⬩ FP Jones II was good at reading people, great even. But you were different. He could never quite figure you out, it's what intrigued him the most.
⬩ You weren't intimidated by him, you would catch him staring from across the classroom and instead of turning away and hiding from him, you doubled down. Staring right back.
⬩"You know, you're not nearly as scary as everyone thinks Jones." You said off-handedly once. It rendered FP speechless for the first time in his life. And he was hooked.
⬩It would take time but when he finally won you over, the two of you were inseparable. FP was your protector, loyal to a fault.
⬩He would act tough on the outside, feeling untouchable with the Serpents jacket covering him, but he would slip romantic notes into your locker, for your eyes only.
⬩He would protect you fiercely. Fighting for you both figuratively and literally.
⬩He loves PDA, any excuse he can show the world you are his, he loved. Holding hands as you walked the halls of Riverdale high or making out at the drive ins, he loved being claimed by you.
⬩Although he would have trouble expressing his feelings verbally he always showed through his actions how much he cared. Walking you home every night, adjusting your jacket or a hair that was out of place, remembering your order at Pop's from memory.
⬩He would sneak through your window, he secretly enjoyed the thrill of knowing your parents couldn't stand him.
⬩ As your relationship would grow, the two of you would daydream about the future; although uncertain, one thing was for sure, you would follow one another anywhere.
⬩"We can do it, you know, beat the generational curse of poverty and bad luck. We can have a real good life. A white picket fence and maybe even a couple of kids" You joked.
"With you by my side, I believe in that future." FP answered honestly.
now that the Michael movie is out and has brought a new wave of Michael fics and people deep diving into his life more. as a life long fan i just want to remind everyone of something:
Michael was never the ‘perfect’ husband or father. he was very mentally ill and later in life very drug addicted. he was surrounded by people who enabled him, who obliged his every wish no matter how badly it would affect him. Michael’s mental illness and addictions led to some less-than-perfect side effects such as hoarding, he lived in a mess of everything that he ever wanted.
yes he was so damn fine and the most talented human to ever walk this earth. and yes he was sweet and kind and i wish more than anything the people around him took care of him.
it is more than okay to have fantasies (hell i do too) but please remember who he really was. Michael Jackson was a real person.
i don't know if you write for male readers but if you do then could i get a ftm/transmasc reader (basically a guy with female anatomy. that's the most simple term) smut?? i understand if not but it's so hard to find mlm/transmasc content of billy n stu so it would be awesome if you did this...preferably reader is the top but either way is fine 🩵
hey! I don't write smut (only because I'm so bad at it, it always reads cringe) so I'm really sorry I can't fulfill your request! hope you find an amazing fic like this somewhere <3
Billy Loomis was always an interesting character, one that many found unsettling, but to you he was the class clown that you grew up with. Just an awkward kid you could recite movie lines with.
You were both sprawled out on your bed, candy wrappers strewn across the bed, the credits of Psycho rolling faintly in the background. The silence between you and Billy was far from your familiar comfortable quiet. Tonight it felt heavy. Billy appeared to be lost in thought as the credits came to an end, leaving the two of you in complete silence with only the sound of the rain hitting the windows to come between you.
You picked up a candy and threw it at his head - an attempt to bring him out of his daydream. He didn't move.
"Earth to Billyyy..." You teased, waving your hands in front of his face. He blinked rapidly, almost seeming startled, before his jaw tightened back into place and his moody expression overtook any other emotion.
"You thinkin' about Sid?" You grinned. Billy shifted in place, turning towards you. You couldn't put your finger on it but something was off. The way his body was stiff and he was quiet. Usually when it was just the two of you it was comfortable, relaxed. You could both be yourselves no matter what, Billy was always chewing your ear off about whatever movie was on, pointing out every nuance or hidden meaning.
"Hypothetically speaking. What would you do if someone killed for the right reason?" Billy finally spoke up. His voice confident but slow. You looked the boy up and down. Thinking for a moment. This was weird, even for Billy.
"Someone? Or you?" You replied, leaning back against the wall, unsure of where this conversation was going but you were always happy to entertain Billy's twisted mind.
He frowned, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. Just what would you think?"
Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Well. That would depend."
"On?"
"On if it was deserved or not." You shrugged, popping a fresh lollipop into your mouth.
The heaviness in the air still hadn't let up. It still felt slightly awkward. Like this was a first date. Or like Billy wanted to say something but couldn't. You watched as he thought about your answer, his arms uncrossing in front of him, it seemed like he was happy with how you responded.
"So say it was me." He continued. "you wouldn't tell anyone, right?" His eyes darkened as he watched your every move, waiting intently for your answer.
Was this a confession or a threat?
