gentle hand caressing your face. Through teary, blurry vision, you could just make out the worry in his fearures.

“It hurts,” you choked out.

“I know,” he said gently. “I'm here. I've got you.”

Strong arms lifted you off the kitchen floor, carrying you to the couch. A heating pad was laid across your stomach and a straw was brought up to your lips with the gentle encouragement to drink.

When you managed to open your eyes, Hotch was next to you, a look of concern on his normally serious face.

"Hi, sweetheart." The words were the same as before, but his tone was different.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Here," Hotch brought a hand behind your back and used the other to hand you a bottle of water, "have some water."

You took gentle sips. Your father’s hand still rested on your back, rubbing it soothingly.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You didn't make me get up." It was true.

"No, but I jumped to conclusions about what you were able to do and it made you feel like you had to do something that caused you pain." Sometimes having a profiler for a dad was a good thing. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you said.

Hotch helped you lay down again, covering you with a warm blanket. "Can I get you anything?"

You snuggled into the blanket and adjusted the heating pad to sit in the best place for easing pain. "Just the TV remote."

Your dad smiled - his small but rare smile - before handing you the remote. The rest of the afternoon would be filled with watching bad TV and chick flicks, but he didn't mind. If it made you just a little more comfortable, then it was worth it.

[morallyinept]

YIPPEE KI-YAY! - A Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller Christmas One Shot

Summary: You, Sarah and Joel settle in to watch a Christmas film together, bickering gently over if Die Hard is classed as a Christmas movie or not. When Sarah goes to bed, you try and sway Joel to your opinion.

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 3.3K

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Oral M receiving - lucky Joel!

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas film. Come at me. 😎

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“Got the marshmallows?” You query, as Sarah steps forward holding a mug out for you.

“Please.” She throws you a coy look and you smirk. 

You regard her with a smile, standing in the kitchen that’s still so new to you.

Joel’s kitchen, despite the occasional chaos of a single dad and his teenage daughter navigating the same space, emanates a sense of warmth and homeliness and the scents of burnt toast. And is surprisingly clean and well organised. Although, you suspect Sarah is probably responsible for that.

A handwritten 'to-do' list is on the fridge in writing that looks like Sarah’s, with items like 'take out the trash' and 'unload the dishwasher,' reflecting a gentle reminder for both father and daughter to share the responsibilities of maintaining their space.

During the very short time that you’ve gotten to know Sarah, it's evident she takes care of her dad, more than he’d like to admit, but Joel would agree that she’s wiser and mature for her tender years.

Something that you know he wrestles with, pertaining to some slight regret that he has to work so much and leave her to bring herself up on occasion. 

She gathers the bag of marshmallows into her mouth, the plastic creaking between her teeth as it dangles and picks up two mugs.

“Gimme that,” you chuckle, pulling it from her lips as she giggles, and you follow her through into the lounge, elbowing the kitchen light off.

Joel is on his knees in the lounge, pushing the disc into the DVD player, and sits back on his heels as you both come through.

A black t-shirt runs tight over his broad shoulders, and his hair is still a little unkempt from you running your fingers through it whilst he was between your legs, only hours before. 

He takes the mug from Sarah with big hands, with a crooked smile and a thank ya, baby.

The Christmas tree is up, although a little askew, and with lots of colourful string lights knotted around the branches. A handmade, paper angel sits atop the tree; a six year-old Sarah’s creation, that Joel has taken care of and insisted would adorn the tree for the rest of its delicate existence, despite one of the sequined eyes missing now. 

You settle onto the couch with Sarah, a gap left in the middle for Joel, whilst he brings out a bottle of the stronger stuff and proceeds to pour some into yours and his mug. 

“Can I have some of that?” Sarah asks. 

“Absolutely not.” Joel gruffs and doesn’t even look up.

“Come on, man. It’s Christmas.” She says. 

Joel glances up at you bemused, and you shrug. “I’m not being the bad guy.” You say, smirking.

“Please?” Sarah continues. 

He sighs, caving. “If ya get sick, ya cleaning it up yourself.” He warns and proceeds to pour a little glug of the whiskey into Sarah’s mug.

She smiles accomplished, settling back into the couch, sniffing the infusion of dark, heady notes mixing with the cocoa.

You plop a couple of marshmallows into your mug from the bag, and Joel finally sits in between you both and clicks the menu button on the remote. 

“Die hard?” You ask, scoffing as the opening credits roll across the screen. “You had one task, Joel.”

