#while waiting to be discharged

[deliquesaint]

Using your Jedi Council privileges to get General Skywalker discharged early from the medical bay (again)

[phagodyke]

the titration providers love sending me huge blocks of text right when I'm at my least capable of processing the written word

[lion-buddy]

im back home now. wahoo

[stargirlygirl]

calebcore (nsfw)

⭑.ᐟ "if you aren't sniffing her panties daily to check for ph balance changes, then what are you doing?"

we all know that caleb is a panty sniffer. and an avid one at that. but i’d like to believe that he’s a panty sniffer with a purpose! (other than getting his dick hard, of course.)

every single time you slip a pair off and put them in the hamper, he’s taking them out when you’re not in sight and analysing them. he checks what kind of discharge you’re having, even feels it to see if you’re ovulating yet (and when you are, he marks it in his calendar). then, he’ll take a whiff. whenever you try new foods, he can smell them. the slightest difference, maybe a tang depending on the food, but it’s still there.

if you’ve got a yeast infection, his nose knows. he can smell the intense acidity the minute he retrieves your discarded panties. armed with this knowledge, he’ll get you some medicine from the pharmacy and watch you take it. you’ll be stunned by how he knows when you only just realised. it’s because he’s a freak cares.

⭑.ᐟ "d'you need any pillows?" + "wait, let me get a pillow for your hips."

i’m still undecided about whether caleb is a dom, sub, or switch. he was leaking pre-cum just from seeing you naked in the cameras he’s got all over your apartment. he almost came on the spot the first time you touched his bare cock. and he did cum the moment he slid inside you for the first time.

but, he’s got these yandere tendencies which make me think he’s a dom.

and even if i’ll never know the answer to this conundrum, what i do know is that in bed, caleb prioritises your comfort in every position. he’ll always ask if you’re comfortable before pounding into you like a rabid pack animal (oh wait! he is one).

if you’re spoon-fucking, best believe he’s propping a pillow beneath your top knee so you’re more comfortable, and he has greater access to your clit. before he eats you out, he’ll lift you by your ankles and slip a pillow beneath your hips. on your knees with your ass up and face down? there’s a pillow against your cheek that you can scream into and cuddle with if you need it.

but if you do cuddle the pillow, i think caleb, despite being fucked out as he’s thrusting into you, would notice and immediately become jealous. he would start fucking you even harder, yapping about how much better he can hold you then some stupid pillow. it can’t even hug you back! not like caleb can. with his muscular arms and firm chest and meaty thighs.

when you’re at it but not in the bedroom, let’s say, on the kitchen counter or couch, he’s still checking in with you to make sure you’re at ease. i think he avoids bending you over the kitchen counter while naked because obviously when he ruts into you, you’ll shift forward, which is (i would imagine) ouchies for your boobs pressed against the bench top. it’s also painful for your hip bones, and i think hurting you during sex is such a deal breaker for caleb.

(because his whole thing is that he’s so in love with you and obsessed with you, right? he’s so grateful that you’re even giving him a chance. how could he hurt you, his precious girl? but he inevitably does because he’ll do anything to protect you, even if it upsets you. which in turn makes him feel guilty and awful and like he doesn’t deserve you. so when you forgive him and give him another chance, he feels so grateful and the cycle repeats.)

even if you want him to, i think it would take time, practice, and trust (in you and himself), for caleb to be alright with intentionally neglecting your comfort or causing you pain (which causes you pleasure, you little masochist).

⭑.ᐟ “what am i? a leg press to you?”

during sexy time, he’s definitely cracking some jokes. and this particular one is delivered in that teasing tone as your feet rest on his shoulders, trying to push him off because the mating press has him too deep in your tummy.

he’s your childhood friend turned captor, of course he has a sense of humour! not to be a drag, but so many caleb smuts (incl. my sole one btw right here if you haven’t read it) make him out to be so harsh and possessive. which he is. to an extent. not a complaint but an observation. still love a possessive, jealous caleb smut. BUT i don’t think that’s his angle every time, you know?

along the same lines of comfort, i think joking around would be his way of helping you to relax and let go during your intimacy. maybe he’s licks the tip of your nose during missionary or ruffles your hair teasingly as you suck his cock, making you pull off him and giggle as he grins giddily down at you. or he’ll straight up deliver some stand up comedy while balls deep in you.

furthermore, caleb is a yapper, and he’s not gonna stop yapping once y’all are going at it. if anything, i think he’s yapping even more when you’re doing the devil’s tango. he’s running his mouth, rasping out praises and compliments which make you blush and gush. as we’ve established, he’s telling jokes. maybe he’s riling you up, pissing you off so you can tell him to shut up (which makes him even harder).

⭑.ᐟ “use me however you want”

imagine this, you’re needy asf and text caleb about your predicament. 20 minutes later, he’s at your doorstep. dropped everything under the guise of handling an “emergency” at home, because to caleb, this is a fucking emergency. all hands on deck, you lead him to the couch. things are getting hot and heavy, you’re grinding on his bulge, and he drops this line.

you stop, stunned as you stare at him, stuttering if that’s really okay. he urges you on, and soon enough, he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. his head is thrown back, resting on the cushions as you ride his face.

that nose was MADE to be rode (and to sniff panties), convince me otherwise, ha ha you can’t. and he swears he’s seeing the stars, at heavens’ gates (fr this time) as you drag your sopping cunt all over his mouth. he’s lapping at you, finally quiet for once and in awe of how much you need him right now.

his veiny hands are wrapped around your hips, steadying you as you buck wildly, desperate for his tongue and his nose against your clit. and when you cum, he’s cumming with you. no touching required, your pleasure, your trembling thighs clamping tight around his head in sync with slick and sweet release dripping out of your hole as you scream and cry out, is more than enough to get him off.

if you weren’t riding his face and instead just sitting on it, you can rest assured that he would be using his gravity evol to crush his face with your weight. this pilot wants you to SIT on his face. fuck that hovering bullshit. he’d rather break his perfect fucking nose while making you orgasm than not feel your full weight on him.

i think caleb’s free use kink is natural. it’s not something he’s ever questioned before. like he’s never questioned his undying love and obsession with devotion to you. any time you want him, that’s enough to get him going. hell, he even lets you use him in his sleep. not that you do. you’re not ready for that level of freak yet. or maybe you are, idk. but he loves the thought of waking up and you’re dragging his leaking cock through your slippery slit, pushing it inside of you when he finally cracks his eyes open.

and then he asks if you need a pillow.

⭑.ᐟ “let me guess, the uniform stays on, pipsqueak?”

honestly, do i need to elaborate? i, pipsqueak, say that yes, the uniform stays on. the hat, the dog tags, the gloves (i’m foaming at the mouth rn btw pls restrain me), ESPECIALLY the gloves.

caleb quickly discovered your… fondness for his uniform and likes to tease you about it. when he comes home, all sweaty from another day as the fleet’s colonel with that big dopey grin on his face from seeing his precious girl baking him goodies or reading on the couch, he knows where your mind goes. he’ll give you a big cuddle and try to go and clean up, and sometimes you let him.

other times, though, you’ll pull him back into your arms and hold on to him so tight, it’s like you’re just as afraid as he is that one of you will vanish into thin air. when you gaze up at him with those doe eyes, begging him to ‘entertain’ you that he’ll ask if the uniform stays on. and unfortunately for him, the answer is always yes.

hell, caleb is beginning to feel like a whore with how you pinch his ass in those snug pants and objectify him (he’ll cry it you stop).

i can’t think of anything hotter than caleb, in his fitting uniform, with those gloved hands around your neck, restraining you in a mating press and taking out all of his frustration on your poor pussy after a hard day at work (with your consistent reassurance that doing so is a-okay). those dog tags dangling near your face so you suck on the pendants. his tie is loose, and sweat is dripping down his brow as he babbles about supervising the new recruits.

match my freak, colonel uniform + he gags you with an apple. maybe those new recruits really fucking pissed him off, and when he got home, you were testing him. or maybe he saw you with the delivery man this morning (via the cameras) and decides to remind you of who you belong to.

masterlist

star's final words: i'm back lol. got the clearance from my surgeon today for my ridiculous amount of screen time. this post is more of a rant than a drabble, but i hope y'all still liked it! super excited to be back. i had so many ideas in my six days off (the grind never stops).

[littleapplle]

mating season!

bad pup! - 1.5k w. part two is now out!!! read bad dog! here

cw.: dog hybrid!caleb, afab!reader, knot mentioned, masturbation, cunnillingus, caleb is stupid and i hate him, panty sniffing obviously. caleb is desperate and kinda pathetic. not proofread... again.

note: this was supposed to be a joke. tf went wrong dawg.

puppy!caleb who's the biggest sweetheart ever. he likes belly rubs, headpats and blueberry treats. he likes roughhousing and chewing on the baby teethers you give him so he doesn't destroy everything in your apartment while you're gone.

puppy!caleb who's the sweetest pup around <3 he waits for you to get home by the door and when you do, his tail wags so fast, his heart beats quickly and you can see the tears of relief pricking in his lilac eyes. 

puppy!caleb who can't stand that you leave for work everyday. who's going to play with him?!

puppy!caleb who's usually very obedient but has been acting up lately. you brush it off at first but caleb isn't one to growl when you try to get close to his food. bad dog!

puppy!caleb who sniffs you head to toe when you come home tired from work. and if he finds something he doesn't like? his fluffy ears drop down to the back of his head and he growls.

you try to search up online what's wrong with your pup and all you can find is rutting season, which is pretty weird since his last owner swore he was neutered.

puppy!caleb who gets sosososo anxious and stressed when you're not home:( he needs something- anything with your scent to calm down!

puppy!caleb who goes through your laundry basket. he knows it's bad and he made a mess but he'll clean it up later! the only thing important right now is that he found the white frilly panties you wore on monday.

puppy!caleb pupils dilate as his eyes stare at the discharge stain on the delicate fabric and something snaps inside him. He brings the panties to his face, giving it a first, innocent whiff and fuuuuuuuck

you’ve always smelled good, puppy!caleb likes your shampoo and bodywash and cologne and- but this? this is heaven. caleb gives it a whiff again. there’s a hint of sweat, it’s not nasty, it smells like  you and that does it for your sweet pup.

puppy!caleb who doesn’t know why he has been so pent up lately:( he likes being good for you! you smile and praise him and let him have a spoon of peanut butter! but his brain feels fuzzy and there’s a knot growing bigger and bigger on his lower stomach and he feels like he’s gonna pop like a balloon and he’s anxious and he’s alone and you’re not here to help him!

puppy!caleb kicks his wet boxers — which he did pee a little from anxiety but he’d rather die than accept that he is that desperate — and whines loudly when his sensitive cock hits his tummy.

puppy!caleb who paws his cock on a miserable attempt to relieve himself. his hand wraps itself around the shaft, his thumb presses down on his angry red, leaky tip and another loud whine escapes his lips.

puppy!caleb who sniffs your panties again, now gaining enough confidence to lick the patch of arousal and discharge left on the fabric. at the taste, his fluffy tail wags excitedly, thumping on the ground hard enough you’d definitely hear an earful from your neighbor downstairs later.

puppy!caleb who can’t help but sink his itching canines on your panties- sorry! he panicked! 

wet squelches fill the bathroom walls as his hand works up and down on his sensitive cock. melodic, obnoxiously loud moans and whimpers leave his throat as his already creamy dick finally shoots out strings of thick, milky cum and the base of his cock forms a big, swollen knot.

puppy!caleb ears perk at the sound of your keys unlocking the front door and he barely takes time to put his boxers back on before he runs to the entryway. oh you’re finally home! you’ve been gone for so long- too long!

he doesn’t give you any time to scold him for not wearing anything but underwear- or to question him why his heart is beating impossibly fast or why he’s whining so much. puppy!caleb who brings you down to the floor in a harsh pull, ignoring your complaints.

“s-sorry! ‘m sorry! so hot- you smell so good!” the pup cries, his breath tickles the sensitive skin of your neck as he takes a good whiff, drowning in what's left of your perfume and natural musk.

and it’s not like you can pull him away:( first of all you don’t have the heart to leave your pup crying like that, especially when you don’t know what happened and he’s just stupidly strong! 

“ah! b-bad dog! get off caleb- you’re heavy!” your nagging falls deaf in his ears. you shudder at the moment his tongue licks the skin where your neck and jaw meet, twitching at the weird feeling.

puppy!caleb who is so fucking dumb and can’t seem to figure out how to unbuckle your belt and unbutton your pants. you squirm under him and a raspy squeal of surprise leaves your throat. 

