in my fanfic writer era

she/her gay thoughts

[babeandbegone]

I could be hornier (threat)

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

guys this is a genuine question—when reading and xreader stories do yall just read for the romance or do you also like the worldbuilding and the relationship of reader with other characters? Like reader's friendships, lore (esp in shows like hotd), personality?

Cuz when I'm 1.5K words in and reader hasn't even interacted with her love interest yet bc im too busy building her lore I keep thinking "nobody's gonna be into this" so I decided to do a poll

Do y'all like platonic and lore/worldbuilding in xreader stories?

yess gimme more

no im just here for the romance remove the yap

Voting ended onJun 16

mind you im still gonna include the backstory in my work but i just like to know what the people think. I just really like fleshing out the reader as a character

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

Given how many people have said they like lore, i would like to take this time to promote the fic I'm writing rn, a multi-chapter hotd fic with fem!targaryen!reader which rewrites the show, basically. It has insecure!reader, morallygrey!reader, and a daemon x reader romance. Lwk hyped to post it ngl, hope y'all show it love 🙏🏽

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

guys this is a genuine question—when reading and xreader stories do yall just read for the romance or do you also like the worldbuilding and the relationship of reader with other characters? Like reader's friendships, lore (esp in shows like hotd), personality?

Cuz when I'm 1.5K words in and reader hasn't even interacted with her love interest yet bc im too busy building her lore I keep thinking "nobody's gonna be into this" so I decided to do a poll

Do y'all like platonic and lore/worldbuilding in xreader stories?

yess gimme more

no im just here for the romance remove the yap

Voting ended onJun 16

mind you im still gonna include the backstory in my work but i just like to know what the people think. I just really like fleshing out the reader as a character

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

I Yearn For Thee

pairing: 12th Doctor x fem!reader

genre: smut, just blatant smut there is 0 plot here

tags: older man x younger woman, degradation kink, scent kink, unprotected p in v, a hint of dacryphilia (if you squint), fluffy aftercare, reader has daddy issues, genuinely horny reader like omg shes so down bad she needs to be put on a leash

word count: 4.3K

summary: after months of pining for the Doctor, you realise he wasn't nearly as oblivious as you thought him to be

a/n: guys whenever I write abt a wet pussy i always think abt that time when ben shapiro said a wap is unnatural bc his wife is never wet

Life in the TARDIS was always a curious thing, what with all the planets and nebulas and timelines out there, but above all else, the Doctor.

Oh, was he a treat to travel with.

He was mean and grumpy and his brows were always furrowed with such intense displeasure. He would roll up his sleeves and save the world, while bitching about how everyone was pudding-brained and really, you were pretty sure the only reason he didn't resort to calling everyone a ‘dumb bitch’ was because he considered himself too dignified for it. And after it all, he'd run about the console, not tired in the least, gearing up for the next adventure.

And you wanted him. Carnally.

A part of you was glad the Doctor didn't use profanity, nor was he particularly affectionate, because you would simply explode. It was awful enough without him being intentionally cruel, the way his tongue curled around his words in displeasure, the wrinkled lines of his face set deep with the annoyance of two millenia.

You'd met him on the day when cybermen had flown into the sky and exploded, shortly after one ran at you full-speed, arm gun pointed, like a missile. His coat had been billowing behind him, sonic screwdriver in hand, and he'd whirred the thing into slumping onto the ground.

“You do that a lot?” You'd asked, panting wildly.

“Yes. Do you do that a lot? Stand and let yourself be rammed to death?” He’d waved the screwdriver at you, eyeing you curiously.

Your lips had twitched into a smirk, innuendo flirting on its edges.

“Ah, well, as much as I would love to get rammed to death, I don't really make a habit of it, no.”

“Well that's a stupid thing to love.” The Doctor mumbled, joke going over his head and behind, somewhere beside the inactive cyberman.

You'd followed him to the graveyard, stupidly. You weren't sure why, all your brain could think of in that moment was, ‘That hot man just saved my life. What's the worst that could happen?’

Inevitably, that same logic had landed you in the TARDIS, ooh-ing and ah-ing at every star system he showed you, his face a rare expression of wonderment instead of its usual derision.

You felt like a pervert most of the time, being around him. The Doctor would do something as innocuous as run his middle and ring finger along the console of the TARDIS, which he'd explained preferred she/her pronouns and was deeply sentient, and all you could think of was sucking on them until you choked and his hand was soaked with your spit.

He'd walk past you, closer than his usual two feet of separation, and you couldn't resist but inhale the air because there was something distinctly staticky, earthy, downright divine about the way he smelled, something you wanted to huff like a dog.

The first time you'd closed your eyes and turned your head to the Doctor, nose leaning forward just a little towards his back so you could get one more good sniff, Jenny Flint had given you a look. And then Vastra gave you a look.

They might as well have called you a whore in capital letters, with no words and lots of love. You thought it was very kind of them to not point out your degeneracy to the Doctor.

“Sometimes I feel scared, being alone with him.” You'd whispered to Jenny, in the hope of finding an ally in your attraction to an alien. “I feel like he'll do a single thing and I'll simply…jump him. And then he'll toss me out of the TARDIS.”

“Ma'am, I hardly think you're going to corrupt him—” Jenny laughed in your face, sobering up at her wife’s sharp gaze, a reminder that she was supposed to be posing.

“Jenny is correct. The Doctor is old, he has seen things. This current version of him is rather…displeased, with most things. He—”

“I knowww.” You bemoaned before Vastra could finish talking. “He's so old and so cross and his eyes are always glaring and God help me, I want him in ways that would make a Victorian man faint.” You flopped onto a chaise lounge, scrubbing your face with your hands.

“If you would like us to leave you alone with your thoughts, you only need to say so.” Jenny said, smirking at you, Vatra chuckling alongside her.

“Oh, shut it, both of you.” You grumbled, suffocating yourself with a pillow.

“Miss, the Doctor has informed me that he would like your company aboard the TARDIS.”

“Ooh.” Jenny called out as you scampered out of the room, flipping them the bird and packing yourself into the TARDIS.

The Doctor turned to you, frowning. His eyes flew all over your face, which was presumably red, the mussed appearance of your hair, and the general huffy air you were carrying, before turning back to the console.

“Right. 4-X-Alpha-4, home to the Movellans, beautiful star system—haven’t been there in a while. What do you think about making a trip?” He asked, pulling levers and flicking switches.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose as you bounced up the steps to land yourself in the jump seat.

“What is it with you and your dullness?” The Doctor grumbled, tugging back his sleeves to yank on a particularly heavy lever.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You scowled in offense. You were exhausted by all the excitement of the past few days, your eyes too tired to keep themselves away from the Doctor's hands.

“It means you never have any ideas! You and that dull mind, you never say ‘Oh I want to see this’ you just go wherever I take you! Sometimes I wonder why you even bothered to come aboard.” He waved his hands around as he spoke, his worn skin stretched over thick knuckles and wrinkled by time, though they were yet to lose their dexterity.

“Mainly because you're hot.” The words flew out on autopilot, your eyes still stuck on how neat he kept his nails.

It was only after the beat of complete silence in the room that you realised what you'd said. Your eyes shot up to the Doctor's face, only to find him already looking at you. His eyes were narrowed, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

“-ty. You're hotty. Haughty. Y'know. The word that means arrogant and proud. I thought since you're so haughty, you probably have something impressive to show me.”

It was a bad cover. An awful one. Though, with the way the Doctor’s lips twitched into a smirk, you thought you may get away with it. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your seat, hoping he would let it slide instead of making it a thing.

“I'm not a stupid old man, you know.” The Doctor said, voice low and curling like smoke. He clicked a button on his screwdriver, and after a 3 second whirr you felt your chair move of its own accord—flying towards the Doctor until you were close enough to have his knee touch yours.

“...I didn't say you were. I said you were an arrog—”

“Your pupils dilate when you look at me, your attention span drops by thirty seven percent when I roll up my sleeves, your heart beats so loudly for no apparent reason at times that I can hear it, and of course, the sniffing. Did you really think I didn't notice? I simply chose to say nothing.” There was no mockery or disdain when he looked down at you, silver curls gleaming from the light of the TARDIS. His eyes had softened, the curve of his brows gentler than usual even though there was a teasing smirk playing there. Your heart beat impossibly loud—you knew he could hear it now—and you figured if you were to be let down gently, you might as well make a thing out of it.

“Because you're so awful and evil and would ruin me?” You asked, staring at him defiantly as warmth swept over your face. Ignoring your question entirely, the Doctor rested his palms on the arm rest of your chair.

“And, of course, there's the touchiness at the concept of fathers. Do I remind you of him? Is that it?” He leaned in a bit more, voice dropping a few decibels.

“No.” You said resolutely, straightening your back, an action that simply pushed your face closer to the Doctor's. “You're nothing like him. You could never be like him.” Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, the appendage followed by the aged, kind eyes of the time lord.

“You didn't answer my question.” You whispered, nostrils flaring as the staticky scent of him filled your lungs.

“No, I don't think I'm evil. I am only an idiot with a box.”

Your eyes fluttered as he rested his other palm on the free arm rest, caging you in—not that he needed to, ever, you'd let him put you on a leash and bark if he wanted it, all of your own free will—his breath warm on your face.

He was so close it made you physically tremble—not in nervousness, no, it was the sheer vibration of being so close to the man you wanted yet holding it together because you weren't sure if he was actually going to do anything or just leave you blue-balled.

“Having said that, I do get rather cross when my people decide they're done with me.”

He didn't mean that. You knew he didn't mean that. He got sad, maybe, jealous, sure, at the prospect of his companions leaving, but never angry.

That didn't mean it wasn't an incredibly hot thing to hear. He knew that, you think, he knew exactly what that sentence would do to you and he said it anyways.

“Yes si—”

“I don't like being called ‘sir’.” He practically growled, and even with your eyes closed you could imagine his expression perfectly.

“Yes, Doctor.”

As if the words were some psychic key, finally, finally, the Doctor crashed his lips onto yours, palm wrapping around the back of your neck. He dragged you out of the chair, pushing you up against the console and pressing his body up to yours. He kissed like he was starving, tongue invading your mouth and fucking it with an intensity that barely let you catch up.

The second you let out a soft whimper, fingers digging into his arms, the Doctor combed one hand over your forehead, sweeping your hair back and tilting your head to face up so he could kiss you more comfortably.

He was strong, stronger than he looked, picking you up and hoisting you onto the console with ease. You wrapped your arms around his neck in response, sliding forward until you could press every contour of your bodies together.

The TARDIS let out an angry whirr, the lever you were sitting on launching up with enough force to throw you off the console. Thankfully, the Doctor caught you, holding you up with ease as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I think she's encouraging us to move our business elsewhere.” The Doctor said, eyeing her.

“As long as I get fucked into the mattress I really don't care.” You mumbled, taking the opportunity to press your face into his neck and inhaling. You moaned out loud, nuzzling his skin as if rubbing against it enough would let you absorb into it.

“Oh you're a right little whore, aren't you?” The roll of his tongue around the word ‘whore’ sent shivers down your spine. You bit your tongue in a bid to silence your moan, but couldn't really keep your thighs from flexing around his hips.

“So that's why you're not nearly as sensitive as the others to my rudeness.” The Doctor chuckled against your mouth, sliding his lips down your neck.

“So you admit you're rude?” You chuckled, leaning forward to bravely nip at his ear. The graze of your teeth against his skin drew a groan out of him, and he squeezed your ass firmly, once, before dumping you onto something soft.

“You’re the one quivering from me calling you a whore.” The Doctor purred, pairing the words with a squeeze to your thigh.

Blinking and looking around, you realised you were in what must've been the Doctor's room. The walls had Gallifreyan patterns and words etched into them, there were shelves lining every wall and books spilling out of them, and the upholstery and bedding was a lovely TARDIS blue.

While you were busy studying your surroundings, the Doctor had paused, kneeling at the edge of the bed, between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, licking his lips while he looked at you. A smidge of hesitation had crept onto his face, and it made you feel even more of a pervert, like you were about to take advantage of an innocent old man.

You knew that couldn't be farther from the truth, but it was still hot to think about.

Your eyes roved over his form, down the loose tshirt he was wearing and settling on the bulge in his trousers.

“Yes. I'm sure, Doctor. I'm always sure with you, about everything.” You softened your voice, looking at him with all the yearning your heart could muster without actually bursting into tears.

“Now, please.” You whined, raising yourself up on your elbows so you could reach one hand out, sliding it over his thigh and to the very edge of the bulge.

“Please what?” The Doctor asked, hesitation sliding off his face to make room for that smug look again.

You made a displeased noise in the back of your throat, sitting up more fully to drag your palm across his crotch, digging the heel of it into his bulge.

The Doctor didn't move, didn't react save for closing his eyes and exhaling. He stayed completely still, even when your hand started toying with the button of his trousers, even when it tugged the waistband of it down to nestle just below his hard cock, trapped in his pants.

“Please?” You tried again, leaning forward to nuzzle his soft tummy, before pressing a kiss to it.

“I'm not doing anything until you tell me what it is you want.” The Doctor insisted, shifting his knee ever so slightly to become more comfortable.

You figured if he could tease, so could you.

Dragging your mouth down his stomach, leaving a slick trail behind, you paused at the hem of his trousers, tugging them down until he was just in his pants. You practically purred at the sight, his hard cock tenting the fabric. You licked your lips, leaning forward to bury your face in his crotch, nuzzling his cock through his pants and breathing in the musky scent. It was even headier than the rest of him, making your eyes roll back. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the bulge, moaning when the taste of him soaked through your tongue.

“What a little degenerate." The Doctor said, affection dripping from each syllable. Finally, he moved, but only to snake his hand into your hair.

“Only for you, Doctor.” You groaned against him, rolling your hips against thin air when your words made his cock twitch. You could get off sucking his cock, you thought.

“Doctor, please fuck me.” You licked your lips, tilting your face to look up at him with half-lidded eyes.

