#vanillachapters

[vanillachapters]

overtime.

one-shot | 18+

pairing. spencer reid x bau!reader

genre. smut, office romance, BDSM, light bondage, edging, risk of getting caught

warnings. explicit sexual content, 18+ only, light bondage (tie used as restraint), overstimulation, edging/denial, oral sex (receiving), semi-public/office setting.

word count. ~1k

summary.

With the rest of the BAU gone for the evening, an innocent late-night study session in Spencer’s office shifts when he decides to take control, testing just how quiet you can stay while pinned against his desk.

The floor was dark, save for the ambient glow of the fluorescent lights casting soft grid patterns across the empty glass partitions. It was nearly one in the morning. Hotch and Rossi had left hours ago, and the rest of the team had scattered to their apartments after a brutal three-day turnaround in Chicago.

You were sitting on the edge of Spencer’s desk, half-heartedly flipping through a stack of old case files, when you felt his presence shift behind you.

"You're not reading anymore," Spencer said softly.

He stepped around the side of his desk, but instead of packing his satchel, he reached behind himself and clicked the heavy wooden door shut. The subtle thud echoed in the quiet room. Before you could turn around, he reached up, pulled down the blinds over the interior window, and locked the handle.

Your chest tightened, a familiar spark of heat curling low in your belly. "Spencer?"

"You've been fidgeting all evening," he murmured, stepping right into your space. His hand rested on your knee, his thumb stroking through the fabric of your trousers. "Adjusting your collar, crossing your legs... you haven't processed a word on those pages for the last forty minutes."

"I'm tired," you lied softly, your breath hitching as his fingers slid higher up your thigh.

"No," Spencer corrected, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "You're distracted. And you're craving my attention."

Without breaking eye contact, Spencer reached up to his neck, unknotting his dark silk tie with slow, practiced movements. He pulled it free from beneath his collar, smoothing the fabric between his long fingers.

"Turn around," he instructed, his voice dropping an octave into that low, quiet tone he reserved only for when he took control behind closed doors. "Hands behind your back."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Spencer, someone could come back- "

"They won't," he cut in gently, though the authority in his tone was unyielding. "And if they do, you'll just have to stay very, very quiet. Won't you?"

You swallowed hard, turning on the edge of the mahogany desk and placing your hands behind your lower back. Spencer stepped up close behind you, his warm chest pressing lightly against your shoulder blades as he pulled your wrists together. He wrapped the soft silk tie firmly around your wrists, looping it twice and knotting it securely, tight enough to hold you fast, but gentle enough not to bite.

"Good girl," he whispered against your ear, the hot puff of his breath making you shiver. "Keep your hands right there."

He leaned forward, unbuttoning your trousers and pulling them down your legs along with your underwear, letting them pool around your ankles. You gasped as the cool air of the office hit your bare skin, but before you could process it, Spencer’s hands were on your thighs, spreading your legs wide over the edge of his desk.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, his hands gripping the wood on either side of your hips to lock you in place.

"Spencer..." you whined, your head falling back against the stack of folders behind you.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

You forced your hazy gaze down to meet his. He looked up at you from his knees, his messy dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, glasses perched neatly on his nose. The contrast between his sharp intellect and his quiet dominance made your core ache with slick, heavy warmth.

"You're already so wet for me," he observed, his index finger tracing the damp seam of your slit before dipping inside just enough to test your slickness. "All from just sitting across from me all night?"

"Yes," you whimpered, trying to shift your hips closer, but the tie bound tightly around your wrists kept you anchored.

"Stay still," Spencer instructed, his hand flattening against your lower belly to hold you down. "If you make too much noise, we stop."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh before his tongue made direct, wet contact with your swollen clit.

A loud gasp escaped your lips, and Spencer immediately paused, his thumbs digging firmly into your hips. "Ah-ah. What did I say about noise?"

"Sorry," you whispered frantically, biting your bottom lip as tears of sweet frustration pricked the corners of your eyes. "I'm sorry, Spencer- "

"Bite your lip, sweet girl," he murmured approvingly, his tongue resuming its work.

He didn't rush. Spencer treated your body like a puzzle he had already solved a hundred times over. He used long, slow, flat licks that drew desperate hitches from your throat, swirling his tongue right over your most sensitive point before dragging his mouth down to suck your wetness deep into his mouth.

Your wrists tugged uselessly against the silk tie behind you as the pleasure built at an alarming speed. Every time you felt yourself hovering on the edge of a peak, Spencer would back off, sucking gently at your inner thigh until your breath leveled out, only to dive right back in.

"Spencer, please," you begged under your breath, your knuckles white behind your back. "Please, I can't- I'm right there- "

He slid two fingers deep inside you, pumping them in a steady, firm rhythm while his thumb pressed flat against your clit.

"Come for me," Spencer growled against your core, his quiet restraint finally cracking into raw, desperate heat. "Do it softly."

That was all it took. The combination of his fingers stretching you, his tongue teasing your center, and the constant fear of anyone walking down the hall snapped your control entirely. You arched your back off the desk, a muffled scream caught behind your teeth as your orgasm tore through you in violent, shaking waves.

Your inner walls clamped down tight around his fingers, and Spencer groaned against your skin, catching every drop of your slick release with his tongue until you were trembling and completely spent.

He slowly stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked down at your flushed, breathless form resting against his desk. His hazel eyes were dark with pride.

Spencer leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before moving behind you to untie his silk tie from your wrists.

He gently rubbed your restored, warm skin, bringing your hands around to rest against his chest.

"See?" Spencer whispered into your ear, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as you leaned into his heat. "I told you you could be good for me."

thank you for reading ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

soft aftercare.

one-shot | 18+

pairing. aaron hotch x fem!reader

genre. soft aftercare, hurt/comfort, fluff, gentle worship

warnings. explicit sexual content mentioned/aftermath, 18+, gentle washing/cleanup, overstimulation, emotional vulnerability.

word count. 1k

summary.

