taylorsfolkmoredress

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

Okay Lance sweets smut thing I am hereeee

i moreso meant dm if possible lol, but this works!

nsfw!

ignore all errors i havent edited it yet, but like… heres a wip im trying desperately to finish yall but my brain will not tell me what to do. its like a walnut rattling around rn

also if it changes tenses/overall povs/atuff like that thatllalso get fixed later i just decide that stuff at the end

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

been trying to find a way to say what im feeling after seeing a bunch of posts and this sums it up. as a writer (wanting to write for joel but got a bit discouraged) im writing what i want to see/read, even when im taking requests. if someone wants to see more of a different trope? they can start writing. doesnt have to be the best thing ever, but the reason it feels like only dbf!joel fics are being written? its probably because the people want to read other things are upset and complaining instead of writing.

whats the phrase: be the change you want to see in the world or something like that, and it feels like a silly usage for a fanfic convo but truly. if you wanna see more variety, then write something different. dont expect people writing for free to cater to your wants and whims

Some of yall are so fucking insufferable. God forbid people write what they want to write, even if it means endless dbf!joel fics. Maybe someone writes that to cope with their shitty relationship, or to rewrite a not-so-happy ending they had with a former flame, or they just fucking want to do it because it’s a fantasy to them.

Some people enjoy sharing their work, even if it’s just with 1 or 2 fucking people. God forbid people don’t find some niche storyline and stick to writing the tropes. Not everybody shares content to get more likes or reblogs. Not everything posted is tailored to YOUR entertainment!! Let people enjoy their passions. This is why lots of interested writers don’t post - because of all the judgment. How many fic communities have we seen crash and burn bc of this petty, judgmental discourse?

Yes, we can dissect the problems with the older man/younger woman dynamic - I’m not denying that there are issues there. But people can and should write about it. You want a niche plot? Write it. And if you don’t want to read dbf!joel fics.. scroll.

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

does anyone wanna help me with a lance sweets smut fic my brain wont do what i need

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

i’ll miss borrowin’ yours books to read the notes in the margin ꪆৎ

pairing : spencer reid (post prison) x fem!reader

w/c : 2k

genre : ANGST. with a happy ending i’m no sadist

warnings : mentions of emotional distress

summary : spencer reid came back a different man— quiet, closed off, like the parts of him you loved were locked away. but you never stopped waiting. never stopped reading the dog-eared pages and the ink he left behind. and when he finally lets you in, it’s soft, slow and everything he thought he didn’t deserve.

a/n : i had another fic in mind, ended up writing this at 3am… will post the one i had in mind eventually!

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯

It’s been a month and three days since the day Spencer got out of prison— and somehow, it settles like dust in your chest.

Light, but impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t been dating long when he was framed—meeting him in a grief group a few years ago, followed by a run-in at a bookstore.

He handed you a copy of your favourite book, Jane Eyre with notes and commentary: half analysis, half personal tangents.

For a person so awfully shy and awkward with women, he found himself confident enough to say,

“I think you’ll like this”

You fell for him there, in the ink. Spending countless nights reading the books he’d given you, or grabbing one from his home library and shyly asking him if you could borrow it. Hoping to understand his mind. His view on many aspects of life.

You’d never felt so happy. He was there, and suddenly a part of your life was a little brighter than others.

Until he wasn’t there.

His letters stopped— not because he didn’t want to write, but because they wouldn’t let him. Until you had to hear about his bruises, or how you couldn’t visit him anymore.

This left you wondering whether the parts that made him annotate books were still intact—still there for you.

Now it’s been a month. He’s home.

But not entirely.

You catch glimpses of him— when his fingers hover over your books, not quite touching them. When he involuntarily flinches at your touch, whispering hushed apologies. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want to be like this with you.

You started re-reading the Jane Eyre copy he gave you the night you realised Spencer was gone.

It was still on your nightstand, paperback having grown rusty and worn out from how many times you’d picked it up.

He pretended he didn’t see it whenever he was at your place.

Tonight though, he doesn’t pretend.

You’re in the kitchen humming, making dinner for the both of you. Something warm, easy. You thought he was sleeping.

You were proven wrong as he stood in the hallway, a book in his hands. Not just any book— Jane Eyre.

Turning the stove off, you approach him. You didn’t mean for that to happen— For him to hold the book with shaky hands and be unable to meet your gaze.

Dinner is surely long forgotten by now.

“You know, I—“ You started, but the lump in your throat felt heavy. Spencer was still not looking at you.

“I just— I started reading it after you…”

Silence fell upon you. He looked at you, finally. The hurt and amusement in his eyes could almost make you cry— or wrap your arms around him.

God, you wanted to do that for so long.

“You kept it” He spoke, voice barely above a whisper. Like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to say anything at all.