He sighed deeply, sliding his hand from your hair to your cheek, lingering there for a second before making its way further down, over your neck, your chest, and finally, to the hem of your jumper.

“Well, if you ask me like that.” The Doctor murmured, tugging the soft fabric up and off you. He sighed reverently, tracing the path his hand took earlier, except this time it was over your bare skin. His hand slipped behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before cupping one of your tits. He brushed his thumb over the nipple until it pebbled, before letting it down gently and tugging at the waistband of your sweatpants.

“How come I'm the only shirtless one?” You smirked at him, leaning back to raise your hips off the bed. Before you could shimmy the offending garment off yourself, the Doctor tugged your sweats off your legs and tossed them in the corner with the rest of your clothing, before grabbing the hem of his own tshirt and taking it off.

“If I start barking I'll need you to forgive me.” You whispered, sliding a hand up his side and to his chest.

“Oh I doubt you'll be doing much of anything besides screaming very soon.” The Doctor said, silver curls bouncing as he got off the bed to take his trousers and pants off the rest of the way.

Now fully nude, both of you took a moment to simply look at each other, the lights dimming until it was just bright enough to see the silhouettes and faces of each other.

“How would you like to do this?” The Doctor asked, stepping closer to kneel on the bed again, hard cock bobbing between his legs. You bit your lip hungrily looking at it, knowing that if you were to part your thighs they would be wet and slick, but not nearly as much as your pussy.

“I—” You paused, suddenly flushing a bright red. You weren't sure why you were so embarrassed—the Doctor was clearly not perturbed by anything you'd done so far—but the realisation that it was actually happening felt like jumping out of a plane.

You weren't sure if you had a parachute yet.

“C'mon.” The Doctor cupped your cheek, leaning in to kiss you softly. His other hand sneaked between your legs, cupping your wet pussy for a moment before he flicked your clit.

“Ah—” You gasped, before parting your lips from his to confess your desire.

“On my hands and knees. Please.” You said softly, feeling your face grow even hotter when he chuckled.

“Oh, so you want to be taken like a bitch in heat, is that it?” The words were so violently provocative and unfamiliar coming from him that they made you clench around nothing, your mouth falling open in a pant even though you'd done nothing except get naked.

With a swift move, you were suddenly on your front, scrambling to get on all fours as a worn hand tangled in your hair.

“My question. You didn't answer it.” The Doctor purrs in your ear, leaning over you until he could nuzzle your ear.

“Yes.” You whined, high and needy.

“Yes what?”

You made a rueful noise, warmth settling over your body as a garment of your embarrassment and arousal.

“Yes, I want you to take me like a bitch in heat.” You licked your lips, the hesitation resting on them knocked clean off by a moan when you felt the Doctor push into you, slow and even. He was big, big enough for you to feel the stretch and know you would be sore the next day, but you were so incredibly wet that it didn't matter.

He wrapped an arm around your hips, holding you close as his hips bumped into your ass, his cock fully sheathed inside you with a wet squelch that betrayed how desperate you were for him. You arched your back, keening as you felt him press against your spongy walls, grind into the grooves of them.

“Good?” He asked after a few seconds, and you found yourself smiling fondly. Even when he was playing at being ‘mean’ he couldn't help but check in.

“I would be, if you stopped being so nice.” You breathed out, wiggling your ass to entice him.

“Oh, I'd be careful what I wished for if I was you, sweetheart,” The Doctor purred in your ear, pulling out of your sopping wet pussy before thrusting in sharply, a far cry from the gentle push mere minutes ago.

“Fuck—” You gasped, slouching as much as he would allow you to do you could bury your face in a pillow, screaming into it when the Doctor set a cruel pace, fucking into you with noisy, wet slaps.

“Yeah, you like that, don't you? Bet your brain is all empty, not a single thought floating about.” He used his grip on your hair to pull your face up from the pillow, letting your moans echo in the spacious room.

“Let me hear how much you enjoy getting fucked by a mean old man.” He growled, punctuating his words with a particularly sharp thrust that you were pretty sure slammed right into your cervix. Your walls spasmed around him every time the head of his cock bumped into the sensitive spot, and you whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He fucked you with far more strength than he should've had in his current regeneration, hoisting you up so your back was pressed against his chest. You let your head loll back onto his shoulder, opening your mouth when he turned to kiss you.

Or at least, you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he bullied the middle and ring fingers of his free hand into your mouth, pushing until he felt your throat spasm around the tips of them.

“That's it,” The Doctor murmured, fucking your mouth lazily with his fingers, the pace a complete mismatch with the rhythm of his cock carving out a space for itself inside you. He pushed his fingers in deep all of a sudden, making you gag around them.

“If you can't even take my fingers, how will you ever take my cock, hm?” He hummed in your ear, stroking your tongue with the pads of his fingers. A stray tear made its way down your cheek, earning a mean chuckle. “Oh, is that what you'll do? Cry? Soak my cock in your tears and spit?”

You gasped wetly when he pulled his fingers out, spit rolling down your chin as the Doctor took his fingers and circled your clit, slow and firm.

“Doctor,” You wheezed, grinding into his palm. He hooked a finger on the hood of your clit, pulling it back before using his other finger to tap the exposed bundle of nerves.

You cried out, hands flying to his wrist—not to stop him, simply to ground yourself—as he kept going, gently brushing over the sensitive spot. It was almost too much, the feeling of his calloused finger on your exposed clit.

“Oh, what a pretty little thing,” The Doctor crooned, accent rolling thick off his tongue, sounding far too composed compared to your melting state, “You humans are always so sensitive.” He leaned in, kissing his way from your shoulder to your neck before kissing the space right behind your ear. Heat bloomed from where his lips touched your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You're pathetic,” He growled when more tears streamed down your face, overwhelmed as you were, his thrusts growing slightly erratic. “You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you, hm?”

“Yesyesyesyes—please, Doctor—anything, anything—” You sobbed his name, heat coiling sharp and dangerous in your abdomen.

“What a dangerous thing to say to a man like me.” At that moment, his cock did something inside you—you weren't sure what, exactly.

A scalding ball of heat kissed at your cervix with every thrust, as if the sun itself was coming out of the Doctor's slit. Whatever use of your legs you had, it rendered them immobile, spreading from your pussy to the rest of you like lightning.

With a howl, your pussy spasmed around him, your vision whiting out with the force of your orgasm.

The way you were moving pushed the Doctor over the edge, too, his hips stuttering as he came. He kept fucking you through it, the sounds coming out of his throat almost feral as he forced his own cum into you, again and again, as his cock refused to stop pumping.

By the time the Doctor finished, you were completely spent. The moment he let you go, you slid face-first into the bed, feeling copious amounts of cum leaking out of your pussy and down your legs. It soiled the sheets, paired with your own sweat and cum, and you sighed happily, letting your eyes grow unfocussed.

“No need to fret, you can't get pregnant.” The Doctor cooed, appearing beside you with a rag in his hands. You had no idea when he left to begin with, let alone how long it had been, since the Doctor was now clothed.

“Mm…did the Time Lords have a breeding kink or something? There's just…so much.” You grumbled, raising your head from the sheets and wiping the drool off your face as the Doctor carefully wiped down your legs, before dipping the cloth towards your pussy.

“Most of them had a deeply utilitarian view of sex. It was purely for procreation.”

“...so you just tried to breed me, is what I'm hearing.” You smirked, flopping onto your side. The Doctor raised a brow at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you up.

“I just said that it's biologically impossible.”

“Mm, that's why I said ‘tried’.” You giggled, tired, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He sighed witheringly, but pushed you towards the toilet nonetheless.

By the time you were done peeing, the TARDIS had procured your favourite pajamas from your room and placed them onto the bed. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, but that wasn't really an issue because all you had to do was pout at the Doctor and he was there, helping you into your clothes.

“So um.” You started, mind already brimming with possibilities as the two of you curled up in bed together. “I thought you weren't a cuddler?” You said instead of the obscene fantasies your mind was cooking.

“Yes, well, it's better than letting you have an endorphin crash.” The Doctor grumbled, hand curling around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. You pressed your nose to his neck, sighing as his presence surrounded you fully.

“You're a softie.” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“And you're a bratty slut, but I don't go around telling you that, do I?” His hand scratched at the base of your neck, slowly lulling you into a drowsy state.

“You should, though. I'd be into it.”

“You'd be into anything.” The Doctor snaps, “I could gag you with your own knickers and flog your cunt for an hour straight and you'd let me.”

The idea sent a bolt of pleasure up your spine, and you nuzzled into him.

“Is that such a crime? That I'm into you?” You asked, unable to see his face since the TARDIS had taken the liberty to darken the room to pitch black.

“...you're giving me a lot of power. As I said, agreeing to anything is a very dangerous thing with a man like myself. I made you cry tonight.” His voice was more morose now, little of that pretend-grouchiness in it.

“And I want you to do it again, and next time I want you to make me cry so much I'm at risk for death by dehydration.” You chuckled, nuzzling him, before your voice softened. “I know whatever you'll do, you'll never put me in danger. I also know that if I tell you to stop, you will. So how can it possibly be dangerous?”

He sighed again, leaning in to kiss your forehead in lieu of a verbal reply. He trailed his lips from your forehead to your eyelid, your nose, and then to your lips. He kissed you, sweet and slow, rubbing soft circles on your back until you fell asleep, lips still pressed against his.

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

imagine fem!illegitimate!reader who is viserys' bastard bc turns out he was not, in fact, fully devoted to his wife, and while reader cannot publicly be a part of the family she still has the Targaryen looks (pale hair, lilac eyes) which means daemon is into her bc hes just narcissistic and self-obsessed and he doesnt have to worry about propriety or 'ruining' her bc shes not a noblewoman and maybe even rhaenyra gets roped in idk yet :3

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

GUYSSSSS I got a nose piercing and it didnt hurt at all n now im serving cvnt

im so scared my dog is gonna jump my ass and rip it out ANY ADVICE WOULD BE GREAT THANKSSS

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

guys the 12th doctor is so hot I need that old man carnally none of the other doctors ever made me feel this way except for maybe 9 WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME

like you dont understand i need him to bend me over the console and call me pudding-brained while he absolutely demolishes my insides i cant believe it hes so YUMMY and WHY IS THERE NOT ENOUGH SMUTFICS OF HIM FUCK YALL AND YALLS TWINK OBSESSION

[seeyousoonlove]

guys, do any of you know of any fics that are a ship between the Doctor and Rose and the reader? I’ve been trying to look but I can only find Doctor x Reader or Doctor x Rose, not all three together

Or is this just like a really specific niche that I and I alone will have to cater to?

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

Sparkly, Pretty, Smart

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

tags: bau!reader, rivals to lovers, insecure!reader, some details about the case, not too graphic with the violence, spencer calls reader 'pretty', reader loves girly stuff like romantasy novels and Sabrina Carpenter (don't @ my gay ass she's cool and sparkly)

summary: After a case hits too close to home, you start spiraling about how maybe you're not that much better than the unsubs you catch. Unbeknownst to you, the one person you've never gotten along with notices things about you no one else ever has.

word count: 7.6K

a/n: AHH THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE UNDER 4K IDK WHAT HAPPENED. I've never written Spencer like this before in a fic. I hope this didn't end up being gore of your comfort character ✊🏽😔

You hated Spencer Reid. You loved insulting him, outsmarting him, reminding him how ancient he is, telling him how stupid his cardigan looked, but you hated him.

You hated his fluffy curls, the particular cadence of his speech, the way he pressed his lips into a smooth line whenever he was pleased, his stupid brown puppy eyes which always hardened when they landed on you, and above all else, you hated how he was always one step ahead of you.

It wasn't that he knew more—everything he knew could be found on the internet—it was that he was always so fucking smug. He knew he was the smartest person in the room, and you hated it.

The first thing he'd done on your joining day was to insult your choice of music, asking why you were listening to music statistically enjoyed by little girls.

You, obviously, didn't take it lightly—after all, he'd insulted Sabrina Carpenter herself—and proceeded to insult him to his face.

It was hard to get along with him when all he was dead-set on doing was insulting your choice in everything—clothes, books, music, even how dusty your shoes were.

Who the fuck even cared about dusty shoes?!

Spencer Reid, apparently, that's who.

It didn't mean you two couldn't work together, it just meant you'd snipe at each other so constantly that no one else could work with the two of you, or even in your general vicinity.

“I just don't understand why these books are so popular when they're just glorified pornography—” Spencer said as the two of you sat down at the table, arguing about booktok.

“And yet I've never heard you complain about actual porn, which exploits real people, as much as you do about smut. It's almost like…you only give a fuck about it because it's popular among women.” You made jazz hands at him, knowing it annoyed him when you invaded his personal space.

He pushed his chair back to escape the scope of your wizard fingers, opening his mouth with a deep frown to protest against the accusations laid against him.

“Besides, incel like yourself could probably benefit from reading a smut book or two—maybe you'd finally figure out what women like.”

Spencer's frown deepened at that, but not with anger.

With confusion.

Remembering the man lives under a analog rock, you smiled to yourself, turning to look at Garcia. You knew he was too proud to ask you what incel meant, and unless he knew what you meant exactly, he couldn't retort to the best of his ability, therefore, you won this round.

“I am not an incel.” Spencer's voice dropped into a whisper as Hotch walked into the room, and you snorted as you picked at a hangnail near your thumb.

“You don't even know what that means, Dr Reid.”

If there's one thing he hated more than losing an argument, it was being told he doesn't know something. Especially if it was you telling him he doesn't know something.

Your pleasant mood at your win, however, was shot in the face once Penelope started listing the case details.

The case involved the murder of multiple women, all attacked in spaces like gas-station bathrooms or changing rooms at the mall, late at night or when there aren't any people around. The kills were spaced out by a few weeks, and the women all had their faces brutally disfigured, yet there were no reports of sexual assault.

It was a strange set of circumstances, but not an emergency, which left you just enough time to swing by your place to gather some of the files for your previous case.