After an intense, breathless night in his hotel room breaks down the remaining walls between you, Aaron shows you the quiet, deeply devoted side of himself he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the dimly lit hotel room.

Sheets were tangled around your legs, your skin flushed and sensitive to the touch after hours of overwhelming, unhurried intensity. Aaron lay beside you, his breathing steadying against your temple as his long fingers gently ran through your hair, untangling the damp strands with meticulous care.

The sharp, authoritative Unit Chief who commanded every room he walked into had completely vanished, replaced by the man whose dark eyes looked down at you with a devotion so soft it made your chest ache.

"How are you feeling?" Aaron murmured, his thumb lightly brushing across your cheekbone. His voice was low, raspy from the night, and impossibly sexy.

"Good," you whispered, a lazy smile touching your lips as you leaned into his palm. "Tired. So tired."

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "You did so well for me tonight."

He carefully shifted, pulling back the heavy duvet. As cool air hit your bare, sensitive skin, you shivered slightly, but Aaron was already moving. He stood up, towering and barefoot in just his dark gray lounge pants, and walked into the adjoining bathroom.

A moment later, the sound of running water echoed softly. When he returned, he was carrying a warm, damp hotel washcloth, folded neatly in his hands. He knelt on the edge of the mattress beside you, his presence instantly wrapping you in a sense of absolute safety.

"Let me take care of you," Aaron said quietly, meeting your eyes to make sure you were comfortable before touching you.

You nodded, relaxing back into the pillows.

Aaron started gently, wiping away the faint sheen of sweat from your chest and shoulders with soft, feather-light strokes. He was so careful, as if he were holding something fragile, taking his time to make sure every motion was comforting. When he brought the warm cloth down over your stomach, you let out a soft sigh, your body sinking deeper into the bed.

"Too warm?" he asked immediately, pausing his movement.

"No," you murmured, reaching out to rest your hand against his knee. "It feels amazing, Aaron."

A faint, rare smile softened the hard lines of his face. "Good."

He moved lower, his touch remaining impossibly tender as he carefully cleaned your inner thighs and your wet, tender center, wiping away the slick evidence of your shared night. Every movement was precise, practical, yet filled with a deep, quiet worship that made tears prick the corners of your eyes. For a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders every single day, the gentle patience he offered you was breathtaking.

When he finished, he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and disappeared back into the bathroom, returning with a tall glass of cool water and a fresh, dry towel.

He helped you sit up, wrapping his arm securely around your waist to support your weight while he held the glass to your lips. "Drink a little bit."

You took a few slow sips, the cold water soothing your dry throat, before leaning your head back against his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Always," Aaron whispered, setting the glass on the nightstand.

He pulled the covers back up, tucking them around your shoulders before sliding into bed beside you. He pulled you flush against his warm chest, resting your head right over his heart, its steady, rhythmic beat a grounding anchor against the quiet of the night. His hand settled on the small of your back, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns over your skin.

"Get some sleep," Aaron murmured into your hair, his lips lingering against your crown. "I've got you."

Nestled against his heat, completely clean, cared for, and cherished, you drifted off to sleep, knowing you had never been safer.

thank you for reading ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

all yours.

one-shot | 18+

pairing. spencer reid x bau!reader

genre. smut, jealousy, possessive spencer, dark romance, after-case post-bar

warnings. explicit sexual content, 18+ only, light overstimulation, praise, possessive behavior, biting/marking, oral sex (receiving).

word count. ~900

summary.

After watching a local detective spend all evening leaning just a little too close to you at the post-case bar, Spencer’s quiet jealousy finally boils over the second the door to his apartment closes behind you.

The local detective had been leaning into your personal space for over forty minutes.

It was the usual post-case wrap-up at a quiet dive bar near the precinct. Hotch was at a booth discussing paperwork, Morgan was by the jukebox, and you were stuck at the counter trying to be polite while the local cop repeatedly touched your elbow, laughing a little too loudly at every casual sentence you uttered.

You hadn't noticed Spencer watching from the corner stool. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, his knuckles pale, hazel eyes fixed onto the exact spot where the detective’s hand kept brushing against your arm.

He hadn't said a word all night. But the moment you both stepped off the elevator and into his apartment, the silence snapped.

The heavy front door had barely clicked shut before Spencer’s hand closed firmly around your wrist. In one smooth, unexpected motion, he pulled you back against his chest, his other hand coming around to grip your hip, pinning you flush against the wood of the front door.

"Spencer?" you gasped, your breath catching at the sudden intensity in his frame.

"He touched you four times," Spencer murmured against the side of your neck, his voice dropping into that dark, quiet register that set your blood on fire. "He leaned in closer than eighteen inches, which is universally recognized as the boundary for intimate space, and you let him."

A thrilled shiver ran down your spine. "He was just being friendly- "

"He was looking at you like he owned you," Spencer cut in, his thumb digging possessively into the curve of your waist through your shirt. "And it was driving me out of my mind."

Before you could respond, his mouth covered yours in a deep, bruising kiss. There was no hesitation, no shy warmth. He crowded you against the door, his tongue sliding against yours with a raw, demanding hunger that made your knees go weak. You reached up, your fingers tangling into his messy dark hair, pulling him closer as a quiet whimper escaped your throat.

"I need you to remind me," Spencer panted against your lips, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide behind his glasses. "I need you to tell me who you belong to."

"You," you breathed without hesitation, your hips instinctively shifting against his growing hardness beneath his trousers. "Only you, Spencer."

A low groan escaped him. He reached down, unbuttoning your trousers with swift, impatient fingers and pushing them down your legs along with your underwear. He didn't bother taking off his own suit jacket, just dropped to his knees right there in the entryway, his long hands gripping your thighs to spread you wide.

"Look at you," Spencer growled softly, his thumb sweeping over your damp, warm slit, gathering your slickness. "So wet for me after letting another man flirt with you all night."