You nod, your lip caught between your teeth. It’s hard for you to explain why— And he should know. He’s a damn profiler for god's sake.

He knows you. He knows that you probably read the book over and over again because it reminded you of him. But it wasn’t just that.

That part he doesn’t know.

You sit in silence that night. Not entirely uncomfortable, and that’s just because you’d managed to get a smile from him. Even if it was wobbly and almost tearful.

A few days later, he’s shut you out again.

Not in the obvious way— he still comes over and spends time with you. He still kisses your forehead goodnight—But there’s a distance. A distance that wasn’t there before.

You noticed he doesn’t touch the book anymore— or you for that matter. He doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it.

You noticed he doesn’t touch the book anymore— or you for that matter. He doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it.

You want him to yell— to say anything. You hate this silence— this chill that has settled upon the both of you.

It gets harder when he cancels your plans.

You always invited him over. You knew his home didn’t feel safe for him anymore, and he shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone.

It’s hard for you to understand why he keeps pulling away, especially when he needs someone right now. You wonder if it’s you— if you’re not right for him. If your presence doesn’t bring him comfort.

The thought makes your eyes sting with tears.

You’d shut down that night as well.

Lying on the bed, the copy of Jane Eyre in your hold, blankly staring at it. It’s a hard night. And you don’t feel like holding it in.

Spencer leaves calls, but your phone is on silent. He feels like an ass for pushing you away— canceling your plans.

The silence from your side makes it only worse. He can tell that something is wrong.

It’s like he doesn’t even know himself anymore. He doesn’t understand why he keeps pushing you away— why he has you at arm's length when in reality, you’re his favourite person.

It’s never been you. You were never the problem. But the closer you get, the more he retreats. It’s like he doesn’t want you to see the broken parts of him, the ones that are beyond repair.

Spencer knows you deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t flinch every time they feel vulnerable.

He hates how prison has changed him. How he put up these walls around him and drove you away.

So Spencer sits on his couch, phone in his hands as he struggles with the thought of calling you again. He feels like he doesn’t deserve your voice right now. Not after tonight, or the night before.

He wishes he could tell you that prison didn’t just steal time from him—it stole pieces. Pieces he doesn’t know how to get back. Pieces you used to fit into so easily.

You were probably one of the few people— if not the only person who made him feel seen without judgment. And now, he’s terrified you’d seen too much.

Spencer Reid hopes that another person he cherishes so much hasn’t given up on him yet.

You’re still in bed when you hear the knock on your door— soft, hesitant. Barely there. At first, you think you must’ve imagined it, but it comes again. Three gentle taps.

Spencer.

You move slowly, heart thudding against your chest as you don’t know whether you should feel hope or fear.

Spencer’s already standing there when you open the door. His shoulders are tense, his jaw sharp and expression hard. He prepared for the worst.

Not this.

The sight he was met with— made his face fall entirely. You looked absolutely spent.

Eyes red, rimmed with tears. Your hair was in a messy braid, loose pyjamas on you. You looked as if you’d spent the entire evening in bed.

Which you did.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him. The look in his eyes is something you hadn’t seen in a while— But you’re sure you’re imagining it. Especially after all those days spent of him pushing you away.

Until he speaks.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me? Come on, baby”

You’re terrified to meet his gaze. You’re so sure for a moment you’re hallucinating. You must be.

He tries to reach for you— grab your wrists. But he’s truly horrified when it’s you who flinches. You’re the one to take a step back— stumbling away from him.

His breath catches, hands falling limply to his sides like he’s just being struck.

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—“ He attempts, but the words crash and tangle on his tongue, useless.

He takes another step closer to you.

“Angel—“ He calls gently, the pet name making your eyes tear up again. You hadn’t heard him using those sweet names in such a long time.

You’re still silent.

“You flinched” He says again, voice low.

Bottom lip trembling, you couldn’t meet his gaze yet. You hadn’t meant to flinch— you hated that you flinched. You felt as if you shouldn’t be the one to break down.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me” He speaks softly. “Not ever, not you”

There’s a pause so thick, you could fall right into it. But he stays still now. He doesn’t dare touch you again, even if his whole body aches to.

“I’m not— I’m not afraid of you”, you whisper finally— wiping your tears frantically.

“I’m afraid I’ve already lost you”

It comes out broken. You wanted to curse yourself for falling apart.

In three quick strides, you’re pressed against his chest. One of his hands goes to your head, stroking your hair. The other is on your waist, pulling you tighter as your muffled cries fill the room.

You’d hugged him when he got out— hugged him a few times after that as well. But now, it was different. The feeling of his arms was something you were so sure you’d lost— Something you weren’t used to anymore.

But here he was, holding you.

“No, angel— you haven’t lost me. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” He whispered, over and over again.

