#Mind Control Bait

[berezet]

I spent days on this thing

[crimsonwolf715]

Used as Bait

Jason and Tim, who have been goofing off since getting out of the Batcave, finally arrived at the GCPD building thirty minutes after they were supposed to be there. 

“Got anything for us, Gordon?” Jason asks. 

Gordon looks up from his file, then looks back down. 

“What is he doing?” Jason asks. 

“Ignoring us for the mandatory five minutes because we wasted his time,” Tim answers. “He put it in place when B got into the habit of making a meeting and then being late for it.” 

“And B hates having his time wasted.” 

“Yup. And to be fair, we’re like thirty minutes late. Gordon does usually have some grace if we’re not too late.” 

Jason takes his helmet off and starts messing with his hair. 

“Is something wrong?” Tim asks. 

“Nope,” Jason answers. “We’re just gonna be seeing Maria before patrol’s over.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

“No, of course not. You’re the only one that will let me.” 

“You have to do something for me.” 

“Fine.” 

Gordon offers the file to Tim, so he takes it. 

“Maria your girlfriend?” Gordon asks. 

“Nah, she’s just a friend of mine. But she lives and works in a bad part of town, so I like to try to walk her home,” Jason answers. “She can handle herself, but I literally take out bad guys at least twice a week.” 

“That didn’t work with Barbara,” Gordon says. 

“Yeah, your fiercely independent daughter didn’t want your protection. Maria isn’t a fan of me feeling obligated to walk her home, but she likes that I like to walk her home. We get to talk.” 

“Huh.” 

“We’ve got a possible meeting of gangs?” Tim asks. 

“That’s the thought. We have two officers over there you can meet,” Gordon says. “I want this dealt with tonight if you two can.” 

“Will do, boss. I’ve got something to do at midnight,” Jason replies, “and Red’s got a date with Spoiler.” 

“I already said that I’m not dating Spoiler,” Tim says. “You’re just telling people to get a rise out of me.” 

“Maybe. We’ll come back when we’ve got something for you.” 

“Just call,” Gordon replies. “I’m gonna be in a meeting and then two briefings for the rest of the night. If you really need anything from me, just call.” 

“We will,” Tim says, then the two of them head towards the location in the file. 

They get to the location and there’s an undercover cop car there, just like Gordon said there would be. Tim’s phone rings, so he looks at it. 

“I need to take this. Can you get the info from the officers?” Tim asks. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jason answers, “but it’ll cost you five dollars.” 

“Shut up and go over there.” 

“Whatever.” 

Jason walks over and knocks on the window. He looks inside and nobody’s in the car. 

“Weird,” Jason mutters. “Where did they go?” 

“Red Hood?” 

Jason turns and there’s an officer standing with two cups of coffee. 

“Gordon sent me and Red Robin to help you guys with the incident,” Jason says. “Where’s the other officer?” 

“He’s not in there?” 

Jason shakes his head. 

The officer quickly strides over and looks in the window. “Oh shit, where could he have gone?” 

Jason shrugs, then turns in the direction to check on Tim. Tim’s not standing where he was a minute ago. Jason goes to look around when he feels a needle in the back of his neck. 

“Nighty night.” 

Jason swings his elbow and manages to hit the guy in the face with it before he passes out. 

Tim wakes up to complete blackness. 

“You’ve failed me,” Batman’s voice says.

“What?” Tim asks. 

The scene around him turns from black to a full color image of the city in flames. 

“What happened?” Tim asks. 

“You failed, and we all paid for it.” 

He sees his entire family, bleeding out while the villains are close by celebrating. 

“No, no,” Tim says, shaking his head. “This can’t be real. I… we hold each other up. I can’t be the reason they’re dead.” 

“The most pressure on you to succeed,” Cass says. 

“The most pressure to get everything right,” Dick adds. 

“It’s your fault we failed. Your plan went south and we paid the price for it,” Damian says. 

Tim tries to calm himself down so he doesn’t hyperventilate, but the scene changes to the manor and Tim sees Jason sitting on the couch, reading a book. His blood is still pumping from the stress and anxiety, but he feels a small amount of comfort in the sight of his brother. Tim runs over. 

“Jason!” 

Jason doesn’t look up or acknowledge him. 

“Jason?” 

“I don’t want to be around you,” Jason says. 

“Why?” 

“Because who would want to? You’re annoying, uninteresting, and unable to hold a conversation.” Tim opens his mouth to argue, but Jason continues. “The only reason that Bruce took pity on you was because he was a basket case. If I hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be around. Not even Dick likes being around you, and he likes being around everyone.” 

Tim can’t help the rage that floods him at that moment, especially hearing it from Jason. He was the only one around to help when everything was going up in flames, and any of them feel like they have the right to complain? 

“You’re utterly useless, Drake,” Damian says, appearing out of thin air before Tim can get any farther in his thought process. 

The world goes back to black as Tim tries to figure out what’s going on. 

“Time for you to sleep now.” 

Tim recognizes the voice and he searches for Mad Hatter. He feels himself starting to lose consciousness, but starts thrashing around when he feels something with a similar feeling to a mask being pulled over his face. He passes out without succeeding in getting the mask off. 

Jason wakes up to complete darkness. He hears a familiar laugh that sends a chill up his spine. Jason struggles against the restraints, starting to hyperventilate. Joker comes into view with a bloody crowbar. 

“Ready for round two, little bird?” 

Jason breaks the restraints and throws a punch at Joker. It goes right through him and he starts laughing again. 

“Batman’s favorite toy, how does it feel? You almost caused the downfall of Batman with your death. It must feel fantastic to know that you almost succeeded in your goal solely by getting your head bashed in and then inhaling a little smoke,” Joker says. 

Jason throws another punch at him and it goes through him again. Jason gets his feet untied in enough time for the scene to disappear. Something knocks Jason off balance and he lands on his back. He blinks and when he opens his eyes, he’s lying down in a wooden box. Jason starts trying to bust the box but no matter how much force he uses, it doesn’t break. 

He can feel the oxygen getting thinner. He’s panicking too much and while he knows it, he can’t seem to get his breathing to slow down. He can’t seem to stop panicking. No matter how hard he tries, he’s stuck in this coffin of dread. He squeezes his eyes closed. 

“Dad!” he cries out, hoping that Bruce is right outside to save him. 

“No father to save you. There never was,” Joker’s voice says. “You really think that Batsy ever loved a little screw-up like you? No, he only pretended to. His savior complex made him take pity on you.” 

Jason shakes his head, refusing to believe it again. 

“My dad loves me!” 

Joker laughs, taunting and mocking Jason. 

“Time for you to sleep now.” 

Jason doesn’t recognize the voice and he searches for the person attached to it. He passes out as it feels something go over his face, like a mask. 

Dick’s watching TV, waiting for Damian to call him to discuss the details of Damian spending the weekend with him. Currently he’s watching a rerun of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but he’s only half-watching it. The screen goes black, drawing Dick’s full attention back to it. The screen glitches, then shows a close-up of Scarecrow’s face. Dick sits up. The camera backs away from Scarecrow’s face enough that you can see more of him. 

“Hello, Gotham,” Scarecrow says. “This isn’t for many of you, so feel free to ignore. Batman, on the other hand, we have your little birds.” 

The camera moves to show Jason and Tim in full uniform, clearly in distress. They’re fighting hard against the restraints, but in a wild and restless way that Tim would never normally attempt to get out in. Dick gets and starts searching his coffee table for his phone. Right on cue, it rings. 

He answers. “Hey, Dami. Are you watching right now?” 

“I’m watching,” Damian answers. “Barbara’s trying to figure out where the signal’s coming from and Father’s getting suited up. I’m already suited up before you ask.” 

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.” 

“Thank you. Father’s panicking.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

Dick grabs his keys and rushes out of his apartment. He heads to his safehouse to change into costume then gets on his bike and makes a beeline for Wayne Manor. Once he hits city limits, his comm crackles. 

“Grayson will be here when he gets here,” Damian says. “Nothing we’re going to say is gonna make him get here faster.” 

“Hey, I’m at city limits,” Dick says. 

“Hey, Nightwing,” Barbara replies. “I’m sending the location to your bike now.” 

“Thanks, Oracle. How’s Batman?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce says gruffly. “I’m heading to the warehouse now. How long will it take for you to get there?” 

Dick checks the location. “Five minutes. It’s closer to the city limit than I thought it would be.” 

“We’ll meet you there. I’m here with Orphan and Robin. Spoiler’s out of town.” 

“Alright.” 

He gets there at the same time they do and runs over. 

“Hey, what did the scan of the building indicate?” Dick asks. 

“Four heat signatures and their trackers are still transmitting from inside,” Bruce answers. “Alright, remember that our top priority is getting them out. If one of them gets away, we can deal with it at a later point.” 

Cass and Damian both nod. Dick notices Mad Hatter and Scarecrow leaving the building. Cass notices them too and looks towards Bruce for instructions. Tim and Jason jump down onto the roof and ready their weapons. Bruce nods at Cass, and she goes after Scarecrow and Mad Hatter while Jason and Tim attack the rest of the Bats. Tim viciously attacks Damian with his bo staff and Damian barely dodges. 

“What the hell?” Damian asks. 

“The masks belong to Mad Hatter,” Dick says, trying to grab Tim so he can get the mask off. “He’s probably controlling both Hood and Red.” 

Tim grabs Dick’s wrist and flips him onto his back. Tim jams a batarang into Dick’s arm, pinning him to the roof in the process. Dick hisses and tries to figure out how to take it out without hurting himself worse. After watching Jason beating Bruce and Tim beating Damian for several minutes while trying to think, he finally just pulls it out as fast as he can and runs at Tim. Bruce can hold his own a little longer. Tim drives a hard kick to Dick’s shoulder, which was slightly injured in a battle earlier that week. 

“Shit,” Dick mutters, grabbing his shoulder. “That hurt, bud.” 

Tim swings his staff at him again and Dick grabs the other end. He uses the momentum to throw Tim on his back. Damian grabs the mask and rips it off. 

Damian checks his pulse. “He’s alive. You should probably go help Father with Hood before he makes him cry.” 

Dick looks up and the two are sparring. 

“I knew that Hood could reasonably fight Batman but seeing it is something else,” Dick mutters, “but I’m gonna go help Batman.” 

Damian nods and starts checking for injuries on Tim. Dick flips over to Jason and kicks him hard in the side of the head. Bruce rips the mask off and stomps on it repeatedly. Dick checks Jason’s pulse while Bruce finishes destroying the mask. 

“His pulse is there. Little weak, but steady.” 

“Good,” Bruce says. “Let’s get them home.” 

Bruce watches his kids as they rest and recuperate. Cass is patching up Damian’s injuries while Dick is patching himself up. Bruce notices that Tim starts shaking. Before he has a chance to get up and get him another blanket, Tim wakes up and sits up, looking concerned. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re home,” Bruce says. 

Tim’s facial expression is flat and hard to read. Bruce notices that he seems concerned, but can’t tell about what exactly. He sees everybody and seems to ease a little, but still gets up. 

“You should be resting,” Cass says. 

“I’m gonna go rest in my room. I don’t… I don’t want to be here right now.” 

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce says. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Dad,” Tim says, rushing through the words, then hurriedly heads up back to the manor. 

Jason wakes up not long after. He looks around but his fear and anger are completely visible to Bruce. He gets up to walk over and Jason seems to calm down a little, the anger seeming to disappear. 

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks. 

Jason opens his mouth, then closes it again. He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. 

“I don’t want to talk about it… right now. I’ll talk to you when I feel up to it,” Jason says. “Does that work, Dad?” 

Bruce puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder and nods. “Of course it does.” 

Jason nods. “I’m gonna head upstairs and try to sleep off this migraine that’s hitting me.” 

“Make sure to take something.” 

“I will.” 

Jason heads upstairs as Damian walks over to Bruce. 

“How are you feeling, Damian?” Bruce asks. 

“I’m fine,” Damian answers. “Cassandra stitched up my injury. I’m going to speak to Timothy if you don’t need anything else.” 

“Go ahead.” Damian heads upstairs. 