“bad dog! argh- what has gotten in you today?-” — “please! promise it’ll feel good- jus’- jus’ needa taste you, please? need it? i’ve been nice and didn’t chew on anything- can i get a treat? please? please please-” he asks- no- begs.

you don’t give him a proper answer, just accepting that there’s not much you can do under him. with some struggle, stupid puppy!caleb gets you out of your tight jeans.

a string of whines and sniffles come out of him. you feel overwhelmed- his hands are everywhere, puppy!caleb has always been the anxious type, if he can’t touch every bit of skin in your body and mark you as his then what else is he going to do?!

even in so much distress, puppy!caleb’s tail still wags excitedly behind him as he kisses your tummy and licks a stripe from your belly button to the hem of your panties. a different pair, he notes. this time, a pretty lacy red design barely covers your fat folds.

he takes a whiff first, of course, before licking the wet stain forming where your slit would be. “fu-uck- caleb! you- aha- bad fucking dog!” you moan, covering your face with your now sweaty hands. caleb doesn’t pay attention to your curses, only trying to dig deeper on the fabric in hopes to get to his meal faster.

frustration bubbles on his dumbed down brain. bothered by the fabric getting on the way, puppy!caleb’s teeth rip the delicate lace and pull it to the side, finally able to get his prize.

“c-caleb- are you fucking kidding-? what has gotten- h-hey no teeth! bad dog!” you chastise in disbelief. you don’t really know what’s worse, caleb non stop whining and the fact that you can’t pull him away from your cunt or that you find it hot.

puppy!caleb who licks a stripe from your slit up to your clit before diving in for a little snack!!! you taste so much better than your panties:( he really tries to be gentle and start slowly, kissing the hood that protects your clit but it just isn’t for him! he needs it now!!!

sucking harshly on your folds, he lets go with a loud ‘pop!’  before teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue attempting to get a positive reaction from you. seeing you squirm on the floor only makes it harder for him to think properly:( 

puppy!caleb whose tongue’s swirls on the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that makes your head spin- how does he even know how to do all of that?

puppy!caleb who can’t help but rut his hips on the cold floor as his tip grows redder and leaks more pre cum than before:( he feels so good though… he can’t really stop right now to take care of himself! you’re basically overwhelming his every sense and his puppy brain can’t really focus:(

puppy!caleb who accidentally nips on your clit, making you jolt and curse at him. “s-sorry! ‘m sorry!” – he cries out as his ears drop and he spits on your cunt.

it’s messy, you feel ashamed for doing something like that with him of all people and what’s worse is that you can’t deny that it feels fucking good. puppy!caleb’s tongue slurps everything he can get leaking out your slit before digging in impossibly close for more. shoving his tongue as deep as he can to taste you better, his nose hits your clit for the nth time, the constant sniffing making you squeal in pleasure.

“a-ah! fuck! f-fuck caleb- gonna cum, can you keep going pup? be obedient for once, y-yeah? please- shit- mghh!-” at the sign to keep going, caleb’s eyes roll to the back of his skull. he shifts to suck on your clit again and that finally breaks you. your back arches and an embarrassing loud moan escape your glossy lips, your legs twitching and closing around his head. 

puppy!caleb who apparently is insatiable and doesn’t stop licking you clean until you scold him – again – and pulls his head  back by the hair. bad dog!

“did you cum on your boxers?-” — “sorry!”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[sunni-stuff]

He married you immediately after his discharge, deciding rather quickly that why wait, he knew what he wanted, he had all the time in the world now that there wasn't a lingering cross hair on the back of his head 24/7.

So he tied the knot, a quaint ceremony with only the lads and a few of your family members, nothing too fancy while appealing to all of your demands.

Next was the house, Simon insisted on building himself only to be joined by his old team, who refused to leave him alone despite not being in the military anymore. They all spent years together, side by side, in some of the shittiest places imaginable, and now they were helping him build his dream cabin a bit a way from the city, his little peace and quiet.

Price teases him for gaining weight, a testamant of your cooking. Johnny jokes about Simon needing to share, earning himself a glare that could boil water and Gaz? Well, he couldn't help but snag a couple bites of your food whenever possible, eating from the retired lieutenants lunch.

The ongoing peace was something Simon never imagined for himself.

Truth be told, he wouldn't have retired at all if it wasn't for the uncontrollably shake in his hands when idle. Simon tried to hide it—get control of the tremors. But nothing could, and eventually, it became an issue. No longer was he able to sit in long perches. The insistent shaking left him mixed focused, unable to concentrate.

Simon wasn't a man who liked to admit he had a weakness, so the true nature of his discharge had always been a mystery to you. Until he returned to your temporary home one night, struggling to pour himself a glass without his hands battling their own ongoing earthquake.

All it took was your gentle touch on his arm, cooing if he was alright to ease the trembling. He didn't know how or why you had such an effect on him. Simon placed the cup away, hands sinking into your plush hips, face buried in your hair, your softness a palm to his unease, salve to his wound, an angel sent from heaven just for him, a sinner who didn't deserve this life.

What would he do without you?

[gojoest]

from pregnancy freak to postpartum freak — satoru finds himself in a tough spot while your body is recovering from giving birth to his child. he tries to be patient but motherhood looks so beautiful on you… and unfortunately, after you’re ready to have him again, there seems to be another little issue — one that likes to cry and disrupt the moment satoru has been longing for

MDNI, established relationship, f!reader (she/her), pregnancy and postpartum, you have a beautiful baby daughter, mentions of breastfeeding and satoru being really really weird about it, mentions of male masturbation, somno if you squint really hard (just to be safe), pet names (baby, beautiful, sweetheart), nothing too explicit going on here tbf, but there’s a sweet little hint of a potential breeding sesh at the end, not proofread, wc: 1.8k+

your husband (gojo satoru) and you have always had a marvelous sex life, one that would naturally induce a sense of envy in anyone who came to know of it, accidentally or not — the walls were thin, but sometimes it was the mouth of your husband that was too big.

but in all honesty, there has never been a day in which you didn’t desire each other carnally, even after so many years.

you thought, maybe, this might change after he knocked you up with a baby — you had read a handful of articles on the topic and how some men become more distant during that sensitive timeframe — but as it turns out, you could not have been more wrong. either those magazines sucked or your husband was some sort of mutation. maybe, it was both.

your pregnancy could be, in fact, easily considered the peak of your sex life — that round belly of yours really did a number on him, as well as on you. well, with you it was the hormonal changes your body was going through that made you so borderline sexually insatiable, and the mood to bounce on him would strike you more often than ever. at some point, your sex drive went off the roof — you’d ask him to fuck you multiple times a day and satoru couldn’t be more fortunate — he’d drop everything and oblige in an instant, like that was all he had been waiting for, which was not so far from the truth. it was safe to say that you enabled the freak in him, and he was grateful.

“thank god… i don’t know how else i could survive those 9 months with you glowing like this, becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day”, he’d say to you every time you pressed and rubbed your ass against his cock in the middle of the night, not so innocently waking him up because you had a craving.

you had a lot of sex, but he was always careful with your aches and pains, no quirky positions until the baby was born — your physique didn’t allow it as the pregnancy progressed anyway. but the passion was always there, undeniably so, growing along with you.

but things changed after you went into labor and your daughter was born. the perfect little angel, his and his baby’s baby. satoru has never been happier.

to be honest, he didn’t think about sex at all in the beginning. he was on cloud nine, overjoyed. every second of his day was spent exploring this new light in his life and taking care of the both of you.

after you got discharged from the hospital, he took it upon himself to look after the house and deal with the chores — he handled the cooking, he washed the dishes, cleaned, did the laundry and everything else that needed to be done — while you were healing and navigating through motherhood. he helped you nurse your daughter, there wasn’t a single night where he didn’t wake up along with you whenever the baby needed feeding or randomly started crying.

but soon enough, after he adapted to this new pace, his sex drive started showing signs of its return. it came back strong — in fact, stronger than ever, and once again it was none other than you to blame for it.

…because, being a mother looked so good on you.

you have been his wife for years. but now, you are the mother of his child, and that is a title that somehow makes you his even more than ever. it is so permanent. because, even if you leave him one day — which you never would since he would simply never allow it — being the mother of his child will always tie you to him, he will always have a place in your life. that’s it, you just made it impossible for yourself to run away from him. like it or not, you will be his eternally and irrevocably.

he liked watching you be a mother and couldn’t help but get bricked up each time you held your daughter close to your chest, revealing your breast and holding it to her mouth in order to feed her.

was this normal? to get this hard? now of all times? — he didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t bother finding out. because, when was he ever normal about you to begin with?

all he wanted to do in those moments was pin you down and fuck himself into you. you could see it in his eyes and in his bulge that he was trying to readjust.

“don’t try anything funny in front of the baby”

“i would never — i am simply watching and engraving this scene into my mind, for later”

‘for later’ obviously meant when he was jerking off.

the doctor said “no sexual intercourse for six weeks”

your body needed time to heal after giving birth, and that was only natural. and it was okay.

but it didn’t mean it wasn’t arduous for him. he had to watch you day and night without being able to touch you in ways he wanted to.

and now it’s been two months. two whole months without him laying a finger on you. his urges were back with full force, but yours? not really.

sure, you cuddled plenty while the baby was sleeping, which made it even harder for him. but you never got sexually intimate after you gave birth. he was well aware that you needed more time, that your body was still not ready, that you were exhausted physically and mentally because, once again, you were going through all these changes — because of him.

he understood that. but still, he missed you so much.

he’d jerk off whenever he got the chance, more than once a day, in fact. religiously so in the shower, it was a must — or else he would find it more difficult to manage himself around you.

sometimes he’d watch you breastfeed the baby and secretly sneak into the bathroom midway through it to rub one out, because if he didn’t — he’d bust right then and there. but can you blame him? you looked so maternal, so ungodly and unapologetically beautiful. the way you hissed whenever the baby sucked too hard on your nipple made him wish it was him dragging those sounds out of you…

fuck. he was becoming a freak again.

there were nights when he would wake up, as hard as a rock, and watch you sleep while fisting himself in the spot next to you in bed. he would be careful not to wake you when pushing the cleavage of your gown down, just enough to take your breasts out. he’d peck you softly on the nipples and that would inevitably and always lead to him uncontrollably unloading himself inside his palm. sometimes he would make a mess of the bedsheets, other times — of your nightgown.

“shit— if simply touching your skin does this to me, then i don’t want to think what will happen to me the second i slide it in”, he’d curse under his nose while washing off in the bathroom. “fuck. i miss you, baby”, he’d brush a hand over his face. “look what you made of me…”, and he would get hard all over again, just because for a split second he thought of being inside you.

luckily, you soon started dropping subtle hints of desiring him — initiating longer morning kisses, biting your lower lip and giving him the look whenever he walked out of the shower, saying his name in that same sweet voice with an undertone of fake innocence you would use in the past every time you wanted him to do things to you, rubbing his chest as you cuddled in bed or on the couch, sometimes your hand would slide a bit lower down his abdomen… but, that was it.

satoru never saw past the pearly gates, because his sweet angel of a baby would always start crying in the most inappropriate of times, as if on purpose.

“you go — i don’t want to face my daughter with a boner”, he’d whine, and you’d chuckle.

he loved his daughter more than anything, but he was genuinely bummed out and he had to do something about it.

one afternoon, after you fed the baby and left her in the care of your husband to go and take a shower, satoru put his daughter in the crib and leaned over with a serious expression of a parent about to lecture their misbehaving kid.

“listen, little miss, because we have a problem”

the baby chuckles in response.

“…and apparently, you know it”, satoru snorts. “but listen here, i know you love mama and you want her all to yourself. but what about papa?”, he pouts. “papa loves her too and wants her all to himself, at least once a day, but you’re not giving him a chance here. it’s not like i am asking for an entire day, just stay put for 15 minutes — 15 minutes is all i am asking for. deal?”

his daughter lets out another sweet chuckle.

“i’ll take that as a yes”, he caresses her cheek before leaving the room with the baby monitor in hand to join you in the shower.

finally. it was happening.

he stripped out of his clothes and walked into the bathroom, placing the baby monitor on the sink countertop before stepping into the shower cabin, letting the hot stream wash down his body as he reached for you.

“hello, beautiful”

“oh—“, you jolt. “you’re here? but what about the ba—"

“shh—“, he puts a finger on your lips, his free hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. “don’t worry, she’s fine. if something happens, we’ll know it from the baby monitor — so just relax”

you smile against his fingertip and softly peck it before sucking it in between your lips. his cock, already hard and squished between your naked bodies, throbs with a powerful twitch. a low growl rolls out of his mouth.

“god… i’ve missed you so much”, his hips involuntarily push against you, a desperate attempt to seek more friction by humping himself on your stomach. with how starved he was for you, he could probably finish just from this. but he wanted to take it slow and savor every second.