Your cries only intensify, to the point where your knees almost give up. Spencer holds you up, guiding you to the touch where he pulls you in his lap.

“Shh, I’m here” He soothes, peppering kisses on your temple.

“Do you know why—” You started, but the sob in your throat caught you off.

Spencer doesn’t push. He just cradles you closer to him, kissing your forehead again. He decided by then that he’d never let you go again. He didn’t want you to be like this because of him.

“I kept borrowing your books and re-reading Jane Eyre because—“ You paused, taking another shuddering inhale.

“Because reading the notes in the margin made me believe I could understand you”

Your words physically hit him. His grip on you tightens, firm— not painful in any way. He’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you close.

“I never wanted you to feel like you had to read between the lines”, he murmurs— voice rough.

“It was the closest I could come to reading your mind” You continue, the trembling of your lips not being unnoticed.

“Oh, sweetheart” He coos, guiding your head to rest on the crook of his neck again.

He doesn’t realise when— or how, but you’d fallen asleep on him after crying.

It’s the first night you lie tangled up in each other's limbs— The first night he doesn’t wake up plagued by his nightmares.

Small steps.

The next morning, he wakes up before you. He gets your favourite coffee and tries to cook you breakfast but fails miserably so. For someone with an eidetic memory, he sure as hell made you wake up by the smell of burnt toast.

“Spence?” You croak out, padding down the hallway toward the kitchen. You’re tired— events from last night hanging on you heavier than they should.

“Hey, baby,” He says softly, pulling you in for a hug. He hates how you tense at first. He hates himself for causing this to you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, and murmured, “Sorry for the smoke alarm symphony”

You chuckle amidst your sleepiness, arms locking behind his middle. “It’s okay, you tried. That’s what matters”

Spencer feels as if something clicks back into place. There, in the soft morning light— with you in his arms again.

He reads to you for the most of the day— Jane Eyre. The book that brought him to you.

And this time, he’s not reading to escape— he’s reading to stay.

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

unfriendly reminder that character ai bots are still generative ai. quit ruining the earth to talk to a fucking mannequin with your blorbos face taped on it and go find an rp group like a real fan

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

Summary: Just a bunch of oldman!Joel thoughts, sweet and a bit spicy.

Word count: 353.

A/N: MDNI! English it’s not my first language so I apologize in advance for any typos or spelling mistakes. That’s just a soft thing, I’m totally obsessed with peepaw Joel. Likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome! 💌

Joel is a morning person, you know that, but ever since the whole thing between you two started, he always waits for you to wake up before leaving the house for patrol, filling your face with kisses and sometimes, something more.

He makes coffee while you make the toasts. He's not much of a talker, but you're not in the habit of striking up conversation in the morning either. You sit on his lap, snuggling close while he silently reads the newspaper.

You get changed together. Joel never stops staring at your body, but he has to restrain himself. Despite being in his sixties, he has more energy than any other man you've ever been with, and nights with Joel are always long enough that you both wake up completely exhausted the next day.

He almost never manages to be on time, so you're always late, panting. While he takes care of outdoor activities, you help out at the small town library and tend to your vegetable garden for potential trades with the locals.

When Joel returns at night, you have dinner with the rest of the residents. On some nights, you stop by the Tipsy Bison for a stronger drink, although you only get drunk on his lips, not being a big fan of alcohol.

Upon returning home, Joel and you share a shower with the excuse of saving hot water. He satisfies you with his warm lips, and you busy yourself running your fingers through his gray curls, moaning Joel's name in a sultry way.

The day only ends when he is completely satisfied with you, painting you white with his cum all over your face and your pussy, telling how much of a good girl you are to him and how he would love to put a baby inside of you. When you and him head to bed, Joel asks you to sleep completely naked, he likes to feel your body against his and you don’t protest. He falls asleep holding your breasts in a possessive way and when you wake up by the morning, he’s already inside of you.

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

the normalization of ai when it comes to fanfics it’s so scary to me. and a lot of people don’t even notice because it’s used so often now 💔

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

Hotch looking after drunk reader, and reader looking after drunk Hotch

-x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x- -x-

Mentions of drinking & intoxication

I wrote this whilst intoxicated so please excuse any mistakes <3 This was also supposed to include the whole team but i legit passed out after writing this and it's been stuck in drafts ever since LMAO

I feel like Aaron would be very attentive when you're drunk. If you go out without him he'd prefer to stay sober, but when you're together he's okay having a couple drinks. He aims to never be more drunk than you just so he can look after you. If you're a nauseous drunk he's always reassuring you, reminding you to drink water, telling you not to lay down yet until you sober up a little. If you're a wanderer (projecting) he will follow you wherever (within reason). A sad drunk? He's there to wipe your tears and reassure you that everything is okay.