“Can one of you maybe drive me? My car’s in the shop and I really don't wanna pay another—” You clicked on the rideshare app, making a face at the fare, “—hundred dollars? In broad daylight? Are they insane?”

“I could ask you that—putting your car in the shop without a backup mode of communication other than the one you're currently complaining about. Seems insane, considering the median price for rideshare services has increased by sixty percent since 2020.” Spencer’s insufferable voice came from behind you, and you turned around to glare at him. You weren't even talking to him.

“One more statistic and I will reduce your ability to speak by sixty percent—”

“Oh yeah, how's that?” The brunette’s lips quirked into an infuriating smirk, and he leaned towards you, as if he really gave a shit about what you had to say.

“Well first I’d shove my hand into—”

“Alright, kids!” Emily called out, stepping between the two of you.

“Reid, drive her to her place. And while you're at it, figure out how to shut up—” Your mouth split into a beam upon Rossi’s intervention. Finally, someone who also thought Spencer spoke too much.

“Both of you.” Rossi completed, brows raised at the two of you.

“I agree with Dave. Go get the files, agent. Wheels up in three hours.” Hotch said without looking up from his tablet, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Snatching his keys off of him, you practically ran to his car, knowing exactly where he parked it every day, without fail. Getting in, you immediately moved forward the driver's seat—perfect for someone of your stature, but nearly not enough leg room for someone as lanky as Spencer.

Settling into the passenger’s side, you let your lips quirk into a satisfied smile just for a second.

Spencer's face loomed through the window as he bent forward, trying to see whether you'd made any observable changes to the car.

“What, you think I rigged the car to explode the moment to step in?”

“I wouldn't put that level of stupidity beyond you, even though only fifteen percent of suicide bombers are women, but that's not taking into account your—”

“Oh my god just drive!” You groaned, shoving Spencer's shoulder. He let out an offended gasp, his browns deepening into a deeper furrow than before as he adjusted his seat.

“You know I can report you to HR for that? I should actually—”

“Reid, how long do you wanna be stuck in this car with me? Because the longer you spend running that mouth instead of driving, the longer it's gonna take to get to my place. Do you need me to put the address into your GPS? Or do you still use an old-fashioned map?”

“You don't need to do either of those, actually.” Spencer grumbled, pulling the car out of its spot and driving with surprising accuracy to your house. On the ride to your place, you considered asking why he knew where you lived, but then weighed the possibility of him deeming you inferior for not knowing where each of your coworkers live. He'd probably recite the ETA to everyone's house in the BAU just to rub it in.

Your face twisted into a frown at the thought as you got down from the car, barking at him to stay where he was while you fetched the files.

Your room was a bit of a mess, clothes strewn about your bed and the closet floor—a result of constantly loading and unloading a go-bag and never getting around to fixing the mess.

The files were dumped on top of the pile of clothing on your bed—how foolish of you to think that putting clothes on your bed would actually make you fold them—and you quickly snatched them up, making sure none were missing. You switched out your shoes just to be safe, since the ones on your feet felt like they could fall apart at any moment and knowing your luck, it would probably happen while you were chasing the unsub.

Because if the sky was falling and you were in a building, the building would spontaneously combust so the piece of sky could crush you.

At least, that's how it felt when the last blueberry cronut was taken by the guy in front of you at the coffee shop.

Leaning against the wall to put the shoes on, you brushed your palms over your clothing to smooth it out, before turning to face the mirror. The mirror was just short enough that while standing at the door of your closet (which you always did when checking your appearance) it only showed your reflection from the neck down.

It was hard to find a mirror short enough to cut off your face yet long enough to show the rest of your outfit, but six garage sales and three trips to Ikea later, you'd found it. And you were perfectly pleased with it.

As you adjusted the files in your arm, your eyes settled on the mirror again. Only a few steps, and you'd be able to see your face.

‘I could have something on my face. My makeup could need fixing.’ You told yourself, taking a deep breath, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Biting your lower lip, you slowly took one step back, bringing your chin into the reflection.

For a few minutes, you simply stared at the unsightly thing, heartbeat thumping in your ears.

‘Fuck it. Someone will tell me if I have something on my face. Probably Reid.’

You closed your eyes as you took several more steps away from the mirror, until you were far enough away that your reflection wasn't visible anymore.

Shaking off the tension in your shoulders, you stepped back into the living room, only to find Spencer standing there.

“I thought I told you to stay in the car.” You snapped at him, harder than usual, as he poked at your bookshelf. He startled, spinning around to look at you. The disarmed expression on his face—brows up high, eyes wide, mouth slightly open—lasted only a moment before it settled into its usual displeasure, the way it always did around you.

Trying to ignore the thoughts about how a disarmed Spencer could almost be…cute, and how maybe you'd wanna see more of him if he always looked at you like that, you tapped your foot impatiently, waiting for an answer.

“You did. You also left your door unlocked.”

“So you just let yourself in?”

“Yes.” Spencer said, the displeasure turning into smugness. “You are strange.”

You raised a brow as you stormed towards the door, hand absent-mindedly coming up to pick at your chin.

“Is that right, pot?” You said the word like it might've been a slur, grabbing your keys off the hook and opening the door, gesturing for Spencer to get out with a dramatic bow.

He approached the entrance primly, like he truly was a princess and you were the chivalrous guard guiding him out of the dungeon.

“Yes. You have a mirror right below the key hooks but it's covered with a cloth, not to mention you didn't use it before leaving just now which, statistically, is what mirrors close to the door are used for.” The brunette said, hands behind his back as he walked out into the sun.

You paused just as you turned the key in the door, your heartbeat suddenly skyrocketing. You began to clear your throat, before realising what an obvious tell that would be to a profiler and deciding to simply act as if nothing was awry.

Which it wasn't.

“Yes, well, who needs a mirror when geniuses like yourself are around, hm? I'm sure you'll more than enjoy pointing out the slightest flaw in my appearance, won't you?” You asked with a saccharine smile, biting your tongue when you noticed, in hindsight, what a classic deflection it was—divert attention away from yourself to the primary individual scrutinizing you. Spencer's lips turned down into a frown at that, as did his brows, but his eyes weren't narrow with derision like usual when he looked at you.

“Besides, cleaning that mirror is hard. Looks good when guests show up, otherwise I don't really have a use for it other than collecting dust.” You get inside the car, glancing up once to look at Spencer before pulling out your phone and sending a text to Hotch that you two are on your way back.

Spencer stands for just a moment longer, his face still pulled into that frown when he got into the car.

For the rest of the journey, including on the plane, Spencer didn't throw a single barb your way.

It chilled your blood far more than any of the crime scene photos.

The crimes themselves didn't make any sense—the women were killed in female-only zones, but with incredible brutality that indicated extreme rage at the victims, a personal rage, yet there was no connection between any of the women, and no sexual assault.

“Maybe the unsub’s gay and misogynistic.” You wondered out loud, spinning around in the only spinny-chair in the room, which you'd claimed by racing past Spencer and settling yourself into it, knowing he'd be too icked out to sit somewhere your germy self ever sat.

“Could be, but the amount of attention put to destroying the face…could he be trying to take away their identity? Send some kind of message?” JJ said, frowning at the photos of the bodies.

“No, he's leaving their IDs behind.” Spencer murmured, and you sighed as you made another turn in your chair, the springs squeaking softly.

“Maybe we're looking at this all wrong. What if the unsub's a woman?” Emily said from where she'd stationed herself in the chair closest to the coffee machine.

“A woman who kills via bludgeoning? That's exceedingly rare. In fact, only eleven percent of female offenders use blunt force to kill.” You rolled your eyes as Spencer spouted the statistic, cracking your knuckles as you decided to argue against him even though you agreed with what he had to say.

“It would explain how the killings happen in female only areas—bathrooms, changing rooms. And if the killer is having a psychotic break of some kind, then maybe something about these women throws her into such a rage that the adrenaline allows her to exert the kind of force she's normally not capable of.” You smirked at Spencer, brows raised in challenge.

He opened his mouth to argue, one finger pointed at you before he even spoke, and as you struggled to keep your eyes away from the long, elegant finger, Spencer hesitated.

“I…it is possible, yes.”

“Would saying ‘You are right’ cause you to burst into flames, Reid?”

“No, but it might cause my tongue to fall off, and I'm rather fond of it.”

“I bet you are. Too bad it doesn't do anything better than just talk.”

Silence.

Your face grew warm as you realised the words just came out of your mouth, too close to flirtation to be a true personal jab. Your tongue grew heavy in your mouth as you realised that you did, in fact, mean what you said, which only made the embarrassment of having said it that much worse.

Spencer's expression shifted, morphing into surprise the way it had done in your house, his lips moving around air for a few seconds. He stared at you, tilting his head ever so slightly, and you couldn't help but glance down when he swallowed—his throat bobbing under that light stubble he'd begun maintaining after getting out of prison.

Your own lips parted, to do what, you weren't sure. When you'd brought your eyes back up to lock with Spencer's, a shot of warmth hit you, because his expression still hadn't changed, hadn't reverted into that frown, that unhappiness he always bore around you.

And you liked seeing him that way.

“Ahem.” Rossi’s voice (rather rudely) said from behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Anyways, as Reid was just about to admit, Emily and I could be right.” You said, clearing your throat.

“We still don't know the cause. Why would she be so angered by these women?” Morgan said, standing up to look more closely at the pictures of the victim.

“Well they all look nearly identical, and their faces were what the unsub attacked, so they probably reminded her of someone she hates. A mother, a sister, a boss, an ex—someone who she cannot stand. We don't know when she might go for the real target as opposed to a substitute, so we need to find her as soon as possible.” Hotch said, instructing Morgan to call Penelope and give her the parameters—which really weren't a lot. The women had nothing in common besides their physical appearance, but considering where the bodies were found, Rossi thought she might’ve been part of a cleaning crew that rotated multiple places, as and when they were hired.

An entire week of searching later, nothing.

No women who matched the physical description of the victims were missing in the city, and no cleaning crews had been found that were common to all the murder locations.

Your break in the case didn't come until day eight of the case—well, technically it was very early day nine at one in the morning—when you got up from the desk to go and douse your face with some water.

Usually when you entered the bathroom, you kept your eyes to the ground or the sink, avoiding the mirror entirely. Even so, in your periphery, it was hard to ignore the existence of your face.

Only when you glanced up, just enough to see up to your mouth—unshapely and sullen, with cracked lips and a tinted lip balm that settled into the lines of them—criticising everything that was wrong with them, wrong with you, and trying to hold back tears because it would only make your nose red, adding to the red splotches you knew were there even without looking at your full face—a result of not being able to stand yourself long enough to even do your make up—that it hit you.

The tears dried up on their own as you stared at your lips, parted in surprise.

“Guys!” You shouted, scrambling out of the bathroom and into the bullpen, faintly thinking ‘Surprise isn't such a bad look on me.’

“What is it?” Spencer said, looking annoyed, with just a hit of alarm at the urgency in your voice.

“What if the person the unsub's targeting is herself?”

Everyone stared at you, their sleep-deprived minds taking a moment to catch up with what you were saying.

“Explain.” Hotch said, putting down the cup of coffee he'd been clutching the entire day like it was Jack’s birth certificate.

“What if the reason the unsub hates these women so much is because she hates herself? She can't stand her appearance, so when she runs into someone who looks like her, it sends her into a frenzy!” You looked quite frenzied yourself, you were sure, but thinking about how you looked only made a slight pang make itself known near your diaphragm, so you shelved the thought for later.

“So she's dysmorphic?” JJ said, frowning in thought.

“And probably really mentally ill. A person can't live day-to-day carrying something like that. She probably can't even stand her own reflection, has a history of attacking reflective things—ask Penelope to check for vandalism—and she might've even been institutionalised before.” You said, hands wildly flying through the air to emphasize your words.

“This could break the case—good job, agent.” Hotch said to you, before picking up the phone to call Penelope.

You beamed with joy at the thought that for once, you'd made the ultimate deduction, not Spencer.

Noticing his abnormal silence, you turned around, flashing your 1000 watt smile right at him. He was frowning, brows pulled together in thought as he stared at the far wall behind you.

“Contemplating what to do with your life now that I've proved I'm better than you?” You sniped, awaiting his incoming jab eagerly.

Only, it never came.

Spencer's eyes simply refocused, landing on you. He searched your face for something, eyes flying from your eyes to your forehead to your cheeks. You weren't sure what he was looking for, but the action unnerved you.

“What? What is it? Do I have something on my face?” You reached up, picking at the week-old acne scar near your chin just to check if it was bleeding again.

“You were just in the bathroom. Shouldn't you know if there's anything on your face?” Spencer's voice was quiet, quieter than when he’d ever spoken to you.

You stared at him, feeling your brows pull together in astonishment.

“For your information, not all of us are as vain as you, Dr Reid.” You scoffed at him, tucking your hand into your pocket to prevent you from picking further.

Spencer didn't reply to your insult yet again, only staring at you. His brown eyes settled firmly onto your orbs, as if he could see something there. Your eyelids fluttered, in part to break the gaze, and in part because of how dry they were getting.

“That was a…ingenious deduction.” The brunette said finally, before walking away and leaving you standing there, heart beating loudly.

You swallowed nervously, your vision growing a little blurry. Your tongue felt heavy again, and you swiped your palms against your thighs in a bid to get rid of the sweat on them.

That was—he praised you. The man who hated you, had hated you since the day you joined, just gave you a compliment.

It shouldn't have felt as good as it did.

His voice a quiet rasp, his eyes focused on you, only you, but not in derision—it all made your spine feel just a little bit molten.

That was, until you realised where you were, who you were thinking about, that you hated the man, and settled into your chair with a huff, glancing at a distracted Spencer once before resting your head on the table for a little cat nap.

After you had what was essentially a sketch of the unsub herself, it was easy to find her. Sheila Williams had been hospitalized once for trying to claw her own face off, and arrested twice for breaking the glass display of a store and the mirror in a diner’s washroom.