"Spencer, please- "

He didn't make you wait. Spencer buried his face against your core, his tongue sliding straight up your center with a firm, relentless stroke that made your head slam back against the door. You let out a high, sharp gasp, your fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders for balance.

He ate you out with an uncharacteristic, possessive ferocity. His tongue worked over your clit in tight, demanding circles, sucking the sensitive bud firmly into his mouth while two of his long fingers slid deep inside you.

"Ah! Spencer, wait- " you whined, your hips bucking helplessly against his mouth. "It's too much- "

"No," he commanded softly against your wet skin, his fingers pumping inside you in a steady, deliberate rhythm. "Stay right here. Take every second of it."

The contrast between his sharp, brilliant mind and this raw, physical dominance overwhelmed you completely.

Every deep stroke of his tongue felt like a mark of ownership, claiming every inch of your body until you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't remember anything other than the feel of Spencer between your legs.

"Tell me again," Spencer murmured, pausing for just a second to look up at you with slick lips and dark eyes. "Whose are you?"

"Yours," you sobbed softly, your knuckles white as you gripped his collar. "God, Spencer, I'm all yours- "

That was all he needed to hear. Spencer plunged his fingers back inside you while his thumb clamped down hard on your clit.

The pleasure hit you like a wave, crashing over your nervous system so fast it tore a loud, breathless scream from your throat. Your inner walls clamped down tight around his fingers, your entire body trembling violently as your orgasm ripped through you. Spencer held you firm against the door, catching every drop of your release, kissing your inner thighs as you slowly came down from the peak.

He slowly stood up, pulling you up into his arms and lifting you easily against his chest.

His glasses were slightly crooked, his breath coming in hot, shallow hitches against your ear as he carried you toward the bedroom.

"Good," Spencer whispered, his lips pressing a possessive, lingering bite against the crook of your neck, right where everyone at the precinct would be able to see it tomorrow. "Don't ever make me share you again."

thank you for reading ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

after the storm.

updated + expanded version

part two of three— the only bed.

pairing. spencer reid x bau!reader

genre. romance, forced proximity, one bed trope, quiet intimacy, flustered spencer, slow burn

warnings. suggestive themes, emotional tension, soft touch.

word count. tbd

summary.

Waking up at 3 AM in the quiet stillness of Room 214, the strict boundaries you and Spencer set crumble when you find yourself wrapped in his arms, and Spencer’s nervous composure finally cracks.

The storm outside had settled into a steady, rhythmic drumbeat against the window glass.

Inside Room 214, the air was warm, heavy with the quiet stillness that only exists in the deepest hours of the night. The small digital clock on the nightstand glowed a soft green: 3:14 AM.

You woke up slowly, not from a bad dream or a sudden noise, but from an overwhelming wave of heat radiating against your back.

In the middle of the night, the rigid foot of distance Spencer had sworn to keep had completely evaporated.

You were tucked firmly against his chest, your back pressed flush into his front. Spencer’s long arm was thrown heavy and secure over your waist, his large palm resting flat against your stomach, anchoring you to him. His breath was slow and steady, his chin resting near the crown of your head, smelling faintly of clean hotel soap and cedarwood.

For a long moment, you didn't move. The sheer comfort of being held by him, of feeling the solid, rhythmic beat of his heart against your spine, was so intoxicating that you just closed your eyes, letting yourself soak in every inch of him.

Then, Spencer shifted.

He let out a soft, low sigh in his sleep, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist to pull you even closer, his thumb stroking a slow, unconscious line over the fabric of your shirt. His face buried deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin right below your ear.

A tiny, involuntary gasp escaped your chest.

Instantly, the steady rhythm of Spencer’s breathing stopped.

You felt the exact moment he woke up and realized where he was. His entire body went rigid as a board behind you. The heavy arm over your waist froze, his long fingers lifting off your stomach as if he’d just touched a hot iron.

"Oh," Spencer squeaked softly, his voice thick and deep with sleep. "Oh, g-god. I'm- I'm so sorry- "

He began frantically scrambling backward, trying to retreat to his edge of the mattress, but in his uncoordinated haste, his foot got tangled in the heavy hotel duvet. He let out a soft grunt as he nearly tumbled off the side of the bed.

You couldn't help it; a quiet, breathless laugh bubbled up from your chest.

You turned over onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him in the dim moonlight. Spencer was sitting up against the headboard, his curls wild and sticking up in every direction, his face buried entirely in his hands. Even in the dark, you could see the dark, fiery flush spreading down his neck and chest.

"Spencer," you whispered gently, reaching out to touch his wrist. "Hey. Breathe."

"I was supposed to stay on my side," Spencer muttered miserably through his fingers, his voice muffled. "I told you I didn't move in my sleep. That was a lie. Well, technically it wasn't a lie because I didn't know I was going to do that, but scientifically, subconscious physical inclination toward proximity often manifests during light REM sleep cycles when lower inhibitory control-"

"Spencer," you cut in softly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist and gently pulling his hand away from his face so he had to look at you. "It's okay. I didn't mind."

Spencer went completely still.

His hazel eyes, wide and unguarded without his glasses, locked onto yours. The flustered, frantic energy that usually surrounded him seemed to stall out, replaced by a quiet, heavy tension that settled over the bed.

"You... you didn't mind?" he asked softly, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that made your skin tingle.

"No," you admitted, your thumb lightly stroking the inside of his wrist, feeling the frantic, hammering pace of his pulse against your skin. "I actually liked it."

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He slowly let his gaze drop to your lips, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

"I'm not very good at this," Spencer confessed in a quiet whisper, his long fingers carefully reaching out to cover your hand where it rested on his wrist. His touch was warm, surprisingly firm for a man who spent all his time being so careful with the world. "At... reading signals. Or knowing when it's okay to say things out loud. I keep analyzing every interaction we've had for the last six months, trying to calculate the probability of whether you felt the same way."

Your heart did a hard, painful flip in your chest. "And what did your calculations say?"