“Ultimate Christmas movie, darlin’.” Joel announces proudly. He waggles his eyebrows at you, but you’re not buying it.

“Just be grateful it isn’t Curtis and The Viper, that’s Dad’s favourite.” Sarah says. “I’ve seen it far too much.”

“I got that for after,” Joel chuckles, evilly. 

“This is not a Christmas film.” You pout.

“Is too.” Joel says. 

“Home Alone? Christmas movie. It's a Wonderful Life? Christmas movie. Die Hard? It's an action classic with a festive backdrop at best.” You say.

Sarah, with a mock serious expression, points at the TV. "You know, the only thing missing from this Christmas masterpiece is a cameo from Santa himself."

Joel smirks. "Ya mean the gritty, action-hero version of Santa who delivers presents via rooftop jumps n’ takes out Hans Gruber?"

Sarah laughs. "Exactly! Badass Santa."

Joel leans into her shoulder, his eyes gleaming. "Santa in a red camo suit, armed with candy cane nun-chucks, fightin' off the Grinch n’ his gang of holiday heisters."

Sarah shakes her head, trying not to let a smile break through. "You're turning Christmas into a comic book. Die Hard is not the graphic novel we need for the holiday season."

“Please don’t encourage him.” You whine. 

"It’s the one we deserve," Joel declares with a theatrical flair.

You sigh dramatically. "You're impossible. I bet you think fruitcake is a gourmet holiday treat too."

Joel and Sarah both gasp in mock horror. "Fruitcake slander!” Sarah says.

“Now that's a crime worse than anything in Die Hard. Ya've crossed a line, darlin’."

Sarah can’t help but giggle. “Dad loves fruitcake.”

“Your dad is a fruitcake.” You clarify with a grin.

“Ya hearin’ this?” Joel says incredulously to Sarah, shaking his head as he sups from his mug.

"I'm just saying, there are certain standards for Christmas entertainment. Die Hard doesn't quite fit the mustard." You say, slurping from your own mug too. 

Joel leans back, a mischievous glint in his chocolate eyes. "Standards? S’all about breakin’ traditions. Die Hard is the rebel of Christmas movies n’ shit."

“Nope. Not a Christmas film.” You declare.

“S’a good job ya pretty.” Joel says, leaning in to place a kiss on you, then pecks you ferociously.

“Gross.” Sarah winces, as you push Joel off of you, mindful of spilling your hot chocolate.

“Yippee Ki-Yay, baby!” Joel teases her.

“Gross? Sounds like jealousy to me!” Joel leans across her and pelts her face with kisses as she wails, almost spilling her own mug over the carpet too.

"Dad!”

You grin. "You're turning into a Die Hard evangelist. If I had known this before, I might not have given you my number that night in the bar.”

Joel turns to you. “Too late now. Ya stuck with me.”

You smile at him, feeling warm as he looks at you, smiling back with dilating pupils. Perhaps it’s the whiskey or perhaps it's something else.

Perhaps it’s the continued insatiable appetite you have for him, and have had since you both met. 

Joel and your serendipitous meeting at a dimly lit bar a few weeks back set the stage for a blossoming, hot romance that neither of you saw coming. It was a Friday night, and the air was filled with the lively hum of laughter and the clinking of glasses in a festive atmosphere.

Joel, nursing a whiskey at the bar after a long, tiring day on the site, couldn't help but notice you sitting alone at a corner table, engrossed in a book, but slowly peeping at him over the top of the pages and smiling. 

Joel decided to take a chance, spurred on by past conversations with Sarah about how he should date and put himself out there more. With a bewitching smile, he approached your table and struck up a conversation about the book you were immersed in.

As it turned out, Joel wasn’t much of a reader, but you could forgive him with his soft, brown eyes and broad shoulders that hunched up when he laughed genuinely at your jokes.

What started as a casual, flirty chat quickly evolved into a deeper connection as you discovered attractions and common interests, when you came up for air from under the sheets.

Although, not about Christmas movies, evidently.

“I'm waiting for you to start handing out pamphlets door to door that say, 'have you accepted our Lord and Saviour, John McClane into your life?'" You titter.

Joel laughs. "If John McClane knocked on my door, I'd invite him in for Christmas dinner n’ put you two out.”

Sarah points at the screen. "See, explosions and chaos.”

“That's not exactly what I call a festive holiday atmosphere." You say. 

“Ya two are crazy. Come on, it's action-packed holiday fun! What more could ya want?"