The interrogation was…an ordeal.

Well, for once, Hotch decided to send you and Spencer in to do it, since you were the one who made the connection and Spencer was, well, Spencer.

The only problem was that Sheila kept her eyes firmly shut, refusing to look at either of you.

“Sheila? Can you please look at us?” You made your voice as soft as possible, leaning in slightly to make sure she could hear you.

“Nonono—don’t wanna—no.” Sheila mumbled, voice a nervous whisper. Her brows were furrowed in intense distress, her hands shaky.

“Sheila, I promise nothing bad will happen if you look at us.” Spencer's voice was the softest you'd ever heard it—the only exception being when he was speaking to kids. “We're not here to hurt you. We just want to understand why you did what you did.”

The evidence they found at Sheila’s place—blood-soaked clothes, a pipe wrench with the second victim's DNA on it, the GPS in her car placing her at all the murder locations and the camera footage showing her there—was more than enough to have her declared guilty. What you needed was to understand whether a criminal conviction was the way to go—and so far, all signs were pointing to ‘no’.

The moment Sheila opened her eyes, only with further coaxing from Spencer in that soft, almost purr of a voice, her eyes bypassed both of you and locked in on the mirrored glass behind you. Immediately, it sent her into a frenzy, making her pull violently at her restraints and when those wouldn't give, she started hitting her face against the table. Her hands flew around to throw you off when you tried to stop her, one of her nails catching on the skin of your cheek.

By the time you and Spencer stopped her, she'd broken her nose, and even then she buried her face in Spencer's chest when you two hoisted her up, her body physically trembling from the psychological toll of just…seeing her face. Spencer went with the cops, letting Sheila keep her bloody face buried in his chest, gently patting her back.

Watching them walk out of the interrogation room, you closed your eyes briefly, knowing that when you opened them, the mirrored glass would be there—now in front of you rather than behind you, as you stood right behind Sheila's chair.

Your chest felt like it was caving in, and your vision blurred as you slowly opened your eyes, guiding yourself out of the room. There was a dull sting to your cheek, but you couldn't care much about it. Morgan was standing there, looking at you in concern.

“You okay?”

‘No. I'm worried I'm gonna end up like that unsub and claw my own face off one of these days.’

“Yeah, yeah just—that was a lot.” You sighed, trying to act normal. It wouldn't be too concerning for you to be a little off, though, since you weren't as seasoned as the other team members and naturally hadn't seen such disturbing behaviour before.

You followed Morgan back to the briefing room, swallowing the scream that fought tooth-and-nail to get out when you caught your reflection in the glass door for just a second.

Maybe this was how it had started for the unsub, too. Small. Easy to ignore.

Despite feeling nauseous, you took a sip of the coffee Emily offered you, settling into a chair before your legs could start wobbling.

“I think we have enough evidence to tell the DA to have her institutionalised.” Hotch said. You hummed in agreement, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah, I mean, she clearly needs help.” JJ said softly. Your fingers found an old scar hidden between the hairs of your left brow. “Everyone gets insecure sometimes but hating yourself so much you can't even stand your own face? That's—I can't even imagine what that might stem from. It's gotta be a hard thing to live with.”

Your short, blunt nails started picking at the scar, searching for its edges, any way you could slide your nail under the edge of it and rip it off your face. Your chest still felt heavy, and your stomach roiled. You weren't sure why—it wasn't even that big of a deal.

“She's with the EMTs. I asked them to let her keep her eyes shut unless medically necessary.” Spencer's voice cut through the chatter of the bullpen, and you flicked your thumb nail against the edge of the scar as you turned to look at him.

His cardigan and tie both had blood smeared on it, and he looked just a little perturbed. His eyes narrowed onto you, judgmental, and you immediately hardened your expression in response.

“Have fun being the unsub's emotional support fed?”

Spencer was comforting Sheila because it was the only way to stabilize her, you knew that, but you two weren't exactly known for being nice to each other—your relationship was built on mutual hatred.

Well, from him, at least. You were just responding in kind. You were pretty sure the only reason Spencer kept cooperating the bare minimum with you was because he was good at his job.

Spencer stayed quiet, his lips parting around words that died in his throat, like the blanket ready to swaddle a miscarried baby.

“Let's all rest up tonight, we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning.” Hotch said, finally giving you the ticket you needed to stand up and sweep past Spencer.

The hotel was only a stone’s throw from the police station, so you decided to walk. The breeze was cutting, stabbing your lungs every time you drew it in. The wind whipped against your face, and the scratch from earlier stung like it was fresh. You wanted to use the time to think, but the sight of all the pigeons proved to be distracting enough to take you out of your head.

The cars of the rest of the team were already parked in front of the hotel by the time you reached it, and you were glad none of them were drifting in the hallways.

In the confines of your room, you threw off your coat, settling into the chair in the corner. On any other night you would've grabbed the fantasy novel you were carrying to read it—the cliffhanger on chapter 19 had you itching all day—but your brain was simply abuzz.

Tears formed in your eyes, but you weren't quite sure why.

Maybe it was because you had to stare at a version of yourself bash her head in.

‘That’s bullshit. I'm not like her. I would never kill someone for looking like me. I'd get help before that.’

…

Would you?

A disdain that had lasted from your teenage years, well into adulthood, strong enough to impact the way you set up your home and everything around you, going so far as to disable the front camera on your phone, yet subtle enough to not be caught in the psych eval every prospective agent went through before joining the academy.

Would you really be able to catch yourself before you spiralled further?

It seemed insane, a simple insecurity leading to killing. Yet it was what you dealt with every day, small things building up until a person simply exploded. You'd seen it all with your own eyes, but it just…didn't feel real.

Not with yourself.

A sharp knock startled the hotel key from your hand and onto the floor, making you realise you hadn't bothered to click it into place and turn the lights on.

Blinking away the remnants of tears from your eyes, you scrambled towards the door, slotting the card into place as all the lights turned on. For a second, you were worried there was something going on with the case, maybe you'd gotten it wrong, maybe the unsub was the complete opposite of your profile—

“I know you're in there.” Spencer's voice came through the wood, muffled, but neither alarmed nor urgent.

“What do you want, Reid?” You were glad your voice didn't crack, too large a giveaway even though the piece of wood blocking your face.

“To talk.”

“About what?”

You hear him sigh in annoyance.

“I've already been through one interrogation today, and so have you. Just let me in.”

You contemplated just leaving him out there. After all, he'd been so suspicious for the past few days—maybe he was finally done. Done with all the fighting and the jabs and insults. What he'd do, exactly, as a result of being done, you weren't sure, but it couldn't be good.

Then again, he probably looked really miserable on the other side of that door and your brain really needed the rush of seeing it after the day you'd had.

“What?” You asked, opening the door with an annoyed huff.

Spencer's head was tilted towards the ground, one hand resting against the door frame, looking defeated. You felt a rush of…something, seeing that.

The moment his head snapped up, you prepared yourself for conflict. He opened his mouth to speak, eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled, his frizzy curls sticking up every which way, but his expression changed completely in just a second.

His frown fell, his mouth closed, and his eyes widened slightly, flitting all over your face. Your heart jumped into your throat at the sight.

The brunette straightened, striding inside your room on his long legs, right past you.

“Wow, okay, you enter a lady’s room late at night with no explanation or permission? People will talk, y'know.”

He didn't respond. Whatever momentary astonishment had overtaken him had passed, his forehead now more creased than you'd ever seen it. The line of his back held tension, moreso than usual, and he balled his fists up beside thighs.

“Close the door.” He said, eyes trained on the carpeted floor. You didn't particularly care for his attitude.

“Oh, so now you're making demands? I mean really, Reid, the absolute—”

“I'm not fucking around right now. Close the door.” Spencer turned to face you, his eyes almost burning with whatever it was he needed to discuss. The same kind of intensity it held when you two were in the field, when there was no room for banter or fucking around because lives were on the line.

You obeyed him, closing the door with a soft click before leaning against it.

For the first time since you'd met him, Spencer looked genuinely frustrated. He opened and closed his mouth several times, tongue slipping out to wet his lips, his eyes closing in apparent frustration. His balled fists flattened over his face, and when he dragged his skin back, he opened his eyes again, looking at you.

“You know, you've been wrong before, about several things, but I don't think you've ever been this wrong.”

The words felt like a slap. You swallowed around the rock in your throat, because if Spencer had come in here to berate you for your work, you suspected there would be more where that came from.

“Bullshit. I was right about the unsub, I was right about the profile, I was right about the motive—”

“I'm not talking about fucking work right now! Or a petty sociological debate of which we both know the results! Or even your awful taste in songs!” The sheer volume of Spencer's voice stunned you into silence. He didn't yell. He snapped and he insulted and he rolled his eyes but he didn't yell at you. Spencer swallowed, panting slightly. Upon seeing what must've been your bewildered expression, his face softened, and he screwed his eyes shut again.

“Then—then what are you talking about?” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Unsure. You were never unsure with Spencer before that moment.

“You.” His eyes snapped open, unbearably big and sad.

Confusion flooded your mind—you were half-convinced you'd been shot on your way to the hotel and this was just a fever dream.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes you do. You're not in denial, I know that.” His tone was so absolute, he had complete belief in whatever he was talking about.

If only he would be so kind as to let you in on the secret.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I told you—you.”

“What about me?” Your volume was rising now, too, your hands waving around in the air to gesture to your entire self. You understood why Spencer kept dragging his hands across his face. The conversation was making you want to pull your hair out.

“Relating to the unsub.”

You had been shot on the way to the hotel. That was simply the only explanation.

You did not spend the entire fucking day masking every emotion, every twitch of the lip, every little glance, just to be found out by the one guy who had no reason to even think about you any more than he had to in a professional capacity, let alone actually pay attention to your existence when it didn't serve or annoy him.

“I don't know what you're implying—”

“Yes you fucking do!” Your denial only egged Spencer on, and he walked closer to you, stopping when he was about three feet away.

“The picking of your scar? The way none of us were even in the same league about the unsub's motive but you figured it out after going to the bathroom, a place with mirrors? The way you keep your eyes away from all reflective surfaces? The fact that the mirror in your house was covered with a sheet—”

“I told you that was because it was hard to clean!” Your voice was reaching a desperate pitch, you could hear it, you wouldn't believe yourself if this were a true interrogation.

“No!” Spencer said, sounding indignant. “You did not tell me, you lied to me. There is a difference.”

“All of that is circumstantial and proves absolutely—”

“You're bleeding right now.”

Whatever your next words were, they promptly died on your tongue. Spencer's words were like a period, the argument a sentence, and you the dumb conjunction trying to keep it going. But there was nothing to continue.

“Sheila scratched your cheek. You were bleeding at the precinct. You probably didn't realise it, but that's why everyone was being so nice.” The indignation had drained out of his voice. He just sounded tired now. Why would he be tired—why did he even care?

“The blood has since dried on your cheek and the cut is untreated, whereas you're the kind of person who slaps a bandaid on cat scratches. The only reason you didn't take care of it is because you didn't know it was there, on the one part of your face you can't see without a mirror.”

Your hand came up to your cheek, feeling around for the tell-tale scab. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words felt like smoke, so you simply looked past Spencer's shoulder.

“It could also be because I just got in—”

“No you didn't. You left the precinct before me, walked here, which, based on your average speed, would only take you ten minutes. It's been an hour and half.”

Your eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, trapped behind metal bars for whatever reason, and you found to your chagrin that Spencer was right.

Now it was your turn to close your eyes. Not in frustration—in defeat.

He'd done it. He'd found the one weakness you had, because that's just how much he hated you.

“I'm not a risk to the team. I'm not gonna have a psychotic break just because I don't like my face.” Admitting it out loud made your lower lip wobble, and tears burned like acid behind your eyes.

“I'm not worried about you being a risk.” Spencer sounded even closer, now, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

“Then why do you even care? What, you just saw an opportunity to humiliate the person you hate and you couldn't help it?” There was silence from the other end, which you took as confirmation.

“I—what?” The sheer affronted nature of the word made your eyes snap open, and you found yourself deeply embarrassed to find your vision blurry with tears, too blurry to parse the expression on the brunette's face.

“You think I hate you? That I wanna humiliate you?” You had never seen Spencer so offended—his mouth was so wide in disbelief you thought for a second his jaw was about to crack.

“...don't you? You're always fighting with me.”

“No! I'm not—we don't fight, we banter! It's different!” Spencer's hands were in his hair again, and you realised he was only about a foot away from you.

“Because you don't hate me?” Your voice sounded incredulous even to your own ears.

“Yes!”

‘Liar.’

“Then why do it? Why counter everything I say, all the time, with no real reason?” You scoffed, voice thick with tears.

“Because I like how you react!” Spencer exclaimed, stepping even closer. “You get mad and then you come up with some insult that's either really smart or funny even if it's in a juvenile way and then you—your brows furrow when you're annoyed, and that scar twists in funny ways, and your lips always form a pout around whatever you say next and your eyelashes practically brush your cheek even when they're narrowed and glaring at me and—”

His hands shot out at you, and before you even had the opportunity to react, they were on your face, gentle and calloused. His hands were large, easily encompassing the entirety of the sides of your face. His eyes were even bigger than before now, his lips turned down in a pout, his brows curved in a way you thought only cartoon puppies were capable of.

“Your face haunts me. It derails my work, my deductions, because I cannot help but goad you just to have an excuse to stare at it fully, to see it move and exist—my reading speed has declined by thirty five percent ever since you've joined the team! You make incredible deductions and get that smug look on your face when you're right, when you turn around and call me an idiot, or when you manage to race past me for the best chair in the room and I pretend I'm angry about it when in truth, at any given point I can steal it from you.”

Spencer's face was closer now, his angular nose brushing against yours. You weren't quite sure what to do with your hands, or with the acidic feeling in your eyes again, or with the desperation with which Spencer was speaking.