At least someone can get Tim to talk. If Damian can’t, I think I’ll talk Dick into trying.  

Dick walks up. “Hey, you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce says. “You?” 

Dick sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like fighting my siblings in such a setting. It hits the edge of that line I swore I’d never cross again. I’m physically fine, but they could have not been. Mad Hatter had them pushing us full strength. The strain that would have put on their brains…” 

“I know. Don’t worry about that right now. Full brain scans show no signs of damage and we’re gonna keep up with scans until we’re completely in the clear. I won’t let anything happen to them without doing everything that I can to stop it,” Bruce promises. 

Dick nods, then hugs Bruce. Bruce hugs him back and they stay like that until Dick’s phone starts ringing. Dick looks at it, then smiles. 

“Hey, babe. What can I do for ya?” A pause. “I’m gonna take this outside, then probably head home.” 

“Goodnight, Dick,” Bruce says. 

“ ‘Night, Dad,” Dick replies, waving as he walks upstairs with his jacket. 

Bruce heads upstairs after a little while and goes to his room. He leaves his door open a crack, a sign that the kids can come in if they need something, then gets in bed to get some much needed sleep.

[yellowlikelemons]

Just saying right now i am really susceptible to:

Being recruited into a cult !

Being taken off the side of the road !

Being taken from inside my house !

Being conditioned with positive and negative stimuli !

Women who want to take care of me !

Women who want somebody to take care of them !

Women who want to take advantange of me !

Just imagine the possibilities!

[femboyfertility]

I'm gonna edge and stare at a spiral for a while. Feel free to come into my inbox or smth while I do to have some fun with me 🌀

[duchessvultjag]

me playing rdr2 and walking into cougar territory: i am completing the master hunter challenge so help me god. there is no room for fear in my heart. here kitty kitty

me the second a cougar spawns:

[kitten4sannie]

backstage bukakke with ateez ♡

a/n: is anyone in need of post coachella performance brainrot?? :33 and if any of you were wondering,, no i’m not okay 🙂‍↔️🫶🏼 without further ado, here’s a LOT more backstage debauchery (like i went insane….i should be in a padded cell rn….) except this time san brought the whole crew to help drown you in cum <333 enjoy the meal my dears bc i can never show my face in public again after this ����😭

w.c: 2.4k

warnings: alcohol use, subby fem manager! reader, free use, domteez, gangbang, who’s the biggest menace here? that’s for you to decide 🫵🏼, this is just complete filth btw,, dirty talk, degradation/praise, pet names/name calling, so much cum….., yungi confirm the big cock allegations, hongjoong might have a captain kink idk, double penetration, anal, implied sloppy seconds/thirds/fourths kskssb, brief tit play, brief oral, cum eating, size kink, bulge kink, breeding, creampies for days, a bukakke as promised <3

Once the members sent out their last waves and finger hearts to the adoring fans and locals in the vast festival crowd, they made their way back to their temporary dressing room to catch their breath and have a celebratory drink or two. Brimming with adrenaline and energy due to their momentous performance, they erupted in enthusiastic greetings as soon as their dear manager entered the room, a few of them draping their arms around your shoulders to give you a quick hug.

“Manager-nim, did you like the show?” San spoke up, bringing his glass up to his mouth, taking a small sip of the potent liquor.

“You know you can just call me by my name, San, and I thought you guys absolutely killed it, like always,” you replied, scanning their faces, lightly adjusting the hem of your work blazer. No matter how many times you had all of their eyes and attention on you, you couldn’t seem to get used to it. It always made you feel hot under the collar, not knowing what was going through each of their minds when they looked at you the way they did. With interest. Hunger.

San couldn’t help but smirk, his dimples visible. You had taken the bait. He watched Yunho serve you a glass of whiskey. “You’re right. We’re way past titles, aren’t we? Especially considering the way I had you bent over for me right after our set last weekend.”

You choked on the liquor, your body suddenly feeling hot, especially under the heated gaze of the men standing around you. “S-San, behave yourself.”

He lightly licked at his lips, his gaze sharpening, ready to add to the growing heaviness of the atmosphere in the room. “Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart. You know better than that, don’t you?”

You bit into your bottom lip, looking up to Yunho for help, only to find that he was giving you an increasingly perverse smile, like he was reminiscing about something filthy.

Yunho reached down to wrap a lock of your hair around his jewelry adorned finger, sighing, “We could all hear the way Sannie fucked your brains out, doll, but you wanted us to hear, didn’t you? Even though you’re our manager, you’re still our good little slut, yeah?”

Something clicked into place inside your brain like it usually did when they talked to you like this. You could finally stop being so uptight and in control, instead allowing the eager members to do as they pleased with you. “Yeah, I am,” you nodded shyly, your insides on fire.

San took a step towards you, reaching out to run his fingers along your collar bone. “Can I ask you something?”

Your breath caught inside your throat. You knew what he was going to ask. You knew what they wanted. Despite the professional relationship you had with the members, you always seemed to end up in increasingly unprofessional situations with them. You couldn’t help it, not when they always made you feel so good. Wanted. Craved. “Say it, San….”

His pointer finger drifted down your chest, along the seam of your blazer, gazing down at you. “Can we make you our whore, Manager-nim?”

The members exchanged pleased glances with one another, some of them pulling at the crotch of their tailored pants.

“As long as someone locks the door, okay?” you answered underneath your breath, your eyes beginning to glaze over with lust.

San simply took a step around you, running his hands up and down your shoulders, coaxing you out of your blazer and unzipping your work dress, presenting you to his beloved members like you were a treat — one they would savor together.

-

“Don’t pass out on us now, baby,” San’s husky voice attempted to reach you through the fog you were in, his fingers gently rubbing at the fresh load that had splattered onto your flushed cheek, sliding his digits into your panting mouth for you to clean. “How many was that, hm? How many cocks have been inside you so far? Can our slutty manager remember?”

You stopped counting long ago, too fucked out to think about whose cock had already rearranged your insides and who had stuffed your ass full. You couldn’t even remember who had fucked your face either, but your sore jaw was proof that it was most likely one of the more gifted members. “I-i don’t know how many, just want more,” you whined out, looking up at San past your wet lashes.

“Yeah, you always want more from us, don’t you, baby? Want us to go to our limit? Want us to give you our all, huh? Are you going to milk us all dry like a good slut?”

You could hardly listen to his breathy, self-serving monologue, not with the way Wooyoung was gripping your hips and shoving his thick cock into you with abandon, like you were his own personal sex doll. “Uh-huh, wanna be good for you all…”

“How precious,” San sighed under his breath, all while he jerked himself off, beads of pre-cum spilling out of the twitching tip, watching the way his closest friend pumped himself in and out of your clenching hole, noticing the way his hips began to stutter. “Then, be good and take Wooyoung’s load inside that tight little cunt of yours, just like you took our Captain’s and Seonghwa’s earlier, okay? Can you do that for us, baby? Can you be our pretty little cum dump?”

You couldn’t speak, simply responding by squirting all over Wooyoung’s thrusting cock, just about ready to fall over from the overwhelming pleasure, but unable to with the way Mingi was behind you, his heaving chest pressing into your back, his ringed fingers lazily groping at your sore tits, balls-deep in your tight ass.

“Pretty baby, our pretty girl,” Mingi praised in a gravelly voice, his lips against your ear, squeezing your tits just as his groans began to crescendo, driving himself into you a few more times before he held still, previous loads leaking out of your ass and down the sides of his veined cock to the base as he filled you up again. “Can you feel that, babydoll? Feel the way I’m stuffing you full of cum? It feels so good, you want to cry, don’t you?”

All you could do was nod drunkenly, tears pricking at the corners of your hazy eyes, your trembling thighs growing more and more numb.

“Look at her, guys, she’s cumming just from being bred,” Wooyoung panted out, his hands squeezing into your sides, holding you still on his pulsing cock, not attempting to pull out until he was sure your inner walls were coated with his cum, chuckling smugly along with his fellow members at the way you desperately drew in another shaky breath and simply whined instead of forming words. “Poor slut can’t even talk. Someone should shoot their load down her throat. Maybe it’ll help ground her.”

“Way ahead of you,” Yeosang softly interjected, giving you a princely smile as he walked up to where you were positioned on the lengthy couch. He ran his slender fingers through your hair, slowly angling your head back as he did, bringing his slicked-up cockhead to your parted lips. “Say ‘ahh’, darling.”

Just as you obeyed, you watched Yeosang’s pretty flushed face contort in pleasure, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his pulsing length, milking it for all it’s worth, rope after rope of hot cum shooting into the back of your throat, a few dribbles remaining on your tongue. You were so full of cum, all of your holes were used up, and yet you needed more. “Not enough…More, please. I’m being such a good girl, aren’t I?”

San’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip, sharing glances with the other members, squeezing around the base of his cock to keep himself from busting right then and there. “Guys, I think we broke our manager.”

“Isn’t that the point? Look at her. She loves it,” Wooyoung pointed out, motioning to your blissed-out face, before he finally pulled out of you, reaching down to spread open your used hole, pleased sighs echoing inside the room. “Look, Sannie, her cunt’s all messy now. Ran through. Just the way you like it, huh, you sick fuck? You want sloppy seconds?”

San nodded his head, salivating, practically in a trance.

“Then, hurry up and shove your cock inside her before my cum leaks out,” Wooyoung tsked, climbing off of the cum-stained couch and smacking his hand against San’s ass to get him to spring into action, which he did, laying down on his back and sliding you down onto his cock inch by inch, but not before he tapped his leaking cockhead over your swollen clit a few times for good measure.

San’s dimples accompanied his shit-eating grin as he bottomed out, slowly running one of his hands up your lower abdomen to feel the outline of his stiff cock. “It’s so big inside, isn’t it, Manager-nim? Am I stretching you out nice and wide?”

All you could do was whimper pathetically, because not only were you taking San’s curved cock inside your cunt, but meanwhile Mingi had been showing Yunho the way your hole had begun to gape after the rough treatment you had taken, especially from someone with his size, knowing it was best that he prepped you for his best friend, knowing the term ‘horse cock’ didn’t even begin to describe what Yunho had to offer you. “It’s all for you, bro. Come and get it,” Mingi mused huskily, getting out of Yunho’s way so that he could replace him, one hand on your ass to keep it spread open for everyone’s viewing pleasure, as your hole slowly swallowed up Yunho’s obscene girth.

San and Yunho seemed to be in the middle of an intense competition, considering the way they both would continually thrust into you harder, and faster, grabbing at your tits and hips for leverage to fuck into you even deeper than before, if that was possible. “I-it’s not a–fuck–race, guys,” you cried out, suddenly being pressed back into Yunho’s warm chest when San sat up on the couch and folded you up, jack-hammering himself into you, using you like a cocksleeve. 

“Yes, it is, and I’m gonna knock you up first, not this loser,” San grunted out in between shaky moans, smiling with his canines at you, then at Yunho past your shoulder, who responded by bucking his hips up into you so roughly, he had to wrap his arms around your middle to keep you in place. 

“I’m fucking her ass, dumbass, I can’t even knock her up if I wanted to,” Yunho replied breathlessly, shaking his head, giving San a playful smile, before pressing his lips to your earlobe. “And I want to, tiny. Wish I could.” 

“Not with that attitude,” San huffed, blowing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, his vision beginning to blur with the sudden onset of pleasure surging through him. “I’m going to fucking–unnnh–fill up your slutty cunt with my cum, baby. Gonna make it so messy. And you’re, fuck, you’re so tight now. That’s our good cumslut.” 

“The perfect cumslut,” Hongjoong interrupted in a low voice, suddenly towering over you, holding his cock near your mouth, nodding approvingly when you began to suck and lick at the tip. “That’s right. You love Captain’s cock the most, don’t you, pretty girl?” 

Seonghwa pushed his way past the other thirsty members who were hovering around you like vultures, slipping his fingers into your hair and gently guiding you to his own cock, cooing at you approvingly when you let it hit the back of your throat. He smiled smugly at Hongjoong, who was now side-eyeing him. “Stay mad. It’s not my fault she has taste.” 

“You better watch it, Seonghwa.”

“You can watch our slut suck my cock.” 