When he's drunk on the other hand, he's the most cuddly he'll ever be. He never wants to leave your side. The second he's not touching you, or you're not touching him, he's so pouty and whiney. The team have definitely mocked him for this before, but he doesn't really care about it, he just loves you. He needs a while to settle before bed because he just wants to keep talking to you, "he doesn't want to stop looking at your gorgeous face. He just loves you so so much..." (His words)

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

had a breakdown earlier (didnt sleep well and it fucked me up lmao) and cried for 20 minutes but yk what helped? smosh. crazy work, love that

it was actually specifically a sassy spencer comp bc hes funny as fuck lmao

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

I NEED James Aubrey. need to bake for him. surprise him with treats and lunch and snacks. I want to be held by him and have snarky inside jokes with him and i just!! why is he not real! its not fairrrrr

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

want yall to know i havent forgotten any fics/prompts! ive been in a horrid chronic illness flare for weeks+ atp and all of my energy is gone. im surviving on monster energy drinks alone lol

but i will finish them! hopefully soon! i add a little more each day

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

Return date

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

summary: You reach for the same rare psychology book as Spencer at the local library. He immediately starts rambling about its historical context, expecting you to be bored—but you keep up effortlessly, quoting passages back at him

a/n: number 2 in my new challenge 🙀 I just love me a nerd x nerd, who are being amazing together!!

w/c: 1.5k

The library was quiet in the most sacred way—like the hush before a secret, or the pause before a kiss. Sunlight streamed in through tall, dust-smeared windows, draping golden light across the polished wooden floors and casting the long, reaching shadows of bookshelves like lace. It was the kind of afternoon that made the world feel suspended. That rare, soft silence wasn’t empty—it was alive with thought.

You stood in the psychology section of the local library, running your fingers along the spines of books like they were braille only your heart could read. You were looking for something rare, something specific—“The Varieties of Human Experience,” a lesser-known analysis of Jungian psychoanalysis and emotional archetypes, long out of print and difficult to track down. You’d heard there was one copy here. Just one.

Your fingers brushed against its worn blue spine at the exact same moment someone else’s did.

You both froze.

Your hand was touching another, warm and slender, fingers long and calloused like they were made for page-turning. When you looked up, your breath caught for an entirely different reason.

He was tall. Slim in that way that hinted at forgetful meals and a fast metabolism, in a gray cardigan over a pale button-down shirt, a loosened brown tie around his neck. His hair was floppy and golden-brown, curling just slightly at the ends like it never quite knew where to settle. And his eyes—hazel, warm, a little wide—blinked at you behind thin wire glasses. Intelligent. Kind. Startled.

You both said it at the same time:

“Sorry—!”

He laughed, just a soft, self-conscious sound. “No, no, go ahead,” he said quickly, gesturing for you to take the book. But something in his tone was reluctant. The way he glanced at the cover gave him away.

You tilted your head. “It’s alright. We seem to want the same thing.”

He smiled. It was crooked, hesitant. “Apparently we both have excellent taste in obscure psychological theory.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that. “The Varieties of Human Experience isn’t exactly casual reading. That’s not a coincidence.”

He seemed caught off guard, blinking slowly. “You’ve read it before?”

You nodded. “Twice. Though I’ve only ever had access to a PDF of the translated version. I’ve been trying to find the original copy for months.”

There was a pause, and then—you saw it happen. The spark. Like a switch flipped behind his eyes. His posture changed, his eyebrows rose, and the rambling began.

“Oh, then you know how incredible it is in the original language. The translation leaves out most of the metaphysical framing Jung discusses in Chapter Six—it reframes the emotional archetypes as too symbolic, instead of experiential, which, in my opinion, kind of distorts the entire thesis.”

His hands moved as he spoke, long fingers cutting through the air like punctuation marks. His voice was light but quick, like he didn’t want to waste a breath.

Most people would’ve been overwhelmed. You just smiled wider.

“That’s true,” you said, casually. “Especially when you consider the way Jung compares the ‘shadow self’ to the Freudian id. The emotional context is just stronger in the original phrasing. The footnote on page 218 actually hints at that—‘Emotion is not the opposite of reason; it is its foundation.’”

He stared at you.

For a full beat, Spencer Reid forgot how to speak.

You watched his mouth part and close again like his brain had overloaded from the combination of literature and surprise. Then, something like awe spread slowly across his face.

“You… quoted it,” he said, eyes wide.

You nodded, holding back a smile. “I told you I’d read it twice.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like a puzzle he was desperate to solve. “I—um—I’m sorry, that’s just—most people get kind of bored when I talk about this stuff. You didn’t just keep up. You… matched me.”

You raised a playful eyebrow. “Is that hard to do?”

He looked adorably flustered. “Statistically, yes.”