"That I was being hopelessly optimistic," he murmured, a soft, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Because someone like you... surrounded by people like Morgan or Hotch... there was no logical reason for you to look twice at me."

"Spencer, you are the most brilliant, incredible man I've ever met," you said fiercely, leaning closer until there were only a few inches of space between your faces. "You really think I care about 'logic' when it comes to you?"

Spencer stared at you, his breath hitching. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand, his long fingers cupping the side of your neck. His thumb rested against your jawline, feeling the erratic flutter of your pulse.

"You're making it very hard for me to be rational right now," he whispered, his eyes dark with an intensity that sent a wave of heat straight to your core.

"Then stop being rational," you breathed against his cheek, closing the last bit of distance between you.

Your lips brushed his in a soft, feather-light kiss, a gentle, questioning touch that lasted only a second before you began to pull back to gauge his reaction.

But Spencer didn't let you pull away.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and before you could even register the change, his hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling firmly into your hair. He pulled you back to him, deepening the kiss with a sudden, desperate hunger that took your breath away.

His mouth moved over yours with surprising confidence, his tongue sliding past your lips to taste you, hot and possessive. The shy, hesitant genius who couldn't even make eye contact with you a couple of minutes ago had completely vanished, replaced by a man who was holding you like he was never going to let you go.

You let out a soft moan against his mouth, your hands flying up to grip the front of his soft undershirt, pulling him down over you. Spencer shifted, his heavy body hovering over yours, his knees sliding between your thighs as he deepened the kiss, pressing you into the mattress.

When he finally broke the kiss for air, his forehead rested against yours, both of your chests heaving in the quiet room. His eyes were pitch-dark, fixed entirely on your flushed lips.

"We have to wake up in two hours," Spencer panted softly, his hand sliding down your neck to rest over your chest, feeling your racing heart.

"I know," you whispered, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw.

A slow, dark smirk, one you had never seen on his face before, touched his lips as he looked down at you.

"Good," Spencer murmured, his voice dropping into a raspy, possessive growl that made your breath catch. "Then we shouldn't waste any more time sleeping."

thank you for reading ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

midnight lingering.

one-shot | 18+

pairing. james potter x sirius black x remus lupin x fem!reader

genre. smut, heavy angst-to-heat, established friends-to-lovers, polyamory, worship, light overstimulation

warnings. 18+, explicit sexual content, oral sex (receiving and giving), double penetration, spanking, light praise degradation, unprotected sex, rough sex mixed with tender worship, overstimulation.

word count. ~2k

summary.

After a night of celebrating the end of exams in the Gryffindor common room, the quiet tension that’s been building between you, James, Sirius, and Remus for months finally snaps behind the closed curtains of their four-poster bed.

The dormitory room smelled of fire ash, worn leather, and the heavy lingering warmth of spellwork.

It was long past midnight. Downstairs, the Gryffindor common room had finally fallen quiet after hours of post-NEWT chaos, but up in the boys’ dorm, the heat was far from dissipated.

You sat cross-legged on the edge of the large velvet-draped four-poster bed, your knees brushing against James’, who was leaning back against the wooden headboard with his tie pulled loose and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Sirius hovered behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm and heavy against the crook of your neck. Across from you, Remus sat on the floor, resting his back against the bedframe with an open book in his lap that he hadn't turned a page of in over twenty minutes.

"You're staring, Moony," Sirius murmured, his fingers trailing absentmindedly along the sensitive skin of your waist, hooked just beneath the hem of your oversized sweater.

Remus looked up slowly, dark amber eyes tracking the movement of Sirius’ hand against your bare hip. "Can you blame me?"

"I certainly don't," James chimed in, his voice low and raspy. He reached out, his thumb catching your lower lip and tugging it down slightly, exposing the flush on your cheek. "She’s been driving us mad all evening."

"Me?" You let out a breathless laugh, turning your head slightly to catch James’ wrist, though you didn't pull him away. "I haven't done anything."

"That's the problem," Sirius whispered, his lips pressing a hot, lingering kiss against the slope of your neck. "You just sit there, looking at us with those wide eyes, pretending you don't know exactly what you do to the three of us."

Your breath hitched as Sirius’ hands slid beneath your shirt, his cool palms pressing directly against the heated skin of your ribs. James’ gaze darkened as he watched Sirius touch you. He shifted, pulling you by the hips until you were sitting directly in his lap, straddling his thighs.

"James..." you gasped softly as your core brushed against the growing hardness beneath his trousers.

"You're not going back to your dorm tonight," James said, his hand gripping the back of your neck gently, guiding your mouth to his.

The kiss was desperate, possessive, and thick with the months of unexpressed longing that had built up between the four of you. James tasted like firewhisky and dark chocolate. His tongue slid against yours, demanding a response that you eagerly gave, your fingers tangling into his messy dark hair.

Behind you, Sirius purred in approval, his hands moving up to squeeze your breasts over your bra. "Look at her, Moony. Sitting in Jamie's lap like she belongs there."

Remus stood up, closing his book with a soft thud and setting it on the bedside table. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, crawling over until he was kneeling right beside you. His large, warm hand rested on the back of your thigh, squeezing tightly enough to leave a faint mark.

"She does belong here," Remus agreed, his quiet voice dangerously commanding. He leaned in, taking over your lips the moment James let you go to catch his breath.

Where James was urgent, Remus was slow, deep, and thoroughly possessive. He devoured your mouth, his tongue tracing your upper lip before pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to make you whine into his mouth.

"Fuck," Sirius muttered, his patience wearing thin. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your skirt and pulled it down over your hips in one fluid motion, leaving you in just your lace underwear. "Shirt off too, love. Let us look at you."

James helped you pull your sweater over your head, tossing it onto the floor. When his eyes landed on your chest, his jaw tightened. Without a word, he unhooked your bra, letting it fall away.

"Gorgeous," James whispered, leaning forward to take one of your peaked nipples into his mouth.