“it’s been so long, isn’t it?”

he nods. “i thought i was going to die”

you laugh. “you’re exaggerating”

“i am not… i never thought our tiny little angel could be such a huge devilish cockblock”

“you shouldn’t speak like that about our kid”, you snort.

“but it’s true. she’s a sly one, and obviously she’s obsessed with you”, he pouts.

“i wonder who she took it from…”

“she’s going to cause me a lot of trouble, isn’t she? but maybe, if we gave her a friend, she wouldn’t feel as lonely. maybe then, we’d get to have more alone time — like this. what do you think?”

“she’s too young for a pet, satoru. you know that”

he laughs. “i didn’t mean a pet, sweetheart. but we can get that too at some point”

[starklike34]

AU with an Aphrodisiac

While working on hextech, Viktor began working with shimmer to try and save his life. By chance he discovers a powerful aphrodisiac. Here are some spicy scenarios: Option #1 Viktor creates a drug that eases his symptoms, but the side effect is a physical reaction of the body. Using it becomes a challenge, so Jayce "helpfully" volunteers to assist. Option #2 Viktor accidentally gets affected by the aphrodisiac, and Jayce finds him in a very compromising state in the lab. Helping Viktor could be both an opportunity to express long-held feelings. So and become the cause of these feelings, because the image of a vulnerable and hot partner will not go out of his head. Option #3 The aphrodisiac is a gas. Jayce accidentally breaks a sample in the lab, and both inhale a potent dose. The results? From a simple but strong bodily reaction that they'd help each other with, and then choose to forget the whole thing. To a blurred mind where discharge is something to be achieved at all costs.With anyone. Option#4 Viktor tests the formula on Jayce by by treating him to a cup of oddly flavored tea. They used to have a brief affair,which Victor ended to avoid distractions during research. Regretting his decision, he decides to rekindle things in an unconventional way. Jayce could try to hold back while Viktor records all his reactions for "science". Or Vik can prudently clear the table and just wait Until the partner loses control.

[humanjarvis]

forever boy

synopsis: you used to tell caleb everything. so why doesn’t he know about your new tattoos?

tags: fluff to angst to fluff, you get tattoos without telling caleb and he freaks out and you argue, he guilts you into showing him, surprise reveal (guess what the tattoos are), references to the fleet stuff and his bionic arm, caleb has nightmares, pathetic puppy caleb is back, he’s in the doghouse (ha get it) for less than a day, groveling, happy ending word count: 2.3k

a/n: i am proud of this i think. i made up some dates bc idk the timeline in this game. i also have no tattoos if you were wondering. there are allusions to a beloved recent drabble of mine in here can you guess which one

“Get off of me!” you squeal, gasping through chortles as Caleb's fiendish fingers dance over your belly.

“No can do, pips. Tickle monster doesn’t let his victims off that easy.”

He’s had you pinned down on the couch for almost 10 minutes now, poking and prodding at your sides until you’d grown nauseous from laughter. 

But still, Caleb won’t relent. Each time you swat his chest, try to bring your knee up between his legs—cute—he only moves his hands faster. For all the months he’d spent starved for your smile, he’s making up for lost time, he thinks. 

“I’m not…laughing because I’m having fun,” you wheeze, wriggling under him unsuccessfully. “This is basically torture. When I get free…I’m making sure you get a dishonorable discharge.” 

“What?” he smirks down at you. “If this is so torturous, why don’t you just push me off? Waitttt,” he gasps, leaning in conspiratorially. “It can’t be because I’m stronger than you, can it?” 

As his infuriatingly smug, annoyingly handsome face looms over you, Caleb doesn’t realize he’s flown too close to the sun. Before he can react, you capitalize on the opening. Squirming out from beneath him, you take advantage of his surprise and use the momentum to flip him over, your hips now on his waist in a straddle. 

“What were you saying?” you ask sweetly, the triumph in your voice slightly dampened by the way you’re still gulping down oxygen.

“Huh,” he shrugs, voice entirely too cheery for someone who’d just been bested. “I guess I stand corrected. Looks like someone’s been getting their reps in.” 

“Won’t you admit defeat, then, Mr. Monster?” you smirk. And as you lean over him to assert your victory, Caleb can’t help but gawk at the way your lips part, your shirt rides up, your tattoo shines in the warm light of the—Wait. Your tattoo?!?

No matter how many times he blinked, there was no mistaking it. There, right on the side of your once-bare ribcage, lies the prominent, pitch-black ink.

You’re still hovering over him, your light, playful chuckles fanning his face, but they slowly fade out when his muscles go rigid. Perplexed, you follow his gaze down your body until you finally spot your exposed skin, and with the way you go rigid, Caleb can tell an argument is brewing between you. 

The tense silence permeates the air, as if erasing the precious laughter he’d so giddily won from you just moments before. 

Like usual, you break first. You couldn’t stand his silence, you’d said the last time. The way it makes you feel small, like you’ve done something wrong, like you’re in trouble. “So help me God, Caleb, I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions. Whatever you’re about to say, drop it. You can tickle me until my sides bleed, just—don’t.” 

But Caleb, as much as he loved hearing your voice, wasn’t listening. While you were begging him to drop it, to leave it alone, he was too busy simmering over you doing something so drastic, so permanent to your body without his knowledge—like you didn’t trust him with the information. Didn’t trust him to hold your hand through the pain, to drive you home from the parlor, to wash and treat your tender flesh.

That awful feeling he thought you’d both moved past—had worked so hard to move you past—made him suffocate in his skin. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks lowly, gravel filling his voice. “Were you…hiding it from me?” 

As he rises to lift your shirt and get a clearer view, you intercept his hand in uncompromising resistance. He’d reached for you with his right arm. But somehow, your touch still manages to sting. 

It’s Caleb’s turn to laugh, now, but the sound is hollow. “You won’t even show me,” he chuckles humorlessly. “Not even when I already know.” Firmly, but gently as ever, he lifts you off of him and onto the opposite side of the sofa. 

You scoff at him, and the look of incredulity on your face would cause a less devoted man to back down. “Don’t lecture me about keeping secrets. I have a tattoo, Caleb. You have a double life.” 

“It’s for your own safety that I—”

“Is it for my own safety that you treat me like a child?” 

He pauses, and before he can stop it, he feels his face shift into the mask molded for him against his will. The face—his own, but somehow not—that plagues his nightmares. Cold, unfeeling, uncaring, indomitable.

“You don’t have to trust me anymore. But I’d appreciate it if you said it to my face instead of making me believe you did.” 

He hears the soft gasp that escapes you, but he refuses to look—too consumed by his emotions, too ashamed to face yours. It’s when he turns to leave that he hears your quick footsteps, and almost immediately, you’re whipping him around to look at you.

Your shirt is raised to the base of your sternum. 

And in the warm light of the living room, the soft glow of the summer evening illuminating the streaks on your skin, Caleb sucks in a breath. 

VIII IX MMXLVIII

August 9, 2048. 

The date your lives had changed. The date he’d broken his promise to always be by your side. The date part of him—physical, or something more—had died. 

With a bold, decisive line striking through it.

His eyes dart to the space below. You had another one, he realized. This was the one he’d glimpsed earlier, then—the one that’d made him question your faith in him.

IV XVIII MMXLIX

April 18, 2049. 

The date his life had been revealed to you. The date you’d fought your way back into it. The date your shattered souls had met again and vowed to mend each other. 

This one is different from the last. The numerals are pure. Pristine, clear, unmarred. Unapologetic.

An insidious, deserved pang spreads through his chest. You’d wanted to remember both dates, to etch them into your skin. You’d needed to move past the first. You’d needed to savor the second. 

A space on your sacred body, dedicated to him—to you both. To your tragic end, to your new beginning. Forever. 

“Are you happy now, you jerk?” You seethe, yanking your shirt down and snapping him out of his reverie. 

And as your voice wobbles, Caleb is anything but. 

“Pip-squeak,” he starts hoarsely, feeling anxious bile scald the back of his throat. “I didn’t think…If I’d known….”

“But you didn’t know, Caleb. You didn’t need to know,” you stress. The pained inflections in your voice seem to sync with your steps as you walk to him, your head level with his shuddering chest. “I will bare my soul to you. Happily. When I am good and ready. But forcing me to do it before then? Just so you can convince yourself that I trust you? That gives me all the more reason not to.” 

The bite in your tone numbs him to the way you push past him, shoving his shoulder hard enough to bruise. When you retreat to your bedroom, he hears the sharp click of the door lock and allows a wry grin to cross his face at the irony. And he thought you’d been shutting him out before. 

You wake up with swollen eyes. An uncomfortable reminder of last night’s humiliation. 

With a sigh, you roll your way out of bed, your limbs sore from being hunched in the fetal position for so long. You usually slept with a human-shaped back pillow, but you supposed that arrangement was on pause for the time being. 

You wonder how he’s doing. How he’d spend the night, if he’d left in the middle of it. As much as you hate to think it, you wouldn’t blame him. 

As you exit—or try to exit—your bedroom, though, it seems your worries are unfounded. 

There, slumped against the wooden door, is a sleeping, miserable-looking Caleb. Eyebrows drawn, nose scrunched, hands twitching—he must be having a nightmare.

With a resolute swallow, you push down the pain from the night before and, against your better judgment, prop the door open just enough to slip out. 

Kneeling beside him, you stroke his hair gently and hold his left hand in yours. “Caleb,” you call softly. “Wake up, please.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes flutter open—slowly, at first, until they focus on you. In an instant, surprise, regret, and a flicker of hope flash across his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tightening his grip on your hand. “I shouldn’t have—even if you hadn’t gotten them for us,” he breathes shakily, “I shouldn’t have pried.”

He’s sitting up now, having pushed himself off the door to get as close to you as you’d allow. The next time he speaks, the rasp in his voice suggests he’d slept about as well as you had. 

“You should…” he begins, swallowing thickly. “You should only tell me your secrets when you’re ready. I’ll wait. I’m lucky to know anything about you at all.”

Your chest constricts, and the ghosts of mortification and unwarranted guilt are the only things stopping you from forgiving him. With a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, you remove your palm from his grasp, pretending not to notice when he chases your touch. “You should stretch your legs.”

The day is slow and awkward.

Your top-floor apartment is sweltering in the summer heat, so you don a loose crop top—it’s not like you have anything to lose anymore—and Caleb tries not to stare at your ribs.

It’s Sunday, the day you usually reserve for chores, and you try to ignore the way he follows you through every room: dusting your bedroom fan, mopping the kitchen floor, cleaning the bathtub while you wipe the counter. It’s a wordless process, but a seamless one—evidently, even a stalemate can’t jeopardize your synchrony. 

He disappears when you’re finishing up, and as you wonder if he’d gotten sick of your anger, the scent of your favorite food wafts through the air. In curiosity, hunger, and abashed dependence—you couldn’t boil an egg without starting a fire—you warily make your way to the kitchen you’d both left spotless. 

It still is, for the most part; the only hint of disturbance is the freshly cooked meal sitting on the island. One plate, one glass, one set of silverware. And Caleb sits in the living room, pretending to busy himself with a diagram, forlornly glancing over to you every few seconds. There if you need him, but not daring to intrude.

It’s nighttime when he tries again. 

You’re reading on the couch, instinctively avoiding the cursed spot from the night before, when Caleb shuffles into the room. In utter dejection, he makes room for himself on the floor between your legs and hugs his knees to his chest. The action tugs at your dwindling resolve, weakened by the care he’d shown you today, and before you know it, you’re running your fingers through his hair. 

He stiffens and relaxes at your touch before leaning back into you, enveloping himself in your embrace. As he presses innocent, lingering kisses to the inside of your knee, you feel the quiet tension in the room begin to build. 

This time, he breaks the silence.

“I never would have imagined those days meant so much to you,” he begins softly. “Wasn’t sure if you thought the first was a blessing in disguise. If you thought the second was some kind of curse.” Your hand falters in his tousled locks, and he exhales shakily. “I was just…surprised, pips. And hurt, I guess. You doin’ something so serious without tellin’ me—it never would’ve happened before,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to guilt trip you into showing me, I just…” 

“I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed,” you whisper, saving him from the struggle of finding the right words. “Not because I don’t trust you. I do, if you can believe it. More than anyone.”

Caleb stills against you, and you place a hand on his shoulder before continuing with a sigh. “I basically saw those numbers in my sleep, at one point,” you chuckle in self-deprecation. “They flashed in my head over, and over, and over—the day I lost you, the day I found you. So I figured the only way to stop it was to carry them with me, always. And when the clarity hit…I thought I was silly. Immature. Like, I had something etched onto my body for you, Caleb. I felt like I was too attached. Too dependent on you.” 