That made you laugh.

He laughed too, more softly, a hand raking through his hair in the most endearing, absent-minded way. You hadn’t known him for more than five minutes and already felt your heartbeat tripping over itself like it had never seen someone like him before.

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” he said, holding out a hand that was warm and a little nervous.

You gave your name in return and shook his hand gently. “Nice to meet you, Spencer.”

“Would you…” He hesitated, eyes dropping to the book in your shared hands. “Would you maybe want to read this together? I mean, not all at once, just—I know a coffee shop nearby, and I’d love to hear more of your thoughts. If you want to.”

Your stomach fluttered.

You looked down at the book, at the delicate way his fingers still lingered near yours on the spine.

“One chapter,” you said, smiling.

He returned it with a soft, hopeful look. “One chapter.”

But one chapter, you’d soon learn, was only the beginning.

The coffee shop was small, the kind with rain-streaked windows and a chalkboard menu written in loopy cursive. You took a booth by the window, and he ordered tea while you got a coffee, the book between you like a fragile bridge.

“I still can’t believe you quoted that line back to me,” he said, taking a sip and blowing on the steam. “I don’t even think Hotch has read this book."

You smirked. “Is that someone I’m supposed to be competing with?”

Spencer’s eyes went wide. “No! No—I mean, he’s just a coworker. I was trying to say you’re already more interesting to talk to than most of my friends.”

You flushed. “That’s… actually really sweet.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I don’t always know how to make compliments sound normal.”

“They’re perfect just the way they are.”

You opened the book and read the first paragraph aloud. He listened like the words were poetry. And when you finished, he read the next. You took turns like that—one paragraph, then the other, pausing to discuss the concepts in between. Spencer’s mind was a marvel. He could recall studies from memory, cite researchers you’d never heard of, explain complex ideas with metaphor and humor.

But what he didn’t expect was how you could keep up. Sometimes, you even finished his thoughts before he could. At one point, while discussing symbolic transference, you made a joke about Platonic idealism and he actually choked on his tea from laughing so hard.

“I think I might be in love,” he muttered into his cup.

You froze, your heart catching in your throat. His eyes widened. “I—I meant that in the theoretical sense,” he said quickly, flustered. “Not like—unless you want—I mean—”

You reached across the table and gently touched his hand.

“I knew what you meant,” you said, voice soft. “But I’m also not entirely opposed to the idea.”

He looked up at you like the sun had come out inside him. “Really?”

“Really.”

One chapter turned into two.

Then three.

Then a walk home.

And when he reached your doorstep, book in hand, he hesitated.

“Would you…” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly boyish. “Would you want to meet again? We still have fourteen chapters left.”

You stepped closer. “Spencer, if I’m being honest? I’m hoping we never finish this book.”

He blinked. “Why?”

You smiled and said, “Because then I’d have an excuse to keep seeing you forever.”

His breath hitched.

And then, for the first time, he kissed you—soft, hesitant, scholarly hands holding your face like it was the most precious theory he’d ever studied.

One chapter turned into forever.

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

as a reader myself i can't imagine complaining about fanfiction.

heads up:: complaining about what you can't find under the x reader tags won't make it any easier to find. and also as someone who used to write...do you know why most writers started writing? because they couldn't find the content they wanted to read

so for the love of GOD PLEASE shut up about the lack or overload of smut or fluff or whateverthefuck.

writers aren't your fucking genies and all your fanfictions wishes aren't obligated to come true because you whined under 100+ x reader tags.

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

ok writers block is going away! hopefully ill get a drabble done today bc that usually kickstarts a bit of a writing binge lol

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

one of my fave aubrey fics

Confessions

pairing ⁀➷  james aubrey x reader

word count⁀➷  900+

summary⁀➷ You and Aubrey are married but because you don't work together very often, the team doesn't know it yet, which changes when you all meet at the royal diner after a case.

warnings⁀➷ is marriage a warning?, some fluff, the case i mentioned is not a real case they had

a/n ⁀➷ i couldn’t resist writing for aubrey so i hope you’ll have as much fun reading as i had writing it x

masterlist

„I'm glad this case is over." Angela sighed as you entered the Royal Diner. „Me too. I'm afraid of marionettes anyway, I don't need them in my job. Ugh..." you shivered by the thought of the poor person.

You gathered around the table your team always had when you would go to the diner. At this point, any other table would feel just very wrong. „Are Hodgins and Aubrey on their way?" Cam asked the group. „Mhm, I guess. Aubrey told me he'd wait up for Hodgins because they had to take some notes for the report." Booth answered her.

This was your favourite part of every case, even though it wasn't all of you each time. Sitting at the diner together, talking about the things that happened, but also personal things. These people quickly became your best friends. They welcomed you from the second you stepped foot into the Jeffersonian and integrated you into their group. Now that Aubrey was working with Booth at the FBI, it would be even better.