You let out a loud gasp, arching your back into his touch as he sucked firmly, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while Sirius stroked the other side. Remus lowered his head, pressing hot kisses along your throat down to your collarbone, his hand sliding down to cup you through your damp panties.

"You're so wet already," Remus murmured, his thumb rubbing small, agonizing circles over your center through the lace. "Have you been thinking about this all night?"

"Yes," you whined, your hands grasping blindly at James’ shoulders as he bit softly down on your breast. "Remus, please- "

"Please what?" Sirius teased, his hand sliding down to join Remus', his fingers slipping past the edge of your underwear to sink two fingers straight into your wet heat.

You gasped loudly, your hips bucking up against his hand. "Sirius!"

"Shh," James warned playfully, pressing a firm kiss to your jaw. "Do you want the whole house to hear what we're doing to you?"

"I don't care," you panted, your head falling back onto James' shoulder. "Sirius, fuck, don't stop..."

Sirius chuckled, a low, wicked sound against your ear. He pumped his fingers inside you, feeling the tight, hot slickness wrapping around him. "Look at her, boys. She's begging already."

"Strip," Remus commanded, his amber eyes locked onto yours as he stood back up to shed his own trousers and shirt.

James didn't need to be told twice. He lifted you easily, setting you down in the middle of the mattress before kicking off his trousers and underwear, his thick, erect cock springing free. Sirius stripped just as quickly, his dark hair falling wildly over his shoulders as he knelt between your open legs, pulling your panties off and tossing them aside.

"My turn," Sirius murmured, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling your hips to the edge of the bed.

Before you could process his words, his tongue slid straight up your slit, catching your clit with expert precision. You shrieked, your hands digging into the bedsheets as Sirius began to eat you out with relentless intensity. He dragged his tongue long and flat over your wetness, sucking your clit into his mouth while two of his fingers worked rapidly inside you.

"Ah! Sirius- "

James climbed onto the bed behind you, pulling you back against his chest so your head rested on his stomach. He guided his hard cock to your mouth, his thumb rubbing over your lower lip. "Take me in, sweetheart. Help your mouth stay busy so you don't wake the portraits."

You opened your mouth gladly, wrapping your lips around James’ thick head and taking him as deep as you could. He let out a low groan, his hands gripping your hair to establish a slow, rhythmic thrust against your throat while Sirius ate you out below.

Remus knelt beside you, his long fingers trailing down your torso before pressing two fingers into your mouth alongside James' cock, forcing you to stretch wide. "Good girl," Remus praised softly, his thumb caressing your cheek as you swallowed around James. "Taking so much at once."

The dual sensation of James stretching your mouth and Sirius' relentless tongue between your legs sent a violent wave of pleasure crashing through your body. Your hips shook uncontrollably as your core clamped down tightly around Sirius’ fingers.

"She's coming," Sirius growled against your core, sucking harder right on your clit.

You cried out around James’ length as your orgasm ripped through you, your whole body trembling violently. James held you tightly against him, letting you ride out the wave before pulling his cock from your mouth with a wet slick sound.

"Not done yet," James whispered darkly into your ear, moving down, his cock pressing against your entrance from behind. "We've barely started."

"Position her," Remus ordered, climbing over to line himself up in front of you.

James lifted your hips, angling you so you were on your hands and knees in the center of the bed. Sirius sat back on his heels behind James, his hands resting on your waist, keeping you steady.

Remus knelt in front of you, taking his hard, thick length and pressing the head against your aching, sensitive entrance. "Look at me," he commanded softly.

You lifted your head, your eyes hazy with teary pleasure as you met Remus’ gaze.

He pushed forward slowly, sinking his cock all the way inside you in one long, agonizingly deep stretch. You let out a muffled sob at the sheer fullness of him, your fingers clutching at the bedsheets.

"Fucking hell," Remus groaned, his hips locking against yours as he buried himself completely. "You feel unbelievable."

Before you could settle, James stepped up right behind Remus, placing his hands on your lower back. He brought his own cock down, rubbing the slick tip against your tight, unyielding back entrance.

Your eyes widened in shock. "James- "

"Trust us, love," James cooed, kissing the top of your head as he applied steady, firm pressure. "You can take us both. We'll be so gentle with you."

"Sirius, hold her," Remus said, his hands reaching back to grip your hips securely.

Sirius leaned over you from the side, his chest pressing against your side as he stroked your hair, kissing your temple softly. "You're okay, darling. Breathe for me. Just breathe."

James slowly, relentlessly pushed his tip past your tight ring. Pain mixed with an unbearable, white-hot heat as he gradually worked himself inside you, inch by painstaking inch, while Remus stayed completely still inside your front.

"That's it," James hissed through gritted teeth, his body shaking with the effort of restraint. "So tight... fuck, you're taking all of me."

When James finally seated himself completely, you were filled so thoroughly that you couldn't even catch your breath. The feeling of both of them locked inside you sent ripples of intense, overwhelming heat straight to your core.

"Remus," James panted, his hands digging into your hips. "Move."

Remus began a slow, rolling thrust, sliding back and forth inside your front, while James established a contrasting, sharp rhythm from behind. The conflicting sensations overwhelmed your nervous system entirely. Every thrust stretched you to your absolute limit, bringing you back to the edge of delirium almost instantly.

"Ah! Oh god- James! Remus!" you cried out, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes.

"Praise her, Sirius," Remus grunted, his pace quickening as he slammed deeper into you. "Tell her how good she's taking it."

Sirius slid his hand beneath your belly, his thumb finding your slick clit and rubbing it with fast, firm pressure. "You're being such a perfect little slut for us," Sirius whispered wickedly into your ear. "Taking two Marauders at once... look how dirty you are for us."

The crude praise combined with the relentless, dual friction pushed you over the edge. You squealed, your inner walls contracting so hard around both of their cocks that Remus let out an uncharacteristic, guttural roar.

"Fuck, she's clamping down!" James growled, his thrusts turning wild and unrefined as he chased his own release.