Sarah leans back, crossing her arms. "I don't know, maybe a heartwarming message about the true meaning of Christmas? Where's the cheese factor?"

Joel smirks. "Who needs cheese when ya have 'Yippee-ki-yay?' Classic Christmas catchphrase right there."

“I like cheese.” You pout. 

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Classic action movie catchphrase, maybe. I don't see Hallmark putting that on a Christmas card."

Joel raises an eyebrow. "Hallmark wishes they had a fuckin’ hero like John McClane in their lineup. Now, that's a Christmas card I’d buy."

“You’ve never brought a Christmas card in your life, dad.” Sarah smirks.

“Damn waste of money. Ya gonna throw it in the bin anyhow.” He shrugs.

You smile, reaching for the whiskey and Joel holds his mug out towards you for a top up. "You're missing the point. Christmas movies are about love, family, and maybe a little bit of magic. Die Hard has, what, explosions and a bald guy in a dirty tank top?" 

Joel puts his finger on the neck of the bottle so you pour more into his mug. At this point it’s neat whiskey flavoured with cocoa.

“He’s kind of hot though. Bruce Willis.” You say.

“See, ya do like it.” Joel grins. “I win.”

“He is hot.” Sarah agrees. 

“Ya too young to notice that he’s hot.” Joel retorts.

“I’m fourteen, dad. I have periods now.”

“Mhm. Less I know ‘bout that the better, thank ya.”

“Yikes.” You chime in, grinning.

"Don't forget the Santa hat. That's festive." Joel says, pointing at the screen a little while later.

Sarah scoffs. "A Santa hat doesn't magically transform a movie into a Christmas classic. It's like putting tinsel on a cactus and calling it a Christmas tree."

Joel laughs. "Hey, a cactus with tinsel sounds pretty festive to me.”

“Why can I imagine you doing this?” You query to Joel.

“He did. Last year.” Sarah confirms and you snort.

“I might've forgotten to get a Christmas tree.” Joel holds his hands up, grunting.

“How do you forget to get a Christmas tree?”

“I was working.” “He was working.” Joel and Sarah both say at the same time.  

“Die Hard is the cactus of Christmas movies - prickly on the outside, but there's a nice holiday surprise waitin'." Joel says. 

“You have an answer for everything.” You snicker.

“Well, that's why ya like me…” Joel says, leaning in to kiss your cheek. 

“Maybe,” you smile back at him, meeting his lips. He kisses you a little deeper, tasting the warmth of the whiskey on his tongue. 

“Stop it.” Sarah says, and you both chuckle. 

You feel Joel’s fingers interlock with yours and give them a gentle squeeze. 

Later, you turn to see Sarah with her head back, eyes closed and mouth open.

You nudge Joel, rousing him from the film, and he smirks, shaking his head.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arm out, and you nestle inside it, head pressed against his chest as you watch the movie. 

“Lightweight.” He snorts and you smile.

He takes Sarah’s mug from her lap and places it on the coffee table. As he sits back, he turns to you. 

You feel him kiss the top of your head, and your fingers skim the hem of his t-shirt and stroke softly at the skin under there. You can feel the galaxy of soft hairs around his belly button and he hums out contentedly and you scritch softly there. 

"Y’know, watching Die Hard with ya… maybe we should make it a yearly tradition?" He murmurs.

“Oh really?” You tease looking up at him.

Joel leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "Who needs mistletoe when ya have John McClane savin’ Christmas? Though, I wouldn't mind a little mistletoe action right now..."

“Mm,” you crane up, pressing your lips to his as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

"Smooth, McClane. Very smooth." Sarah chuckles, a grin spreading across her cheeks.

Joel stops kissing you and smirks. “Get ya drunk ass to bed.” 

“I’m not drunk, but I'd rather be throwing up in the toilet than watching you two suck face.”

Sarah stands as you giggle.

“Hey, gimme some sugar.” Joel calls back to her. 

She turns and leans down to give Joel a kiss as he pats her on the back. “Night, baby.”

She then comes over to you and gives you a cuddle and a peck on the side of the cheek.

“Night, sweetie.” You say with a bright smile.

As Sarah hugs you goodnight, the scent of her coconut shampoo filling your nose, you can't help but be taken aback by the authenticity of the gesture.

It’s as if that bridge of trepidation and angst of Sarah accepting you has been cemented with shared laughter, keen interest, and now, a simple, yet genuine hug. 