“I—it pains me, that what you find detestable is the thing that is ruining my life. That when you look at yourself you don't see the intelligent spark in your eyes or the natural voracity with which you approach everything, but rather something that you cannot stand.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and when your hands found their way onto his wrists, he considered it an invitation to push closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

His face was warm, as was his body, now close enough to radiate heat onto you. His thumb stroked the underside of your eye on your uninjured cheek, his other hand tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“That can't be true.” You said softly, biting on your lower lip and looking down.

“It is,” Spencer sounded even more desperate than before, squeezing your face slightly, “You just think that because some stupid voice in your brain wants you to.” He sounded like he wanted you to believe it.

You wanted you to believe it.

“Let me fix that cut? Please?” The brunette breathed the words against your mouth, before practically kneeling on the ground so you'd be forced to look down at him.

“...I don't even feel it.”

“That doesn't mean it's not worth fixing, pretty.”

The tears refused to go away, now joined by a stray sniffle. The nickname felt like a shot through your chest, painful and raw.

You let Spencer gently tug you along to sit on the edge of the bed, your eyes firmly stuck on the floor, before he went into the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit.

It was only after you remembered that you'd covered the bathroom mirror with a tshirt that your head snapped up and towards the wooden door, only to see Spencer come out looking slightly forlorn.

Ashamed, you looked away again, focusing on the swirls your shoes made on the carpet.

You couldn't ignore him for long, since soon after the mattress sank beside you under the weight of one lanky agent, two of his fingers pinched your chin, turning you to face him.

“Hey,” He said, voice soft, eyes softer, as he raised the little alcohol soaked cotton ball to your cheek, “having insecurities is normal, pretty.”

“Not to this extent, it isn't.” You blinked rapidly as the cold object touched the dry blood, wiping it off.

“Says who?”

“People.”

“People also say I'm autistic.”

“...well that might be true so I don't think you're really helping the case here.” Your lips twitched into a smile as the familiar rush of fighting—no, bantering—with Spencer curled around your nervous system. You took your eyes off the wall behind him to glance at his face, only to see his cheeks dimpled with a soft smile.

Your heart soared and your own smile widened in response. His face only softened further, if that was even possible.

You hissed as the cotton touched the cut, softly wiping any dirt or dust off of it.

“Is it bad?” You asked apprehensively.

“No, it's just a small scratch. About an inch long, not too deep, easy to slap a bandaid on.” Without waiting for an affirmative from you, Spencer grabbed a bandaid, carefully placing it over the cut.

“I'll look ridiculous, walking around with bandaids on my face over a scratch.”

“I can draw the FBI logo on it if it'll make you feel less ridiculous.”

You snorted, unsure whether the brunette was joking. You didn't really care. He could've said he was going to draw a dick on the bandaid and you would've let him.

His hand cupped your cheek, the tips of his fingers trailing past your ear and into your hair. He didn't do or say anything, simply looked at you with an earnestness no one had ever displayed before.

So you leaned in to press a soft peck to his lips.

Spencer looked stunned—that wide-eyed, off-guard look you'd come to love so much in the two times you'd seen it.

“Your face haunts me too, for the record. And your hair. And your dumb cardigans and ties.”

“I thought you hated my dumb cardigans and ties.” The way Spencer's lips curled around his words made you soft, reaching out to wrap his tie around your fist.

“Yes, well, consider me a fox and your dumb cardigans and ties a nice bunch of grapes.” You tried to sound stand-offish, but the absolute beam taking over your face wouldn't really allow it.

“Am I the crow, then?”

“Duh.”

“I do like things that sparkle.” Spencer leaned in, brushing his nose against yours again.

“Oh yeah?” You taunted, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Yeah. Your smile. Your eyes. Your brain.”

“My brain sparkles?” You laughed.

“You sparkle. I like you.”

You licked your bottom lip once before biting it.

“That's good. Cuz I kinda like you too.”

“Really? I couldn't tell.” You rolled your eyes at the sarcasm, rolling off his tongue even while he was an inch away from you.

“Fuck you.”

“At least take me on a date first, pretty.” Spencer whispered, before leaning in and brushing his lips softly against yours.

You pressed back against them, allowing your mouths to be slotted together as you curled into him as much as you physically could. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap to sit on one of his thighs.

There was nothing hurried about the kiss, which felt like it lasted for hours—by the grace of the tiny breathing breaks you two kept taking—both of you warm and purring into each other.

“Stay?” You asked softly when you two parted. Spencer's fingers came up to tuck your hair away again, and he pressed his forehead to your temple this time, nosing your cheek, holding you close now for no other reason than just because.

“As long as you want me to, pretty.”

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

guys I started writing what was supposed to be a sweet and short rivals to lovers spencer x reader fic but I spiralled out of control and now it's 7.6K words what do I do

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

You’re Dana fic is the reason I started the Pitt 😭

HOLY SHIT THAT'S SUCH A COMPLIMENT !!

Fair warning, in the show she has a husband, but I like to pretend he doesn't exist/she divorced him because I can. Dana is for the ladies, and no one can take that away from me in this lifetime

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

My thoughts on the Pitt finale:

SPOILERS !!!

I don't agree with people who say Samira shouldn't have apologised—obviously, from a moral pov she shouldn't have, but it's just part of her character. She is the kinda person to do that. And I also think Robby was genuinely trying to extend grace to her at the end there, because he knew he'd been unfair to her the entire day, and he did it because she reminded him of himself. He didn't do it well, but this man is suicidal and hanging on by a thread.

I'm kinda unsure about the Baran thing—if she's been cleared by a neurologist, she's fine to work, but I get why Robby was such a dick abt it (I'm not saying he was right, I'm saying I get it). He sees himself as crucial to the ED. He's basically being a tsundere, and wants the ED to still need him, to keep him from killing himself, but it doesn't work like that and that upsets him.

I like that Mel finally got to have fun without Langdon. Don't get me wrong, I love Kingdon, but I also think it's unhealthy for both Santos and Mel to have one friend, and for that friend to be a white man, so it was refreshing to have them finally be able to bond after the many failed attempts the entire season.

Robby girldad (?)

I love that it was Langdon who ripped into Robby. I just love it sm because it shows that Langdon got the help he needed, he did the work, and even though emotionally he still wants Robby's validation, logically he knows that he would've disappointed Robby eventually, bc as he said, not even Robby can live up to his own expectations.

Mcvadi watching the fireworks together was straight up yuri cocaine (WHY IS YOUR ARM AROUND HER IF NO GAY) and the Langdon drug test scene...

Anyways, based on how the entire season has played out, I actually don't have many complaints about this finale. There are some things I wanted to see, personally, but from a narrative pov it made sense to do things the way they were done.

This is all just imo tho, and I'd love to hear y'alls opinions too :3

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

WDYM LANGDON KNOWS WHAT ROBBY'S APARTMENT LOOKS LIKE SIR WHAT WERE YOU DOING THERE

It's giving 'She was at the devil's sacrament, I saw her!' 'Sister what were you doing at the devil's sacrament?'

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

Frank Langdon has a praise kink and Robby just activated it. He's about to go into heat in this ED and Robby's gonna need to fuck him through it

[clarktologist]

ㅤㅤTWO HANDS [AND A BIT OF TEETH]

summary: you're very clingy with your boyfriend, and he's happy to return the favor. until teeth get involved. OR the three times you bite frank langdon and the one time he bites you back. pairing: frank langdon x girlfriend!reader tags: afab reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, objectification & destruction of frank langdon's limbs, playfulbf!frank langdon unlocked, nonsexual & childlike wrestling between adults, frank refers to reader as a dog [affectionately], seduction in the form of nipping word count: 3.2k notes: this is for everyone that gets something similar to cuteness aggression and just wants to bite people [<- me!] all of these end in dialouge on purpose, i swear... please reblog if you enjoy!

1. UNCONTROLLABLE URGES

The sunset stretches through the blinds of your apartment, spilling over the harwood floor like liquid gold. Your fingers unfurl to brush through the rays from where you’re sprawled out on your back, eyes watching the shadow that breaks up the light. There’s a slight ache in the small of your back from lying on the floor for so long, but you make no attempt to move.

“You own a couch.”

Your head tilts back to look at the doorway, an almost goofy smile stretching across your mouth at the upside-down view of Frank. He looks the exact same as he does everyday, and you had seen him only a few minutes ago when you had abandoned him in the kitchen to finish making his meal prep, but the sight of him still makes your heart thud a bit harder against your rib cage.

“If I get on the couch, I won’t get anything done.” Your bottom lip pushes out in a pout, hands folding on your stomach. 

One bushy eyebrow raises as his gaze trails over you, prowling closer slowly. “And you’re getting things done by laying on the floor?” he asks.

He leans over you, devishly charming with his hair falling onto his forehead. You’re not sure how you got a Disney prince as a boyfriend, but you thank whoever, or whatever, is above you that you did. Now, you get the pleasure of staring at his handsome face whenever you want.

Admittedly, Frank wasn’t incorrect. Originally, you had disappeared into the living room in order to at least begin to organize your vast array of bookshelves, however the task had become larger and more overwhelming the longer you had debated where to start. You had sat down to get a look at the big picture, somehow ending up on your back and distracted by the rays of sunlight coming through the windows.

There’s a huff as you take his outstretched hand, letting him drag you up onto your feet. You take the opportunity to slide your palm along his abdomen, appreciating the soft twitch of muscle that happens in response. As much as you love all of his reactions to your touches, you love the unintentional ones the most. 

Noticing your lack of response and the forlorn gaze you have trained on the bookshelves, Frank presses his face into your hair, breath brushing against your hairline. “Do you want some help?” he mumbles gently. The question comes out almost hesitant, aware that you didn’t like to ask for help much.

You stay silent for a breath, eyes glancing over the books you’ve hoarded over the last few years. You debate just giving up on the project completely, leaving the literature to spill wherever it’d like, spine showing or not.

Finally, rationality wins out and you groan, turning to bury your face into his sweater. “Yes, please.”

He holds you for just a moment, thumb brushing along your shoulder from where his arm has curled around your body, before you finally separate to get to work.

The plan is simple at first. Frank grabs the books from the higher shelves while you start on the lower, pulling them out so that they can stack on the floor and await their sentencing. Color-coded or alphabetically by author or separated by just genre - the possibilities are endless.

That is, until your boyfriend pulls off his sweater, revealing the curve of muscles that are his biceps.

You’re quickly distracted by the sight, staring up at him with parted lips. Poor, sweet Frank just continues working, surprisingly focused on the task at hand despite being so blatantly ogled. 

Perhaps he’s used to being stared at by you. Perhaps he’s just happy to be allowed to help you out, for once.

Now, you’re on the same bookshelf in the middle of your array, your elbow pressed into his abdomen with every reach forward. His arm is right there, muscles tensing every time he reaches up for another book to place it in the growing stack in his free hand.

You try to push back the urge. You really do. You press your tongue between your teeth, biting down on it just enough to feel the pressure. Remind yourself that it’s not normal to want to consume your partner whole, to cause them pain out of pure love and lust for them.

But then he reaches up again, that dip of muscle stretching from just beneath his elbow all the way to his wrist, and your brain shortcircuits. 

It happens quickly. Your chin tilts forward slowly and your lips part, the top set of your teeth finding the juiciest part of his muscle and pressing down. For a moment, you don’t even worry about if you’re causing him pain. The squish of his arm beneath your teeth is satisfying enough to dull out everything else.

Frank yelps in surprise, dropping the book in his hand to press the heel of it into your forehead with just enough force to push your head away. “Hey!”

You give him a sheepish smile as his hand moves to rub at the teeth-shaped indents in his skin. His face is an array of emotions, although amusement and confusion ring out above them all. The only thing missing seems to be anger, or anything similar, which only makes you fall more in love, if possible.

His hand darts out to slide over your head, fingers curling around your skull to bring your head into his chest. His fingertips press into your scalp as he scrunches at the roots of your hair, chest rumbling with a laugh as you wiggle in protest. “That was mean! I’m trying to help you and you bite me!”

“You were the one slutting yourself out, this is not my fault!” Your palm presses into his abdomen, whether out of your struggle or a need to objectify him more, trying to pry out of his hold on your head. “Waving it in my face like a dog with a bone!”

Frank laughs as he finally lets you go, playfully shoving at your shoulder to get you away. “Start organizing your books, puppy. Stay far away from me until you learn how to control yourself.”

2. GAINING THE UPPER HAND

“The fact that you are a doctor and save lives every day never fails to astonish me.” You deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at your boyfriend.

It had been Frank’s idea to build a fort. Something about how his parents had never let him make one out of blankets and pillows, too afraid of the mess he’d make, and how he thought it’d be fun to eat dinner. 

You had been ecstatic. That is, until you realize that your boyfriend was completely incapable of doing anything that didn’t require too-complicated words and needles.

His brow is furrowed in slight irritation, a lot of confusion, as he stands up, kicking off a throw blanket that had snagged around his ankle. His elbow brushes against your arm as he crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursing as he stares down at the mess he made. “It’s just not staying,” he mumbles beneath his breath.

“Because you’re not anchoring down the blankets. You can’t use pillows to hold up a blanket, babe, they’re not stable enough.” Your fingers point at the decorative pillow he had placed atop the corner of the blanket, glancing up at him through the corner of your eye. “You gotta go find some heavy books or something.”

Frank’s head turns to look at you, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows. “Books? In our fort? That doesn’t sound too comfortable.” Then, he steps to the side, curling his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Well, you’re not laying on them, are you?” You tease back, tilting your head to touch your temple to his.

He huffs, breath brushing over your collarbone, before his fingertips are pressing into your ribs. “Oh, yeah? You’re the fort expert now, huh?” He locks one arm around your waist while the other continues poking and prodding, ignoring your squeals and wriggling. “A little fort architect, aren’t you?”

“Frank!” You squeak, laughing as you crouch down to attempt to slide out of his hold. “Let me go!”