Hongjoong grumbled to himself, reaching down to tug your head back just firmly enough to lead you back to his cock, before you took it upon yourself to sandwich their lengths together so that you could please them both at once. They stopped bickering and instead held onto each other, biting into their lips as their highs began to take over. 

It was then that San and Yunho emitted similar sounding guttural groans, fully sheathing themselves inside you, their fingers squeezing tightly into your hips from either side. 

“Cumming,” they both exhaled, resting their heads on either side of your shoulder, beads of sweat dripping down their jaws and along their straining necks. 

Just as hot cum poured into both of your used holes, Seonghwa and Hongjoong began to shudder and grunt out obscenities, aiming their milky streams towards your lolled-out tongue.

San suddenly waved for Jongho to come closer, pulling out just enough so that obscene globs of cum began to leak out of you, making you whine. “Here, cum inside her, JJong. I want my favorite maknae to finish our cumslut off.”

Jongho gingerly positioned himself near your gushing entrance and plugged you back up with his thick, throbbing cock, his strong thighs smacking into your delicate ones as he vigorously bounced you on his lap. “Want it?” he simply asked near your lips, making you blush.

“Please!”

Just as Jongho pounded his load and the others deep into your womb, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Mingi pushed their way closer to you, vigorously jerking themselves off in order to leave their own individual mark on you for the second or third time, extremely pleased with themselves once they covered their dear manager’s face and body in their cum. 

Once you all came down, you found that you couldn’t quite operate your body properly, not when your lower half was completely numb and throbbing with residual pleasure. San and Yunho took it upon themselves to cuddle you from either side, while Jongho gently rubbed your tummy in circles, wondering whose load would knock you up first. Only time would tell.

“How was that?” San asked softly near your ear. 

“We weren’t too rough with you, were we?” Yunho murmured, biting his lip. 

“How are you feeling, Manager-nim?” Jongho added gently, patting your tummy.

You sighed gently, reaching up to pat their heads, smiling at the men around you. And to think you actually got paid for this. You couldn’t have asked for a better job. “Guys…I’m fine, and for the record, it was so good, I don’t think I can ever go back to having normal sex again. I’m a bit concerned, actually.”

The rest of the members began to laugh, and you joined along, before clearing your throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortably sticky, looking down to see what you had all done to the poor couch. “Okay, so, who’s going to clean this mess up? And, it’s not going to be me. I can’t move my legs. I…think you guys actually broke me.”

San looked over to Wooyoung, who was already rolling his eyes, pointing dramatically at him. “I told you!”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[alastorss]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.

a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!

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You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.

You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.

There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.

The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.

And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.

For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.

"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.

He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.

"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.

You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."

Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.

He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.

You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.

Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)

"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."

'Or something?' he wanted to ask.

He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)

It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.

Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.

The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.

He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.

He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.

"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.

"I've come to join you, actually."

Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.

"You have a nice laugh."

He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.

You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.

"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"

Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.

"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.

"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.

Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.

All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.

His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."

"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."

Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.

~

taglist (i totally forgot i'm sorry!!): @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 (send and ask to be added!)

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[winterzsurprise]

Ride me? || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara (Spider-Man 2099) x F!reader

Tags: Overstimulation, rough sex, choking, squirting, vaginal fingering, big dick Miguel, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), fang kink if you squint.

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Just when you thought he's exhausted enough from chasing Miles Morales and had given you the chance to actually ride him, Miguel has other plans.

This man evokes something so feral in me that I forgot I was suffering through the worst writer's block. He got me giggling and twirling my hair yesterday at the cinema wtf. I used my very limited Mexican Spanish knowledge from watching streamers flirting in a block game for this.

cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || mi amor - my love || guapito - handsome

Miguel isn't the type to let someone control the pace, even if he did, his hands grounded on your waist would soon guide your hips into a rhythm he prefers, hard and fast.

You've been hearing the ruckus down the spider webs, something about another version rebelling against the usual stories of every Spider-Man in the multiverse to save his dad. Knowing that your husband sits at the top as their leader, you expected him to disappear for a long period of time.

Not that you mind of course, he's had plenty of times he charges in to handle an anomaly himself.

You do have to give some kudos to the kid for trying to change reality though. After Miguel's story, nobody in the headquarters, even you, dared to defy the fates laid upon every Spider-Man.

It's been three days since he left and honestly, you didn't expect him to arrive yet. A person deterring from the fates of every Spider-Man would be hard to handle, you couldn't even imagine how difficult it'd be.

So when the doors to your apartment flew open and came to him, practically drooping from exhaustion, you were surprised.

He came earlier than expected.

"How'd the chase go?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Come here." 

Drying your hands off on the towel hanging from the wall counter, you made your way to the man laid spread and heaving on the couch. His head tipped back with his usually neatly gelled hair now haggard and messy, he looked up when he sensed your presence and immediately pulled you onto his lap.

You laughed. "Don't fall asleep here, I don't want to carry your heavy ass."

His lips tugged into a weak smile, his pointy canines briefly appearing.

"Spider-Man is supposed to help the weak, are you really ignoring a civilian in need?"

You didn't get what he meant until he pulled your hips closer, dragging your core over the tent on his pants.

You hit his arm. "Go to sleep, you must've been really tired after chasing that kid around."

"Then ride me."

You paused before narrowing your eyes at him. He's baiting you with the very thing you've wanted to do since the beginning. But the dark cloud of lust in his eyes somehow convinced you of his genuineness.

His talons dug onto your flesh, hard enough to take control of your hips to grind on top of his dick sensually while keeping eye contact with yours. You couldn't ignore the pleasure and jolts of heat electrifying and burning your nerve endings alight at every drag of your heat over his.

"I want to feel you baby, I miss you so much."

Miguel pushes you down on his hardness and you moan, the feeling of his girth finding home between your legs shot electric pleasure down your spine.

"You are a convincing man."

"And you love it."

You lunged for a kiss and instantly, one of his hands threaded itself onto the back of your head, locking you in place as your lips danced against each other in a fierce battle. The raw hunger after being starved for a week now surfacing and consuming you both, mind and body. 

His other hand guided your hips up and down his clothed dick, his deep groans and growl lit fireworks in you, igniting your determination to coax more of them out of his lips.

"Get rid of the pants or I'll rip it off of you."

"Rip it then."

He didn't need to hear you twice. 

In one quick motion, he tore your sweatpants into two before doing the same thing to your panties and throwing them somewhere in the room. He groaned as his head fell onto the crook of your neck, hands crawling up to cup your breasts before your top and bra suffered the same fate as your other clothing.

"The pants, only the pants! I loved that bra!"

"I'll buy you something better, from another universe even." He responded, almost breathless as your scent invaded every speck of his senses. Miguel groaned. "Fuck, I miss this scent of yours baby."

"I don't care, get rid of the suit."

His attire dissolved into thin air and retracted back to god-knows-where, revealing his ruffled shirt and grey sweatpants that did nothing but proclaim his clear desire for you.

"Let me prep you real good, huh?"

Retracting his talons, two of his fingers delved into your heat, immediately drenching itself with your arousal and he groaned.

"So wet for me, mi amor."

"Only for you, guapito."

Two of his digits rolled your clit sensually and with the dexterity of an experienced man, urging more of your arousal to coat his fingers further. Once he was satisfied with the amount of fluid now dripping into his pants, he wandered lower and lower until he plunged his index in, curling it up so deliciously you moaned and grinded your hips onto the slow plunge of his hand.

His eyes watched your heat like a ravenous man holding back, the feral look on his face only pulled you closer to the edge.

And it's only a finger in.

"So tight, mi vida. You treat me so well."

He added two fingers in and you screamed, his pace now rapidly gaining speed. Your eyes rolled back as your hips thrashed and clumsily followed his thrusts, there was nothing else that mattered more than coming for your darling in that moment.

Miguel groaned, watching your face twist into the most sinful display of pleasure he has ever seen. The pride and smugness from knowing it was all because of him made him smile.

Only he could see you in such a state and no one else.

You clenched around his digits, tempting him to finally take the dive. Although his fingers coaxed pleasure out of you with no problem, you missed the feeling of his dick carving your insides, stretching you thin and reminding your cunt who it belongs to.

But Miguel ignored the bait and instead hastened up while curling up to push on your g-spot. You almost blacked out from the euphoria he feeds you, a coil in your stomach tightened and you moaned.

"I'm cl-close… Fuck!"

"Give it to me baby, I want it all."

It didn't last long until the coil exploded and your arousal squirts out of your cunt to drench Miguel's shirt, whose gaze turned a shade darker at the scene when you peered down to meet his gaze.

A tense atmosphere rose from his mere gaze and goosebumps prickled your skin. Your heartbeat jumped through the roofs as you stared back at his dark eyes, he triggered your spidey sense.

And for some sick reason, it only ignited the simmering arousal in the pits of your abdomen.

"Fuck the ride, you're not getting up until I say so, cariño."

You barely sensed him flipping you both, with you now seated and spread on the sofa while he stood in front of you, hastily removing his remaining clothing as if it angered him.

It didn't take long until his hand cautiously wrapped around your neck and his other, pinning your hips as he plunged himself deep into your cunt. You screamed as he pushed more of him, inch by inch. He stretched you out to the point of no return, the burn of his cock carving you open once more made you light-headed.

And he loves nothing more but seeing the cock-drunk look on your face.

Miguel grinned, his fangs protruding so attractively. "God, I love how fucked you look for me, cariño. Give me more."

He pulls and plunged himself back in, shooting hot white pleasure in your body. Miguel didn't wait long before his usual hard and rough pace started. The hand around your throat tightened and your mind turned woozy from the lack of oxygen, his thrust taking your breath away only evoking the feeling of nirvana within you.

He drove in you hard and quick enough you can distantly hear the couch legs wincing as it gets pushed back with every plunge of his dick.

"Fuck…!"

"That's right darling, I'm fucking my sweet cariño open and wide for me."

The electric shocks the head of his cock briefly grazing the head of your uterus sent your legs flailing on his sides. Growing bothered by them, he halts to rest them on his wide shoulders and wraps his arm around your thigh before entering somehow deeper into you.

Your hands found his meaty thigh and dug itself onto it and it encouraged him to go even faster, pushing you closer to the edge and you swore you could see the pearly gates of the heavens.

"I'm co-coming…! Miguel!"

"Give it to me baby, you know how much I love seeing you convulse so helplessly around me."

The hand on your throat left to find purchase on your clit, rubbing you as fast his cock plunges into you.

With a scream, you came. 

Your legs trembled violently on his shoulder as more of your arousal spurts out of your heat, white hot pleasure burned and stirred every nerve ending awake as your eyes rolled back.

But this doesn't seem to be enough for Miguel who only took a break to see your thighs convulse before continuing his thrusts.

You hit his thighs as he kickstarted another orgasm now bubbling in the pit of your stomach but he paid no heed. 

Not that you minded of course, if anything, it only pleases the sick bastard in your head, wishing to be used and fucked so well by your husband like it's your sole purpose.

"I'm so close, baby. Can you give me another one? Surely you can, right?"

His fingers rubbed your clit to the point of pain yet it somehow enhanced the pleasure growing larger in your chest and you screamed. Miguel bent down to rest his sweaty forehead on your shoulder, in the clouded state you were in, you could make out the sharp points of his canines pushing down your skin.

The threat of his bite shot jolts down to your heavily beaten cunt, once again tightening its coil. The frequent groans and low growls escaping his lips alone told you he's near to climax.

And with that, he's dragging you down with him.

"Please please please, give it to me…!"

"Yes, cariño. Anything, Anything for you."

With a couple of thrust, scorching hot explodes inside of you and Miguel slows down, almost into a halt as he rides down his high. The face of pure unadulterated ecstasy painting his face, along with his fingers, you came with another shout.

When he's calmer, he lets his sweaty body fall into your arms before reaching around to do the same. 

As your breathing returns to normal and the fog in your head clears, Miguel places a gentle kiss on your temple and cheeks.

"I love you so much, cariño."

"I love you more, guapito."

[houseofanticipation]

After six months of leaving your window unlocked, someone finally took the bait.