Remus slammed forward one final time, burying himself as deep as possible as he came inside you, his hot seed flooding your core. Seconds later, James followed, his hips snapping hard against your rear as he released inside your tight back passage with a deep, shaky exhale.

As they both slowly pulled out, you collapsed forward onto the mattress, completely breathless and trembling.

Sirius immediately rolled you over onto your back, pulling your limp body into his chest. He gathered you close, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, and your lips with soft, reverent affection.

"You did so well, my sweet girl," Sirius murmured, stroking your sweat-dampened hair away from your face.

James slid in behind you, wrapping a long arm around your waist and pulling you tight against his warm chest, his lips pressing into the back of your neck. Remus laid down in front of you, his large hand cupping your cheek as he pulled the heavy duvet over all four of you, sealing you into your own private world.

"No more keeping secrets," Remus whispered softly, his amber eyes shining with affection in the dark. "You're ours now."

You smiled, nestling deeper into the tangle of their arms and legs, finally warm, completely fulfilled, and exactly where you belonged.

thank you for reading ♡

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— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

stolen.

one-shot | 18+

pairing. dean winchester x reader (dad's best friend AU)

genre. dad’s best friend, heavy tension, public touch, possessive, jealousy, light smut

warnings. explicit sexual content, 18+ only, age gap, alcohol, public touching, overstimulation, forced proximity, heavy grinding.

word count. tbd

summary.

When your dad turns in early at the motel, Dean takes you to a local dive bar for a quick drink. But when a random guy at the counter starts hitting on you, Dean's strict boundaries completely snap.

The dive bar was small, smelling of spilled beer and cheap floor cleaner. Country music hummed quietly from the jukebox in the corner, and the dim neon signs threw red and blue shadows across the worn wooden tables.

Your dad had crashed early at the motel, dead tired after three straight days on the road. Dean had offered to take you out to grab a quick bite and a drink, promising your dad he’d look out for you.

"Looking out" was supposed to mean sitting and drinking his amber bottle in silence. But Dean’s eyes hadn't left you all night.

He sat there in his heavy leather jacket, broad shoulders relaxed, but his jaw was tight. You sat next to him on a high vinyl barstool, your legs crossed, nursing a gin and tonic. Every time your knee accidentally brushed against his thigh, Dean’s knuckles turned white around his bottle, but he didn't move away.

"You should head back soon," Dean muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble over the music. "Your dad’s gonna wake up, and I don't need him breaking my neck."

"I'm twenty-one, Dean," you said softly, leaning in a little closer. "I think I can stay out past ten."

Dean scoffed, taking a long pull from his bottle. "Doesn't mean I'm allowed to keep you out late."

Before you could reply, a local guy in a flannel shirt slid onto the empty stool on your left. He didn't even notice Dean sitting right next to you.

"Hey there," the guy said, leaning over the counter with a cocky grin. "Didn't expect to see anyone as pretty as you in a place like this. Can I buy you another drink?"

You froze, catching Dean’s reflection in the dark mirror behind the bar.

Dean didn't say a word. But his green eyes narrowed, going pitch black in the dim light. His heavy boots planted firmly on the floor, and you could feel the sudden, dangerous heat radiating off him.

"I'm fine, thanks," you told the guy, offering a polite smile. "Just here with a friend."

"Come on, just one," the guy pressed, stepping closer and resting his arm on the wood right behind your seat. "Your friend won't mind, right?"

That was it.

Before the guy could even blink, Dean was up.

He didn't make a scene. He just slid off his stool, stepping right into the space between you and the guy. Dean was taller, broader, and the dark look on his face made the guy immediately freeze.

"She said no," Dean said, his voice deadly quiet. He didn't raise it, but the threat was loud and clear.

"Hey, man, no trouble," the guy stammered, stepping back with his hands up. "Just talking."

"Then go talk somewhere else," Dean growled.

The guy backed away fast, disappearing toward the back of the bar.

Dean stood there for a second, his chest rising and falling as he stared after him. Then he turned around to look at you. His heavy hands came down on the arms of your barstool, trapping you completely between his body and the bar counter.

"Dean..." you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"You think this is funny?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. You could smell the whiskey on his breath and the crisp leather of his coat. "You think I like watching guys look at you like that?"

"I didn't ask him to come over," you murmured, looking up at his dark green eyes. "You're the only one I'm looking at."

Dean’s breath hitched. His eyes dropped to your lips, his jaw ticking hard. His strict self-control, the rules he had kept for months, completely broke.

His right hand slid off the armrest and moved under the bar top. He gripped your thigh, his calloused fingers digging in deep through your jeans. He pulled you forward until your hips were flush against the front of his trousers.

You gasped at the sudden contact. Dean was hard, heavy and warm against you, right there in the middle of the dark bar.

"God, you're driving me crazy," Dean growled in your ear, his thumb pressing hard into the inside of your thigh. He slid his hand up, feeling the heat between your legs right through your clothes. "Your dad would kill me if he knew what I was thinking right now."

"Tell me," you whispered, gripping the lapels of his leather jacket.

Dean pressed his thigh right between yours, rocking his hips forward just a fraction. A low sigh escaped his throat as he felt you yield to him.

"I'm thinking about dragging you out to the Impala," he muttered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his hand rubbed dark, heavy circles into your core over your pants. "I want to put you in the back seat, pull your clothes off, and make you scream my name until you forget anyone else has ever tried to speak to you."

You let out a soft whine, your fingers tightening on his jacket as the friction built fast. The music was loud enough to cover your small sounds, but the danger of being caught made every touch ten times sharper.

Dean smirked against your neck, feeling the way you trembled against him. He gave one last, firm press of his hand right against your center, grinding himself against you hard enough to leave you breathless.

"Dean..." you gasped.

"Up," Dean rasped, pulling his hand back under his jacket and taking your elbow. His grip was firm, possessive, leaving no room for argument. "We're leaving. Now."