“Is it bad if I say I’d like that?” he quips with a tired smile. “Pip-squeak,” he sighs. “You could never be too attached to me. When I saw those dates—when I realized what they meant,” he swallows, “I wanted to hold you to me ‘til I couldn’t breathe. Wanted to tattoo your tattoos inside my eyelids so I could see them every time I blink,” he jokes, kissing your palm. “That’s too attached, by the way.” 

As you giggle at him—your first in almost 24 hours—he brightens slightly. “I really am sorry for forcing your hand. Makin’ you feel like your only choice was to tell me. But, for the record, those are the least embarrassing tattoos I’ve ever seen. Gideon has one of a monkey, you know.” 

And after you duck your head into his shoulder to stifle your laughter, you haul him up and into your bedroom—no door for a mattress, this time. You’re both due for some much-needed sleep. 

The next day, you stand in front of your bathroom mirror while Caleb hugs you from behind, admiring the inky black lines on your exposed waist. Leaning in to kiss your cheek, he whispers into your ear: “You know, they say rib tattoos hurt a lot. You shouldn’t have had to go through all that alone. Why don’t I get matching ones so we can share the pain?” 

[docrobinavitch]

flushed & flustered

dr. robby x f!resident!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, age gap, swearing, jealousy words: 4.3K synopsis: no one in the ER knows you've been seeing robby except dana, but when an EMT keeps relentlessly flirting with you, it has robby losing his mind. a/n: hellooo again. i think this one pretty much speaks for itself 🤪

Robby didn’t consider himself to be a jealous man. The older he got, the more secure he felt in the relationships he chose. And with you, he felt very sure about everything. At times, it bordered on cocky how sure he was about you.

So it was both shocking and incredibly irritating to him the way it got under his skin when you laughed a little too loudly at something the EMT said to you. The same EMT who had been flirting with you for three straight shifts.

No one in the ER knew you were dating except for Dana. The two of you had decided it would just be easier that way, especially as you were still his resident. When Dana saw the way he was eying the two of you… well, it was the greatest thing that had happened to her all shift.

“You gonna kick him out or are you just gonna keep staring at him like you’re deciding where to hide the body?” Dana leaned into his shoulder.

Robby looked at her with disdain and then took the lab results she was holding out to him. He furrowed his brow as he tried to focus on what was in front of him and not the lilt of your voice.

“Repeat head CT in three hours. We can discharge if it’s clear.” Robby handed the iPad back to Dana and put his glasses back in his pocket, returning his attention to you.

You smiled and then placed a hand on the man’s forearm before walking away. Robby couldn’t stand the way his blood pressure rose. Immediately, he followed after you.

“Have a second?” He asked, but didn’t wait for your response as he steered you by the arm into an empty patient room.

You laughed as he closed the door, “What the hell is this?”

A great question. Robby had no idea what he was doing, he had simply let his annoyance drive him, and the regret immediately washed over him. He scratched the back of his head, “I just um, wanted to see about the, uh, trauma one, if surgery came down to get him yet?”

You stared at him opened mouth for a moment, “Robby, you were there when we stabilized him and when Garcia said the OR would be ready in ten minutes.”

He was already nodding while you were speaking, the tips of his ears growing red with embarrassment, or frustration. Likely both, “Right, and so did Garcia come back down to get him?”

“I don’t know,” You said slowly, “Why don’t you ask Dana?”

You started to walk around him, but he blocked the exit, “Sorry, I just, we’re okay, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “We don’t do this at work. That was your rule.”

He sighed, “I know, I know—“

Dana opened the door, “Sorry to interrupt, incoming pedestrian struck in a crosswalk, five minutes out.”

They both followed Dana back out into central, Robby’s mind still on that EMT. Your laugh and your soft touch on his arm.

When the trauma came in, he watched, gloved up as you and Langdon bickered back and forth about how to best handle the internal bleeding to stabilize enough for surgery. “Langdon’s running this one,” He reminded you mildly, “His decision.”

Langdon smirked at you snidely and you rolled your eyes. When they had mostly stabilized the patient, Langdon took the opportunity to jab at you, “So, Y/N, when are you going to put that EMT out of his misery?”

Robby’s eyes shot up to Langdon and his heart rate picked up again. So he wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

You frowned, “Who? Peter?”

“Ah, Peter,” Langdon said in a mocking tone, but you looked at him blankly, “Oh, come on, the guy’s been drooling over you for like a week now. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”

Robby watched as you blushed. You actually blushed.

“It’s not like that, he’s just friendly.”

Langdon laughed, “Right. Sure. I mean I have never seen an EMT so thrilled to be hugging the wall for close to hours, but yeah he’s probably just friendly.” You shook your head and sighed. “Or maybe he’s a serial killer, he does watch you with more intensity than just romantic interest.”

With the patient stabilized and surgery coming in, you and Langdon started degloving, Robby following quietly behind.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because it just so happens that I’m… seeing someone.”

Robby blinked, unsure he had heard you correctly. Your face was beet red as you looked anywhere besides Langdon and Robby.

Langdon scoffed, “Since when?”

You huffed with agitation, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Frank. But there is nothing going on with me and Peter, okay?” Now you looked from Robby to Langdon. You had picked up on Robby’s silence, perhaps connected the dots between his conversation with you earlier and Langdon’s interrogation.

“Oh, I am not involved in this conversation,” Robby said quickly, backing away with his hands up and quickly turning away.

He should be relieved that you denied it and that you even made it a point to affirm that you were in a relationship, he was sure that addition was intended for him and not Frank.

And yet… You had blushed when Frank implied that he was flirting with you. Again, he felt ridiculous that it bothered him, but he didn’t want you blushing thinking about anyone but him.

It was so difficult to fluster you that in the beginning, he had seen it as a challenge. What could he say, where could he touch, that would bring that pink to your cheeks.

They didn’t talk about their relationship at work, it was a rule he had established early on in order to keep their resident/attending role separate. He did his best to think about you as just a resident when you were here and just his girlfriend once you stepped outside.

But boy, he was struggling with it today. Every time he saw you he wanted to pull you into a private room and remind you of all the ways you were his.

And apparently, it wasn’t just Langdon who had noticed the flirty EMT. He saw several nurses exchanging looks the next time Peter came in with another patient and made his way over to you.

“So, what’s your vice?” Peter was leaning over your workstation while you were trying to chart.

“Excuse me?” You peered at him over the top of your computer.

“You know, coffee, tea, alcohol, cigarettes… Mine’s definitely coffee, I have like, four cups a day. What’s yours?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” You shrugged, “I guess coffee.”

“Painful to watch, isn’t it?” Mohan had sidled up next to Robby.

“What?”

Mohan nodded to you and Peter, “Y/N and the sexy EMT.” Robby looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Oh, I don’t call him that, that’s what the nurses call him,” She said quickly, “Yeah, I’m just gonna go.”

Robby shook his head and sighed. He was still talking to you. Thankfully, you weren’t laughing anymore, but he was awful close to you and there was that pink tinge to your cheeks. The same pink tinge that rose to your cheeks when he whispered something dirty in your ear, or squeezed your ass in public, or cooed what a good girl you are—

He couldn’t watch this anymore. Pushing off the hub, he marched over to you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He said, and turned to Peter, “Do you have a patient here?”

“Uh, yeah,” He jerked a thumb towards the ambulance bay, “We’re waiting for him to be admitted.”

Robby nodded, “Well I would appreciate it if you got back to monitoring your patient instead of flirting with my resident.” He said coldly.

Peter narrowed his eyes at Robby, and then looked back at you. You were definitely blushing now, pretending to be incredibly interested in charting. Finally, Peter scoffed, “Yeah, sure.” He looked back at you, “I’ll bring you a coffee next time.”

You watched him as he left and then looked up at Robby, shaking your head.

“What?” He asked, it came out sharper than he intended.

You shrugged, “Something bothering you, Dr. Robinavitch? You seem tense.”

He smirked and ran a hand over his face before leaning in closer to you, “Do you enjoy it? His attention?” He asked lowly.

“He just wanted to know if I like coffee.” You said, but seeing Robby like this was making your stomach flip and your face heat.

“Really?” He was too close, much too close, you glanced around to see if anyone had noticed— “Look at me.”

You met his gaze which was hotter than the sun. He looked like he wanted to devour you, “We don’t do this at work,” You repeated firmly, desperately.

His gaze traveled lazily to your mouth and then back up, “You didn’t seem to have an issue when it was Peter.”

You scoffed and looked away. He was going to ruin you, here, at work. You could feel your arousal pooling between your thighs already.

Robby had never been jealous. It wasn’t uncommon if he had stepped away from you for a minute for a man to try and buy you a drink. And he would casually insert himself between you, not even look at the other man, just whisk you away. But he was always so casual and indifferent about it. You had never gotten the impression that he was threatened by it.

But now, he was acting positively possessive. And while it was absolutely inappropriate timing, you found it, unfortunately, unbearably attractive.

You stood from your work station, iPad in hand, and leaned in close to his ear, “If you don’t back off, it’s going to become very clear to everyone in the ED who it is that I’ve been seeing.”

As you move to walk by him, his hand grasps your arm and pulls you back in front of him. Your eyes travel from his hand on your arm in disbelief up to his eyes that are still looking at you with unabashed desire.

“Flirt like that in front of me again, and I will do more than just make everyone wonder if we’re sleeping together.” His hand was still gripping your arm and your breathing faltered at the feel of his breath on the shell of your ear, “Understood?”

You swallowed, hard, and then smirked, “Promise?”

He gave a short chuckle and released your arm, “Don’t play games.”

You leaned in close, close enough to kiss him if you wanted. For his part, he didn’t move away, his eyes snagging on your mouth again, “Don’t threaten me.” You whispered, and then you headed to your patient.

Peter was back. His patient was finally getting admitted and of course, you were the one guiding him to the room. Robby followed a few steps back.

“So… Coffee?” Peter said. Man, was this the best game this guy had? The best the “sexy EMT” could do was ask you about coffee? Maybe Robby had nothing to worry about. “How do you take it?”

You shook your head, smirking, “Cream and sugar.”

“And do you ever… go out for coffee after a shift?”

Robby sighed audibly and your eyes shot to his before quickly looking back to Peter, “No,” You said as you all walked into the room where the patient would be staying, “With all the coffee I drink during shift, I’d never sleep if I had more after.”

Peter nodded, “What about for a drink, then?”

You chuckled nervously, the patient between all of you looking interestedly from you to Peter. Robby watched, irritated when that tell tale flush started creeping its way up your neck again.

“Dr. Y/N.” Robby interjected, “The patient, if you would be so kind? Peter, thank you for your help, we’ve got it from here.”

Peter looked from Robby to you expectantly. As if he thought you’d interject here.

When you didn’t, the fucker had the nerve to ask again, this time abandoning the pretense of it being a casual conversation, “You get off at seven, right? I could meet you later.”

You looked up at Robby first who was watching you with calculated calm. Arms crossed, rocking gently from foot to foot. You doubted anyone else would sense the level of agitation, but it was easy for you to see just how pent up and frustrated he was.

Peter and the patient both followed your gaze to Robby, and then Peter looked back at you, question in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” You said finally, tearing your gaze away from Robby, “But I already have a date after work… with my boyfriend.”

It took everything you had not to reflexively look up at Robby at the end of your sentence, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Peter was already looking from you to Robby, rapid calculations occurring as he put together the pieces of the past day.

Finally, he gave a short breathy laugh, “No fucking way.” The flush worked its way into your cheeks, your ears, your forehead. “He’s old enough to be your dad.” Peter hissed.

That was enough for Robby. Peter wouldn’t leave, and so he’d have to excuse himself before he called security. It wasn’t like this was the first time it had been pointed out to him how young you were. He had thought about it extensively, hating himself, from the moment he realized his affection for you went far beyond that of just a mentor.

“You’ll call if you need me?” He asked, waiting for you to meet his eyes.

You nodded and watched him go, “You should go, Peter.” You started your exam on the patient until eventually, Peter gave up and left.

“I would have picked the doctor with the sad eyes, too.” The patient said in the silence and you laughed so hard you snorted.

The rest of the shift, you worried that Robby was actually upset with you. He barely spoke to you the rest of the shift and avoided being in physical proximity to you if he could help it.

When the day finally ended, you quickly packed up your things and caught him at the hub as he was getting ready to leave. He noted your presence with his eyes, but said nothing as you followed him outside.

You trailed after him like a puppy, hoping he would say something, but he didn’t. When you got to his apartment, he finally turned to you as he closed the door behind you with a hand over your shoulder.

“You never answered my question earlier.” He said softly.

“What question?” You asked, breathless from his closeness.

“If you liked his attention?”

A self satisfied smirk worked its way across your face, “No,” You said finally, shaking your head slowly and biting your lip, “I liked that his attention led to more attention from you.”