You frequent some dark corners of the internet. When tumblr wasn't enough to get you wet anymore you turned to reddit, and when that stopped working you moved to 4chan. These days the sites you cum to don't even have names, their URLs are just strings of random letters and numbers. It was in one of these places that you saw the symbol.

The only identifying feature of the original poster was an off-putting avatar image of Sonic the Hedgehog's gaping asshole. The post was a single photo of the symbol, written in thick marker on a scrap of looseleaf paper. Below it, the text read: place this symbol in your window to let passersby know it's unlocked, and you're ready to be taken advantage of.

You came when you saw that symbol. (You had been touching yourself for hours at that point, but still, the symbol is what pushed you over the edge.) You saved a screenshot of the symbol, and in the nights that followed you touched yourself to it again and again, daring yourself to do it, imagining the things strangers could do to you in your sleep. When your better judgement finally caved to that insatiable need, you touched yourself again. You sat there for an hour, edging and watching that symbol in the window, until your mind felt slow and stupid with fantasies.

You did that a few more times in the following nights. But the after a week the fantasies alone weren't doing it for you anymore, and you were increasingly realizing something that probably should have been obvious from the beginning: most people aren't into the same disgusting shit you're into. The people in those ugly little corners of the web lived all over the world. What were the odds one of them would just walk past your first-floor apartment one day?

So you forgot about it. Mostly. You left it there, of course, but the more time went by the less you believed anything would ever come of it. You turned to other places to make you cum. Lately you've been getting off on posting pictures of yourself, letting strangers describe the ways they'd like to use and abuse you.

And then this morning you found three polaroid pictures placed neatly on your kitchen table.

All three pictures are of you, naked and asleep in bed. You started sleeping naked ages ago, at the advice of a tumblr post detailing how to be more of a slut. You're glad you did now, because the feeling you get looking at these pictures is like nothing you've ever felt before. It's electric, a vibration in your brain and the pit of your stomach that makes your legs wobble and your knees press together. The first picture is of your body, undisturbed, sleeping on your stomach with your ass in the air. The second is a view from the foot of your bed, your pussy pressed against the sheets and your legs open. The third is of your face, an unfamiliar hand brushing back your hair and an unfamiliar cock resting on your cheek.

Before you can even think you're falling to your knees, masturbating desperately and furiously to those pictures. When you cum it's labored, almost painful, your breath catching in your chest, your moans short and agonized. You manage to stand long enough to take the pictures to your bed, where you're able to scrape together the self-control to edge for about five minutes before you cum for a second time.

The one you can't tear yourself away from his that cock on your face. The knowledge that someone was that close to you without your knowing. Touching you. Pleasuring himself to you. When you cum for the third time, it's to the thought that he didn't rape you, as far as you can tell. That means he intends to come back.

That night you feel like a kid waiting for Santa Clause to come. You toss and turn, too excited to sleep, but terrified that he won't follow through with it if he can tell you're awake. You close your eyes and stay as still as possible. If you can't be asleep, the best you can do is appear asleep.

You wake to sunlight streaming through your window, a little surprised to realize you fell asleep at all. You can feel immediately that something is different; you've been violated, you can feel it in your clit and in your cunt. You hurry to the kitchen and find three new polaroids. The first is a close up of your pussy, already swollen and wet. The second is taken from the same angle, but this time there's a hand in frame, three fingers pushed inside you, stretching you out. The third sends a thrill up your spine. In this picture, a man with a Halloween mask pulled up to his forehead has his head buried between your legs. His face isn't visible from this angle, but it's clear he's eating you out. What really excites you, though, is the out-of-focus smudge in the corner of the shot: you're certain it's the edge of someone's finger. There was a second person in the room with you last night, holding the camera. You wonder if he was there the night before too. You wonder if anyone else has been in your room without you knowing.

When you've cum twice, you're able to think clearly enough to wonder how you managed to sleep through all this. This isn't a cock brushing your face; this is penetration, stretching, clitoral stimulation. That isn't the kind of stuff you sleep through, is it? You get off for a while imagining you really are just that much of a whore, that you can have three fingers inside you and barely notice a thing, but then you spot the cylinder in the corner of the third picture. It's a metal canister, like an oxygen tank, connected at the top to the kind of plastic mask designed to cover your mouth and nose. They drugged you. That's why you didn't wake up. They put you into a deeper sleep so they could do what they wanted with you. Your clit is getting sore at this point, but when you come to this realization you can't help but cum one more time.

In your dreams that night someone is holding you down, kissing you, shoving his tongue down your throat. You're afraid and excited and wet, and you want to scream for help but you can't remember how to speak. Someone is saying something, but the words don't mean anything to you, and the relentless sucking on your clit is making it hard to focus on anything else. You want to moan, to arch your back, to press your legs shut, but your body isn't your own. Maybe you cum. Maybe you don't. It's hard to tell.

You come to slowly, blearily. You become aware of your surroundings one thing at a time, and out of order; first you notice the wetness, then the soreness, then the sunlight behind your closed eyelids. You stretch and rub the sleep out of your eyes, but your hands come away with more than the usual eye grit on them. With a jolt you realize your face is painted with cum, and looking down you can tell that it isn't just your face. There's cum on your tits, on your stomach, even your thighs and feet, and a hand between your legs confirms its inside you too. Hands shaking, you scoop it off your thighs and stomach, trying to get as much as you can into your pussy, fingering it deeper and deeper. You must have really taken a pounding last night, because your pussy is sore and your groin feels bruised, but the feeling of that cum inside you is worth every ounce of pain. You put a few pillows under your ass, trying to keep your hips elevated, keep it from spilling out for as long as possible. You imagine it taking root in your womb, changing your body, making your breasts and belly swell with motherhood. You imagine men you've never seen coming into you home while you're asleep and hungrily drinking your milk, squeezing and sucking so you wake up with your nipples sore. You wish one of them was here to fuck the cum deeper inside you, but you make do with your fingers. This time when you cum it's different. It isn't like the first orgasm of the day. It feels like maybe the fifth time you've cum in the last few hours; barely pleasure at all, just spine-tingling, mind-numbing sensation. Is it possible to cum in your sleep? It feels like it shouldn't be allowed, but you're having trouble thinking straight...

You need to stop touching yourself. You're sore and trembly and weirdly exhausted for someone who just woke up, but you can't stop thinking about those strangers in your bedroom, the cocks that must have been in your cunt and your asshole and your mouth. Your clit throbs, begging your fingers for just one more release. You make a compromise with yourself. You put on some panties to keep too much cum from leaking out, and you go to the kitchen to look at the pictures. But there are no polaroids on the kitchen table. Just a cheap plastic USB drive with your name in permanent marker on the side.

It shouldn't be a surprise that they know your name. They've been in your house, they can obviously find your name on your mail or your computer or your driver's license. But seeing it there in unfamiliar handwriting, one more tiny violation of privacy, makes your clit throb again, as if to remind you of its presence.

The voice of your elementary school librarian echoes in your head as you retrieve your laptop and return to bed. It is profoundly stupid, she reminds you, to plug an unfamiliar drive into your computer. There's no telling what kind of malware it could contain, and that kind of access could allow hackers to take complete control of your computer. But you've already done the most profoundly stupid thing. You've done it repeatedly, in fact, and you're in deep enough now that there may not be any going back. The drive contains a single folder, also with your name on it. The folder is full of pictures and videos, hundreds of them, from different cameras and different perspectives, every angle you could possibly want from the events of last night. Men in rubber masks, too many to count, taking turns raping your lifeless body. Stuffing their cocks down your throat and laughing as you choke reflexively. Squeezing your tits, pinching and biting your nipples. Playing with your pussy, intermittently fucking it and trying to shove ever-larger objects inside it. There's a closeup video of your face as one of the men ejaculates onto it. Another of your pussy as a cock pulls out, allowing a fat glob of cum to collect just at the entrance of your unresponsive hole. The last file in the folder is a .txt file, containing a single line of text: a string of numbers and letters that you recognize.

Right there on the first page of your favorite site is a picture of you, asleep and drenched in cum. Below it is your home address, and a short note:

Found this tasty slut by accident at the above address, just noticed the rapeme in her window and figured I'd come back that night. Good pussy, and she must like what we did to her because she hasn't taken it down yet. Stop by if you're in town; we like a limp body, but I bet she'd put up a nice fight if you'd rather forgo sedatives. Just make sure to gag her lol. don't want the neighbors complaining and ruining our fun. and remember to leave her a souvenir! She especially likes polaroids ; )

By the time you've finished reading you're in a daze. Your eyes can't seem to focus on anything. Your mind can't form a coherent thought. Your clit is no longer asking for your attention; it now demands it. As you begin to pull the panties back down, you notice something: the light next to your laptop camera is on.

You place the laptop on the bed between your legs, and begin stuffing the panties into your cunt.

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i realy do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[strwberri-milk]

Hii could I request hcs on what the L&DS men would do if they saw someone hurt mc? Thxx💕

combined these!!

Zayne doesn't want to get violent but the look in his eye says otherwise. He's not exactly unused to combat, but he does feel conflicted to an extent because of the whole being a doctor thing. Rather than fight he's going to remove you from the situation, fully ignoring the person who hurt you.

If they continue to try and egg you on, trying to see if you'll take the bait he'll confront the person directly. Just a flash of his Evol crawling up his arm matched with his harsh gaze is enough to scare anybody off, never mind some random guy off the street who felt entitled to your time. He doesn't want to escalate things but he's more than happy to if he thinks he needs to.

If someone was just rude to you he does still remove you from the situation, but he also has no problem putting them in their place. His insults don't really sound like insults but they're definitely words that really stick with that person, making them think twice before opening their mouth ever again.

Xavier is dangerously close to using his sword, the weapon at his side. You have to take his arm in yours, making sure he doesn't accidentally murder someone because of whatever it was they did to you.

They'll immediately back off, Xavier staring them down to make sure they stay away from you. He doesn't want them to think that they can get away with doing something like that though so rather than using his weapon he'll grab them by their arm, asking them what they thought they were doing. They're practically shitting themselves as they beg for an apology but he tells them that if they ever come near you again it'll be the last time they breathe.

If they were just rude he's also. Still dangerously close to pulling out his sword. He doesn't really have much to say other than some threat that if they say something like that to you again he won't be kind enough to give them the ability to run. As far as he's concerned he's already warned them - they should have learned their lesson.

POV you listened to Rafayel's tender moment

Rafayel does not care if he has to hurt someone to make sure you're safe. He's got great control over his Evol and he likes making people squirm as he makes flames crawl up their arm. Your assailant is, understandably, panicked from the attack, thinking they're going to catch fire.

They think it might have been better to have died in the fire considering how downright murderous Rafayel looks, telling them to fuck off before he removes their ability to choose how from them. Needless to say if he ever sees them ever again he will make it known that he remembers what they did. It doesn't matter whether they hurt you or were just rude to you - he's going to take them out for the sin of not worshipping the ground you walk on.

Sylus didn't think someone would be ballsy enough to attack you, knowing that you're his when you're in the N109 zone. You didn't like throwing his name around all the time because it made you feel like you were bragging, which is how you ended up in the current predicament.

He'll grab them first, telling them that he didn't realise people that stupid managed to stay alive for so long before giving them a taste of his right hook. He casually flicks his wrist as they writhe in pain, telling them to expect another visit later that day for daring to touch what's his.

If they were just rude to you he's going to insult them something awful. He's condescending, barely looking at them as he berates them for their idiocy. If they try to walk away, thinking they don't want to deal with him he'd be more than happy to grab them and pull them back to continue his lecture, wanting to get it through their thick skull that this absolutely will not fly with him. They're going to go home and cry for days - Sylus has a very sharp tongue.

[pedroscowgirl]

Between control and desire

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

part 2

Warnings!: Minors DNI, contains smut infidelity (reader has something with spencer), edging, p in v (wrap it up), creampie, squirting, power dynamics, oral!f receiving, fingering (lmk if i forgot something)

masterlist

Summary : You finally share your first kiss with Spencer, the man you've adored for ages. But what happens when Hotch catches you in the act? As feelings shift and boundaries blur, you're caught between two men, Spencer’s sweet affection and Hotch’s intense control. The line between desire and duty has never felt so fragile. Wc:7,9k

A/n: I've been rewatching criminal minds and i would never cheat on my sweet nerd but Hotch is just so fine y'all...so enjoy!