„What can I get you guys?" Joanne smiled at us.

„The usual please." Booth and Brennan ordered, Cam didn't want anything but water and so did Angela.

„A burger, fries and a salad please." you smiled. „Alright, I'll be back in a sec." Joanne wrote everything down and left your table. You could feel the eyes of the others on you, „You seem hungry, Y/N." Brennan laughed lightly.

You chuckled, „Oh, it's for Aubrey.". Cam frowned and made the typical expression she always did when she was confused. Angela on the other hand already seemed to know what's up but kept it for herself.

„There they are!" Booth greeted Hodgins and Aubrey when they entered the diner. „Sorry it took longer than expected. He didn't accept the words normal people use." Aubrey sarcastically commented.

„Actually, it is usually very important to use the correct technical terms." Brennan commented. „Thank you." Hodgins said.

You grinned at the interaction between them. It's always like that, and it's exactly what makes them so lovable. Aubrey has been with the team for about a month, but you never had the chance to really work together during a case, until now.

Angela slid her chair a bit to the side to make room for Aubrey next to you, totally on purpose, of course. Hodgins meanwhile sat down on her other side. Just in time for the two to sit down, Joanna came back with a plate for Brennan, apple cake for Booth and your order.

„Here you go, anything else you'd like?" she asked. „No, thanks, Joanna." Booth smiled, and she nodded.

Aubrey smiled at you when he saw the plates in front of him. „Thank you." His hand caressed your tight. „I wouldn't dare to not order when I know exactly what your mood is like when you're hungry." you chuckled. The others were already in conversation, so they didn't listen to what you and Aubrey talked about.

He took a big bite of his burger, which he could barely get into his mouth, and exhaled happily. "I love you." he told the burger, and you had to laugh softly.

The others looked at him laughing. Everyone knew Aubrey's love for food.

Booth raised an eyebrow, "How do you even get that thing in your mouth?". "Oh, it'll fit somehow." Aubrey mumbled, his mouth still full. Booth just shook his head, but everyone could see the slight smirk.

"I really hope we can finally do a proper experiment next time," Hodgins sighed. "I'm not going to even ask what you're hoping for." Cam laughed. Hodgins started, „You know, we haven't-„

Suddenly they all went quiet. You chewed the fry you stole from Aubrey's plate. „Everything okay?" you asked carefully, swallowing. Aubrey looked just as confused as you did, as he handed you another one. Everyone's eyes got even wider at that.

Finally, Booth said, „James Aubrey does not share his food.", „Nor does anyone know what he's even ordering, as much as he always eats." Hodgins added.

Brennan's gaze would've almost been uncomfortable if you didn't know her so well. You chuckled, „Oh.". „We're married." Aubrey laughed, and you grinned when you both raised your hands at the same time to show them the wedding rings.

Booth looked like something hit him, „That explains a lot." Cam commented enlightened. „As if none of you have noticed," Angela laughed, „You're all so smart but so blind at normal things sometimes.". „I must confess that I should have noticed it. Congratulations, by the way." Brennan admitted and smiled at the last part of her sentence. "Thank you." you giggled. "Wait, how long have you guys been married?" Booth asked.

"Almost four years." Aubrey said, cracking a grin at Booth's facial expression. "So that's what Caroline always meant." Booth quietly talked to himself.

You could picture Caroline giving Seeley a poke in the back of the head for being so slow on the uptake.

„We don't make a secret out of it, I guess it just never really came up." you chuckled.

„Well now we know." Cam laughed. "As long as you let us know then when you're planning on having a little Aubrey or a little Y/N, I can just about forgive you for this one," Angela joked, and everyone broke out laughing. "Promised." You joined the laughter as Aubrey intertwined his hand with yours under the table and smiled at you.

masterlist

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

Hii!

I was wondering if you were open for requests? Because I have a Zack Addy idea banging around in my skull and I'd love to share it!

Have a nice day/night!

i absolutely am!! writers block hit me like a truck after my chronic illness AND regular illness Got My Ass for like 2 weeks but I want to get motivated again so please send requests!

(and on that note i have like 30 wips i should at least TRY to work on soon lmao)

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

ugh i love!

hiii could you maybe do a sweet/fluffy (or, if youre feeling particularly fun, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort) with sweets? maybe something focused on pining and getting together and maybe some jealousy of either side?