Joel catches you smiling as Sarah leaves the room, her footsteps echoing up the stairs.

“Ya wanna stay again tonight?” Joel asks.

“If you’re sure?” You ask.

He nods. “She likes ya. S’fine.” 

“I really like her too.” You say. “She’s a good kid. You’ve done great with her.”

“She’s a smartass.” He retorts. 

“Just like her dad, then.” You cluck. 

“Easy,” Joel holds his arm out and you nestle back into it, putting your feet up. 

A little while later and the film comes to an end. And you can’t help but smile when Joel asks you your thoughts.

"Fine, maybe Die Hard has its own twisted Christmas charm. But don't expect me to wrap it up and put it under the tree." You titter.

Joel chuckles. "Who needs gift wrap when ya've got a Nakatomi Plaza-sized bow on top?”

“Mm, it's the gift that keeps on giving." You mirth. 

Joel shakes his head, as he leans in for a kiss. “No. You are.” 

“Mr Miller, are you getting soft on me?” You giggle as he smooches at you.

“Quite the opposite, darlin’…” He takes your hand resting on his chest and slides it down to the hardening bulge in his jeans. 

“Mmm,” you remark, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Now, how has this occurred? You got a thing for me or John McClane?”

“Both.” Joel smirks and you chuckle. 

“You and John want the room?”

“I’ve had too much whiskey. I can’t be held responsible for what I say or do right now.” 

He leans in and kisses you again. His lips are full and plumpy and they devour you greedily as his tongue searches his way around your mouth; caressing and creating sparks down your spine.

“I think I know what I wanna do right now,” you whisper to him.

You can taste the tang of the whiskey, the sweetness of the cocoa; feel the warmth emanating from him into your bloodstream.

Hear the small clicking sounds as you both osculate intensely. Savouring the taste of him, the smell of him this close and the sheer bliss of his tongue working up that dark voodoo magic. 

“What’s that, darlin’?” Joel asks, with hooded eyes. 

You wiggle out of his giant hands and drop to your knees in between his. You tug his jeans down, clumsily, but fast as he pops open the button, eager for what’s to come.

“Well, alright then!” He gasps. 

He cups his cock on the outside of his boxers adjusting it, and you run your hands up his legs towards the goods.

Slipping your fingers inside the waistband, you pull them down too as he lifts his ass off the couch for a second so you can fully yank them down those long legs smattered with dark hairs.

Joel’s presented to you again in all his hard, thick glory. Glistening in the light as you watch him thumb over the head, collecting the glossy precum, before he holds it out to you.

He bites his lip as you suck his thumb into your mouth, tasting him.

Eyeing him, you insert him slowly inside of your mouth; him watching with widening and drooping lips as you go further and further to the base; swallowing him whole, the tip of his rounded head on the back of your gag reflex, but not heaving at all.

You sit up on your knees and take the base of him inside your hand, excitable and hard.

You pull him back out and do it again, over and over, taking him deep and slow.

“Fuck…” Joel groans delightfully, his hand stroking through your hair gently. “Ya so fuckin’ good at that. Oh, Jesus..."

You let his cock slide out of you one last time before you lower your head and take one of his balls inside your mouth. Pushing his legs wider open so you can shove your face right up in there.

You look up as he reacts instantly; almost pulling away with the mildly discomforting, yet pleasurable feeling that overtakes, as you suck gently on those puffy, pink sacks.

“Aww, shit, that’s good,” Joel whines, throwing his head back.

Whilst you suck, you massage his cock up and down with your hand; still sticky and wet from your saliva. Running your palm over the bulbous head making his hips judder and buck.

Joel sits up a little, watching you suck; the graze of his voice doing a punch out with his larynx as he struggles to speak.

“Suck it again. Show me what that pretty mouth can do, hmm?” Joel prompts.

He watches you tease the tip with your tongue before sucking him back in between your lips.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He drones, his head lolling back and closing his eyes as you suck hard on the head of him, stripping him of his breath.

You take him down deeper, something that surprises you both at the depth; sucking him like a pro and it pleases him immensely. He presses down on the back of your head testing your gag reflex and he feels you heave which makes his balls spasm.

“Tap out if ya wanna stop, okay?” He says, and you stroke his thigh in agreement.

You swallow him deeper, sliding all the way down his wet, sticky length and pushing your nose into the soft paunch of his tummy.

“Yeah, choke on my cock.” Joel encourages as you drool over it.

You heave momentarily, but still as you swallow around him. You do it again, and another heave makes you lurch a little.