“Even though he’s… Far more age appropriate for you?”

You brought your hands up to his face, tilting your head just a bit, “I’ve told you before, your age is inconsequential to me. If anything, I find it more attractive.” He rolled his eyes at this, “I’m serious. Guys my age are arrogant and have the emotional capacity of a brick. You are… leaps and bounds ahead of them in terms of empathy.”

He huffed a laugh, “I’m not sure how not being an asshole correlates with my age.”

“Experience and wisdom and all that, yada yada, but I’m not interested in this conversation right now. You’ve been looking at me all day like…”

He raised his eyebrows, “Like what?”

You cover your face with your hands, suddenly embarrassed. Another thing you loved about Robby was that he had absolutely no trouble verbalizing what he wanted in bed or how badly he wanted you. And he loved when you did the same, but you were still hesitant. Still a little worried he would find it too much, would find it gross, or shameful. Feelings you were still working through from past relationships.

Carefully, he pushed your hands out of your face, his cocky grin greeting you immediately, “Don’t do that,” He said, his voice low, “I’ve wanted to see you blush all pretty for me all day long.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He laughed, “The only thing I’m mad about is that you still have your clothes on. You’ve been driving me fucking insane all day.”

“Me? Driving you insane?”

“Yeah, smiling at him, touching him, blushing for him.”

“I was not—“

“You were.” He said softly, but firmly, “And I gotta tell ya, it made me want to pull you into the bathroom and have my way with you. Really make you blush like I know you do when I’ve made such a mess of you you can hardly speak.”

Your heart rate was picking up, and with it, you were sure, your breathing, “Well, what the fuck are you waiting for then?”

He grinned and then he was kissing you, hard and hungrily, like there was an ache inside of him he couldn’t satisfy until he tasted you. His hands were in your hair, on your waist, under your scrub top, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Open mouthed, he stole the breath from your lungs, breathed you in greedily as a hand palmed your breast.

You couldn’t help the moan that tumbled from your throat as he gently pinched your nipple between his fingers. In response, he pushed his leg between both of yours and you gasped at the friction it created there. Wanting more of it, you ground down on his leg and were rewarded with a guttural sound from Robby.

He grabbed your jaw and pushed you slightly to give himself access to the curve of your neck where he began sucking at the sensitive skin there.

“Peter was probably wondering what you taste like all day.” He grazed his teeth against your skin, “Or how you would feel grinding down on his leg like this. So pretty when you move your hips like that.”

“Stop talking about him,” You ground out.

Robby laughed and pulled away, the loss of friction from his leg made you whine involuntarily. Mercifully, he didn’t comment on this, just took your hand and pulled gently towards the bedroom.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve been thinking about the way you taste all day.” He pushed you down onto the bed and pulled at the drawstring of your scrub pants, “The way you grind against my mouth when you’re really needy.” He’s pulled your pants and panties off in one go and crawls over you. Settling between your thighs, he pulled a leg over his shoulder.

You’re quiet, nearly holding your breath in anticipation and he looked up at you. A check in, despite everything, despite how you had made it clear you wanted him and only him all day, he hesitated. Is this okay? His eyes asked.

It was sweet of him, but you were so frustrated. You wouldn’t admit it, but when he was acting so territorial earlier today, whenever you had allowed your mind to wander, it had been to this: Robby, head between your legs, beard glistening with your slick. If he had taken more than a cursory glance at your panties when he slipped them off moments ago, the evidence of it was all over them.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, “Please?” You managed, your voice a whine, a plea.

He smiled sweetly at you and looked back down. His finger glided across your folds and you both exhaled in unison, “This all for me, baby?”

You nodded and he lazily teased your dripping entrance with a finger, “Only for you.” You said, breathless.

You didn’t have to look to know that had him grinning. Then his mouth was on you, tongue slowly licking long stripes across you that have you quietly whimpering.

You reach a hand out to stroke the back of his head and he groans into you, the vibrations making your back arch. He pulls away slightly to look at you, his fingers circling your clit as he does so, “You’re close already, aren’t you, baby?”

Your only response is to lift your hips up into his hand, a silent plea for more.

It drove him crazy when you were like this. The fact that he had barely even touched you and you were already at the precipice. One practiced movement from him, a flick of his finger or his tongue, and you were so worked up you’d tumble over the edge.

Your face was flushed and sweaty, both from the shift and now, and you looked so fucking gorgeous.

He had been looking for too long. You were whining and arching your back at his lack of attention. He suppressed a laugh, “Okay, alright, I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

Slowly, he pushed a finger inside you, sighing at the way you felt around him. He would never get over how soft and warm your walls felt around him, how perfect. He lowered his mouth back onto you, sucking your clit gently into his mouth and then circling it with his tongue as his finger curled up into you.

It took only a few more seconds before you cried out and he felt your walls contracting around his finger. His cock twitched at the sensation, full and dripping in his pants.

Even in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you were already reaching for him, pulling him by the shoulder back up to your mouth where you kissed him hungrily. The taste of you still on his tongue drove you wild and you started clawing at his clothes, trying to tear them off while chasing his mouth with your own.

Robby laughed at your eagerness, “You want to feel how crazy you drove me today? You want me to fill you up until you can’t see straight, hm?”

You helped lift his shirt over his head, hands pressed against his chest before you curled a finger beneath the chain of his necklace and lightly tugged him towards you, “Please stop talking.”

He laughed against your mouth and hooked your hip over his own, his erection sliding against your slick folds.

“Fucking Christ.” He groaned as he slid over you, repeatedly teasing your entrance with his tip before pulling out.

“Robby,” You groaned in frustration, until finally he gave in, sinking into you fully, “Oh, fuck.” You sighed into his mouth and he licked into yours as he slowly moved in and out of you.

“Jesus, you feel so good.” He lifted the leg that was previously wrapped around his hip and brought it to his shoulder, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your ankle, “Okay?”

You nodded and he leaned down, pressing your leg with him. He was so so deep now and you moaned at the sensation. He began rocking his hips, slowly at first, then faster, harder, until you were delirious with the feel of him.

“Such a good girl,” He cooed, as he continued thrusting into you, “You look so pretty like this.” Reaching between you, his fingers found your swollen clit with little effort and he circled in time with his thrusts, smiling at you when you moaned and he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me again like a good girl. Wanna feel you cum around me.”

You loved when he talked like this, gentle and encouraging. It was all it took to push you over the edge the second time. And while you rode it out, crying out his name as you did, you felt him release inside you as well.

The both of you were breathless as you came down, his forehead rested against yours. You caught his mouth in a sweaty kiss and he hummed into your mouth appreciatively. When you both had caught your breath, he pulled out and wordlessly stood to go to the bathroom. This was routine now, so you waited patiently, knowing he’d return. You heard the sink water running for a while, then it stopped.

Robby came back into the room, warm, wet wash cloth in hand as he smiled down at you. He quietly cleaned you up and then once he’d gotten rid of the wash cloth, laid down next to you, pulling you into him with one arm.

“We should take a shower.” He said softly, kissing the freckles on your shoulder.

You hummed, “Just a couple more minutes like this, please?”

He sighed, “Can’t say no to you.”

You huffed a laugh, “You say no to me all the time at work.”

“Yes, it’s my job to say no to you there. It’s my job to say yes to you here.”

“Ah,” You said, “Very convenient.”

He laughed and then let silence fall between you for a few moments. Then— “So, do you think Peter got the hint or do you think he’ll come with a coffee the next time?”

You laughed, “I cannot believe you are still thinking about that man.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

You sighed, “I think he got the hint, baby.”

“Good,” He said, “Because I have a strict no violence in the workplace policy.”

You shook your head, “You are a jealous, possessive man. I had no idea.”

“I can be positively territorial if it’ll lead to more sex like this.” He said and playfully bit your shoulder, causing you to squeal, “Come on, shower time.”

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, bad politics, chemically induced heat? institutionalized reader, doctors, wack rehabilitation program, ish brainwashing

fem reader

You’d been difficult to tame. Or, he just didn’t have the time to do it properly—too busy at work and too tired when coming home. He’d wanted a sweet Omega, one who did house chores when he was away and had dinner ready for him when he got off.

You’d looked real sweet at the auction—a perfectly beautiful Omega. You weren’t cheap either—everyone had made their bids, but he’d been the one to walk away with the prize in the end. He can’t say he regrets it—he still has a fondness for you even though you’re not what he’d thought he’d purchased.

You just need some behavioral correcting. And so, he put you in an Omega institution.

It had been recommended to him. It’s not so uncommon, he later found out while reading up on the place. Auctioned Omegas tend to end up a little rough around the edges—here, at the institution, they’ll smooth those edges right out.

Sadly, there’s been a rise in unstable Omegas as of late—he reads on their website. It’s a misguided revolution taking place in several auction homes that’s to blame for it—circling modern ideas of liberation, equality, andindependence. It all stems from a place of fear, the website explains in detail—Omegas seek to stand on their own in the world. Cooped up in auction homes, they fear they’ll never see the outside without a mate—and as the years dwindle on and their prospects become slimmer, they start fantasizing about doing it on their own.

He feels sorry for you while reading it. Your attitude makes more sense now, knowing you’ve been fed a bunch of deluded nonsense. He can’t blame you for getting swept up in it—you’re a little younger than him, after all. But the silly idea of a lone Omega isn’t just laughable but dangerous. It was best of him to make sure any such notions were quashed—for your own good—before you end up doing something you might regret. 

And it seemed this place was the place to do it. In fact, many of his fellow Alphas had done the same, and they’d all sung this particular institution’s praises.

Oh, but it’s been hard. You wouldn’t talk to him much or even keep him in good company at home, but still, he misses your presence. The house seems so empty without your little everyday spats to keep him on his toes.

You’ve been away for a whole month now, and he hasn’t even been allowed to visit, not once. It would ruin the process, he was told. But he’s been assured that the caretakers there have been making great progress with you. He should be able to come pick you up as soon as the start of next week.

He remembers having been skeptical about leaving you here as he walks to announce himself at the help desk. The facility is pristine and sterile—very impersonal, just like any other hospital. He wonders if you’ve been scared. After all, it’s most likely your skittish nature that makes you so hostile, joined with misgivings making you confused. It can’t be easy. He hopes the doctors here have helped you sort things out. Maybe you won’t be so frustrated all the time.

He was led to a private room where he could complete some paperwork for your release while waiting for your discharge. He made quick work of it. A door opens, and your doctor comes through, and then, following right behind him, there’s you—his pretty little Omega.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite so subdued—not even when you’d been caged at the auction, there’d still been some fight to your spirit. Now, not so much—taking quiet and careful steps with your head hung, looking at your slipper-clad feet.

You pick your face up when you recognize the scent, and then you look at him like you’ve just seen a ghost. Wide-eyed and lock-jawed—your breathing picks up rapidly, and his name drops from your lips like a pained whimper, followed by a sudden burst of tears and a rush toward him. “You came back—” 

You’re on him before he has the time to blink—pressed against him tightly, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart, with your face buried in the grove of his neck. Your claws are slightly drawn, but in no effort to hurt him—rather, to cling to him. It’s not any normal hug—not that you’d ever given him one before—but even so, you’re swaddledaround his neck with your legs crossed at his back.

He’s taken aback by the behavior—it isn’t like you at all. He remembers your aversion to his touch, how you’d regard him like a plague, snarling each time he’d get too close. This was beyond new.

But you leave him no opening to comment either, too busy rambling in meek little whispers pressed into his skin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—I knew you’d come back—knew you hadn’t forgotten about me. I’m sorry I was being difficult, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve forgiven me, right? You’ll take me home now, right? Please—”

He’d never been in a position to soothe you before—you’d never wanted it. He doesn’t know what else to do but smooth a hand over your hunched and shuddering back, shushing you like he’d seen mothers do with their sobbing children. You didn’t look much different right now.

“Yeah… we’re going home,” he assures you. 

You hug him a little tighter as a sob wreaks through you.

This isn’t exactly what he prepared himself for. He thought you’d be... well, he doesn’t really know... nicer?Perhaps. Agreeable. Not so violent. But not this—this broken little ball of shivering sniffles holding onto him as if the world was about to end.

He swallows thickly, then looks at your doctor—he doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he seems utterly unfazed.

It makes him wonder, a little warily, “What have you done with her?”

The doctor seems more than happy to explain—it’s only customary, after all. He’d paid a lot to have you rehabilitated here.

“Each omega requires special treatment suited to them,” the doctor explains. “Yours was particularly unruly.”

You flinch. He feels your claws dig deeper, but they’re too blunt to draw blood and too weak to hurt anyway. But even so, your sentiments are more than clear—you fear this doctor with your entire being.