This case was different. Normally, your assignments involved profiling and analyzing, not dressing up and mingling with the elite. But the unsub had been targeting wealthy women at high-end galas, and the BAU’s intel pointed to his next appearance at an exclusive charity event downtown. You’d be going undercover to draw him out.

In theory, it was simple: show up, blend in, and hope the unsub took the bait. In practice? It was the most uncomfortable mission you’d ever prepared for.

Garcia had handpicked the dress for you, and when she’d shown it to you earlier that morning, you were sure she had made a mistake.

“Uh, Penelope,” you had stammered, holding up the scarlet, body-hugging dress with wide eyes. “You sure this isn’t for one of the donors?”

“Nope,” she’d chirped, looking proud of her choice. “That dress is for you, my dear. And trust me, when you walk into that gala tonight, no unsub in their right mind will be able to resist.”

That didn’t ease your nerves. Sure, you’d gone undercover before, but never in an outfit like this. The red fabric clung to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve. It was sleeveless with a deep, tasteful neckline, a slit on one side that allowed for movement, necessary, since you still had to wear a concealed weapon.

Now, hours later, you stood in front of the full-length mirror in the FBI’s makeshift dressing room, smoothing the fabric nervously. You barely recognized yourself.

“Alright,” Hotch’s voice came through the door, causing your pulse to quicken. “We’re ready for the final briefing.”

You took one last look at yourself, squared your shoulders, and opened the door. The instant you stepped into the hall, all conversation stopped. The team, usually focused and professional, looked up one by one and openly stared.

JJ gave you a supportive smile. “You look amazing. You’re going to fit right in with the crowd tonight.”

“Yeah,” Rossi chimed in, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “If we didn’t know better, I’d say you belong at one of those events.”

You blushed, but before you could respond, you caught sight of Hotch. He was standing at the head of the room, briefing file in hand, but his usual moderate expression had softened. His dark eyes scanned over you from head to toe, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw him swallow hard, his jaw tensing.

“You look ready,” he said, his voice calm and professional, but there was a slight tremor in it that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to meet his gaze for too long. You shifted again, tugging slightly at the hem of the dress. “I don’t know how I feel about all this.”

“You look great,” Hotch said, his voice quieter now. “Just be careful. Stay close to the team, and if you feel anything’s off, get out of there.”

You nodded, grateful for his concern. You’d worked with Hotch long enough to know that he wasn’t one for overt displays of emotion, but the way he lingered on you, the unspoken admiration in his eyes—it made your heart race.

The rest of the team began gathering their gear, but Spencer Reid was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at you in open awe. His wide, hazel eyes were locked on you, and he seemed completely frozen.

“Spence?” you asked, smiling softly at him, trying to break the tension.

“Woa,” he whispered, almost too quietly to be heard, but the way his voice stretched out the word made you blush even deeper. Reid was brilliant in every way, and his innocence was one of his most endearing traits. The fact that he was clearly impressed by you, of all people, made you feel more self-conscious than ever.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You okay there, genius?”

Reid blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, his cheeks flushing. “Yeah, sorry. You just... look really different. Not bad, just... really good.” His stammered compliment made the heat in your cheeks intensify.

You smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, Spencer. That means a lot.”

Hotch cleared his throat then, effectively pulling everyone back into focus. “Alright, we’ve got our game plan,” he said, gesturing to the screen behind him that displayed photos of the gala venue. “Once we’re inside, we’ll stay in communication. Rossi, JJ, and I will be positioned around the perimeter, while Reid and Morgan will be circulating inside. We’ll all have eyes on you.” He looked at you when he said that last part, his gaze firm, protective.

You nodded, stepping into your role as an undercover agent. The butterflies in your stomach had settled, replaced by the steady focus of a professional ready for the mission. “Got it.”

As you moved to gather your small clutch—outfitted with a tiny earpiece and tracker—Hotch called your name softly. You turned back toward him, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours in a way that made your heart skip. “You really do look... incredible tonight,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His eyes flickered down to the dress, then back up, and you caught something in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something unguarded.

“Thank you, Hotch,” you replied, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

As you left the briefing room, you could still feel Hotch’s eyes on you, lingering even as you made your way toward the exit. There was something about tonight, about the way he had looked at you, that felt different. Maybe it was just the undercover role, the dress, or the high stakes of the case, but something told you that after tonight, things between you and Hotch might never be quite the same.

And as for Spencer? The memory of his innocent “wauw” would stick with you, making you smile even in the midst of the danger you were about to face.

The mission had been a success. You and the team had caught the unsub, and he was now sitting in an interrogation room, handcuffed, awaiting processing. The gala had gone off without a hitch, and thanks to the meticulous work of the team, the unsub had been identified and neutralized before he could strike again.

You stood in front of your locker at the BAU headquarters, slipping out of your dress and back into your familiar black jeans and a t-shirt. The adrenaline from the night had worn off, and now you were left with the exhaustion that came after every case. But this time, there was something different, a lingering thought that had nothing to do with the unsub.

The look Hotch had given you earlier had stayed with you. The intensity in his eyes when he said you looked incredible, the way his voice had softened, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with him before. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You had always admired him, respected him, but you’d never considered there could be... more. Not until tonight.

And then there was Spencer. You and Reid had been dancing around each other for months now, exchanging glances, spending extra time together after cases, but neither of you had ever crossed that unspoken line. It was as if you were both waiting for something, but you didn’t know what.

As you closed your locker, the room felt quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left, their shifts officially over, and the bullpen was nearly empty. You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders starting to melt away as you grabbed your bag.

Just as you were about to head toward the exit, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You turned around to see Spencer Reid standing by the door. His hair was a little tousled, and he was still in his work clothes, his tie slightly loosened. He had that sheepish look on his face that you always found adorable.

“Spence,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “I thought you’d already left.”

“I was going to, but I saw you were still here.” He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after everything tonight. I know going undercover isn’t exactly your favorite thing.”

You laughed softly, your heart warming at his concern. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just glad it’s over.”

Spencer nodded, but there was something more in his eyes, something unsaid. He stepped closer again, this time breaching your personal space in a way he never had before. You felt the heat from his body as he stopped just in front of you, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm.

Your breath caught in your throat. You and Spencer had always had this connection, something unspoken that simmered just beneath the surface. You’d shared looks, lingering touches, and moments that felt like they were on the edge of something more, but you had never crossed that line. Until now.

Your pulse quickened as your gaze flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes. The tension in the air between you was palpable. And then, before you could say anything else, Spencer leaned in and kissed you. It was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. But the moment your lips met his, it felt like everything fell into place.

You responded immediately, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. His arms slid around your waist, and he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. His fingers grazed your hips, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to blur around you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Spencer smiled down at you, his eyes bright and full of warmth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he admitted, his voice soft.

You couldn’t help but grin, your heart racing. “Me too.”

For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the empty bullpen, wrapped up in each other. But then, the sound of a sharp intake of breath from behind you shattered the moment.

You turned, startled, and froze when you saw him.

Hotch.

He stood in the doorway, his expression carefully controlled, but you could see the flicker of something darker beneath the surface. His eyes were locked on you and Spencer, and in that moment, you realized he had seen everything.

The air in the room shifted. You felt your heart sink, your stomach twisting into knots. Hotch’s jaw was clenched, his fists at his sides, the tension radiating off him in waves. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Hotch,” you started, taking a step forward, but the words caught in your throat. What could you even say?

Hotch’s eyes flickered from you to Spencer, then back again. His expression remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the flash of anger, or maybe it was jealousy that crossed his face. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said finally, his voice tight, though controlled. “I’ll... leave you two to it.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the room as quickly as he had appeared.

You stood there, frozen, your mind racing. Had Hotch been... jealous? The thought seemed impossible, but you couldn’t shake the way he had looked at you, like he had lost something.

Spencer’s hand was still resting on your hip, but you barely felt it now. Your thoughts were consumed with Hotch. The way his fist had clenched, the way his voice had wavered ever so slightly. He had seen the kiss, and he wasn’t okay with it.

You let out a shaky breath, turning to look at Spencer. His expression had shifted too, his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know he was there.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “Do you... care?”

Did you? You weren’t sure. All you knew was that something had changed. Something you hadn’t anticipated. You had been so focused on your budding relationship with Spencer, but now Hotch—Hotch—was a factor you hadn’t even considered.

Spencer’s hand moved from your hip to your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his understanding. “Thanks, Spence. I just need a minute.”

He nodded and stepped back, giving you space as you tried to process everything.

Hotch was gone, but the weight of his presence still lingered. The kiss with Spencer had felt right—perfect, even—but now there was something unspoken between you and Hotch, something that had been brewing beneath the surface without you realizing it.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how you had expected the night to end. You had thought the biggest challenge was going undercover to catch a killer, but now it seemed like your personal life was even more complicated than the case.

The next morning felt heavier than usual. The BAU bullpen was busy with agents moving about, but you couldn’t shake the tension from last night. Your mind kept replaying the kiss with Spencer, how natural it had felt, the way he had smiled at you afterward—and then the look in Hotch’s eyes when he’d caught you both.

You arrived early, hoping to avoid the awkwardness that was bound to follow. As you walked into the bullpen, your heart raced at the thought of facing Hotch. Would he bring it up? Would he ignore it? You honestly weren’t sure what would be worse.

Sitting at your desk, you tried to focus on the case reports in front of you, but the words blurred together. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you didn’t notice someone approaching until you heard his voice.

“Morning.���

You looked up to see Hotch standing beside your desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. He was in his usual suit, clipboard in hand, but there was something different in his posture, something tense, though he was trying to hide it.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice quieter than usual. You waited for him to say something about last night, but he didn’t. He stood there, the silence stretching between you like a wall.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything, and you couldn’t tell if that was because of him, or because you weren’t sure what to say. The look in his eyes wasn’t like last night, he seemed determined to keep it all buried beneath his calm, professional demeanor today.

“I was reviewing the case reports from last night’s mission,” Hotch said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was controlled, businesslike, but there was an edge to it. “You did well. I wanted to tell you that.”

His praise should have felt good, but something about his tone made your chest tighten. The words were meant to sound professional, but you could tell there was more he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you replied, keeping your own tone neutral. “I’m glad everything went smoothly.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “We’ll have the debriefing in an hour,” he said, his voice tight. “Make sure you’re ready.”

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting at your desk with a sinking feeling in your stomach. The conversation had been painfully formal, and it was clear that neither of you was addressing the real issue. Hotch was a master at hiding his emotions, but after working with him for so long, you knew when something was bothering him.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Spencer approached your desk, his usual nervous energy replaced with a softness that made your heart ache a little. He smiled at you, that familiar, boyish grin that always made you feel warm.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the edge of your desk. “You okay? You seemed a little off this morning.”

You glanced around the bullpen, trying to avoid Hotch’s line of sight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Spencer nodded, though his eyes searched yours for the truth. “Last night was really fun.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he was testing the waters to see if you were on the same page.

You smiled at him, feeling a little more relaxed in his presence. “It was,” you agreed, your mind flashing back to the kiss. You were about to say more when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye—Hotch, standing in his office, watching.

Your breath hitched slightly. Hotch’s eyes were locked on you and Spencer, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t hiding it well this time—the tension, the frustration. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, and the realization that you were the cause of it made your stomach twist with guilt.

Spencer noticed your shift in mood and followed your gaze to Hotch’s office. His face fell slightly when he saw the way Hotch was looking at you. “Does he know?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, glancing down at your hands. “Well he saw us last night, so…”

Spencer exhaled, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck nervously. “That’s… complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice tight. “It is.”

The weight of the situation started pressing down on you. You cared about Spencer, you had for a long time, but now that Hotch was involved, everything felt more complicated. You hadn’t even realized there was something between you and Hotch until last night. His reaction, the way he’d looked at you and Spencer, had been like a punch to the gut.

“What do we do?” Spencer asked, his voice soft but steady.