He left a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, keeping his hand wrapped tight around yours as he pulled you out into the cool night air, straight toward the waiting leather of the Impala.

thank you for reading the final part ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

the news.

one-shot

pairing. luke danes x reader

genre. fluff, emotional, soft romance, domestic, pregnancy reveal, comfort

warnings. none

word count. tbd

summary.

After weeks of keeping a small white stick hidden in your pocket, a quiet afternoon upstairs above the diner is the moment you finally tell Luke that his life is about to change forever.

The diner downstairs was quiet for the first time all day.

The lunch rush had officially cleared out around two o'clock, leaving behind only the soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint smell of roasted coffee beans, and Kirk lazily reading a newspaper in the corner booth.

Upstairs, in the apartment above the diner, the world felt entirely isolated from the rest of Stars Hollow. Soft afternoon light filtered through the lace curtains, warming the wooden floorboards and catching the faint steam rising from a mug of chamomile tea resting on the coffee table.

Luke was standing by the small kitchen counter, his back turned to you as he carefully wiped down a wooden cutting board. He was wearing his usual flannel, blue and green today, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his back turned to the room as he muttered something under his breath about Taylor attempt to install a decorative gazebo bench directly in front of the diner’s entrance.

"I told him, I said, 'Taylor, if you put that bench there, people can't get through the door,'" Luke ranted gently, his voice carrying that familiar, comforting grumpiness that you’d grown to love more than anything. "And do you know what he said? He told me it adds 'historical charm.' Historical charm! It’s a hazard, is what it is."

You sat on the edge of the couch, your hands tucked tightly into the pockets of your cardigan. Inside your right pocket, your fingers traced the smooth plastic edges of the small white stick you’d been carrying around like a secret all morning.

"Luke," you said softly.

He didn't hear you over the sound of the running faucet. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to take a saw to that man's projects."

"Luke."

This time, your tone made him pause. The water shut off instantly. Luke turned around, drying his hands on a dishtowel, his dark eyes instantly searching your face with that sharp, instinctive attentiveness he only ever used on you. The stern crease between his brows softened the second he saw your expression.

"Hey," he said, stepping out from behind the counter. "What's wrong? You've been quiet since lunch. Is your stomach still bothering you?"

"My stomach is fine," you murmured, offering a small, nervous smile that didn't quite hide how fast your heart was beating. "Come sit down for a second?"

Luke didn't hesitate. He dropped the towel onto the counter and walked over, his heavy steps surprisingly quiet on the rug. He sat down beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping beneath his weight, and immediately reached out to wrap a warm, calloused hand over yours.

"You're shaking a little," he noted, his voice dropping into a gentle, quiet register. He leaned in, his gaze scanning your face with genuine concern. "Talk to me. Did something happen down at the market? Did Taylor say something to you?"

"No, Taylor didn't do anything," you laughed softly, a breathless sound.

You took a deep, steadying breath, pulling your hand out from his grip just long enough to reach into your pocket. Luke watched your hand closely, his head tilting slightly in confusion.

Slowly, you pulled the small test out and laid it flat across your palm, holding it out toward him.

Luke looked down at your hand. For three full seconds, he just stared at the two faint blue lines. His brain, usually so quick to react and process, seemed to stall completely. The silence in the apartment stretched out, so quiet you could hear the distant jingle of the diner's front door opening downstairs.

"Is that..." Luke started, his voice cracking slightly. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and unblinking. "...Are you?"

You nodded, tears of pure happiness pricking the corners of your eyes. "I'm pregnant, Luke."

The world seemed to stop.

Luke sat completely frozen, his jaw slightly open, as if the words were still echoing around the room. Then, all at once, the shock melted off his face, replaced by a look of sheer, overwhelming wonder.

"You're..." he whispered again, his hand lifting toward your face before hovering, almost afraid to touch you, as if you might break. "A baby? We're... we're having a baby?"

"We're having a baby," you confirmed with a watery smile.

A breathy, breathless laugh escaped his chest, a sound so rare and full of pure, unfiltered joy that it made your chest ache. Without another word, Luke reached forward and pulled you into his arms, gathering you close against his chest.

He held you tightly, but with an incredible, reverent care, his large hand cupping the back of your head and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the deep, shaky exhale he let out against your skin, his shoulders dropping all the tension he’d been carrying.

"God," Luke breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "A baby."

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were glossy, shining with tears he refused to let fall. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs gently wiping away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his focus shifting entirely to you. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Tea? Do you want to sit back? I can get more pillows- "

"Luke, I'm okay," you laughed, resting your hands over his wrists. "I'm really, really happy."

"Me too," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "I... I'm going to be terrible at this, aren't I? I'm going to rant about everything. I'm going to be one of those insane overprotective parents who doesn't let them eat sugar or watch TV."

"You're going to be amazing," you whispered, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. "You're already amazing."

Luke leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn't rushed or demanding; it was filled with a quiet, grounding promise. When he pulled away, he looked down at your stomach, his large, warm hand moving slowly, almost hesitantly, until his palm rested flat against your sweater.

He kept his hand there for a long time, just feeling the quiet warmth beneath his fingers, a soft, rare smile resting on his face.

"I'll build the crib," Luke murmured softly, looking back up at you with those deep, devoted eyes. "I'll clear out the back room. Whatever you need... whatever both of you need, I've got it."

You smiled, covering his hand with yours on your belly as the afternoon sun warmed the small room above the diner.

"I know you do, Luke."

thank you for reading ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ

[vanillachapters]

after the storm.

updated + expanded version

part one of three — room 214

pairing. spencer reid x bau!reader

genre. romance, team dynamics, forced proximity, one bed trope, flustered spencer, high tension

warnings. very light swearing, heavy emotional tension, exhaustion, storm atmosphere.

word count. tbd

summary.

After wrapping up a brutal case in rural Pennsylvania, a sudden summer storm grounds the jet and forces the BAU into the last available motel rooms in town, leaving you and a visibly nervous Spencer with the absolute last room available.