You shivered at the thought of either. No. No way Billy Loomis was messed up, sure, but a killer? Absolutely not. You watched Top Story and every horror film released since 1960, you would've spotted the signs of a psychopath. Billy was just trying to freak you out.
"Stop being a creep. You wouldn't hurt a soul." You said, rolling your eyes.
"Just answer the question." He ran a hand through his hair, getting more frustrated.
"Alright alright." You were starting to feel uneasy now. "I wouldn't tell. I would-" You thought about it for a second, what if this was a confession. What would you really do? "-I would protect you."
A small smile crept up onto Billy's face. "I was hoping you'd say that."
-
I don't know what this is. Was just a random thought, so hopefully someone likes it!
You hadn't been there through any of it, the interrogations, the trial, and now, prison. Too afraid of what you might see or hear. Spencer Reid. Guilty.
You refused to let it be part of your reality so you didn't let it. Acting like it wasn't really happening and Spencer would come home soon enough. Until you couldn't push it away any longer. He had been locked up for two months now and the team were practically begging you to visit him. You couldn't tell if the urgency came from Reid or the others worried about you, but either way you had to go see him for yourself.
You see him, although at first you weren't sure if it was really him. His hair was longer and shaggier than usual, it fell over his eyes and ears, like it was protecting him from unwanted stares. His cheeks were hollow and the bags around his eyes dark. There was a stillness that surrounded him, one that was never there before. Usually Spencer filled the silence with rambling facts and nervous energy but now he was completely still, only his eyes darting around the room, taking every inch of it in. Surveying his surroundings. This wasn't the Spencer you had grown to love, this was a shell of the man he once was.
You took a deep breath in before walking over to sit across from him, a thick pane of glass dividing you. Just like in the movies, Spencer picked up the phone beside him and waited for you to do the same. His eyes staring straight into your soul. Neither of you speak for a second
"You shouldn't have come." He says finally.
You stiffen, his voice was unusually cold. "I tried to stay away. I just- I had to see you for myself."
His stern features falter but only for a second.
The two of you always had a complicated relationship. Always flirting but never making what you had official. It was like you were both too afraid if you labelled it, things would end badly.
"Are they treating you well?" He asked.
You think for a minute. It wasn't as simple as it sounded. He didn't mean the team or work. He meant, did anyone follow you, has anyone threatened you, has anyone tried to use you to get to him?
He was being protective.
You nodded slowly in response. Too scared to answer out loud. Your throat feeling tight.
He responded with lifting his palm up against the glass. You look between it and him for a moment before lining yours up with his. The glass was cold, almost like it was mocking you for wanting to feel the warmth of Spencer's hand in your own. There was nothing you wanted more in that moment.
"Don't come alone next time." He almost ordered.
"Are you profiling me now Spencer?" You teased. Gingerly testing the waters of your relationship again.
He almost looked amused. "I profile everyone."
Almost.
He leant close against the glass, talking even lower now. "You need to be careful."
You followed his lead, leaning forward in your seat. Hand still pressing into the glass. "I don't need to be anything. Besides, I'm not afraid."
He didn't doubt you but if there was one thing the whole experience had taught him was how vindictive people can be.
His voice shook slightly. "But I am."
He wasn't afraid for himself, but for you. You noticed for the first time, the fresh bruises on his knuckles.
The visiting timer buzzes. You both flinched at the piercing sound. As the guard moved to take Spencer away you anxiously ramble down the phone, not wanting this to be the last thing he heard from you.
"'m so sorry I didn't come sooner, please know I never stopped thinking about you not even for a second. I knowyou'reinnocent. I-" He hung up the phone before you could finish. The guard's grip on his shoulder tightening. But as Spencer stood, he didn't remove his hand from yours until the last second. His eyes trained on you, like he was trying to memorise your every feature in this light. And although he didn't hear you say it, you know he loves you back.
pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader
summary: aaron swears he's not the clingy type...until you show up, and suddenly it's a full blown PDA parade in the bullpen, based on this request.
warnings | an: fluff, they're so in love it makes me sick, lots of touching, hotch soothing r's stress with his credit card, i am once again spreading the suggar!daddy!hotch agenda, the team being annoying, hotch enabling r's spending habits.
word count: 2.1k
✧ masterlist
Walking through the doors of the FBI never quite feels normal. You’d think being married to the man who runs one of its top units would earn you a little immunity from the nerves, but nope. There are still plenty of tight-lipped smiles from men who clearly think you don’t belong (to be fair, you technically don’t), and those awkward elevator rides where you end up clarifying, again, that you’re just here to drop off lunch for the most handsome agent in the building. Not that you say that part out loud.
It doesn’t happen often, hardly ever, really. Aaron’s not the kind of man who forgets things, especially not lunch. Maybe twice every four months, if that. And even then, he never asks for you to bring it. He usually brushes off your offers with a quick ‘I’ll grab something from the cafeteria’ which, of course, actually means ‘I won’t eat until dinner.’