“We’ve found that in the case of hostile Omegas, the most effective way to correct their behavior is to keep them isolated and let their own instincts remind them of what they need,” the doctor continues. “Of course, we’ve taken protective measures to ensure she wouldn’t harm herself in said isolation and have fed her accordingly at scheduled times every day.” He smiles. “We can assure you she’s been perfectly safe in the pillow room.”

He lifts the silver suitcase he’d been holding, props it up, and pops the lid, revealing a row of ten syringes—a hot pink fluid within.

“This is our recommended medicine.”

You shudder even more, unrelenting in your grip around him—hanging on so tightly as if you fear someone would come and pry you off him at any moment.

“Give one to her if and when she acts up. More instructions come with the case—please read through them carefully.”

He eyes the syringes with furrowed brows, picking one up to inspect it further. They don’t look like anything he’s read about in the brochure or on the website—perhaps a brand new method for treating Omegas? This is a cutting-edge institution, after all.

He can’t guess what they must do to make you cower like that. The spit-spire he left here a month ago wouldn’t cry over a tiny needle.

“What are they?” he asks.

The doctor’s smile stretches. “Nothing dangerous. All natural hormone components.”

He’s not sure what that entails, and so he quirks a brow while laying the syringe back in its designated mold. “And what does that mean?”

The doctor clasps the case shut and hands it over to him while explaining plainly, “They induce heat.” 

He accepts the case before his ears have the chance to draw back at his words. Now that explains your sudden clinginess—why you’re so frigid.

The doctor adds, “Poor thing’s spent quite a few alone in the pillow room, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to finally be by her mate’s side again.”

He’s speechless.

Spending heat alone, without any relief, is a form nothing short of torture. If he’d known that was what they were doing to you, he wouldn’t have sent you here in the first place. He very nearly chews the doctor out for using such barbaric methods but thinks better of it. If anything were to be done, it would be through a well-worded and filed complaint and a vow to never do business with them ever again.

Though, coming home with you by his side, still clinging to him… he can’t argue with the results. 

So he doesn’t complain. He just enjoys your new and improved wellness and promises never to use those injections on you himself. Yes, they’d forego their expiration date soon enough, dusting away in the back of his closet. He’d never ever put you through something so horrid. That’s his pledge as your mate.

Oh, but then... the honeymoon phase dissolves. And you return to your old habits of teeth and claws.

It’s never-ending barking with you all over again—you want to leave, you want to be alone, you don’t want him to touch you, you blame him for what you went through at the institution, you hate him for it, and you’ll never ever forgive him.

He doesn’t want to—he swears while holding the syringe to your thigh where he’s strapped you down in bed with ropes and knots—he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t, but you leave him no choice when you act like a wild animal. 

The first time is always the hardest. But he doesn’t leave you alone in a room like they did at the institution—no, he helps you through it. It’s not torture this way. It’s just… well, what can he say? It’s just a little reminder to get you back on your good behavior.

You would rather stay here than get sent back to the pillow room, right?

It’s all too easy the second time around even though it shouldn’t have been. It was only a day of small uproars, nothing all that bad—refusing to greet him at the door, to make dinner, to fix his plate, to wash dishes, to come to bed. He’d allowed you days like that in the past, but this time, he’d felt himself gravitate towards his so-called last resort once again. 

Still, he’d felt a little guilty about it. 

It would be easier to refrain if it didn’t work like a charm.

Now, he goes and finds the briefcase at the drop of a hat. Say something snarky or look at him funny. Give him any opportunity, and he’ll abuse it—even things you don’t even mean to do, like burning the food, shrinking his clothes in the wash, or forgetting to make the bed in the morning. He’s on you with the syringe deep in your flesh before you can even mouth the words “I’m sorry—”

You’re limp and sweat-drenched after a few hours. He spoons you as the spasms continuously ricochet through you—his spent leaking down your thighs. Even after several rounds, the hormones are still brewing up a bad storm within your gut, thundering in your heart as its lightning zips along your limbs. Your head is a rainy cloud—heavy and full yet soft like cotton.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—it was an accident—” you mumble between labored breaths, not entirely sure what error you’d made this time, shivering against his warm chest as he cups your breast in one big hand and your swollen cunt in the other.

“I know, I know it was, baby,” he coos. “But you need to be more mindful—can’t be making so many mistakes all the time.” His lips brush your skin as he purrs, placing small pecks against your cheek and neck. “How can I trust you with my pups if you’re gonna be such a scatterbrain, hm?”

The mention of pups makes something roar more ferociously in your underbelly, and you whimper meekly in return. “I’m sorry—I’ll do better.”

“Good. I’m sure you’ll get there, sweetie.”

The storm within crackles, rumbling with a deepening hunger. Even though you feel battle-worn and ever ready for the sweet escape of sleep, there’s something even needier and heedless that makes your body feel all but set ablaze.

You’ve cum so many times already, but it’s still not enough—it’s never enough. It takes everything in you to make sense of his words—to act civil even when all you want is to jump his bones—make him fuck you until your fever breaks, then allow you rest.

But act in any way out of turn, and he’ll only drag this out. Be sweet, you remind yourself—sugar, syrup, honeycomb—sweet and soft like velvet—no teeth or claws or growling. No matter what, don’t let the animal out of the cage.

“No matter how many lessons it’ll take…” he murmurs. “I’m here to help.”

“Thank you—” you wince while rubbing your thighs together—grinding against his hand in desperation. “Can you… can we—”

He chuckles fondly, feeling you rub your ass back against his crotch wantingly. “Oh? Another round so soon?” 

You bite your lip at his teasing. Far beyond proud to not be begging, “Yes, please—pretty, pretty please—”

The sweet warble in your voice is so pitiful and cute—he can’t help the smile it brings him. “Alright, honey,” he hums while shifting, getting up with a hearty sigh, then leaning over you to give your pleading little pout a kiss. He feeds you his next words with a grin on his face, “Let’s see about that needy pussy of yours.”

He spreads and shimmies himself between your aching thighs, nice and snug against the weeping little thing between them—looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a smug smile that makes you feel like the most hopeless little Omega in the world.

He places another kiss upon your forehead—dwarfing your hand in his big one, braiding your fingers together while the other carries his meaty cock, holding it steady up to your fluttering and glossy slit. 

The size never fails to make you squirm as you look down at it—wondering why you crave it so badly when it only serves to make your body twist and scream from the stretch it gives you.

 “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he soothes the tiny cry that cracks from your throat once he starts easing the length inside the snug comforts of your walls. “Your Alpha’s here to make it all better.”

♡ BNHA – old man Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Daichi, Ushijima ♡ AOT – Erwin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[gf2bellamy]

I have no idea if I hallucinated that requested this or smt, so totally ignore this if i've already asked.

But could you ever do a fic where spencer is at the hospital from that time he got shot at, and reader gets his belongings while he's in surgery and she sees a ring box in between them. (Engagement ring ofc) And she talks with spencer after and tells him that she saw it.

That's kinda the idea, love your work and thanks in advance if you decide to write it. 🥰

ring — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer is in the hospital because of his neck injury , mention of a shooting, reader being worried / panicked , a/n: hii !! i loved this request so much that i ended up writing like 5 different versions of it - i hope you like this !! <33 ( also i definitely got carried away with this )

Blake had practically shoved you out of the hospital waiting room, insisting you go to Spencer’s apartment.

You didn’t want to leave—not when Spencer was still in surgery, not when every second felt like an eternity of uncertainty.

But Blake had been firm but kind. “He’s going to be okay, but he’ll need things when he wakes up.” 

You had resisted at first, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Garcia’s call hours earlier had sent your world spinning. “Spencer’s been shot,” she had said, her voice trembling.

You didn’t remember the drive to the hospital—only the blur of streetlights and the pounding of your heart. When you arrived, Blake had met you in the waiting room. She explained that a bullet had grazed Spencer’s neck, that it was serious but not life-threatening.

Still, the word “surgery” had lodged itself in your chest.

It wasn’t until the doctor emerged to tell you the surgery had gone well that you finally agreed to leave. Spencer was stable, but he wasn’t awake yet, and visiting hours were over. Blake had told you, “Go pack a bag for him. He’ll need clothes when he’s discharged.” 

Now, standing in the middle of Spencer’s apartment, you felt weird.

The space was so him—neatly organized bookshelves, a chessboard set up on the coffee table, and the faint scent of Earl Grey tea lingering in the air.

It was comforting, but it also made his absence feel more pronounced. You took a deep breath and got to work, pulling out a duffel bag from his closet and starting to pack. 

You began with the essentials: a few pairs of pants, sweaters , and socks. You couldn’t help but smile as you grabbed a handful of mismatched ones. But then you remembered his purple scarf, the one he always wore when the weather turned chilly. It was his favorite, and you knew he’d want it when he was discharged. 

The problem was, you couldn’t find it. 

 You opened drawer after drawer, your frustration growing with each one. Spencer was organized, but the scarf was nowhere to be found.

“Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, your hands moving faster as you rifled through his things. You checked the top shelf of the closet, the hooks by the door, even the laundry basket, but it wasn’t there. 

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you pushed aside the row of clothes hanging in the closet, your fingers brushing against something soft and familiar.

There it was—tucked away in the very back, as if it had been hidden on purpose.

But as you pulled the scarf free, something else tumbled out, landing softly on the carpet at your feet.

A small, rectangular white box.

Your breath hitched as you stared at it, your mind racing.

You carefully placed the scarf in the duffel bag, your hands trembling slightly as you bent down to pick up the box. 

The box was too small, too specific to be anything ordinary. You held it in your palm.Slowly, almost hesitantly, you lifted the lid. 

 And there it was. 

A ring.

A beautiful, delicate ring with a diamond that caught the dim light of the room, scattering tiny rainbows across your hand. It wasn’t just any ring—it was an engagement ring.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of your lungs. You sat down heavily on the edge of Spencer’s bed, your legs suddenly unable to support you. 

 “Oh my God,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your eyes were wide, your mouth slightly open as you stared at the ring, unable to look away. The diamond sparkled, almost as if it were alive, and you reached out to touch it lightly, as if to confirm it was real. The metal was cool against your skin, the stone smooth and perfect.

Your mind raced, trying to process what this meant. You couldn’t help but already imagine the moment he might have planned—his nervous smile, his hands fidgeting, his voice soft as he asked the question. The image was so vivid it made your heart ache. 

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the ring cradled in your hand, your thoughts spiraling. But then, like a jolt, you remembered where you were supposed to be.

The hospital. Spencer.

He was still there, still recovering, and you were sitting here staring at a ring. 

Carefully, you placed the ring back in its box and closed the lid. Your hands were still shaking as you tucked the box into the duffel bag, burying it beneath the clothes and the scarf. You stood up, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and took one last look around the apartment.

 As you locked the door behind you and headed back to your car, your mind was still spinning.

The drive to the hospital was a daze. The streets blurred together.

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the parking lot. You sat in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to steady your breathing.

The ring. It was all you could think about. 

Finally, you forced yourself to move, grabbing the duffel bag and stepping out into the cool night air. The walk to the entrance felt surreal, like you were moving through a dream. The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and you made your way to the waiting room.

You sat down in one of the stiff chairs, the duffel bag resting heavily in your lap. Your thoughts were a swirling mess, replaying every moment, every interaction with Spencer over the past few weeks. Things that had seemed innocent at the time now took on a new meaning. 

A couple of weeks ago, he had dragged you into a jewelry store, casually asking what styles you liked. You had laughed it off, thinking he was just curious. Then there were the random dinners at different restaurants, him intently watching your reactions as you tried new dishes. “What kind of food do you like best?” he had asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. Now it all made sense. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice Blake walking in. She sat down across from you. It wasn’t until she spoke that you snapped back to reality. 

 “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice gentle. 

You blinked, finally noticing her presence. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” you mumbled, forcing an awkward smile.

Your voice sounded distant, even to yourself, and you could tell Blake wasn’t entirely convinced. She studied you for a moment, her gaze flickering to the bag in your lap. 

 “Did you get everything you needed?” she asked, her tone casual. 

You glanced down at the bag, your fingers tightening around the fabric. “Yeah, I got him some sweaters, pants, and just… clothes in general,” you said, your voice trailing off as your gaze drifted to the wall behind her. Your mind was already wandering again, back to Spencer, back to the ring, back to the unanswered questions that were swirling in your head. 

And then, almost casually, Blake added, “And scarves?” 

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, your eyes locking onto hers. She was smiling slightly, her gaze knowing. “You found it, didn’t you?” she asked. She took in your wide-eyed expression, the way your hands tightened around the duffel bag, and she didn’t need an answer.

She already knew. 

“He asked me for advice,” Blake continued, shaking her head as if recalling the memory. A soft laugh escaped her, and you could tell she was amused by the whole thing.