"Case closed, people. Let's get the hell out of Pennsylvania."

Hotch’s voice carried over the hum of the precinct, crisp and definitive as he snapped his briefcase shut. A collective sigh of relief rippled through the team. It had been an agonizing four days, eighteen-hour shifts, cold coffee, and a suspect who had dragged the team through half a dozen backwoods search grids before Rossi and Morgan finally cornered him.

"I don't know about you guys," Morgan grunted, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders popped, "but I am sleeping for the entire flight back. Do not wake me unless the plane is on fire."

JJ chuckled, tossing a file onto the stack. "Spence, you coming?"

Spencer was hunched over a side desk, meticulously lining up his pens inside his satchel. "Statistically speaking, severe atmospheric instability over the Allegheny Plateau usually peaks between late afternoon and early evening, which means- "

Before he could finish his thought, a deafening crack of thunder shook the precinct's frosted glass windows, followed almost instantly by the sky opening up into a torrential, blinding downpour.

Seconds later, Hotch’s phone buzzed on the desk. He answered, listened for ten seconds, and pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

"That was the airfield," Hotch said, turning back to the team. "All flights out of the county are grounded for the night. The storm system is sweeping east and shutting down visibility. We're staying here tonight."

"You're kidding," Morgan groaned, throwing his head back against the wall. "A storm?"

"I tried to tell you," Spencer muttered softly, though he quickly ducked his head when Morgan flashed him a weary look.

"Rossi and I will secure rooms at the nearest place," Hotch instructed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Let's move."

Ten minutes later, the two SUV rentals pulled into the cracked asphalt parking lot of the Whispering Pines Motel. The neon sign outside flickered frantically against the heavy rain, casting a pale yellow glow over the waterlogged pavement.

The lobby was cramped, smelling faintly of pine cleaner and old carpet.

"Look, folks, I've got three rooms left," the weary desk clerk said, sliding three brass keys across the counter. "Regional hunting convention wiped out every hotel within thirty miles. You take these three, or you sleep in your cars."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "We'll take them." He turned to the group, dividing the keys with military efficiency. "Rossi and I take 210. Morgan, you and JJ take 212." He paused, looking at the last key in his palm, then up at you and Spencer. "That leaves 214 for you two."

"Wait, three rooms for six people?" Morgan raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he looked between you and Reid. "Pretty tight fit, Pretty Boy. You sure you can handle that?"

Spencer’s cheeks instantly flushed a dark, furious crimson. "I- well, spatial accommodation in emergency situations dictates that individual space requirements- "

"Go to your rooms, everyone," Hotch cut in smoothly, giving Morgan a subtle warning glare before turning back to us. "Get some rest. We wheels up at six in the morning if the weather clears."

The keycard clicked, and Spencer pushed open the heavy wooden door to Room 214.

The moment you stepped inside, your eyes immediately scanned the small space: a vintage floral armchair, a humming mini-fridge in the corner, and sitting right against the center wall... a single, solitary queen-sized bed.

"One bed," you stated flatly.

Spencer froze in the middle of the entryway, your duffel bag held tightly in his grip. His hazel eyes went wide behind his glasses, staring at the white duvet like it was an unexploded device.

"Statistically speaking," Spencer began, his voice dropping an octave as his throat worked through a hard swallow, "the likelihood of an odd-numbered bed configuration in a standard double-occupancy motel room is less than fifteen percent- "

"Spencer," you murmured, closing the heavy door behind you and turning the deadbolt to block out the roaring rain outside. "It's fine."

"I can sleep in the armchair," he blurted out instantly, pointing a long finger toward the faded floral seat in the corner. "Or the floor. My spinal alignment is remarkably resilient, and I can easily adapt to a firm surface- "

"You are six-foot-one, Reid," you said, unbuttoning your blazer and setting it over the back of the chair. "And you just spent four days standing on concrete in an interrogation room. You are not sleeping on the floor, you'll stay in the bed."

"With you?" he squeaked softly, his voice cracking on the last word.

You turned to face him, unable to hide the gentle smile curling your lips. For a genius who could profile serial killers without blinking, the concept of sharing a mattress with you seemed to send his pulse into overdrive.

"Yes, with me," you said gently, kicking off your boots by the door. "We're adults, Spencer. We can share a bed for a few hours without it being a disaster."

"Right. Adults. Absolutely," Spencer repeated under his breath, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as he carefully set your bag down.

He retreated into the tiny bathroom to change, giving you time to slip into a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants. When he finally emerged ten minutes later, he had traded his suit trousers for flannel pajama pants and a white undershirt. Without his glasses on, his dark hazel eyes looked soft, hazy, and completely unguarded.

He stood by the edge of the bed, rigid as a board. "I'll stay on my side," he promised solemnly, holding up a finger. "I don't move much in my sleep."

"Spencer, get in the bed," you sighed softly, pulling down the crisp covers on your side and climbing in.

He swallowed hard, carefully crawling onto his side of the mattress. He lay flat on his back, staring straight up at the popcorn ceiling. There was a solid foot of empty space between you, but in the quiet dark of the room, punctuated only by the heavy rhythmic patter of rain against the window, you could hear the rapid, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

You turned onto your side, resting your head on your arm to look at him. "Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?"

Spencer turned his head slowly to face you. In the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds, his eyes were deep, dark, and intense.

"No," he whispered, his voice low and raspy. "I'm just... trying to focus."

"On what?"

"On not crowding you," he admitted softly, his hand twitching beneath the sheets before he slowly reached out, his long fingers hesitating for a split second before brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles were warm against your skin. "On pretending I haven't been thinking about this forever."

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Thinking about what, Spencer?"

He didn't answer. His thumb lingered near your jaw for one agonizing second before he reluctantly pulled his hand back, closing his eyes with a quiet exhale.

"Go to sleep," Spencer murmured softly into the dark. "We have an early morning."

thank you for reading ♡

reblogs and comments mean the world to me.

— written with love ౨ৎ