Lance Sweets x Reader

summary: he's been spending too much time with daisy. way too much time.

content warning: swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy

word count: 2.1k

a/n: i cannot make a short and tidy fic for the life of me lmao. sorry for all the daisy slander (only some of it is personal) it just fit so well for this premise i'm sorryyyyyy. set in season four approximately, reader works with hodgins

not beta'd

blog dividers by @cafekitsune

masterlist

It pained you to see Daisy hanging off Lance whenever she got the chance. They weren’t even dating and she always needed to be touching him. You despised it because it felt like Lance was slowly forgetting you when she started interning at the Jeffersonian with Dr. Brennan. No more Friday movie nights, no more impromptu game times, no more sleepovers. It sucked to have everything stop suddenly due to Daisy dragging his attention away.

‘Oh I can’t make movie night, Daisy wants me to come with her to a bar’

‘I’m supposed to be up early tomorrow so I can help Daisy put together furniture’

‘Daisy’

‘Daisy’

‘DAISY’

You were tired of the excuses, tired of the late cancellations because she needed his help last minute. You were tired of her. If she came to badger you for some evidence or results? Instantly you would disappear from your little corner of the bug and slime room, leaving poor Hodgins to deal with her constant jabbering and hounding. It was all you could do really, when she came up in the intern rotation. The others were fine, hell you got along with the rest of them from the start! Vincent, bless his constant facts and info dumps, was still less annoying than her. You just couldn’t stand her. 

It was already a pretty crappy day. Constant cold rain, your car wouldn’t start so you had to hitch a ride with Angela, and now Daisy is here. She’s not even supposed to be in the lab today, it’s supposed to be Fisher. But he is apparently out sick so now you’re stuck with her. You have half a mind to turn around and use some PTO to get out of here, but a new body means new particulates that you and Hodgins have to analyze. And there are a lot of them on this body.  Having so much to do wouldn’t be so bad if Lance didn’t come and help bring the body in, which gives you a front row seat to all the touchy action they’re getting up to.

You don’t even realize you’re glaring at them until Hodgins startles you out of it by shaking your shoulder.

“Christ Hodgins!” You exclaim, hand shooting over your heart at the scare. Your glare turns towards him now, upset at the fact he somehow snuck up on you in your brooding mood.

“I called your name like five times Y/N. Are you alright?” Hodgins asks, hand still on your shoulder. He’s giving you such a quizzical look that you feel (slightly) bad for worrying him. 

“Yeah I’m fine. Just tired is all,” You lie your ass off, giving him a smile-like grimace to hopefully appease him. The last thing you need is to tell Hodgins, who then tells Angela, about what is going on in your brain. Because no matter how sworn to secrecy they are, Angela eventually spills the gossip to Brennan and Booth. And you don’t need that coming to bite you in the ass. But you don’t even notice that Hodgins sends a look towards Angela at your response, too busy trying to glare and scrape for particulates.

“Okay then… I’ll stay here and collect more samples if you want to start on what we have gathered so far,” He says, handing you a tray and shooing you away from the body. You sigh in relief, and move towards the cave of bugs and slime with whatever you have on your tray. Before you can even get past the doorway, Angela stops you in your tracks by shouting your name. She jogs up to you and gives you one of her patented ‘I know something is up so you better tell me’ looks.

“You are not just tired sweetie. I saw the glare you were giving Sweets and Daisy, what’s really going on?” She questions, following you when you continue to walk back to your area. Her many bracelets jangle against the packed evidence folder as she tries to keep up with you. You scoff at her question, only responding when you are fully seated in your chair.

“Can you not see the way she hangs off him? He’s not a jungle gym… Or-or a rock wall,” You huff out, almost slamming the tray onto the table. Angela’s eyes widen at your words, the hidden meaning behind them makes something go off in her brain. She smiles and chuckles at you.

“Oh you like Sweets, don’t you Y/N?” She teases, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You turn and stare at her, cheeks feeling hot at the accusation.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. I’ll just say it’s unprofessional to be acting like that in the workplace,” You fire back, hands moving on their own to separate the petri dishes into testing categories. Work distracts you, lets you ignore your feelings. Angela is making that impossible right now, with all her questions and talking.

“You really like him honey. Have you ever tried to see if he feels the same way?” She asks, trying to guide you in the right direction. Because Angela knows something you don’t. She knows how Lance feels about you, she’s known ever since she saw the way he looks at you. He doesn’t look that way at anyone else. Not even Daisy. You slouch in your chair, eyes gazing off into the distance as she speaks. If you tried to voice what you really felt, you would probably burst into tears.

“He definitely doesn’t. I mean, he has just stopped spending time with me. He cancels at the last minute, sometimes he doesn’t even bother to call and let me know he’s not going to make it. He definitely does not feel the same way,” You explain, taking a shuddering breath in to try and calm yourself. You are at work after all, and the lab is not the best place to have a breakdown. Angela pats you on your back and gives you a sympathetic look, trying not to give away too much of her plan to get you two together. Ultimately, Lance may have let it slip to her that he was madly in love with you when he had one too many after a case. But she wouldn’t outright tell you that, you have to figure it out on your own.