You relax the back of your throat, letting him slide in all the way again. He’s impressed, not many can take him so deep down their throats, his girth is intimidating to say the least. 

The husk of his grunts, like whispers pelted in wet gravel, echo inside your ears. Joel has no words; instead, the noises that are puffing out of him make you tingle all over.

His huge hands massage inside of your hair and soon you feel him fucking up into your face, pushing you deeper onto him as he thrusts his hips, forcing himself further down your throat.

"Tap out if ya want me to stop... Oh, fuck," he reminds you gently.

More heaves roll up from your stomach, inhaling deeper through your nose that it whistles somewhat, and he pants, bucking into your face as he fucks harder now.

Gug-gug-gug... an unrelenting rhythm of sticky, suction, and satisfied grunts flow from his mouth around the lounge.

“Fuck, yeah!” He growls as you open wider as he hits the back of your throat, punching the wet flesh there as you dig into his thigh skin with your nails.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He hisses. “Shit, I’m gonna come!” Joel hisses, filling your throat momentarily, some of it spilling out of your mouth and down your chin.

You scoop it up and suck it back into your mouth, swallowing it all down. 

“Now, where did ya learn to suck cock like that, hmm?” Joel pants, beside himself.

“We’re all full of surprises,” you remark, smirking.

He chuckles, a wheeze in the back of his throat that's now dry and raw.

“C’mere,” he pulls you up gently to him, with a soft chuckle.

You nestle into his lap as he grips you tightly and close to him, kissing you.

“Fuck, I’m still shakin’,” he groans as you smirk at him. “Ya kill me, darlin’. What’d I do to deserve that?” 

“Early Christmas present.” You shrug with a wink. 

“M’a lucky son of a bitch.” He groans.

“Yes, you are,” you giggle as you kiss him. 

“Gimme a few minutes n’ I’ll give ya yours.” Joel says, with twinkly eyes, his hands grabbing your ass as he pulls you closer still. 

“Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfucker,” you say, as Joel grins wildly at you.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[spidervee]

Look, I'm not saying DILF! Jake who has a salt and pepper beard and gray's through his hair

But yeah, I totally am.

He would go down on you first thing in the morning and then whisper "morning mama" after he made you see stars and kisses you

stop stop stop I can’t handle it he’d be such a dilf! And he’d be so into making you feel good for being the best mama ever. I’m gonna scream 🌻💛 jake seresin x fem!reader; 18+ only; smutty morning oral sex and daddy!jake

You’re woken up by the faint scratch of stubble on the inside of your thigh, the catch of nibbling teeth along your kneecap that makes your toes curl into the silken sheets beneath your body.

When your eyes finally flutter open, you can sense Jake before you fully feel him where he’s buried himself under the duvet, strong and calloused hands running up and down your legs, teasing at the hem of your sleep shorts.

For a moment, you’re lost in your husband’s touch, in the way that the cool, smooth metal of his wedding band rubs over your rapidly heating skin. Then, it hits you. The sun is up and there are no children invading the sanctity of your bedroom, no voices from cartoon Heelers sounding from the living room, no laughter or giggles or crying or screaming. Just the sound of Jake beginning to kiss up your legs and the noise of your own heart in your ears.

As if he can read your mind, Jake lifts his head, a small tunnel forming within the blankets so you can see where he’s resting himself between your thighs, his green eyes glinting in the ray of sunlight that filters in from the window, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Bradshaw picked them up an hour ago,” he tells you, “You've been working so hard lately, thought you needed a break, baby.”

“Jake,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, partly from sleep, partly from the breathless wonder you feel at his care. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, mama,” Jake teases, moving his lips back to your leg, “‘s’a bit selfish too, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Oh?” You smirk, knees falling further apart as Jake begins to kiss up toward your core, the scratch of his beard aching so good against your sensitive skin.

Jake makes a sound against your body, a mumble of agreement. You thread your fingers through his hair, grown out a bit now, and remember how you’d tugged at it playfully last night while he unloaded the dishwasher. “Got some more greys in there, daddy. I like it.”

You’d seen the way Jake had eyed you wolfishly, giggled at the way he’d smacked your ass as quietly as possible after you finished putting the kids to bed. Then you’d gone to take a shower and he was fast asleep by the time you were finished and you hadn’t the heart to wake him.

Gasping as Jake’s lips finally find your warm core, his tongue teasing and gentle, you’re grateful that you got to sleep in. You had a feeling that Jake was going to need a lot of attention today.