And that just won’t suffice. Especially not when he’s been filling out his shirt so nicely, lately.
So there you were, pretty shoes dragging against the dull bureau floor, lunch in one hand, cookies and your purse dangling from the other, wrist definitely starting to ache. You weren’t exactly sneaking into the bullpen, but you weren’t strutting either. Just stuck in that awkward middle space reserved for people who technically shouldn’t be there, but have the authority to show up anyway, because boss man said so.
“There she is! Hotchner’s better half,” Emily called out, spinning her chair around with a grin.
You offered a sheepish wave, trying not to drop anything. “I come bearing gifts…and mild wrist pain.”
“Oh! Are those the butterscotch ones?” Penelope squealed, jumping up from where she’d been perched on Spencer’s desk.
“Yes, new recipe,” you said, carefully setting your things down on JJ’s desk as she kindly unhooked your overloaded purse. “I swapped out the dark brown sugar for light, added a little sea salt on top, and I may have used browned butter this time. I was feeling ambitious.”
“You browned the butter?” Penelope gasped. “You absolute kitchen goddess!”
Spencer leaned in for a closer look as you popped the lid off the container. “That actually changes the flavor quite a bit. The Maillard reaction from browning—”
“Yes, yes, science, great,” Emily cut in. “Can we eat them now, or is there a presentation we have to sit through first?”
You laughed, nudging the tin closer to everyone. “No presentations. Just cookies. Though if anyone gives them a rating out of ten that’s higher than a nine, I won’t complain.”
Morgan was the first to grab one, swiftly using it as a pointer to gesture towards Aaron, who was pushing back his chair. “Oh look, here he comes.”
You glanced up just in time to catch it—that little motion he always did, fingers brushing his tie flat against his chest as he stood. A completely innocent gesture. Totally routine. And somehow still enough to make your mouth water.
“You know,” Morgan added, mid-chew, “that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him leave his office. Last time he moved like that, we had an active shooter in the building.”
“Alright, don’t scare her,” Rossi scolded, swatting Morgan’s bicep with a file. “She already doesn't like coming here as it is.”
“Now, that’s not true, Dave,” you corrected, grabbing Aaron’s lunch. “I love seeing you all. I just prefer doing it without all the security nuisance, badges, metal detectors and guns.”
Morgan nudged your elbow, eyes still on Aaron as he made his way over. “For a guy who claims he’s not clingy, he’s practically tripping over himself right now.”
“Oh, he’s definitely clingy,” you grinned, just as Aaron reached you, wasting zero time before leaning in and placing a swift kiss to your lips, murmuring a dreamy ‘Hi you’ before pulling away.
“Come on.” Morgan shook his head, reaching for his second cookie. “This is the same guy who made us sit through a mandatory refresher on workplace boundaries, and now look at him, breaking every single one.”
“Let them be in love,” JJ said sweetly, sipping her coffee like this was all perfectly normal.
You looked up at Aaron, eyebrows raised, trying to coax some kind of reaction to all the teasing. But he didn’t even glance at the others, just kept his eyes on you as he took the lunch bag from your hands, his fingers brushing along your wrist with just enough pressure to say thank you, I missed you, without saying anything at all.
“You didn’t have to come all this way, honey.”
“I know, but I overbaked and figured I was due for my monthly dose of shocking the system.” You glanced around the bullpen, cringing a little at the endless clacking of keyboards and constant ringing of phones. It was all starting to give you at least four different headaches. “Feels like there’s less oxygen in here somehow.”
“That’s because no one is allowed to breathe until all the paperwork is done,” Emily interjected dryly.
“Is that true, Aaron?” you asked, reaching up to fuss with his tie. “Are you working your team too hard?”
“They live to complain.”
A chorus of groans and mock-offended noises rose up around you, just as Aaron’s hand slipped to the small of your back, steering you gently towards his office.
“Blinds stay open, you two,” Morgan called after you, pointing two fingers from his eyes to yours. “We’re watching!”
“Just keep walking,” Aaron murmured into your hair, voice quiet and beguiled, giving your hip a subtle squeeze as he guided you up the stairs.
You bit back a grin, feeling far too smug—and frankly, far too giddy—for someone standing in a federal building. Inside his office, he quietly closed the door behind you and you made yourself at home by sliding into one of the chairs across from his desk.
“Think Morgan might have a point, you are getting a little reckless with the PDA. You’re going soft.”
He moved to his chair, smoothing his tie against his chest as he sat. “I’ve always been soft with you.”
That answer knocked the wind out of you in the quietest way. You blinked once, then shook your head. “Wow. Okay. That’s not even fair.”
He just looked amused, unpacking the lunch bag while sneaking glances at you like he couldn’t help himself. “You know they’ll be talking about this all afternoon.”