“He did?” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was pounding, your mind racing to keep up with the conversation. 

“Yes,” Blake said, her smile widening. “He wanted to make sure he got it right. Spencer’s not the type to do anything halfway, you know that.” 

A smile tugged at your lips—maybe the first genuine one since Garcia’s call had shattered your world hours ago. You let out an emotional chuckle, the sound shaky. “It’s a beautiful ring,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“It is,” Blake agreed, her voice warm. “He spent weeks looking for the perfect one. Even spent hours in one store, agonizing over the details. You should’ve seen him.” 

You had to brush a tear from your eye as another chuckle escaped you. “That sounds like him,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

The thought of Spencer meticulously searching for the right ring, second-guessing himself, trying to make sure it was perfect—it was so him. So thoughtful, so Spencer. 

It was a lot to process and your mind was still spinning, when suddenly a nurse appeared in the doorway of the waiting room. 

 “Are you two here for Spencer Reid?” she asked.

You nodded immediately, jumping to your feet so quickly that the duffel bag slipped from your lap and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Blake reached down to pick it up, handing it to you with a small smile. “He’s awake,” the nurse continued. “You can see him now.” 

Your heart leapt into your throat, a mix of relief and nervousness flooding through you. You turned to Blake, expecting her to follow, but she stayed seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Are you not coming?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion. 

Blake shook her head, her smile soft and knowing. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said gently. Her tone left no room for argument, and you realized she understood. The emotions were about to be high, the moment intimate, and Blake was giving you the space you needed. 

You smiled, gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Blake,” you said, your voice sincere. She nodded, her eyes warm, and with that, you turned and hurried after the nurse, the duffel bag clutched tightly in your hands. 

The walk to Spencer’s room felt both endless and far too short.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions, but all of them faded into the background when the nurse stopped outside a door and gestured for you to go in. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

The nurse gave you a reassuring smile before walking away, leaving you standing there, your hand hovering over the door handle. 

 You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and then pushed the door open. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Spencer was lying in the bed, his eyes closed, his face pale. For a moment, you just stood there, taking him in, relief flooding through you at the sight of him alive and breathing. 

 And then his eyes fluttered open, as if he could sense your presence. “Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

 “Hi, Spence,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you closed the door behind you and stepped closer to his bed. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion and the bandage on his neck.

You set the duffel bag down on a nearby chair, your hands fidgeting nervously as you tried to find the right words.

But before you could say anything, Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “You’re here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Of course I’m here,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage. Spencer watched you with a weak smile, his eyes soft but tired.

You weren’t entirely sure how to approach the situation. Your hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to touch him or keep your distance.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, your voice gentle as you stood right next to his bed, close but not quite touching. 

 “I’m okay,” Spencer said. He tried to sit up slightly, wincing as he shifted. You instinctively stepped forward, your hands reaching out but still not making contact. “You sure? Do you want me to get you something? Water? A pillow?” you offered, your voice tinged with worry. 

“No, no,” Spencer shook his head, managing a small smile as he finally settled against the raised bed. He glanced at you, his eyes searching yours, and then he whispered, “You can touch me.” 

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. He had noticed—of course he had. Your hesitation and your fear of hurting him if you touched him.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You immediately rushed to sit down on the edge of the bed, where he had slightly patted the space beside him with as much energy as he could muster. Your hands found their way to his face, brushing the hair away from his forehead, your fingers trembling as they traced the lines of his face. 

“God, you scared me so much,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as you continued to gently twist his hair between your fingers. Your hands eventually drifted down to his face, brushing over his cheekbones, your touch feather-light.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, his eyes still closed, his breathing steady but shallow. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

When he opened his eyes, you stared at him for a moment, trying to absorb the fact that he was really here, awake, and alive. The relief was overwhelming, but so was the flood of emotions you’d been holding back. You wanted to say so much, but the words felt tangled, caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. 

Instead, you forced a small smile and shifted the conversation to something lighter. “I got you some clothes,” you said, gesturing to the duffel bag. “I figured your hospital gown isn’t exactly comfortable.” 

“It’s not,” Spencer admitted, his voice still weak but with a hint of amusement. You set the bag on your lap and opened it slightly, pulling out a few items to show him. “I got you some books too,” you added, hoping to distract him—and maybe yourself—from the heaviness of the moment. 

Spencer’s interest was immediately piqued, his tired eyes lighting up just a little.

“Which ones did you—” he started to ask, but then he stopped mid-sentence. His gaze had landed on something in the bag, and his expression shifted.

You followed his eyes and realized what he was looking at: the purple scarf. It was peeking out from beneath the stack of clothes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker.

Spencer’s mouth opened slightly, his eyes darting from the scarf to you and back again. You could see the realization dawning on his face, and your stomach dropped. 

“It was an accident,” you finally said nervously, breaking the silence. Your voice was rushed, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to find it. I was just grabbing your scarf because, you know, it’s freezing outside, and I thought you’d want it when you’re discharged, and—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling. “I’m sorry,” you added, shaking your head and offering an awkward smile. 

Spencer, meanwhile, was full-on blushing, his pale cheeks now flushed with color. It was a stark contrast to how he’d looked just 20 seconds ago.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes darting nervously around the room before finally settling on the wall behind you. He looked completely lost in thought, his mind racing a mile a minute. 

“No—it’s… it’s okay,” Spencer finally managed to say, though his voice was quiet and hesitant. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. 

“Spence?” you asked softly, your slightly trembling hand reaching up to gently cup his face again. Your touch seemed to pull him back to the present, and his eyes slowly met yours.

“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Your hand fell from his face, but he caught it before it could retreat, his fingers intertwining with yours. His grip was firm, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away. “I asked Blake for advice,” he admitted, his tone sheepish. 

“I know,” you whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She told me.” 

Spencer didn’t seem surprised that Blake had shared that with you. Instead, he nodded, his eyes dropping to your joined hands.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I had a speech prepared, and I—I was going to have this whole routine on how I would ask you.” He tightened his hold on your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m sorry you found out like this,” he added, his voice hesitant.

He opened his mouth again, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking away, as if he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze. 

The room fell silent. You could see the disappointment in his expression, the way he was beating himself up for not being able to execute his plan the way he’d envisioned. But to you, none of that mattered. What mattered was the love behind it, the thought and care he’d put into something so meaningful. 

After a beat of silence, you finally spoke, your voice soft.

“My answer is the same either way,” you whispered. 

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“You want to…?” he started, but he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The hope in his eyes said it all. 

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yes,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes. “Of course I do, Spencer. How could I not?” 

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and pure joy. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire being. He squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again.

You smiled, your own eyes slightly glossy as you looked at him. The room felt quieter now, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“Now you have to heal faster,” you whispered, your voice teasing but tender as you brushed your thumb over his fingers, “so we can get working on our wedding preparations.” 

Spencer’s eyes lit up at the word wedding, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts shy and delighted.

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he were trying to process the reality of what you’d just said. Then he let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and genuine despite the hoarseness in his voice. 

“Wedding preparations,” he repeated, his tone a mix of awe and amusement. “I… I hadn’t even gotten that far in my planning yet.” He paused, his smile turning sheepish. “I was so focused on the proposal that I didn’t think much about what would come after.” 

You chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of ideas,” you said, your tone playful. “But first, you need to rest and get better. No more getting shot, okay? I can’t have my fiancé—” The word felt strange but wonderful on your tongue, and you paused, savoring it for a moment before continuing, “—running around getting himself hurt.” 

Spencer’s smile widened at the word fiancé, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fiancé,” he murmured, as if testing out how it sounded. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice soft. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment against his skin. When you pulled back, his eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. 

“I’ll heal faster,” he promised, his voice quiet. “I’ve got a wedding to plan now, after all.” 

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

[reidrum]

i think he knows

A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3

summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk

wc: 2.5k

A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.

He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?

You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.

But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.

The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.

Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.

He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.

Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?

Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!

Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.

You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling? Spencer: Better now, how are you? You: Better now ;)

Oh, you’re everything to him.

Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you? You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop

He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.

Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again. You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board. Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me. You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful. Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.

It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.

Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.

He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.

While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.

Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something? You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise. You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it. Spencer: Are you free this Friday? You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;) Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7? You: I’ll be waiting <333

He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.

Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”

He deflates. So close.

Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.

Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner? You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?

He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.

Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.  You: Be safe out there please Spencer: Always am. You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me. You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better. Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful. You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3 Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions. You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid. Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy. Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon. You: Bye handsome 💞

The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.

He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.

Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you. Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon. You: Promise? Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything? You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face. Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital? You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that. Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself? You: How are you going to do that? Spencer: I have my ways. You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it Spencer: Maybe. You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye. Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this. You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting? Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay. You: Ugh, you know me so well <3

To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.

The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.

Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.

It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.

Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures. 

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.

Ding!

But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.

And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.

Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.

The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.

The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you. 

“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”

He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.

You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”

“In Maryland?”

“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”

God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”

He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”

“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”

The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”

You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.

“You were busy.”

“So were you.”

Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”

You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t. 

You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.

It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.

It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”

To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”

[magnagaruzenmon]

Accident

Karina looks too cute like this

You were on your way to the restaurant for your first date, stomach buzzing with nerves, when the universe decided to throw in a plot twist—by way of a speeding luxury sedan.

You didn’t even get a chance to swear before the front grill smacked you like a linebacker. You bounced off the hood and landed badly, ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.

“Ah, god—” you groaned, curling around the pain as your foot ballooned to nearly twice its size. The agony was sharp and immediate, then settled into something duller but constant—like your ankle had been replaced with a live wire.

A car door slammed. Footsteps rushed over.

“Oh my god—are you alive?! I swear I didn’t see you!”

You looked up, expecting some panicked auntie. Instead, you were met with the most disarmingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen—glossy black hair, porcelain skin, wide eyes full of panic and… chaotic sparkle?

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t texting, I swear—well, I was looking at the restaurants, but that’s not the same—wait, what’s your name?”

You blinked, still on the ground. “Malcom.”

“I’m Yu Jimin—but you can call me Karina! Okay, I feel terrible, so I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you stand? No? That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, she crouched, looped your arm around her shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged you back to the passenger seat of the car that had just hit you. You stared, dazed, as she buckled you in with the tenderness of a mom securing her toddler.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in the ER, staring at a doctor whose mouth kept twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between you and Karina, “she ran you over and then personally chauffeured you to the hospital?”

You nodded.

Karina stood beside the gurney, arms crossed like a scolded puppy. “It was an accident,” she mumbled. “And technically I clipped him. Just a little clipping. Barely a love tap.”

The doctor gave up and left the room before he could laugh in your face.

After you got a boot on and were waiting in to be discharged Karina laughed and said, “You know I was actually supposed to headed to a date before this. That’s probably ruined,”

You laugh and say, “if it’s any consolation I was supposed to as well,”

“I guess this can be our first date then,” Karina said with a goofy smile. You laugh and say

“Sure,”

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Karina—and learned one undeniable truth.

This girl? Absolutely insane.

Not in a bad way. Not the dangerous kind of crazy. More like… a fizzy soda shaken too much, a firecracker in a Hello Kitty box, a sunrise that forgot it wasn’t supposed to talk at 200 words per minute.

Karina was a whirlwind of sunshine: too energetic, too happy, too much—but in the kind of way you start to crave. She skipped instead of walked. She made up songs about brushing her teeth. She got excited about vending machines like they were ancient wonders of the world.

But here’s the thing no one warned you about: her body? Ridiculously sinful for someone so wrapped in pink chaos.

Every time she bounced around the room in one of her oversized crop tops—grinning, giggling, hopping like an overcaffeinated bunny—there was a real risk of divine intervention. One bend, one innocent lean, and boom: cleavage apocalypse. You’d try to keep eye contact, but it felt like a test sent straight from the heavens. And you were failing. Hard.

Then there were the lap moments.

Karina didn’t mean anything by them. That’s what made it worse. She’d plop down on you mid-conversation with zero warning, back wiggling against your chest like she was trying to unlock some ancient, primal curse. Sometimes she’d shift without realizing it, and your brain would short-circuit while she nibbled Pocky and asked if ducks had teeth.

She was, somehow, both God’s most adorable angel and the devil’s most tempting succubus—wrapped in one soft, giggling, maddeningly affectionate package.

And the worst part?

She had no idea what she was doing to you.

Or maybe she did.

But either way… you were hopelessly, blissfully doomed.

The plan was simple: a chill double date. Dinner, drinks, and maybe a board game or two at Giselle’s place.

The execution, however, was anything but chill—because Karina, bless her chaotic soul, had once again decided to dress like a Victoria’s Secret model pretending to be wholesome. Which was ironic because you knew Victoria secret models who were more modest and wholesome than Karina.