You sighed, looking at him with a mix of affection and uncertainty. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, understanding in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. But as you looked over at Hotch again, still watching from his office, you couldn’t help but wonder if “figuring it out” was even possible.

Later that morning, during the team debriefing, the tension was palpable. Hotch kept his focus on the case, addressing the team with his usual authority, but there was an undeniable edge to his words whenever he spoke to you. His eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, and the undercurrent of frustration in his tone didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at you at one point, silently asking if something was up, but you just gave him a small shake of your head, unwilling to explain the complicated mess you were in.

By the time the meeting was over, you felt like you could barely breathe. You needed to talk to Hotch—clear the air, somehow. You couldn’t let things stay like this.

When the others filed out of the room, you hesitated for a moment before standing up, catching Hotch’s attention. “Hotch, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked up from his papers and after a long pause, he nodded. “Close the door.”

You did as he asked, your heart pounding in your chest. When you turned back to face him, Hotch was watching you closely, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You wanted to talk,” he said, his voice low, but there was a tension there, like he was holding something back.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. “I just… I didn’t want what happened last night to affect our work. I know you saw me and Spencer, and I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’re right. It shouldn’t affect our work.”

You swallowed hard, sensing that he wasn’t saying everything. “But it does, doesn’t it?”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady and intense. When he spoke, his voice was calm but edged with something you hadn’t heard from him before, something raw. “What you do with Reid is your business. But… if I’m being honest, it’s hard to ignore the fact that it bothers me.”

Your heart raced, unsure of what to say. You had expected him to be upset, but hearing him admit it out loud made everything more real.

“I didn’t think it would bother me either,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. “But it does. And I think… I need to figure out why.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged with emotion. You had never seen him like this before, vulnerable, open in a way that made your chest tighten.

You stared at him, at a loss for words. You’d always respected him, admired him as a leader, but now you were seeing him in a different light. A light you hadn’t expected. And now, with Spencer in the picture, everything felt impossibly complicated.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say.

“I know,” Hotch said, his voice softening slightly. He looked down for a moment, then met your eyes again. “But it did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You didn’t know what would happen next, between you and Spencer, or between you and Hotch, but one thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again

----

Weeks passed, and the intensity of your relationship with Spencer grew. Late-night talks turned into stolen kisses, and eventually, those kisses became something more. But despite the connection you shared, neither of you had made it official. It was as if you were both too scared to label what you had—both afraid of what it could mean if you did.

You spent countless nights together in the quiet of your apartment, wrapped in each other's arms, but as the days went on, you couldn’t help but notice that something was shifting. The tension with Hotch never fully dissipated after that night. He had become more distant, colder, but his gaze still lingered on you longer than it should. The weight of it was suffocating, pulling you in two directions, toward the warmth and comfort of Spencer, and the burning intensity of Hotch.

One late evening, you found yourself alone at the office. The team had been working a gruelling case, and everyone had left for the night to grab some much-needed rest. You had stayed behind, your mind too wired to sleep, going over the case files at your desk. The bullpen was eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows over the room.

You hadn’t heard him come in, but suddenly, Hotch was standing behind you.

“You’re still here.”

His deep voice startled you, and you looked up to see him looming over your desk, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were intense—darker than usual.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. “Couldn’t sleep. Just thought I’d go over the case again.”

Hotch said nothing for a moment, his eyes flicking down to the file on your desk, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. His gaze moved back to you, and there was something different in the way he was standing, closer than usual, like the professional distance between you had finally worn thin.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he said, his voice quieter now, but there was a rough edge to it. “Not just with me. With everyone.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. Ever since that kiss with Spencer, everything had felt out of balance. You had been caught in this strange in-between space, unsure of where you stood with anyone.

“I’ve just been… dealing with some things,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he stepped closer, leaning against the side of your desk. His presence was overwhelming, commanding, as always—but now there was something else in his gaze. Something you had seen glimpses of before, but never fully understood.

“And what about you and Reid?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, his eyes boring into yours.

Your heart raced at the mention of Spencer. You hadn’t expected Hotch to bring him up, not like this. You could feel the tension building, thickening the air between you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “We’re… we’re not official. It’s complicated.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched at that, and for a moment, you thought he might back off, but instead, he leaned in closer, his hand coming to rest on the edge of your desk, trapping you in place. His proximity made your pulse quicken, and suddenly, the room felt much smaller.

“Complicated,” he repeated, his voice barely above a growl. “You think this isn’t complicated for me?”

You blinked, taken aback by the raw emotion in his words. Hotch wasn’t one to wear his feelings on his sleeve, but right now, there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

For a moment, Hotch didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at you, his gaze intense and heated. Then, in a move that took you completely by surprise, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you up from your chair. You gasped as your body collided with his, and before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, demanding—nothing like the gentle, tentative kisses you had shared with Spencer. Hotch’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips moved with a fierce intensity that made your head spin. It was like all the tension between you had finally snapped, and now there was nothing holding him back.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his suit jacket. Your mind was racing, trying to process what was happening, but your body responded on its own, melting into him as the kiss deepened. Hotch’s hands roamed over your body, one sliding down to your hip while the other tangled in your hair, keeping you firmly in place.

You barely had time to think as he pushed you back against your desk, his mouth never leaving yours. The papers scattered across the surface crinkled beneath you as he lifted you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. The kiss grew more frantic, more desperate, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body as he pressed against you.

“Hotch,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. They were dark, filled with desire.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice rough, his forehead resting against yours.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew you should stop. This was wrong, wasn’t it? You were still involved with Spencer—sort of—but the pull between you and Hotch was undeniable. It had been simmering for weeks, maybe even longer, and now that the floodgates had opened, there was no going back.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your breath hitching.

At that, Hotch’s lips were on yours again, his hands sliding up your thighs as he lifted your shirt. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to think about Spencer, but all of that was drowned out by the overwhelming desire coursing through you.

Hotch’s kisses trailed down your neck, and you arched against him, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk for support. You felt the cold surface beneath you, a sharp contrast to the heat between your bodies.

His hands moved with a firm, steady confidence, fingers brushing against your waist as he unbuttoned your pants. His eyes never left yours, dark, intense, and filled with an unmistakable hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, sliding the fabric down your legs with deliberate care, his gaze locked on you as if nothing else existed in that moment.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the anticipation building as he ran a hand along your thigh, his touch sending sparks of heat through your entire body. When his fingers grazed over the thin material of your underwear, you gasped softly, instinctively pressing closer to him. His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with something almost predatory.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. “Does Spencer make you wet like this?”

His question caught you off guard. His tone was possessive, commanding, so different from the calm, controlled leader you had known. The edge in his voice made your pulse quicken, and despite the shock of his words, you found yourself craving more.

Hotch’s smirk deepened at your response, and before you could react, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, brushing against your bare skin. The sudden contact with your sensitive flesh made your entire body tense, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped you. “Fuck no, he doesn’t,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. His fingers teased you, moving with an expert precision that made you tremble in his grasp.

He pulled your underwear to the side, his eyes darkening even further as he felt just how ready you were. “You’re a mess for me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you…”

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he tugged your panties off completely, discarding them without a second thought. His hand returned to you, fingers finding your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your knees weak. The pressure of his touch sent waves of pleasure through you, and you clutched onto him, your grip tight, needing something to hold onto as the intensity of his touch overwhelmed you.

Hotch’s fingers moved with purpose, each stroke deliberate, drawing soft whimpers from you as your body responded to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. His free hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, holding you steady as he worked you over, his expression one of absolute control.

“Is this what you need?” he asked, his voice low, but there was a dangerous edge to it, like he was testing you, seeing how far you would go. “Tell me.”

You couldn’t form words. Your body was reacting on instinct, arching into his touch, your mind fogged by the intensity of it all. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and all you could do was hold onto him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension between you reached its peak.

Hotch’s fingers moved harder, faster, pushing you to the edge. The world around you blurred, the only thing that mattered was him, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he was guiding you, taking control, making you fall apart.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into his skin as the pressure built inside you, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t imagined. You came hard on his fingers after one last touch to your sweet spot. Falling apart on his fingers made Hotch even harder than he already was.

As you slowly came down from the high, your breathing still heavy, Hotch moved with the same calculated precision that you had always admired in him. His hands gripped your thighs with a firm, commanding hold, putting your legs on his shoulders as he knelt in front of you. The sudden change in his demeanour, this side of him that you had never seen before, left you breathless.

You gasped as his lips pressed against you, his tongue moving in ways that made your whole body react, a rush of heat flooding through you again. It was overwhelming, the intensity of it, the way he was so completely focused on you, as if everything else had disappeared. Your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut, as you surrendered to the moment, to him.

Hotch was methodical, but passionate. His experience, his confidence, was palpable in every touch, every movement. You couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping your lips, the way your body responded to him as though he had unlocked something deep inside you.

Your thoughts scattered, lost in the sensations. You had never imagined anything like this—never expected your best pussy eating experience would happen here, in the very place where you had spent countless hours working side by side with him. The professionalism that had always defined your relationship was long gone, replaced by something far more primal, far more dangerous.

“Oh, fuck, sir… that feels so good,” you gasped, your voice shaky with pleasure.

At your words, Hotch paused for just a moment, a low chuckle escaping him. The sound vibrated through you, and you felt him smile against you, the warmth of his breath adding to the overwhelming sensations. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race even faster.

“So hot that you’re calling me ‘sir’ while I’m doing this,” he murmured, his voice rough, low, filled with satisfaction.

The deep vibrations of his voice against you were almost too much, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You bit your lip, stifling the whimper that rose in your throat, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing tethering you to reality. The way he spoke, how controlled, how in command he remained even in this intimate moment, only heightened the intensity between you.

Hotch wasn’t just any man. He was your boss, the stoic leader who carried the weight of the team on his shoulders. And yet, here he was, unravelling you piece by piece, making you feel things you had never felt before. The forbidden nature of it, the fact that you were breaking so many unspoken rules, only added to the electricity in the air.

As his tongue continued its relentless pursuit, the pressure built inside you once again, threatening to overwhelm you. Every movement, every flick of his tongue, was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tightly in your core, ready to snap at any moment.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—desire, guilt, confusion—all swirling together in a chaotic mix. But in this moment, none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the way he made you feel, the way he controlled every part of your body with ease, driving you toward that inevitable release.

The intensity of what he was doing overwhelmed your senses, a rush of heat coursing through you, bringing you to the brink. And then, just as you were about to tip over the edge, everything stopped.

Hotch pulled back, his hands still firmly gripping your thighs, but his touch gone, the warmth of his breath no longer sending shivers across your skin. The sudden absence of him left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension inside you teetering dangerously close to snapping.

"Hotch," you cried out, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea, your body aching for the release he had so cruelly denied. Your eyes flew open, seeking him, and when your gaze locked with his, you saw the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Please,” you begged, your voice shaky, desperate. “Please, let me cum.”

For a moment, Hotch said nothing, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, his silence driving you to the edge of madness. And then, without warning, his hand moved, reaching up to cup your face, his fingers firm as they tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. “Begging.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your pulse quickening, the power dynamic between you only making you crave him more. There was something intoxicating about the way he held you,his control, his dominance. You wanted to surrender to him, to let him take whatever he wanted from you.

Hotch’s grip on your face tightened just slightly, his thumb slipping down to brush against your jawline. His dark eyes flicked down to your lips, lingering there for a moment before returning to meet your gaze.

“Say it again,” he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, the need in your body almost unbearable. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, sir, let me cum.”

The way you called him “sir” seemed to ignite something in him, a flicker of pride and desire flashing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin.

“You think you deserve it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, his hand still gripping your face as he held you there, completely at his mercy.

You nodded, your heart racing, your whole body aching with the need for him to touch you again. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “I need it.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a smirk. He was drawing this out, savouring the control he had over you, watching as you trembled beneath him, completely undone by his touch.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous mix of command and seduction.

His words sent a rush of heat through you, your entire body on edge, the tension building with every passing moment. You whimpered softly, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his suit jacket as you tried to steady yourself, the need for release almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand slid down from your face, trailing along the curve of your neck, his fingers brushing over your collarbone as he slowly made his way down your body. His touch was light, almost teasing, as if he were testing your resolve, seeing just how much you could take.