You waved him off and kicked his foot gently under the desk, because footsies, like true love, didn’t have an expiration date. “Let them. Let them talk about how you have a gorgeous, brilliant, amazing wife who is kind enough to hand-deliver your lunch.”
“They already know.”
“Good answer.” You nodded, satisfied, and handed him a few tissues just as he took the first bite of his sandwich. “Now, how's your day been? And don’t say ‘fine’, or I’ll start pulling out my therapist's voice and asking about your coping mechanisms.”
He chewed, giving you a dour look over the top of the sandwich like he was already reconsidering speaking at all.
“Busy. Two consults, one profile draft, and I’ve had to remind Morgan three times to finish his report.”
“So… business as usual.”
“Basically.”
He took another bite, and you used the pause to admire him. How pretty he looked. He was getting subtly more rugged with time, never quite managing the clean-shaven look, not for lack of trying, but that had always been fine by you. You loved him exactly as he was.
Your eyes wandered over his desk, taking in the meticulously organised scene in front of you. Everything was in its place, except for a single pen and one loose file slightly out of line, a tiny disruption in an otherwise perfect system. It made you smile.
He wiped his mouth, and in that moment, his wedding band caught the thin stream of light this moody building begrudgingly allowed in. As if the universe was saying, yes, look—he’s yours.
And you thanked her silently for it. Because he was.
“Want to ditch the rest of the day, fake a headache, and run away with me to somewhere that doesn’t require badge access?” you proposed, straightening the photo of you on his desk.
He tilted his head. “Tempting.”
“You’d never actually do it, though.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’ll think about it the whole time I’m here.”
Your smile pulled a little wider. “That’s enough for me. That—and as long as I’ll have you home in time for dinner,” you said, though it came out as more of a question. Maybe even a tiny, minuscule threat.
“Don’t worry, I will,” he assured you kindly. “I know your parents are coming over tonight. I wouldn’t dream of making you face that alone. I’m guessing that’s what’s been bothering you, hence the industrial-sized cookie batch?”
You sighed, slumping back into the chair. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
“You know they’re hard work. And I can only fake-smile and nod my way through so many stories about people I don’t remember and opinions I didn’t ask for.”
Aaron set his sandwich aside, abandoning it on the tissue you had passed him earlier. He used another to wipe his hands, then stood, taking two steps to get to you.
Before you could say anything, his hands were on either side of your chair, gently turning it to face him. He crouched down, and you instinctively parted your legs so he could slot in between them.
“Hey,” he urged softly. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it together, and if it gets to be too much, I’m excellent at coming up with polite excuses to get them out of the house.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, sweetheart.”
And just in case his words were not confirmation enough, his hands came to cradle your face, thumbs circling your skin before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Go to that bookstore you like,” he said next, already reaching into his pocket. “Grab your favorite coffee, roam around for a while, and try not to stress until they text you that they’re on their way, okay?”
He pulled out his wallet and fished out his card. “You’re too pretty to be stressing in this skirt.”
You raised a brow, lifting one leg and watching the flowy fabric settle back down over your knee. “It’s cute right?”
“Very.” He nodded, dead serious. “Go buy yourself another one.” He extended the card towards you like it was non-negotiable.
You laughed, giving his hand a light swat. “I’m not taking your card like some 1950s housewife.”
“You’re not. You’re my very independent, endlessly capable wife who I happen to love spoiling any chance I get. Now, please, take it. Call it payment for lunch…and for making you come all the way here, knowing full well how much you’d rather avoid this place.”
You pouted, eyes dancing between the card and his face. “Fine,” you relented, plucking the card from his hand. “But I’m only getting one book. Two max. The bookshelf is about to collapse.”
“Buy as many as you want.” He reached down, helping you to your feet with a gentle tug. “I’ll build you a new bookshelf.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“You’ll build me a new bookshelf?”
He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “With actual tools.”
“Okay, now I have to see that.”
He pulled back, straightening your cardigan, fussing without ever making it feel like fussing. “Then you better pick up a lot of books.”
You rolled your eyes, tucking the card away into your pocket. “This is enabling.”
“This is love,” he corrected, stealing a quick kiss before walking you to the door. “Text me when you get there. And if you see a ridiculous romance novel with a cheesy title, get it. I want to hear the plot.”
You grinned, poking his chest. “You just want to make fun of me.”
“No, I just like knowing what’s taking up space in that beautiful head of yours.”
“It’s mostly just you.”
He looked like he was trying not to smile too hard at that, so you saved him the trouble by leaning up and giving him one last kiss, ignoring all the hollering behind you from Morgan.
“I love you,” he promised, smoothing a hand down your arm. “Now, go before I change my mind and fake a headache just to come with you.”
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
andulkaphoto