[familyvideostevie]

with the fortunate only

this is the "sirius is the new bartender at your local bar" option from this poll! After an awful day, a new face turns things around. | pre-relationship, flirting, cursing, 1.2k

You don't normally come here this early. In fact, you don't normally come here during the week. You've been going to The Shrieking Shack with your friends ever since you moved to the neighborhood, but only on Fridays and Saturdays and sometimes for Wednesday night trivia. But on a Tuesday at 4? You're the only person in here, considering they opened only a half hour ago, and your friends would probably laugh at you if they knew you were here alone. But today was unquestionably shitty and all you want is a cold pint and some peace and quiet.

Well, this is maybe too much peace and quiet. There is no one at the bar to take your order, which is kind of defeating the reason you came in.

"Excuse me," you yell. "Can one of you assholes get out here and give me a beer?" You flop onto a stool and plant your face in your arms on the bar. It smells like cleaning spray. You don't actually know who works Tuesdays, now that you think of it, but you figure you know everyone who works here by now. "Remus? Potter? C'mon, are you asleep in the back room, or something?"

There's a thud and the slam of a door and a curse and then you hear someone walk up behind the bar. It sounds like they're wearing heavy boots, which is a bit strange, since the boys are prone to gross sneakers and sometimes loafers, if James is late for work. You don't hear the thud of a pint glass on the bar top, like you expect, so you rise from your pathetic position and find yourself face to face with a guy you've never seen before. "Sorry, I was changing the keg --"

"Who the fuck are you?" you say. Okay, not your best introduction. But you're tired and mad and you just want a drink.

He raises one dark eyebrow. An eyebrow that has a piercing in it. In fact, he's got a few. A gold hoop through his nose and each earlobe as well as what is most certainly smudged eyeliner on his lower lash line. He's wearing the bar t-shirt but the sleeves are cut off to show inked arms, intricate patterns from his shoulder to his wrist. He looks like the kind of bad boy people write books about.

"I think I could ask you the same thing," he says. His voice is gravely. He flicks a curl that didn't make it into his top knot from his face and frowns. "Coming on a bit strong for half past four in the afternoon...on a Tuesday."

You groan. So he -- whoever he is -- is hot and a bit of a dick. Just want you needed today. "Look, I thought Remus or James or one of the people I know would be working here. I've never seen you before."

He shrugs and picks up a pint glass. "Your lucky day. What do you want?" You tell him your usual and he pulls it, whistling as he does so. You really wish someone would walk in right now.

No one does. "Aren't you supposed to wear a name tag, or something?" He sets down your pint and looks at his chest and curses. He holds up a finger and saunters -- no, seriously, he saunters -- to the back before returning with a square pinned to his chest that reads SIRIUS. Oh, fuck. You know who this is.

"You're Sirius?" you say. "The mystery third part to the trio of idiots?" You've heard about him from James and Remus. Though you're acquaintances at most, they've come out with you and your friends a few times and you chat when you see them at the supermarket. You were starting to think he wasn't real.

He smirks. "Sure am, sweetheart," he says. Is he making fun of you? Maybe, but why does the name sound good coming from him? He starts to unload some glasses from the dishwasher. "They've told you all about me, it seems?"

"Except for the fact that you work here," you say. You sip your beer and look at him as he puts the glasses away. Black jeans, ripped and just as you thought -- motorcycle boots. You wonder if he's got a bike parked out back. He's quite different from his friends -- Remus, all buttoned up and cheeky, and James, a whirlwind of jokes and charm.

"I've just started a few weeknights, nosy."

"What, did you get kicked out of a biker gang, or something?"

Sirius scowls at you. "Not very nice, are you?"

Is this flirting? "I'm perfectly nice," you say, primly. "Just ask your friends. I'll bet I'm their favorite regular." He crosses his arms and leans back on the counter.

"Well, I don't have favorites yet," he says. "And they aren't here. So you're just another customer."

"I had a bad day," you admit, though you don't apologize. Truthfully, you hardly feel the bad day anymore. It's as if the intrigue of Sirius and his slightly flirty banter -- unless you're being delusional -- have brushed it all away. Not what you had in mind when you came in here, but not a bad thing by any means.

He nods and clicks his tongue. "Been there," he says. "Tough shit." He fishes a toothpick from his picket and sticks it in his mouth. Your face feels hot. What the fuck?