Hotch’s hands moved to his belt with a deliberate, steady motion, the sound of the buckle undoing echoing through the room. Your breath hitched as he removed his pants and underwear, the sudden intimacy of the moment making your pulse race. When your eyes met his again, they were wide, overwhelmed by the reality of the situation, yet a spark of desire remained unmistakable.

He noticed your reaction, his lips curving into a smirk as he reached out, gently taking a lock of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly tender given the intensity of the situation, and his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, his voice low, almost affectionate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but before you could process it, Hotch’s hands were on your hips, his grip firm and commanding as he positioned you. The moment he entered you, the fullness of him made you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips despite yourself. The sensation was overwhelming, and for a brief second, the reality of what was happening hit you all at once. This wasn’t just any encounter; this was real, and the intensity of it was almost too much to bear.

But as Hotch began to move, any lingering doubts faded, replaced by the undeniable pleasure that coursed through your body. He was deliberate, every thrust calculated, driving you to the edge with each motion. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape you, but Hotch noticed.

“Don’t hold your moans back,” he commanded, his voice stern but laced with something deeper, a desire to hear you fully surrender to him.

His words had an effect on you, and you let go of the restraint you had been clinging to, your moans escaping freely now as the pleasure built with every movement. Hotch’s pace quickened, the intensity between you growing as he drove you further and further toward the brink. You couldn’t hold back the way your body responded to him, the way every thrust pushed you closer to losing control.

Your head fell back, the sensations overwhelming as he took you rough and unrelenting, his control never wavering. The desk beneath you creaked with the force of it, but none of that mattered. All you could focus on was him, the way he filled you, the way he commanded every part of you in that moment.

And then it happened, your body trembled violently as the release washed over you, the force of it so intense that you couldn’t stop it. You cried out, your entire body shaking as you felt yourself let go completely. It was overwhelming, and before you could even process what had happened, you realized you had just squirted on him.

“Oh, fuck,” you yelled, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Embarrassment flooded through you immediately, and you stammered an apology, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m sorry… I don’t normally do that.”

You looked up at Hotch and his expression was one of pure awe. There was pride in his eyes, as if what had just happened only added to his satisfaction. He let out a low, almost primal growl of approval, his hands tightening on your hips as he continued to move inside of you, driving you both toward the inevitable.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “That was incredible.”

As he chased his own release, his pace grew more erratic, the intensity between you building once more. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his movements relentless as he pushed both of you toward the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel him lose control, his own release approaching.

When he finally reached his climax, Hotch buried himself inside of you with a low groan, the sound filled with raw need. You felt him spill into you, the heat of it mixing with your own, and the sensation sent another wave of pleasure through you. He kept moving, riding out his orgasm, his hands gripping your hips as if he needed to hold onto something, anything, to stay grounded in the moment.

The room felt heavy with the aftermath of the intensity you had both shared. The air was thick, the only sound the soft hum of the ventilation system and the slow, labored breaths you both took as you tried to come down from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your bodies. Hotch’s hands lingered on your hips, his touch softer now but still possessive, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

You sat up slowly, your body still trembling from the force of your release. Hotch pulled back just enough to give you space, but his gaze never left yours.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. Your heart raced as you glanced at him, unsure of what to say. The vulnerability in his gaze surprised you, for all his confidence and control, there was a softness in his eyes now, a quiet tenderness that spoke volumes. His hand, still resting on your hip, squeezed gently as if to reassure you, to let you know that everything was okay.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Hotch said quietly, his voice rough from exertion but filled with warmth. “That was...”

He trailed off, but the way he looked at you, like he was still processing everything that had just happened, said more than words ever could. You bit your lip, the weight of his gaze making your heart flutter. He was right, there was no reason to apologize. What had happened between you was raw and intense, but it was also real, and that was something neither of you could take back.

Finally, he pulled away just enough to help you up, his hands steady and sure as he guided you to your feet. You wobbled slightly, your legs still weak from the intensity of your release, but Hotch was there, his arms strong and supportive as he steadied you. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rough, commanding way he had taken you moments ago, and it left you feeling even more connected to him.

As you stood there, face to face, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You had just crossed a line—one you hadn’t expected to cross—and now, there was no going back.

But what did it mean? What would happen now?

Hotch seemed to sense your uncertainty, his eyes softening as he reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You nodded, your throat tight as you tried to find the words to express how you were feeling. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something, regret? uncertainty?crossing his features. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But… I don’t regret it.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You didn’t regret it either, but that didn’t mean things weren’t complicated now. There was still so much left unsaid, so much you didn’t know how to process. You had crossed a line with your boss, a man you had always respected and admired, and you felt like you betrayed Spencer, now you weren’t sure what the future held.

He leaned in slightly, his forehead resting against yours in a gesture that was both intimate and comforting. His breath was warm against your skin, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself bask in the closeness, the quiet moment of peace that had settled over you.

“We’ll figure this out,” Hotch murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Whatever this is… we’ll figure it out.”

Slowly, Hotch pulled back, his hand slipping from your cheek as he straightened up. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes that reassured you, a quiet promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You should probably get dressed,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blushed, suddenly acutely aware of your dishevelled state, and gathered your clothes. Hotch watched you with a quiet amusement, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the desk. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, as if he found your flustered state endearing rather than awkward.

Once you were both dressed, Hotch pushed himself off the desk and stepped toward you, his expression more serious now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“We’ll talk,” he said, his voice low and filled with promise. “Soon.”

[gutsby]

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

When you find an old shirt of Mr. Miller’s lying around, you can’t resist. When he finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Wingman (himbo!Joel crackfic)

Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Watch Your Mouth

Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Love Tap (dad!Joel)

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

If You Like Piña Coladas (neighbor!Joel)

You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

My Body, His Choice [freeuse]

After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Who’s Your Daddy? (stepdad!Joel)

You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Make It Stick

Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Cowboy Killers

On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Seeing Pink [DD/LG]

Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

[ama0310]

Bubblegum Bitch

Character: Aaron Hotchner

Requested: No

Type: Song Fic, Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch never thought he'd fall in love again—until he met Y/N.

Author's Note: Based on Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

***************************

Meeting the Unit Chief should have been terrifying, but for you, it was exhilarating. Strauss had recently transferred you to the BAU from the Counter-Terrorism Division.

You suspected she added you to the team to ruffle the Unit Chief's feathers. It might have bothered you if it hadn’t come with a nice bump in your paycheck.

The moment Hotch saw you, he knew you were trouble. He just didn't realize how much trouble until your very first case.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

You stood before the mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The skin-tight leather mini dress hugged every curve, transforming you into the perfect bait for the unsub who had been terrorizing local nightclubs.

Hotch's reflection appeared behind you, his face etched with worry. "Y/L/N, I really don't think you're ready for this."

You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you placed your hands on your hips. "And why is that, sir?"

Hotch's response was immediate and brutally honest. "You're still new, never been face-to-face with an unsub, let alone undercover. You're reckless, difficult to control, and frankly, a loose cannon. Need I go on?"

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out

A smirk played at your lips as you sauntered towards him, invading his personal space. The scent of your perfume mingled with the tension in the air. "Look, Hotchie," you purred, noting how he stiffened at the nickname, "I was transferred here for a reason. I know what this job entails. So be my boss and let me do it."

You could see the internal struggle playing out behind Hotch's eyes. His professional concern warred with something else – an attraction he was clearly trying to suppress. You were a walking danger sign, and part of him was drawn to that fire.

"First," he said, his voice low and controlled, "don't call me that. Second, I'm not trying to offend you. I simply think Emily might be better suited for this operation. You can take points next time."

You scoffed, taking a step back. "Next time? With all due respect, sir, I fit the victimology perfectly, and you know it. I've spent the last hour transforming myself into exactly what this creep is looking for. If I don't do this, he'll likely claim another victim before we can catch him. So again, Hotchie," you emphasized the nickname, watching him bristle, "let me do my job. Don't make me have to disobey orders."

Without waiting for a response, you slipped on your stilettos and brushed past him, the warmth of your body tantalizingly close for a moment before you were gone.

Hotch watched you go, a mix of admiration and trepidation swirling in his gut. You were brilliant, fearless, and undeniably effective. But you were also unpredictable, pushing boundaries at every turn. As he followed you out, preparing to oversee the operation, one thought echoed in his mind:

Definitely trouble.

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored I'm the girl you'd die for

Over the past few months, you had become the team's radiant beacon of positivity, your presence a cure for the often-dark nature of their work. Even the usually stoic Hotch, though he'd never admit it aloud, had fallen under your spell.

It was impossible not to be drawn to your infectious energy. Each morning, you breezed into the bullpen, a whirlwind of warmth and enthusiasm. Your greetings were accompanied by compliments, tailored to brighten each team member's day. After particularly grueling cases, the aroma of your famous blueberry muffins would fill the office, a comforting reminder that there was still sweetness in the world. You even patiently endured Spencer's lengthy tangents, sparing the others from information overload.

As the team prepared to head out for a new case, you sprinted across the parking lot, your laughter echoing off the concrete walls. "Shotgun!" you called out triumphantly, playfully shoving past Spencer to claim the coveted front seat next to Hotch.

Your friendship with the young doctor had blossomed quickly, bonded by your shared status as the "kids" of the team. While the others sometimes found his endless stream of facts overwhelming, you delighted in his knowledge, often engaging him in spirited debates that left the rest of the team both amused and bewildered.

The unit chief's lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he watched your antics. Spencer, mock indignation coloring his voice, appealed to their leader. "Hotch, come on! She rode shotgun last time. It's my turn, isn't it?"

Hotch cleared his throat, his tone stern but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "Y/N, you know the rules. It is indeed Reid's turn to sit up front."

You turned to face Hotch, unleashing the full power of your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Your lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as you pleaded silently. Behind you, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, already knowing he'd lost this battle. Your ability to wrap Hotch around your finger was legendary among the team, even if the man himself was loath to acknowledge it.

Hotch held your gaze for a moment, visibly wavering. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he started the engine, tacitly allowing you to keep your place.

Victorious, you twisted in your seat to face Spencer, sticking out your tongue in a childish display of triumph.

"Y/N!" Hotch's voice held a note of warning, though it lacked any real heat.

You straightened immediately, your voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sorry, sir!"

The apology was hollow, and you both knew it. As Hotch pulled out of the parking lot, you caught the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your sunny persona had once again melted the ice around the unit chief's heart.

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt – you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Aaron Hotchner. For the first time in your life, you felt a fear that chilled you to your core.

How could someone like him ever reciprocate such feelings? The cons seemed endless: a decade age gap, your extroverted nature clashing with his stoicism, your wild spirit at odds with his controlled demeanor. Not to mention the professional boundary – you were his employee, AND  he was still navigating the aftermath of his recent divorce.

Your newfound awareness of your feelings for Hotch led to a desperate attempt at avoidance. It was hard, given how intertwined your lives had become over the months. For a week, you'd been dodging his texts, offering only cursory greetings, and maintaining a physical distance that felt painfully unnatural.

Hotch noticed the change immediately, and it gnawed at him. Your vibrant presence had become a constant in his life, a source of warmth he hadn't realized he'd come to depend on until it was suddenly gone.

He found himself missing the little rituals that had naturally developed between you. The morning car rides, once a practical solution to your car troubles, had evolved into a cherished start to each day. Your habit of bringing him a piece of candy during lunch breaks, with the excuse of "sweetening up his day," never failed to bring a smile to his face. Most of all, he missed the casual physical contact – the way you'd unconsciously place your hand on his arm when standing close, a gesture that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

As the week progressed, Hotch's concern deepened. Had he unknowingly offended you? He wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint any misstep. Perhaps the latest case had affected you more than usual, or maybe you were simply exhausted. Whatever the reason, he was determined to lift your spirits.

During his lunch break, Hotch made his way to your favorite café. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped him as he ordered your usual – a ham and cheese croissant and your preferred coffee blend. Back at the office, he noticed your empty desk and quickly left the bag before retreating to his office.