Your boyfriend crouches with you until both of your knees are on the ground, his arm loosely locked around your neck now while fingertips dance on the most ticklish parts of your body. Your hands grab at his forearm, attempting to pull him off, but he simply just wrestles you onto the heap of blankets that was his attempt at a fort. 

The two of you roll on the floor together in a mess of limbs, Frank curling both of his arms around you at every chance that he could get. The blankets curl around your legs and waist as you twist and wriggle, laughing until your lungs hurt and you’re begging him to let you go.

The wrestling only ends whenever he moves to wrap his forearm around you again. Willing to try to get anything to get out of your predicament, your teeth find his skin easily, sinking in just enough to leave a bitemark.

As any grown man would, Frank squeals, removing his injured arm away from you while his other one just tightens around your waist. “What have we said about biting me?” He scolds playfully, pulling you closer to the curve of his body, until your hips are flush to his. 

“You wouldn’t let me go!” You retort, although you make no attempt to pull away from him. Instead, you roll over to face him, passing him an innocent smile.

He softens when your fingers wrap around the forearm you had bitten, your thumb brushing against the indents in his skin. Leaning down, he presses his lips to your mouth, kissing you sweetly for a brief moment before pulling away just enough to mumble. “Can we give up on the fort?”

You laugh, then shake your head. “Nope. But I will finish it for you.”

“Deal.”

3. RUIN THE MOMENT

Frank had to stay late at work. And while you didn’t mind, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your boyfriend more than probably healthy.

Rather than be dramatic about it or just sit wallowing until he somehow managed to find his way home, you decided to do something nice for Frank. He did sweet gestures for you like it was as easy as breathing, and now was the perfect time to do something for him.

In the couple hours it took him to finally get off of work, you had made the relaxation spot of his dreams. The comfiest throw blankets on the couch, greasy boxes of his favorite takeout on the coffee table, the big lights off and only a small orange lamp illuminating your cozy living room.

When Frank gets home, you’re tucked into yourself on the couch, scrolling through something on your phone aimlessly. Your head perks up like a dog at the sound of the front door opening, hanging off the back of the couch to grin at him as soon as he’s stepped through the doorframe.

“Hi, baby.” You greet him, voice quiet. The hospital was always overstimulating, therefore you always made sure to keep calm and gentle when he got home. Like a dog coming home from a shelter.

Frank drops his bag onto the ground to pick up later, hand raising to rub at his face. He shuffles over to the couch at the sound of your voice, plopping down beside you and placing a hand on your thigh to remind you that he’s present. “Hi.”

After a moment of just staring at him, you slowly move to crawl behind him, propped up between the back of the couch and his back. Your fingers find his shoulders, pressing into the tight muscles there and letting yourself smile at the soft hum of relief it draws from him.

“Exhausting day?” you murmur. Your thumbs find a particularly large knot, rubbing firm circles to try and loosen it.

He nods slowly, head dropping forward with a quiet groan. “Just a lot happening. Didn’t have a chance to sit down all shift.” His eyelashes flutter closed as he lets himself relax, sinking further into your touch.

After the knots are nonexistent, you curl your arms around his neck, leaning over his shoulder. Your lips press into the hinge of his jaw first, sweet and chaste. A rush of air leaves his mouth as he sighs, back pressing into your chest.

“I’m sorry you had a long day.” You mumble the words into his skin, pressing a kiss to the space beneath his jaw before along his carotid. You reach the juncture of where his neck meets his collarbone, the rest of his shoulder covered by his scrub top, huffing in playful petulance at the lack of skin.

Frank tilts his head to the side just a smidge, the muscle in his neck tensing at the movement. There’s a small grin dancing across his lips when you spare a glance up at him, causing you to smile against his skin. “Feelin’ better now,” he muses.

A giggle bubbles out of you, moving your arms to wrap them around his waist. Now, you’re fully curled around him from behind, palms pressing into his abdomen and lips traveling along his neck. His body’s a heavy weight pressed into your front, welcomed in the quiet serene of your dimly lit apartment.

Now, one would say that your priority was ensuring that Frank stayed calm and lax, especially with the lengths you have gone to ensure that your home was a place of relaxation. Unfortunately, you love your boyfriend to the point of wanting to consume him, and the way his neck is flexing is way too tempting.

One look up at him and a distracting slow kiss to his neck reveals that his eyes have closed, lost in a trance of your hold and the feel of your mouth against his skin.

It’s your time.

You place a few more kisses along his neck before you nip at his carotid, giggling softly at the surprised gasp that it elicits. Frank groans in mock exasperation, one hand reaching up to cup the side of your face. He turns to look at you, sleepy blue eyes narrowing at your beaming expression.

“This fuckin’ mouth is going to get you in trouble.” He grumbles tiredly, hand sliding down until his pinky hooks beneath your mandible. 

His thumb presses at the seam of your lips until you part them, sliding inside your mouth to slide against your top teeth, pushing up gently against the pointed end of your canine. Your jaw raises at the push, lips widening in a grin at the touch. Your bottom teeth move to press up against the skin of his fingertip, laughing when he finally takes his finger out of your mouth.

“Bad dog.” He playfully remarks, fingers patting against your cheek.

“Woof,” you respond.

4. CAN’T BEAT ‘EM, JOIN ‘EM

The best thing about having Frank Langdon as a boyfriend is that whatever clingy level you were at, he would match. If you chose to have your own space, he’d respect it and find something else to do somewhere else. If you wanted to cling to him like a koala, he’d ensure to have two hands back on you at all times. If you wanted a happy middle, he’d be glad to just sit with one hand on your knee while you watched television.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten all forms of boundaries today. The worst part about Frank’s off days is that he tended to get bored and understimulated without the buzz of the Pitt, and therefore he loved to bother you while you were trying to take much needed alone time.

“Honey.” The pet name drips off of his tongue in a purr as he hangs his body around the threshold of the kitchen, pretty face poking in as he grins. “You almost done with lunch?”

You look up from where you’re pushing vegetables around in a pan, eyebrow quirking. It was never very good when he started off any question with a pet name, much less said like that. “No,” you respond, drawing out the word. “What do you want?”

Frank huffs as he steps into the kitchen, almost immediately crawling into your personal space. One arm curls around your waist while he leans on your other side, peeking at the stove like a curious child. Boredom practically radiates off of him, especially with the way his finger taps against the counter.

“Nothin’. Can’t I just ask my girl a question?” He presses a brisk kiss to your cheek, arm tightening around your waist slightly. His palm flattens on your abdomen, pinky brushing the waistband of your shorts. Devilish.

You keep your spine straight, attempting to brush him off. The last thing you need is to get distracted from filling your grumbling stomach, no matter how good your boyfriend smells or how warm he feels behind you. “I know when you want something, Frank.”

His chin tucks into the crook between your neck and shoulder, a hum reverberating from his chest into your neck. “Just to be with you,” he cheekily responds. His thumb brushes along your sternum from where his fingers have splayed further.

“Frank.” You warn, although there’s no irritation in your tone. “Let me finish lunch.”

He whines like a petulant child, pulling you closer with a tighter grib on your stomach. “I’m bored,” he complains. 

You choose to ignore him, instead focusing on turning the heat down on the stove. In retaliation at being ignored, his lips find your shoulder, exposed by the thin strap of your tank top. 

A sudden pinch spreads across your shoulder as he nips at the skin covering your collarbone not once, but twice, closer to your neck on the second one. Despite the shiver that crawls up your spine at the cool feeling of his teeth against you, you manage to stay strong. 

Unfortunately, your boyfriend is stubborn and very attention-seeking.

His next bite is a bit harder, directly on your neck. He soothes the slight sting with an open-mouthed kiss just above where your skin reddens, tongue lathing as an apology. “Too hard?” He mumbles teasingly.

“Don’t be an ass.” It’s meant to be a tough remark, something to show that he isn’t affecting you as much as he thinks he is, but it comes off as more of a whine.

He continues to kiss along your neck, laughing slightly at your remark. When your head tilts and your grip tightens on the spatula in your hand, his hand moves from your abdomen to the knob on the front of the stove, turning it until he clicks. Then, he gently grabs your jaw, tilting your head to kiss your lips.

Despite the fact that he finally has your direct attention, he still nips at your bottom lip, grinning victoriously as he pulls away.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

[writinggivesmeserotonin]

"I don't do flings, cupcake."

Pairing: Dana Evans x Reader

Summary: you've had a crush on your coworker, Dana, for a long time. Isolated from the other doctors, you've bonded a lot with her and the other nurses. After a night of some heavy drinking, you end up learning some curious truths about the PTMC's favourite charge nurse.

Word count: 7K

a/n: this is just be being a sloppy older woman lover. This might be a lil morally questionable because reader is drunk and Dana is sober, so be warned.

Working in the Pitt was exhausting. Not just because it was the emergency department—though, it was a borderline demonic place to work in—but because of...everything else.

Santos was weird and hostile to everyone. You'd tried to be friends with her, really, but she just kept being disinterested and walking away. And also she was very gay, though that part wasn't weird and you clocked it the moment you saw her (you still had a bet going on with the nurses about who called the shots in her relationship with Garcia).

Whitaker was earnest. Too earnest. Like that hamster with the big watery eyes. It was distracting. You didn't like it. Also whatever the fuck he had going on with Robby and that farm girl Amy was also weird—that last part everyone agreed with, including Santos.

Langdon was fine, better than others, barring the absolute shit show that was his behaviour towards Santos on her first day. You'd disliked him immensely for that, before realising it was probably on his list of 'top 10 worst days of my life' and figured he deserved a redeeming chance. Not that your opinion mattered—you were just an intern.

Mel was nice. You really liked her. She was kind and sweet and straightforward...but then there was that weird tension with her and Langdon and you really weren't sure what to make of it.

Once, you’d interjected yourself into a conversation between them about some history facts—you were a massive nerd, and so were they, so what's the harm in trying to bond—and while they both had shot you polite smiles, it was nothing compared to the absolute beam they'd shone at each other.

'Someone's getting divorced soon.' You found yourself thinking as you walked away, slightly dejected.

Mohan was nice too, as were McKay and Javadi, and McKay in particular had so much unending empathy and kindness, you sometimes felt like just telling her stuff so she could hold your hand and be nice to you. You and Javadi had that in common, you found out after the one deep conversation you two had, but it hadn't really led to a friendship.

And then there was Robby. He was going to kill himself at some point, you thought. He could be a good boss, sometimes. But it was hard not to notice how he treated the female doctors, especially being a woman yourself.

You'd thought that after the row with Langdon, Mohan would be his golden child—she was an R4, highly skilled, a bit slow, maybe (though you weren't a fan of the nickname Slo-Mo) but well-intentioned—and if not her, McKay, because of her aforementioned empathy and general chillness about life.

Instead Robby chose the intern. The white male intern. Who Robby was potentially fucking—you weren't too sure about that part.

You and Whitaker were on the same level, skillwise, and you actually kept your cool more than him (it was dissociation, mostly, an art the mousy man hadn't mastered yet), but Robby would never treat you, or Javadi, the way he did Whitaker.

It was exhausting. It stung. Robby probably didn't even know he was sexist, and his obvious PTSD and depression were clearly taking a fucking toll on him, but why was that everyone else's problem?

You probably wouldn't have noticed all of this if you actually fit in with anyone. But you didn't. Everybody had somebody—a friend—Mel and Langdon, Whitaker and Santos, Javadi and McKay, Mohan and McKay, on occasion; and Dana and Robby.

Unlike Santos' imagined 'No one likes me', you actually didn't have anyone who liked you. On the day shift, at least. You were considering doing a night shift just once, to see if it's any different, or if you'll just be isolated forever.

You mostly just defaulted to gossiping with the nurses. Perlah and Princess liked you, and you liked them. Socialization was easier with them. You contributed gossip, they contributed gossip, it was fun. It was all the aspects of high school friendships you missed, without the petty drama. But, it had come back to bite you in the ass—no one wants to be close to the doctor who gossips with nurses all day long.

There was one benefit to all of it though—you got to spend a lot of time around Dana.

Dana had all the good things Robby did, as an attending, except she didn't lash out at others over her own problems, stared at you over the rim of her glasses with her lips pressed together, smoked, and had that accent.

God, that accent.

You wanted to fold like paper every time she barked an order at you. Which was quite often.

You liked to pretend that you were normal, but truth be told, nobody in the emergency department was normal. Your weirdness just didn't mesh well with the others.

You mostly liked bringing your own lunch, something that would hold up throughout the day and was nutrient dense so you could eat it any time, ('Take rice. Rice will help.' Your mother had said. 'Rice is a carb, ma, it'll make me sleepy, and I can't afford to be sleepy on the job.' 'Always complaints with you! Figure it out yourself then, doctor, since you know everything and all my years of experience is worth nothing.') and you didn't drink coffee. Everyone thought you were strange for it. You just...didn't need it. You became manic by the end of the day, of course, but so did everyone else, so it was irrelevant.

Oh and also you kept an eye on Dana's smoke breaks so you could go out and sit somewhere near her general existence. It had gotten so strange you knew what triggers to look out for, what made her tic, what made her go "'kay, goin' out for a smoke. Princess, take over for me." And then you'd wait exactly a minute before sneakily following her out, whenever you could get away.

She noticed, you think. It would be strange if she didn't. Sometimes her eyes crinkled, and her lips twitched into a smirk as she took a drag of her cigarette, which you watched out of the corner of your eye so as to not seem like a creep.

It was stupid. You didn't even know if Dana liked women, let alone someone like you—a strange, gossiping, coffee non-drinker.

It didn't stop you, though. Especially when Dana favoured you, subtly. It was just the little things—raising a brow at anyone eyeing your lunchbox too hard, always letting you borrow her pens even though she knew she'd probably never see them again, and throwing cases at you she knew you'd like whenever there was wiggle room for it.

It always made your face and neck warm, but the speed at which everything moved in the Pitt guaranteed that Dana didn't stick around long enough to see it. Or maybe she did, and that's why she kept doing it.