"Tough shit," you echo. "I don't usually come in this early. Or during the week, actually." You don't know why you're justifying yourself. He works at a bar. Even if he didn't look like he's gotten into trouble himself, he's probably not phased by you.

Sirius flicks his toothpick end over end with his tongue. You have to look away and take a large gulp of your beer. "So when do you usually come in?"

You swallow. "My friends and I like to come at the weekend. Trivia, sometimes."

He nods, nostrils flaring. He smirks. "Are your friends hot, too?"

You almost spit out the sip you're taking. "Excuse me?" you say between coughs. He chuckles and starts to fill a glass of water.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry at all. "Too much?"

He hands you the water and waits patiently for you to take a sip. Okay, so he's for sure flirting with you. "No," you reply. "Not too much." But you think it's best to quit while you're ahead. You down the rest of your beer and start to dig through your bag for some cash. "I'll be off, though," you say. "Work night and all that."

A glance at the clock shows you've hardly been here a half hour, but you think if you have to sit under Sirius's gaze much longer you'll spontaneously combust. "Shame," he says, picking up your glass. "On me this time."

You look up. He's looking at you with those deep eyes and they feel a little less teasing than they did moments ago. "Thanks," you say. You gather your things and head for the door.

"Hey," he calls after you. You turn. "What's your name?" He's leaning on the bar and he does that thing with the toothpick again and you're sure his eyes run up and down your figure.

"Ask me next time," you tell him. The bells on top of the door ring in time with his laugh as you leave.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[mercholic]

— This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. All of this was so, very wrong, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. Jude Bellingham was, so to speak, the forbidden fruit. Your older brother’s teammate, and one and only best friend.

“Don’t date any of my friends. Don’t date any of my teammates. Actually, scratch that, don’t date anybody I’m remotely familiar with. Got it?” Gio Reyna, midfielder for German club Borussia Dortmund and professional patronising asshole, had been talking your ear off ever since you stepped foot in his club’s training centre.

“Yes, I got it!” You grunt and throw your head back in frustration.

Clearly, your brother had been right to be borderline paranoid; because you had, in fact, not gotten it. You’re about to switch your phone back on to check for any messages from Jude when you hear a knock on your window.

You don’t check to make sure you’re not dealing with a creep; you know it’s him. Your brother’s best friend. You open up the door and despite the cold air that hits you like a truck, you look down to see a dazzling smile paired with warm, charcoal eyes.

“Do you intend on letting me in anytime soon, or do I freeze off here ?” His voice fills the empty void that had occupied your room up until now. You shush him, and look back at your closed door for any sign that might indicate that a raging beast -best known as your brother- is about to come bursting through it. The door in question doesn’t budge, so you start pulling Jude up to the window sill with no suspicions. Still, sometimes, you wish you were as paranoid as your brother.

The one person you had just made sure would not come swinging by, spreads the door open. “Hey, I’m gonna need you to go and unload the dishwasher quickly before-“ Gio doesn’t manage to finish his sentence before he quickly questions your behaviour. After all, it’s not hard to realize something fishy is going on when you look like a deer caught in headlights.

“What are you doing with the window open ? The heater is on and you’re not paying the bills here, as far as I’m aware.” He raises a brow.

“Nothing. You can leave.” You consider letting go of Jude’s hand then and there when the latter starts grunting.

“What was that ?” Your sibling slowly walks over to the window, and as your many attempts to stop him are in vain, and your hands attempting to keep him away are easily pushed aside, your heart starts speeding up at a rate that you cannot believe is healthy.

“Gio! Mate! That’s, that’s odd seeing you here, um.. What-what brings you um, here ?” A prime example of Jude’s lack of confrontational skills is the first thing you hear from the altercation.

“Are you seeing my sister? I told you not to date my sister!” Gio is clearly not in a mood to laugh, and you’re surprised to find out he’s had the same set of rules for you than for his teammates. Embarrassment creeps throughout your body.

You decide to put an end to this nonsense before things truly start going off the rails, “I went to see him first. I’m sorry, Gio. Honestly, for once. But I swear to you, that won’t change anything, at all. Besides, it’s not like we chose this, either of us.” Your words are filled with sincerity, and for a moment, your brother seems understanding of the situation you’ve put yourself in. This first impression ends up being misleading, however, as the next sentence that he utters makes you want to bash his head into a wall, despite the obvious physical force gap between the both of you.

“Did you put a gun to his head for him to date you or something?”