She wore a baby pink cardigan that only had two buttons fastened—right at the middle—and underneath, a lacy bralette that could barely be called clothing. High-waisted jeans hugged her hips like they were in a committed relationship, and her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that made her look infuriatingly effortless.

Giselle’s boyfriend tried very hard not to stare which would have annoyed you but you had your own issues . You tried very hard not to combust.

The whole night, Karina was a golden retriever in human form. She bounced around the kitchen helping Giselle cook, humming pop songs and spinning in her socks like the floor was a skating rink. Or she clinged to you like a new puppy would.

“Do you want more wine, Malcom?” she asked, leaning across the table to pour you a glass—from the wrong side. Her chest hovered right in front of your face like a sentient temptation. Your soul briefly left your body.

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered beside you, hiding a snort behind her hand. “She’s not even trying.”

“She never tries,” you hissed, face hot.

When dinner ended, Karina claimed your lap like it was her rightful throne. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable, which meant your life expectancy dropped by about five years. She stole bites off your plate and pressed her cheek against yours like a cat marking its territory, all while giggling at a dumb story Giselle was telling about her boyfriend getting locked out in boxers.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

All you could focus on was the fact that Karina’s bralette strap had slid off her shoulder. Her skin was warm against your jaw. Her hips were grinding against your thigh every time she laughed too hard.

She looked up at you with wide, oblivious eyes.

“You okay?” she asked sweetly.

“Peachy,” you croaked, voice cracking like a teenager.

Giselle made a strangled noise. “This is the funniest date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m just sitting!” Karina protested, still perched innocently in your lap, pouting like a kicked puppy. “Malcom’s the one acting all weird.”

You met Giselle’s eyes over Karina’s shoulder. She grinned like the devil. You were never going to live this down.

Later that night, after you’d survived dinner, board games, and the lap of doom, you and Karina finally made it back to your place.

She flopped onto your couch, kicked off her shoes, and gave you the look—head tilted, brows scrunched, lips pursed. The interrogation look.

“Okay,” she said, pointing a finger at you like you were on trial. “Why were you being so weird all night?”

You blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah! You were jumpy and awkward and barely spoke during dessert. Did I say something dumb again? You’re not secretly allergic to lasagna or something, right?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Karina… it wasn’t what you said. It’s you.”

Her expression softened in that open, trusting way that always made your heart lurch. “Me?”

“Yeah, like—look, you’re adorable and funny and insane, but also you’re just… really sexy. And you don’t mean to be, which makes it worse. You sat in my lap in that bralette like it was no big deal, and leaned over the table, and giggled with your boobs basically—okay, you know what I mean.”

Karina just stared.

Then blinked.

Then laughed. Hard.

“Nooo way. You’re just saying that to be dramatic!”

“I’m serious!” you groaned, collapsing beside her. “Giselle even gave me that look like, ‘bro, I’m so sorry for your suffering.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I need to hear this from a second source.”

And just like that, she grabbed her phone and FaceTimed Giselle.

You tried to stop her. She smacked your hand away like a mosquito. The line rang once before Giselle answered, wrapped in a blanket, holding a popsicle.

“What’s up, chaos goblins?”

Karina shoved the phone in her face. “Was I sexy tonight?”

Giselle blinked. Then howled.

“Oh my god—YES. Babe, you were almost radioactively hot. I nearly had to throw a blanket on you for public safety. You sat in his lap like it was your throne and bounced like you were trying to get him to fuck you right there.”

“I wasn’t even trying!?” Karina cried.

“I know! That’s what made it worse! You’re like an adorable succubus and he was suffering in absolute silence. Honestly, it was impressive.”

Karina turned slowly to look at you. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief. “Wait… you were turned on that whole time?!”

You gave her a flat stare. “Karina. I nearly bit through my cheek during Uno.”

She gasped like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

Then she burst out laughing again—and tackled you onto the couch, straddling you without a second thought.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed. “You should’ve said something.”

You groaned. “You think I didn’t try?”

Giselle was still cackling through the phone. “I’m hanging up before I hear something I’ll never un-hear. Good luck, Malcom. You’re gonna need it.”

The line went dead. Karina grinned down at you, straddling your hips like she was born to sit there—like gravity itself had conspired to put her in your lap and keep her there. That wild sparkle lit up her eyes, mischief blooming across her face like fire meeting dry grass.

“Oh?” she purred, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me show you what me actually trying to be sexy looks like.”

And then she kissed you.

Not the shy, fluttery kind. No. This was a kiss that didn’t ask permission—it took. Her lips met yours with a hungry certainty, all heat and rhythm, like she knew exactly where you were weakest and aimed straight for the center. Her hands cupped your jaw, keeping you exactly where she wanted you, and every time you tried to catch your breath, she pulled you back under—deeper, slower, harder.

You groaned into her mouth, clutching her waist like a lifeline, your brain fogging up with nothing but the feel of her.

By the time she finally let you go, you were panting, light-headed, your pulse galloping like it was trying to outrun your restraint.

She didn’t stop there.

Karina leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear with infuriating gentleness. Her breath was hot, intimate, maddening. Then her tongue flicked out—just once—before she slowly dragged it along the edge of your ear and finished with a teasing nip at your lobe.

You gasped, hips involuntarily twitching beneath her. She giggled at the reaction, soft and smug, like she’d just discovered your cheat code.

Her fingers trailed down your chest, feather-light, tracing invisible patterns over your shirt. She wasn’t rushing—no, this was deliberate. Torturous. Seductive in the most innocent-seeming way, which somehow made it even worse.

“I’ve been waiting for the right signal,” she whispered, voice all faux innocence wrapped in sin. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

She leaned back just enough for her bralette to catch the light—those two ridiculous buttons on her cardigan threatening to pop at any second—as she tilted her head, her short fluff of hair bouncing playfully with the motion.

“But it seems like you’ve been ready for me…” she purred, running her nails lightly along your abdomen, “…for a very long time.”

You swallowed hard. She smiled wider.

You had absolutely no idea if this was heaven or hell, but one thing was certain:

You weren’t leaving her lap any time soon. She slowly began to undress first the cardigan, then the bralette.

You almost drooled at how hot her body was and then somewhere along the way. A red light turned green and you took the offensive. You kissed her as you fumbled with your pants and belt as she took off hers.

Before you could think or even consider anything you plunged into her tight wet heat.

Karina smirked in the smug knowing way as you entered her.

Your ears ringing as blood rushed down to your dick. She smiled and said, “fuck me” her voice soft and seductive in all the right ways as you slowly plunged in and out as she greedily sucked you in,

“Fuck yu, your pussy is a vice”

Karina smiles at your struggle before saying, “well I do love you,” her words send you down a spiral as her pussy tightens around you leaving you ragged and breathless before exploding inside her velvety walls. Your seed enters her greedy womb as her walls desperately try to drain every drop from you. She smiles after your spent and says.

“I’ll tone down my accidental sexiness,”

Still inside her you say, “no keep me hard because I want you to know how much I love you as well.”

Karina smiles then says” oh you sweet poor boy,”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hey, can you write one where Charles and Alex bring their baby girl home from the hospital and introduce her to Leo!!

Our little miracle

The delivery room was quiet except for the faint beeping of the monitors and the soft murmur of nurses moving around. The lights were dimmed slightly, creating a calm and intimate atmosphere. After hours of labor—four long, emotional hours—Alex finally lay back against the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion. Yet, the fatigue couldn’t dull the radiant joy shining in her eyes as she gazed down at the tiny bundle cradled in her arms.

"She’s… she’s perfect," Alex whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she pressed a gentle kiss to the soft, warm lips of their newborn daughter. "I wanted to be the first," she added, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Charles, sitting beside her with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, could barely tear his eyes away from the baby. His heart felt too full—like it might burst with how much love surged through him all at once. He reached out with trembling fingers to brush over the fine, dark hair covering their daughter’s head, his touch feather-light as if he were afraid she might disappear.

"Yn Julie," he murmured, testing her name on his lips like it was the most precious thing in the world. And it was. "She’s… I don’t even have words. I’m in love." His voice broke slightly, and he laughed softly, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. "I’d do anything for her—anything."

Alex smiled softly, resting her head against his shoulder. "I know you would," she whispered. "She already has you wrapped around her little finger."

Charles laughed again, softer this time, his gaze never leaving their daughter’s peaceful face. "I didn’t stand a chance."

Their little Yn stirred slightly in Alex’s arms, her face scrunching up before she let out a soft sigh and nestled back into the warmth of her mother. The sight melted Charles’ heart all over again. He leaned down, pressing a reverent kiss to Alex’s temple. "Thank you," he whispered against her skin. "For her. For everything."

Alex turned her face toward him, brushing a hand through his curls. "We made her together," she reminded him, her voice gentle. "And now we get to love her—together."

---

Three days later, the hospital discharge papers were signed, and Charles carried Yn carefully to their car, every step slow and deliberate as if the world might break around them. Alex slid into the backseat with their daughter, adjusting the car seat straps with meticulous care while Charles double-checked everything twice before starting the engine.

The drive home was quiet, filled with soft coos from Yn and the occasional glance Charles sent through the rearview mirror to make sure both his girls were okay. Alex hummed softly under her breath, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against their daughter’s blanket.

When they pulled into the driveway, Charles exhaled in relief. "Home," he said softly, turning to smile at Alex. "We’re home."

Alex smiled back, her heart swelling as he opened the door to help her out. "I can’t wait to introduce her to Leo," she admitted as she stepped carefully out of the car.

"I’ll go get him," Charles said, pressing a kiss to Yn’s forehead before jogging toward his car. "Arthur’s been spoiling him rotten. I’ll be right back."

While Alex settled inside, cradling Yn close as the baby dozed softly against her chest, Charles made the short drive to his brother’s place. Arthur greeted him at the door, a laughing golden blur darting between his legs.

"Leo’s missed you," Arthur said, handing the leash to Charles. "He’s been a little angel, but he knows something’s different."

Charles knelt down, ruffling the soft fur behind Leo’s ears. "You’re gonna meet your baby sister," he whispered fondly. "Let’s go home, buddy."

When he returned, Leo trotted eagerly beside him, tail wagging a mile a minute as they stepped into the cozy warmth of their house. Alex looked up from the sofa, smiling softly as she rocked Yn in her arms.

"Hey, baby boy," Alex greeted Leo softly. "Did you miss us?"

Leo let out a soft bark, spinning in a happy circle before bounding over. Charles laughed, crouching to unclip the leash while Leo sniffed excitedly around the living room, soaking in the familiar scents—and the new one.

"Let him burn off some energy first," Charles murmured, scratching behind Leo’s ears before tossing one of his favorite toys across the room.

For a while, they let Leo play—his little legs carrying him back and forth across the living room as he chased after his toy, tail wagging fiercely. Charles joined in, throwing the toy while Alex laughed quietly, their home filled with warmth and happiness.

When Leo finally slowed down, panting lightly, Alex stood. "I’ll get her," she said softly. "Let’s see how he reacts."

Charles settled on the sofa, gently lifting Leo onto his lap. The little dachshund curled comfortably against him, still alert but much calmer as he gazed curiously at the doorway.

When Alex returned, Yn was still fast asleep, bundled in her soft blanket. The sight of Alex holding their daughter—so small and precious—made Charles’ chest tighten with love all over again.

"Okay, little guy," Charles murmured as Alex approached, kneeling beside the sofa. "Meet Yn. Be gentle."

Leo’s ears perked up as he sniffed the air, clearly picking up on the unfamiliar but intriguing scent. Slowly, he stretched out his neck, his tiny nose twitching as he inched closer.

Alex held her breath, watching with careful eyes as Leo gently sniffed over Yn’s soft hair. For a moment, he was still—until, with a contented sigh, he licked her head.

Charles let out a quiet laugh, his heart swelling at the unexpected sweetness of the moment. "Leo!" he scolded playfully, although he couldn’t hide his smile. "Not her hair, buddy."

"At least he likes her," Alex giggled softly, reaching out to stroke Leo’s fur.

Leo, satisfied, settled down again—this time resting his head carefully on Yn’s tiny belly as though claiming her as his own. The sight was almost too much. Charles scrambled for his phone, snapping picture after picture, unable to stop himself.

"He’s already obsessed," he whispered, leaning over to show Alex the photos. "Look at him."

Alex smiled softly, her heart warming at the image of their two babies together. "I love this," she murmured, leaning into Charles’ side. "I love them. I love you."

Charles kissed her temple, his voice low and sincere. "I love you three more than anything," he promised, pulling her closer as Leo let out a soft sigh, watching over his new baby sister with unwavering devotion.

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Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoy this story. My requests are always open for you

-💙🦋