'That is wishful thinking.' You growled at yourself, toying with a pen as you emerged out of your thoughts to stare at the chart open in front of you. Your eyes skimmed the room for Dana just once before you forced them to fly across the screen as you typed.

The rumble of the floor surrounded you as you scrunched your nose, sneering at the screen as you typed. You didn't really have a reason for doing it, you just liked doing weird things with your face while focusing. Al-Hashimi swung by to check in on your charting once, just because she was the attending on the case and wanted to make sure you were getting everything right—you liked her, too. She had those kind brown eyes and that Lulu lemon jacket and those pretty curls, which is why you felt so bad for her. The dysfunction of the Pitt was going to obliterate her.

Just as she left the charting area, heading to another patient room, your attention was captured by Joy shouting for a wheelchair. You glanced once at the patient, curious why someone stable enough to be standing, far away from a chair or bed, would suddenly need a wheelchair, but immediately jumped up when you saw that it was Samira.

You immediately panicked, your heart racing as you practically bowled over an old man to get to her. Sure, you weren't close, but that was your coworker who is nice and kind and empathetic and you did not want her to die.

You helped Joy wheel Samira into a room, helping her onto a bed while checking her for symptoms. Langdon was there, too, talking to her, calmly, between yelling for someone to get some EKG leads.

You tensed when Samira said her chest hurt and that her father had died of a heart attack, immediately checking for more symptoms of a heart attack.

"You are way too awesome to die in this hellscape." You murmured as you helped Perlah attach the leads. Samira blinked at the words, looking up at you like you’d just said 'I saw a monkey eating a horse today'.

You only backed off once Robby came in, assured that he would do a better job than you at figuring out what's wrong, at helping Samira. You leaned against the door, fidgeting with a hangnail on your left thumb. Your hair was coming undone, but you didn't want to take the hair tie off to re-tie it in front of senior doctors, worried that someone would catch it and think you frivolous for caring about your hair while Samira could be dying.

Your mouth turned downwards in a frown as you heard her talk about her mother—it was an awful feeling, realising your mother could, in fact, live without you, when you found it so difficult to live without her. If you hadn't mastered the art of dissociation, you would've teared up.

"Wait a minute—is this a panic attack about your mommy issues?"

…

You were going to kill Michael Robinavitch and make it look like an accident.

Your chest burned with rage as you stared at him from behind, slack-jawed, ripping the hangnail off so aggressively it took quite a bit of skin with it. Perlah glanced at you, the only person in the room to notice your reaction, everyone else focused on Robby and Samira.

To make matters worse, Robby proceeded to tell Samira to go home in the most condescending tone you had ever heard a man use.

Inside you there were two wolves: the part of you that wanted to be cool, calm, and manipulate things in your favour in the long run. And then there was the wolf with rabies.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Robby—and forgive me if I'm wrong here—didn't you have a panic attack during the Pittfest shooting, in Pedes?" The words were out of your mouth before you could think. Your heart was beating so loudly you could barely hear yourself. For the first time since entering the room, Robby seemed to notice you were there—a habit of his—and his own mouth opened just a little.

"And I'm no expert, but Doctor Mohan didn't need a med student to scrape her off the floor, emotionally, because she was hallucinating a dead person." Everyone was staring at you now. You might've just cost yourself your internship, but you honestly didn't give a single fuck—you would've shouted your words into the speakers, but the part of you warring to stay in control kept you from doing that. Robby still hadn't managed to come up with a response, frozen in place, his eyes wide and mouth slack.

"I just think that, since Doctor Mohan seems to have a problem with leaving her baggage outside the PTMC, as you so eloquently pointed out, you could show her how to do so by leading by example. Whenever you decide you want to start doing that."

You figured your job was done, both medically and socially. Robby couldn't bring you up to admin, and he knew it, because what you'd said to him was all true, and you'd said it just politely enough to get away with it.

You were the social outcast anyway, what were they gonna do, ostracize you more?

You turned to leave, and found yourself face-to-face with a very bewildered Al-Hashimi, and you blinked at her, the rage seeping out of you now that you'd said your piece and weren't looking at the balding old man any longer. You offered her a polite smile, and excused yourself.

Your head was buzzing with adrenaline as you walked across the floor, past your charting station, and into the ambulance bay.

Being a bitch to Robby felt like doing a line of cocaine. Or at least, what you imagined doing cocaine would feel like.

“What's up with you, cupcake?” A familiar scratchy voice called out from behind you, and you whipped around, throat drying up when you saw Dana, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between her fingers.

Dana had taken to calling you cupcake ever since she realised you brought a cupcake with your lunch every day. A little treat for yourself which you would hide with great precision to keep it from the feral animals you shared a workspace with.

“I uh—you’re gonna be mad when you hear this but uh…” You trailed off, blinking at the older woman. She raised a brow, looking at you expectantly.

“I may have called Robby out for being a hypocrite for the way he treats doctor Mohan and…brought up that…incident. In Pedes.” You screwed up your face, expecting some kind of a rebuke.

What you got instead was a laugh. A bark of a laugh, the way Dana always laughed.

“Always knew you had it in you, kid. Someone needed to put Robby in his place. Please tell me you at least did it nicely so he can't use it against you?”

You blinked rapidly again, now confused, and slowly approached Dana, leaning against the wall beside her. You shrugged in response to her question, poking at the red, inflamed skin on your right thumb that squeezed out a single drop of blood when you prodded it a little too hard.

“As politely as I could. I thought you two were friends?” You looked up at her, only to find her eyes trailed on your thumb, narrowed, before she brought them up to your face.

“We are. Which is why I know when he's being a bitch. Unfortunately I'm not exactly in the position to be a dick, or he'll stop opening up.”

“Robby opens up?” You asked, brows furrowed even as your lips twitched into a cheeky smile. Dana gave you a playful glare.

“He's not all ice and stone, y'know?”

“I know.” You sighed, conceding. “He's from a different time. But so are you, and you're not unconsciously sexist. It's just—it’s hard to stay quiet when I can see the obvious difference between how he treats me and Javadi and Samira versus how he treats Whitaker. It's so—” You trailed off, afraid that if you put your frustration into words you'd say something you can't take back. You didn't hate Robby, you really didn't, he could be cool.

“It's just hard to see Santos trailing after him like he's the best person around when Robby treats Samira the same way Langdon treated her, and she's still so beat up about it, but she'll still defend him. It's not all her fault, of course, she wants a male authority figure she can trust, desperately, and she's found that in Robby, so she'll keep herself blind to her flaws until she can't, and then she'll spiral about it.”

You looked up from your shoes to look at the blonde, only to see that her mouth was open just a fraction, just for a moment, before it closed around the end of her cigarette. Her eyes crinkled softly when she let out the smoke, her voice soft, considering, when she said, “You're real good at studying people, ain't ya?”

You felt yourself grow warm, the back of your neck heating up as you shrugged and looked away again.

“It's easy when no one's paying attention to you. It was like that in high school, too. My class had like a hundred and fifty kids, and I had three friends. Lost one of those by senior year, so…yeah. It's easy. People are oblivious to me a lot of the time. I'm like super easy to ignore.”

“Now that just can't be true.” Dana said, laughing again. “You? Unnoticeable? Nuh-uh, I ain't buying it.”

“It's literally true though.” You said, rolling your eyes and glaring at Dana half-heartedly, but the incredulous smile she shot you made it impossible to maintain the ruse of being upset. In fact, it also made it impossible to keep your heart rate steady. You went quiet for a bit again, the frustration from earlier settling over you again like a cloud you couldn't shake off. You disliked it.

You eyed Dana's half-smoked cigarette with narrowed eyes, considering. You'd never smoked, never seen the appeal, never wanted to, either. But, maybe, just maybe, it couldn't hurt to try.

As if she could tell what was going through your head, Dana said, “‘s not a good habit, cupcake, been trynna quit for years.”

“Well…surely a drag can't hurt?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at Dana.

The blonde stared at you, unimpressed, studying your face for something, anything. It made you anxious, so you picked at your nail bed again, ripping off the tiny clot that had formed.

“Fine.” Dana acquiesced, flipping the cigarette around between her fingers in a move you couldn't quite follow, but which made you a little wobbly-kneed, as you took the cigarette from her with shaky hands.

It was warm from being in touch with Dana's skin, where she'd been pinching it for the past several minutes. It was warm right at the end, too, where you wrapped your lips around it.

‘Is this an indirect kiss? Am I kissing Dana right now?’ You thought as you carefully inhaled.

Your thought was interrupted mid-formation by coughing, really bad coughing. The smoke made it hard to breathe, and you didn't particularly like the smell, either, not to mention you couldn't feel any high, at all.

Come to think of it, it really was quite a stupid idea.

Dana graciously took back what was left of the cigarette from you, eyeing you sympathetically as you coughed. You wished she'd soothe you with a hand on your back, perhaps, but there was no genie listening to your thoughts.

“I think that was better than any D.A.R.E lesson I've ever gotten.” You wheezed, rid at last of the smoke in your lungs.

“Yeah? Glad I could help.” Dana said, the small smile returning to her face. You wanted to return it, wanted to return everything, every expression she threw at you, but all you could do was give her a thumbs up with watery eyes and one last wheeze.

“I’m gonna go back in now.” You mumbled, before scampering back inside, neck warm.

The rest of your day was excellent—well, as excellent as a day can be after you publicly brought up your boss’ mental health issues in front of the new boss.

But hey, at least Al-Hashimi liked you.

…so maybe you kept snitching and telling her every dysfunctional detail about the Pitt, so what? That's not a crime, she deserved to know what she was getting herself into.

By the end of the day, you were well-liked by every woman on the floor except Santos, and virtually hated by Robby. He wanted you lynched, you thought. You suddenly felt immensely glad he was gonna disappear for three months.

On the last hour of your shift, you caught Dana and Emma cleaning Mr Digby up. As they passed by you, you flashed Dana a smile and said, “You're pretty good with scissors.”

You expected her to say something casual, the way she does, something about her age, experience, or nursing work in general.

“Yeah, well, those college years of experimenting had to come into play somehow.”

Now, objectively, you should've interpreted this as ‘Dana gave herself lots of haircuts as a youngin’, but the wink she threw at you, paired with the curve of her lips, made your brain buzz with all other possible interpretations.

Face red-hot, mind swirling with implications, you stepped out into the balmy air, making your way to the bus stop as usual, when something caught your eye. It was a bar, a new one, with fairy lights on the outside and inside, and a large pride flag hanging on the side of it.

You figured since you weren't that tired, you'd slip in for a bit, check it out, maybe try to push out the yearning for your hot older coworker by hooking up with someone in the bathroom, and then go home.

It didn't quite go to plan.

“Can—cans I hav’ another?” You stuttered, peering up at the pretty bartender owlishly. She looked down at you, biceps flexing as she rested her palms on the bar top, and said, “You sure about that, hon’? You've had quite a bit to drink already.”

You nodded your head, giving her a wide smile, “‘m fine! I insulted my boss today. He's an ugly old man. I want another drink, pleaaasee? I'll tip well.” You giggled slightly when she sighed at you, a bit exasperated but also clearly amused, and took the empty glass from your sweaty hands.

She flexed her biceps a lot. Or maybe they were just that thick.

Did Dana have biceps? Or was her strength all adrenaline and stamina? What was her stamina like?

You started giggling into your drink, downing it the rest of the way before giggling at the empty glass.

“Alright, hon’, I'm cutting you off. Got anyone who can take you home?” The bartender said when you tried to ask for another drink, and you pouted.

“Nooooo I'm fineeee!” You tried batting your eyelashes to see if it would work, but the lady just stared at you, unimpressed, unnecessarily flexing her biceps.

So you acquiesced, closing out and stumbling out of the bar. You were at least two miles away from the hospital, because you could see the bus stop, and that was about two and a half miles away from the hospital.

“Cupcake, that you?” Your heart fluttered when you heard Dana's voice behind you, and you turned around so fast you got dizzy, forced to lean against the wall for rest.

“Danaaaa.” You said in a sweet voice, beaming at her. She was leaning against the wall of the bar, too, smoking.

“You drunk?” She asked, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Noooo, I'm like, a couple drinks down. Only.” You tried standing up straight, using the wall as a crutch as you inched towards Dana until you were only about a half-foot away from her.

“Bartender cut you off?” The blonde asked with a smirk, looking at you with twinkly eyes.

‘How are your eyes still twinkling after the day you've had?’ You thought to yourself in awe and wonderment. The bark of a laugh Dana let out, though, politely told you that you'd forgotten your inside voice and said your thoughts out loud.

“Pretty sure they're just twinkling for the nicotine and you, cupcake.”

You giggled at that, the idea that Dana's eyes might be specifically twinkling for you.

“So…you come here often?” You aimed for casual, landing somewhere decidedly below that, near desperately horny. It didn't help that the drinks had done a great job of getting you warmed up—or maybe it was because you were currently invading Dana's personal space and she didn't seem to mind it.

“I do. It's a nice place.” The older woman glanced up at the building, eyeing it appreciatively.

“It's gay as hell, though.” Sober you would've tried to be at least a little bit more subtle, but six vodka cranberries had taken your tact and locked it in the closet with tape around its mouth.

“I thought I told you about those experiments I pulled in college.” Dana said with a bemused look, taking another drag of her cigarette. A light breeze blew the smoke into your face, but you really didn't give a shit.

“Were they…gay?” You asked, now just seeking confirmation. What you'd do with the confirmation, you'd decide later.

“A little, yeah.” Dana's smirk only widened, her eyes twinkling even more, if possible. “Most of the other girls ended up straight anyway, satisfied with whatever exploring they'd done, but I knew I liked women.”

Scratch that earlier thought, you knew exactly what you were gonna do with that confirmation. You leaned even more into Dana's space, bringing your face close to hers.

She didn't pull away, seemingly expecting this, and kept looking at you, quiet. There was a tingling in your fingers and toes, warmth pooling low in your belly just from being allowed this level of closeness. Your greed, however, was biblical.