[luvhughes43]

blake hughes childhood thoughts!

after a particularly rough competition, blake’s coach absolutely berates her and then when she gets in the car her parents are just telling her she’s got to practice harder/be better. jack holds her hand in the backseat while she silently cries

(lake house) when blake and jack were like 12 and he pissed her off, she went outside and found a spider and then put it in his room! it freaked him out so bad because he hates spiders. anyway, it backfired on her because jack refused to sleep in his room that night so blake had to let him sleep in her room

all her life blake had begged for a pet, but with the hughes busy schedules it just wouldn’t work out. she made a bet with her parents that if she won gold at the olympics that they’d have to get her a cat. she got a black cat a month after the olympics (named monroe)

luke had troubles learning how to ride a bike as a kid and would get so worked up when his parents / brothers tried to teach him. so one afternoon when everyone was busy blake took him down the block to practice and that’s how he learnt how to ride a bike!

after a couple frustrating figure skating practices, quinn sneaks himself and blake out of the house and they go get ice cream (this was a regular occurrence)

blake loved to pretend she was a sports broadcaster! whenever her brothers would do a simple task like unloading the dishwasher she'd come up behind them like, "AND HE DOES IT!! JACK HUGHES HAS SUNK THE LAST BOWL INTO THE BACK OF THE CUPBOARD!!! amazinggg performance by hughes!" jack would glare but he lowkey loved it

when blake would come back from long competitions luke (maybe he was like 11/12) would sneak into her room at night and lay with her. definitely wasn't uncommon to find them sprawled across blakes bed after a long stint away from home

[meggie-jolly]

I Don't Want You Like a Best Friend (9-1-1)

Title from "Dress" by Taylor Swift which I feel is a very Buddie song Summary: It was a night like countless others Buck and Eddie had shared. A movie, beers, a flimsy excuse why Buck will spend the night, their normal bedtime routine. Until something in Eddie clicks and he just can't let Buck spend another night on that couch. Wordcount: 1474 Tags: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, getting together, pining, first kiss To be honest, this fic didn't really turn out the way I expected it to. I had the idea for this ages ago and started writing it. Then I sort of forgot about it and when I rediscovered it, I made it a goal to finish it. I struggled a lot with it. I didn't originally intend for them to talk about their feelings, but they insisted.

It was a night like countless others they had shared. Chris had gone to bed hours ago, the credits of the movie Buck and Eddie had watched where rolling and Eddie finished the last bit of his beer and then grabbed Buck’s to do the same. Buck always left the last bit in the bottle, he swore the last sip in any bottle tasted terrible. Eddie was more pragmatic than that, so Buck winced in mock disgust and Eddie rolled his eyes just like they always did. 

Eddie got up to clean up the empty bottles. "You staying?" 

He didn't really need to ask, of course Buck would stay, he always did after nights like this, but asking was part of their routine. As if on cue, Buck nodded. “If you don’t mind, it’s kind of late.” 

“I never mind, you know that.” Eddie smiled at Buck, he always did that. Buck made up some excuse for staying and Eddie went along with it. He enjoyed having Buck here and he knew that Christopher did too, no matter how flimsy Buck’s excuses where. If it was up to them, there would be no need for excuses. 

Just like always Eddie used the bathroom first while Buck unloaded the dishwasher they had turned on after Chris went to bed. When it was Buck’s turn in the bathroom Eddie checked on Christopher one last time and then got Buck’s sheet, pillow and blanket to make up the couch, still following their usual routine. 

For some reason the sight of the couch stopped him dead in his tracks tonight. He looked back and forth between the bedding in his arms, the couch and the door to the bathroom and just couldn’t bring himself to make up Buck’s bed. 

Because it wasn’t a bed. It was a somewhat crappy couch too narrow and short for a someone Buck's size. Buck deserved better and suddenly the idea of Buck spending another night on the couch seemed outlandish.  

Buck should be in Eddie’s bed with him. 

Wanting Buck in his bed, in his live, in his house and in his heart wasn’t new. Eddie was used to pushing those feelings down, but tonight it wasn’t just a want, suddenly it was a need. He couldn’t fathom having Buck sleep anywhere but in Eddie’s bed tonight, or ever again if he had any say in it. 

By the time Buck came back into the living room, Eddie was still standing there, bed sheets in hand, staring at the couch as if it had offended him.

"Everything ok?"

Eddie looked up at Buck, he didn't even think, he just let the words spill out of his mouth, unable to hold them back. "I don't want you to sleep on the couch."

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