“That’s terrible Y/N. I know I usually give great advice, but I am struggling to think of a way to fix this. I’ll just leave you with this: If he can’t be bothered to give you the time of day, you don’t give it to him either,” She advises, giving you a few more gentle pats before leaving to go work on her pile of evidence. When she is fully out of the room, your head hits the table and you let out a long groan. This is going to be a hard case. 

You’ve been staring through this microscope for what feels like hours now, getting nowhere fast on identifying where this cotton fiber could have come from. It was on the body, but the clothes weren’t cotton at all, so how did it get there? Hodgins has come and gone like a summer breeze, most likely to lunch and then talking to Angela or Cam. Yet you remain where you’ve been seated for the past 4 hours. You rub your eyes at the realization of just how long you’ve been sitting and staring at a screen, half tempted to walk around the lab to stretch your legs. That thought dies as soon as La- No, Sweets walks into the room. His presence drives your tired eyes right back into the microscope in order to avoid him.

“Hey Y/N. I just wanted to check up -” He starts to say before you interrupt him.

“I’m still working on the cotton fiber, it’d do everyone good if I wasn’t rushed about it,” You snap, scowling into the microscope. Doing pretty okay to make him feel like him coming in was a bother. Angela did say not to give him the time of day, so you won’t.

“Woah, I wasn’t here about that,” He puts his hands up in surrender, trying to appease your foul mood. You pull your gaze back from the microscope and turn it to him. The defusing gesture does nothing for your mood as you really aren’t feeling up to dealing with Daisy excuses.

“Then what are you here for Sweets? To cancel our movie night? To give some sort of lazy excuse for why you can’t be bothered to hang out with me anymore?” The frustrated tone seeps through your rapid fire questions. You’re really putting Angela’s advice to good use only a couple hours later. However, you don’t notice the hurt that passes over his face at being called ‘Sweets’ over ‘Lance’. 

“No, I uh, was going to ask what movie you wanted to watch…” Lance begins, thoughts on how to respond to your questions slowly forming in his mind. His brows are furrowed as he rushes to try and think of a good enough response before you can dismiss him. When one finally comes to the forefront of his brain, he just throws it out there into the world.

“Why would you think I don’t want to hang out with you? I haven’t cancelled these for a while,” He says, genuinely confused now. He must not remember the past month of cancellations then.

“We haven’t had a movie night all month, Sweets… You missed every plan we had,” Your voice fades out as you speak. Emotions you’ve had bottled up for months trying to rise to the surface in the wake of your words. You can’t let them, at least not here. Not in front of him. The bottle feels like it’s going to break at any second, any slightest poke at it could make you sob. You watch his face fall at the realization of just how long he was absent from your life for. He missed so many nights, so many important dates, just to be with Daisy. But at least he sees it now, at least he can see what it did to you. 

Lance seemingly crossed the room in the blink of an eye. He wrapped his arms around your form so quickly, you didn’t understand what had happened until you heard his muffled voice.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I never meant to hurt you like this. I didn’t realize how pervasive Daisy was in monopolizing my time. You know I would never willingly miss our plans,” He rambles into your lab coat, squeezing you closer to his body in an effort to convey just how truly sorry he was. 

“Let me know how I can make it up to you. I would do anything for your forgiveness Y/N, anything,” He mumbles, face now nuzzled into your neck. You can feel the ghost of his lips against your neck. It drives you insane. If he would keep you in his arms forever you would forgive him after a bit of time. Christ, you might forgive him right now if he continues what he’s been doing.

It’s your lack of response that has him pulling away, much to your dismay. His eyes scan your face as he does, for any indication of discomfort or anger. He finds nothing of the sort, just something he can’t identify. Thinking that you aren’t responding because you can’t forgive him, he sighs and starts to turn to walk away. He is, however, stopped by your hand around his wrist tugging him back towards you. He stumbles a bit, hands landing on your shoulders to steady himself. You grasp his hands and guide them up to cradle your face, eyes remaining locked with each other the entire time. 

“You would do anything for my forgiveness?” You ask, hands still over his surprisingly soft and warm ones. He nods in response, cheeks rosy and mouth slightly agape. You smile gently at him.

“Kiss me then, Lance,” You whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he gently presses his slightly chapped lips to yours. It’s like fireworks go off when you touch, heat shooting up your spine and your heart racing. Kissing Lance is the best apology you have ever received, or ever will receive in your life. You pull away first, breathing heavily from the simple kiss, and a genuine smile on your face. Lance chuckles softly, his smile growing to match yours. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” He confesses, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“Then do it again.”

ooof i hope this was to your liking anon! quite a long lil fic for my favorite fbi shrink