You wanted more, but you didn't want to press forward without Dana saying anything—what if she wasn't pulling away just to be polite?

So you stood there, as if at an impasse, allowing your eyes to zero in on her lips as they wrapped around the end of her cigarette. You didn't know which part of your face she was looking at, since you felt like eye contact was going to make you combust. It felt like hours before she finally said something, her voice light and airy as she looked away from you, at the building across the street.

“I've been a nurse longer than you've been alive, cupcake,” Dana said as she took the last drag of her cigarette, the words drawing an involuntary, reedy whine out of you.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead on her shoulder. You were practically panting—absolutely nothing had happened, but your panties were soaked and you were panting.

The angle of your head blocked Dana's face from your line of sight, but you could see her hand clearly as she put out the cigarette by pressing it against the wall you were both leaning on.

You wanted her so bad it made your eyes water.

‘Could’ve put that out on me.’ You thought with a soft whine, but the immediate pause in all of Dana's movements signalled to you that once again, your words had slipped out of your mind and onto your tongue.

“...that so?” Dana's voice wasn't light anymore, a slight edge to it, now. “Look up at me, cupcake.”

You obliged, lifting your head and looking at her with what must've been the reddest face she's ever seen, paired with watery eyes.

“You're drunk.” She said softly, bringing one finger up to place under your chin, moving it just an inch.

“Yeah.”

“You live alone.”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I dropped you home myself, you'd probably end up hurting yourself, wouldn't you.”

It wasn't a question.

You whined softly, nodding in agreement.

“You can't take care of yourself right now—” “Mhm.” “—so you'll come home with me. It's not like you have a shift tomorrow.”

‘Why does she know when I have shifts?’

You let her guide you to her place, not too far from the bar, a small apartment on the seventh floor of a tall building.

She made a beeline for the couch as soon as the two of you were through the door, kicking off her shoes and resting her feet on one of the cushions. Then, she levelled you with a warm gaze, patting the cushion near her thigh with a pointed look.

Dana slid her jacket down her shoulders as you approached the couch, toeing your shoes off.

“Lose the bag and jacket.” The blonde said, voice warm with…something. You didn't know what.

The walk from the bar to Dana's apartment had sobered you up a little—enough to put your bag and jacket on the side of the couch without fumbling, but not enough to coordinate yourself properly.

With Dana's legs stretched across the couch, you tried to figure out where to sit, placing one knee on the cushion she’d patted and bracing yourself against the back of the couch. Trying to hook your other leg on the couch, however, made you stumble, bracing one hand against the armrest Dana was leaning on and your knee on the other side of her leg.

You ended up on your hands and knees, hovering on top of Dana, suddenly too nervous to move.

She was looking at you with an amused smirk, lifting one palm gently towards your face.

“You're drunk, cupcake.” Her voice was almost lyrical as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“‘m not that drunk.”

“No?” Dana said, amused, her smirk almost predatory. She let her hand touch the side of your face, cupping it nice and warm and gentle.

You whimpered, letting your eyes fall shut as you shamelessly nuzzled the offending appendage. Like before, you were practically panting, arching your back to press your face further into Dana's palm.

“Oh.” Dana said, voice soft and almost awed. “Oh you're just the sweetest little thing, aren't you? Look at you, arching for me, and I haven't even touched you.” Her voice was a purr now, and she stroked your cheek with her thumb.

“Mm.” You opened your eyes to give Dana a half-lidded gaze, the warmth from your face spreading down your neck. “I'll always be sweet for you, Dana.”

You had no idea where you were getting so much courage—maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact that Dana was allowing you to be so close, was encouraging it—either way, your usual shyness had gone out of the window long ago. Or maybe you’d left it at the bar.

Dana stroked your cheek one more time before moving her hand, sliding it up your cheek and into your hair, pulling your hair free out of its hair tie before tangling her fingers in it, blunt nails gently scratching at your scalp.

You openly moaned as the blonde tightened her grip, softly pulling on your hair.

“I don't do flings, cupcake. I'm too old for that shit.”

“Don't want a fling.” You said desperately, voice high and nasally. “Just want you.”

“Yeah? You'll let me keep you?”

“Mm, please.” You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut again. The warmth was now spreading past your neck, pooling low in your belly, wetting your panties again, though they'd never really dried since the bar.

“Bedroom, now.” Dana let go of your hair, leaning back and spreading her legs. You blinked in surprise at being so untethered suddenly, and looked down at Dana with parted lips.

“Wha—?” You asked, slow, but the blonde simply patted your side twice to urge you to get off the couch.

“C'mon.”

You stood up on shaky legs, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of wet panties sticking to your thighs. You followed Dana into her bedroom, her bedroom, and found it better than any fantasy your brain could've come up with.

It was austere and threadbare, with a bunch of warm lamps and soft-looking fabrics everywhere. Dana had sauntered into her closet, out of your sight, and the only thing you could see was her shadow, cast across the carpet.

“On the bed, baby.”

Baby. That one was new. It flooded your underwear even more, if possible.

“O—okay,” You said softly, striding towards the bed.

“Clothes off, too. Don't need outside clothes on my bed.”

You hesitated, your shyness coming back full force and knocking the air out of you.

“I don't hear any rustling.” Dana's voice came from the closet, loud and commanding.

“I'm just—just thinking—”

“Well I didn't ask you to think, did I, cupcake? I asked you to strip. Didn't you say you'll always be sweet for me?”

Following her voice and ignoring the voice in your head, you tugged off your top, taking your bra off next, before sliding your pants and underwear off in one go. Looking down, you can see that the flush has travelled further down your neck, slowly covering your chest.

You got on the bed, awkwardly kneeling on the edge of it, unsure where Dana wanted you. You closed your eyes, adjusting your position as the air of the room chilled your overheated skin.

“Why the fuck are you on the edge?” Came Dana's voice, closer than you were expecting it.

“I—I wasn't sure where—”

“Middle of the bed, baby, on your back, c'mon.” Her scratchy voice urged you, a hand on your back slowly guiding you to the middle.

“Are—are you sure?” You asked, biting your lip.

“‘course I'm sure, what kinda question is that?” She sounded incredulous, making you bunch up your shoulders defensively. Dana's palm immediately settled on the scrunch, however, to smooth it back into its usual plane.

“No it's just—you had a long day. I thought—I—that I'd—um—take care of you?”

You could physically feel the pause Dana took, before she chuckled into your hair. She lifted your hips up and slid something underneath—a towel, most likely—before kneeling between your legs.

“I've spent too much time thinking about what I’d do with you to let you do anything tonight.” Her fingers stroked along your thighs, inching towards your pussy.

“Mm—” You whined when Dana's thumb swept over your clit, just once.

“You're so wet for me, cupcake. Is all of this for me?” She dipped two fingers through your folds, making you gasp and thrust into the air. She toyed with the wetness, spreading it onto your folds and over your clit.

The warmth from earlier was a fire now, making you clench around nothing.

“Aw, you feeling empty? Does this pretty pussy need something inside it?” Dana purred, dipping the tip of two fingers inside just for a second before pulling them away.

“Please, Dana—” You gasped, trying to fuck onto her fingers, only for her to hold your hips down with her other hand.

“You're not getting fucked until I decide, cupcake, you gotta make peace with that.” Dana purred, leaning down until her breath fanned over your mouth.

Eyes still closed, you blindly arched up, searching desperately for the blonde’s mouth.

“There, there.” Dana took mercy on you, leaning down to meet your mouth, sloppy and wet.

“You're dripping for me, baby.” Dana sighed against your mouth, before sliding her tongue inside and fucking it mercilessly.

You grabbed onto Dana's shoulder for support, needing something, anything, to anchor yourself when your entire world felt like it was collapsing because of a single tongue.

“You think you can take me without any prep? Or would that be too much?”

Confused as to what she was talking about, you finally opened your eyes, blinking up at the older woman. She smirked at you, leaning back and reaching between her legs.

Your eyes followed her hand as it stroked down her stomach, brushing over the black harness sitting over her hips, and curled around the thick purple dildo that was nestled between her strong thighs. It was fucking huge, as girthy as your forearm, and detailed with veins all over.

You keened, making grabby hands towards Dana. She pushed you back down, cupping one of your tits and brushing her thumb over the stiff nipple.

“You didn't answer my question, baby. Think you can take it?” Dana stroked the cock, her cock, once, from root to tip, before letting it slap against your pussy.

“Yes, yesyesyesyes—please Dana, please—”

“Please what?” She purred, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw.

“Please…fuck me. I need you, need you so bad please Dana—nhh!” Dana thrust her hips once, rubbing the length of the cock against your pussy.

“You need me? What exactly do you need from me, baby? My fingers?” You shook your head, almost in tears from how badly you wanted her inside you. Your pussy fluttered around nothing, and you clawed at Dana's shoulders in protest.

“Y—your cock, please Dana. I need it. I need you to f—fuck me with your cock, please?” Your voice wobbled as you spoke, but your pussy flooded as your mouth twisted around the words.

“Good girl—look at you, obeying so well. How can I not give you what you want?” Dana took her cock into her fist again, using the tip to spread your folds open.

You were starting to understand why Dana had put down a towel before you started, since a dribble of wetness gushed out of your pussy and down your ass, soaking everything between your legs.

Taking mercy on you, Dana began to push inside, slowly, pinning you down to the bed so you couldn't move an inch. You arched your back as far as humanly possible, screaming as she nudged every last inch of her cock inside you.

You certainly felt the lack of stretching, but not a single regret was felt as you panted with your mouth wide open, stuffed all the way to your throat. Your pussy fluttered desperately to accommodate the stretch, but you were so incredibly wet that it didn't burn at all.

Dana was rearranging your organs, you were pretty sure—you felt her further up into your abdomen than medically possible.

“You okay?” Dana's voice filtered in through your ears after a few minutes, and you opened your eyes (when did you close them?) to look at her with a pout.

“You’re so—I feel so full, Dana, mm, fuck—” You dug your nails into Dana's skin, too distracted to swallow the bit of drool rolling down your cheek.

“Yeah? That's good.” The blonde gave an aborted thrust, making you moan.

Your pussy made an obscene squelch as Dana pulled out, before thrusting back in aggressively. The first snap of her hips somehow drove her even deeper, and you began dragging your nails down her back.

“More! More, please, I can take it, I swear—”

Dana didn't need a drop of encouragement more, pulling out almost all the way and thrusting back in, just as hard as before. She set a punishing pace, the tip of her cock kissing your cervix at every thrust. Her hand pressed down on your stomach, both pinning you in place and feeling herself fuck you at the same time.

“Look, baby, you're so full I can see it.” Dana's free hand grabbed your jaw, pulling your head downwards so you could see the bulge in your tummy, right underneath the blonde's hand.

“Fuck—” You gasped wetly, taking one of your hands off Dana's shoulder to join hers on your stomach.

“Yeah, that's it, feel me fuck you.” Dana growled, pressing down hard right above your pubic bone. You keened, eyes rolling into the back of your head when she extended her thumb to circle your clit once.

You thrust your hips up, feeling your stomach tighten as you ground into Dana's hand and fucked back onto her cock interchangeably, that undeniable climax dragging you closer to its edge.

“You close, baby?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes please—please I'm so close—”

Dana redoubled her efforts, fucking you even harder until you were sure she'd carved a permanent place for her cock inside your pussy. She ground the heel of her hand against your clit, rubbing it in circles while she leaned down to kiss you again, humming happily to find your mouth pliant and open for her.

Your stomach tightened and tightened, until the coil snapped—and your vision went white with pleasure. Like a bowstring, your body snapped. Or at least, it felt like it snapped.

Your pussy gushed around Dana's cock, and your legs twitched violently around her waist. The sound that left your throat wasn't human, you were pretty sure, your throat burning with how loudly you screamed.

It was all just Dana. The smell of her detergent, her shampoo, in your nose, the feeling of her skin pressed against yours, the sound of her saying sweet nothings while fucking you through the last of your orgasm—your entire existence, for a few moments, was simply Dana Evans.

And you were happy with that.

You weren't quite sure when you blacked out, but when you came to, you were clean, dry, and wearing a pair of cotton sleep shorts.

“Dana?” You asked, blinking rapidly and looking around for her.

“I'm here, baby,” Dana pattered in through the door of the bedroom, bottle of water in hand. “You back already? Conked out for a bit there.”

“Mm…you fucked the consciousness outta me.” You smiled at her, sleepy, sated and sore. There was an ache in your lower back already, which you knew was only going to get worse by the next day.

“Yeah? That's high praise.” Dana settled into bed beside you, opening the water bottle and bringing the rim to your mouth.

“Too bad you're stuck here now,” Dana murmured as you sipped from the bottle. At the furrow of your brows, her lips twitched into a smirk, “I told you I don't do flings, didn't I?”

You sighed, crawling close to Dana so you could wrap your arms around her waist, burying your face between her tits.

“You just fucked me into passing out, cleaned me up, dressed me, and got me water. There is nothing ‘bad’ about any of this.” You nuzzled her tits, breathing in her scent. Deciding to get a little cheeky, you kissed her nipple over the fabric of her tshirt, wrapping your lips around it and suckling just once.

“Hey, nap time.” Dana tugged on your hair, freeing her nipple from your mouth.

“But you didn't even come.” You whined, pulling against Dana's grip to suck on her nipple again.

“Said who?”

“You—you came just from fucking me?” You raised your brows, staring at Dana in awe.

“I've been fucking girls for a long time, I know how to get myself off doing it.” Despite being incredibly sore, your pussy clenched at that.

“So you came. Can't I still want your tits?” You asked, batting your eyelashes and swiping your tongue over the increasingly soaked patch of cotton.

“Not tonight. Go to bed, and maybe I'll let you at them tomorrow morning.” Dana's smile was soft, fond, and you giggled, nuzzling her sternum instead.

As you curled up in Dana's nice sheets together, your face pressed into her neck and hers into your hair, all you could think was, ‘Thank fuck she doesn't do flings.’

[incognit0slut]

MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.