When you returned from the restroom, steeling yourself for an afternoon of paperwork, the sight of the familiar bag on your desk stopped you in your tracks. With trembling hands, you opened it to find the still-warm croissant and perfectly prepared coffee. Atop the container, a piece of candy was taped to a note that read: "To sweeten your day up! – Hotch"

Your heart swelled, a mix of joy and ache flooding your chest. Looking up, you caught Hotch watching you from his office window. Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't help but offer him the radiant smile he'd come to cherish.

In that moment, the truth was undeniable. You were completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with Aaron Hotchner. As your eyes locked with his, a flicker of something – hope, perhaps? – passed between you, hinting that maybe, just maybe, these obstacles weren't quite so impossible after all.

Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart

Aaron Hotchner never imagined falling in love after Haley left. His life revolved around his job and Jack. He didn't need anyone else. That is, until you entered his life.

You were the first to sense something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone. Racing to his apartment, you found it covered in blood. With Penelope's help, you tracked him to a hospital, learning he'd been stabbed nine times.

When he opened his eyes and saw you, Hotch thought he'd died and gone to heaven. You looked angelic - an angel he couldn't bear to see harmed.

So when George Foyet shot him in his own home, Hotch realized he needed to end whatever was blossoming between you before you got hurt.

But you made it difficult.

The moment he was released, you were there every day, before and after work. Groceries, cleaning, anything to ease his burden. You knew how hard it was for him to send Haley and Jack away, how alone he must feel. You were determined to show him the team - and you - were there for him. For anything.

Driving him home after the Darrin Call case, where he'd recklessly entered a house without backup, your anger finally boiled over.

"What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?" you demanded, following him into his apartment. "No gun, no vest, no backup. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Hotch turned, his face a mask of stone. "I knew the profile. I had it under control."

"Under control?" you scoffed. "If it were anyone else, you'd have suspended them! This isn't you, Aaron. What's going on?"

His eyes flashed. "What's going on is I'm the Unit Chief, and I don't answer to you. I think before I act, unlike some people."

The barb stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Just find it ironic you're lecturing me on recklessness."

"I've never walked into a hostage situation alone and unarmed!" you countered.

"I don't have to explain myself," Hotch snapped. "Especially not to you. Get out."

Your eyes widened. "No. We're talking about this. You're spiraling, Aaron. This obsession with Foyet-"

"Stop. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you're not alone in this!" you pleaded. "The team needs you. I need you."

Hotch laughed bitterly. "If you haven't noticed, I am alone. My son is gone. I have no one. And I won't rest until Foyet is dead."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You have us. You have me. We can figure this out together."

"There is no 'we,'" Hotch said, his voice cold and final. "There never was."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the pain beneath. But then it was back, harder than ever. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You stared at him, hurt turning to anger. "Go to hell, Hotchner," you spat, before storming out, leaving him alone with the wreckage of what might have been.

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

Your relationship with Aaron had crumbled to dust. Since that night you stormed out of his apartment, you'd made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. Difficult, considering he was your boss.

You understood he was facing unimaginable challenges - the loss of his ex-wife, becoming a single parent. Part of you ached to support him, but you both needed space.

That space stretched into a year.

You'd left transfer papers on his desk days ago. Despite your love for the team, staying had become impossible. It wasn't fair to you or Hotch. Counter Terrorism Division beckoned - a fresh start.

You hadn't told the team yet, dreading their reactions. You'd become their wild, sassy, overdramatic little sister. But tonight wasn't about goodbyes. It was Spencer's birthday, and Derek had chosen a club to celebrate. You wouldn't miss it for the world.

Arriving in a hot pink mini dress and matching heels, you spotted the team immediately.

"Happy birthday, Boy Genius!" you exclaimed, hugging Spencer tight.

"Please," he whispered, "get me out of here. Derek's trying to set me up with his friend."

You laughed, ruffling his hair. "No can do, Spence. It's your night. Go crazy. I promise not to film anything too embarrassing."

Turning to greet the others, you froze. Hotch was there. You hugged everyone but him, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Damn, girl! You're on fire!" Penelope gushed, clearly tipsy.

Emily nodded appreciatively. "I'm borrowing those heels."

"You know how to make a girl feel special," you winked. "First round's on me!"

An hour later, you were dancing with Penelope and Spencer, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Suddenly, Spencer spun you – right into Hotch's arms. You glared at Spencer, who mouthed 'Karma' with a smirk.

The tension was strong as you and Hotch swayed silently. You wanted to escape, yet craved his touch.

"You requested a transfer," he stated, his voice low.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Did you sign it?"

"No."

You pulled back, stunned. "What do you mean, no?"

"We need to talk first."

Anger flared. "You're unbelievable," you spat, pushing past him and out of the club. He followed close behind.

"Y/N, please-"

You whirled to face him. "There's nothing to say. It's been a year, Hotch. Whatever we had is dead."

"You don't mean that," he insisted, his eyes burning into yours.

The alcohol amplified your emotions. "I do. I'm over it. Over you. There's nothing left to talk about."

"Then I'll talk, and you listen," he said firmly, gripping your shoulders. "There was a 'we'. Everything I said that night – it was a lie. To keep you safe from Foyet. He was targeting everyone I loved. I couldn't risk losing you."

Your heart stuttered. "You... loved me?"

"I still do," he breathed, cupping your face. "This past year has been hell. Not having you by my side – our carpool chats, sneaking candy, just... you. It was torture. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

You wanted to resist, to make him suffer longer. But the alcohol, the longing, the raw emotion in his voice – it was too much. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

You both exhaled, tension melting away. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

"I love you too," you murmured, then pulled back with a stern look. "But you've got a lot of making up to do."

He pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I intend to give it to you."

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, full of promise and the weight of a year apart.

As you parted, you whispered, "This doesn't mean I'm not still furious with you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch

Again, you were trouble. Even after two years together, you definitely kept him on his toes. Not transferring and working alongside your boyfriend made for an interesting way to live.

“What you did was stupid and reckless, Y/N.” Aaron's voice was stern as the team boarded the jet to head back home. The case had been a success, but it came at the cost of you getting into the unsub’s car without any weapons. Fortunately, you had your team.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Y/N. I’m serious.”

“Ooooo, Mom and Dad are fighting,” Spencer teased from across the jet.

“Shut up, Spencer,” you snapped, making him raise his hands in mock surrender. Then, you turned to Hotch. “You know damn well I needed to get into his car. If I didn’t and you caught him, he would’ve acted like he was just trying to get with me.”

Aaron rubbed the side of his head. Migraines. You gave him migraines. “The plan was for you to walk down the street, and the moment you were alone with him, we would get him. You went rogue.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Well, technically we were alone, and you did get him.”

He was about to argue again, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him your infamous puppy dog face. “Aaron, I’m okay. You know I did what I had to do to catch him. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m not sorry for helping bring him in.”

He sighed, knowing you were right, and he could never stay mad at you. “I hated every second of it. My heart stopped the moment you got into that damn car.”

You smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Hey, you always said I was going to give you a heart attack.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes before he kissed you. “You have, and you most definitely will again.”

“Hey, that’s what you love about me.”

“That is true.”

[ivymarquis]

I would go nuts if you do something for Ghost! Make it filthy ? based on your f list , how about a combo of : chubby with size difference, breath play, breeding, light bondage, orgasm control and heavy aftercare? Or make it light , how about a combo of : chubby with size difference, oral , begging, slow burn, multiple orgasms and ofc heavy aftercare?

I really hope I didn’t go too far with this lmao

Hit all the notes except the slow burn, dealer’s choice on if this is a “no pregnancy, only breed” situation for kink purposes, or if Simon fully intends on following through with getting the reader pregnant 😇

Spoiled

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 3.5k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Breeding kink, orgasm control, breath play, squirting, overstimulation, acknowledgement of (but no use of) safewords, size difference, bondage, oral (f!receiving) possessive/simp!Simon, plus size!Reader, multiple orgasms, Simon is a touch mean at times but it’s all above board, and aftercare (or at least the plans of what the aftercare will be lol). I think that covers everything!

You’re wearing his favorite dress and Ghost is ready to climb out of his own skin.

Any other situation would have him pinning you on your back, the skirt of your dress pulled up while he pounds you into the nearest surface he can lay you out across.

However you work underneath Laswell which means he gets to watch the hem of your skirt dance across the skin of your thighs during a meeting he is rapidly losing all interest in.

He’s also not the only one looking which raises his hackles. The rest of the 141 are minding their business, eyes on Laswell up front. They know who you belong to, and have the self control to not slobber all over themselves like rabid dogs at the sight of a pretty girl.

It’s the other men in the room.

He can’t blame them; You’re bright eyed and sweet, pretty face with a plush body that Ghost loves tying up in whatever position he can think to put you in. And the fucking dress doesn’t help.

It is work appropriate. There’s a part of him that is willing to acknowledge that. It just flatters you perfectly. And the hem bounces enough to give a mouth watering peek at the insides of your thighs when you’re walking away from him.

Whether you’re oblivious to the eyes on you or you simply don’t care enough to acknowledge them, every time Ghost’s gaze settles on you your attention is fixated on him when not pointed at Laswell.

He’s suddenly seized by the thought that the ring on your finger clearly isn’t enough of a deterrent for unwanted gazes. You’re baiting him, heedless of the others drawn to you.

Sure she’s married but is she satisfied? He knows damn good and well some of the men- some of the specific ones in this room- are dogs. He can hear the question as they pace and look for a weak spot to dig under the proverbial fence.

He needs to make sure everyone knows you’re his. Clearly it’s not enough to show you’re taken.

His mind wanders, thoughts of filling you with him until you’re swollen with child. The evidence readily apparent to everyone that you’re kept satisfied by your husband.

The only thing that keeps his mind from spiraling completely is a well timed prompt from Price, forcing Ghost out of his head and back to the meeting he wants over and done with already.

Once home, Simon is able to drop the mantle of Ghost- at least for the time being- and turn his attention to you.

It really is his favorite dress on you, but it looks substantially better on the floor.

He’s got you laid across your bed, hands cuffed short to the headboard.

You always were handsy in bed. Wanting to pet and stroke and touch- it’s cute how you squirm for him once he deprives you.

“Si- Simon!” His name is a plea as his tongue goes to work between your legs.

He should be used to the sight and sounds that accompany having you bare before him. God knows the two of you have been together long enough for that- and yet every time he gets you to drop your panties his blood sings in his veins like the first time.

He’s fucking enthralled with you. Your smile, your laugh, how quick you are with a witty retort- always the smart ass until he reminds you there’s a better use for that pretty mouth. How easy it was to manhandle you in bed (how you fucking love it).

He adores how soft you are. Lush thighs spread over either shoulder as he goes down on you like a man who’s been stranded in the desert. One hand digging into the flesh of your hip, the other banded across your belly to keep you still as you buck in his hold.

He’s being a mean bastard, he knows. The pair of you have your little arrangement.

“Simon- please!” Your body strains against the cuffs uselessly. If your hands were free you’d be scrambling for purchase where you could find it- burying in his hair, fisting the sheets beneath you. Flicking his gaze up to your bound hands, he grins seeing how your fingers open and close in fists- needing to hold and touch and not being able to.

“Gotta wait for me, love,” he reminds you.

Simon controls your orgasms. Where you cum, when you cum, how you cum and most importantly if you cum.

Usually he’s magnanimous about it. Arguably he still is. If he really wanted to be an asshole about it, he’d be stuffing you with two of his fingers- the width of three of your own- and stroking that spot that had your body burning, eyes rolling into the back of your head while you cried and made a mess for him. Forcing you to fight yourself, to show a little impulse control, reveling in how you squeal and buck against him in protest.

Those soft thighs are trembling like leaves atop either one of his shoulders, splayed open enticingly.

“Pleasepleaseplease.”

He struggles to pull himself away, reveling in how tightly you’re wound. Simon could easily spend hours between your legs.

When initially cuffing you to the bed, his plan was to not let you finish until after he’d cum in you. Wanted to be mean about it, could hear you crying for him to finish you off. No point in getting you off, love, until I’ve filled that pretty little cunt to the brim. Whole lot of effort for nothing if I do it before, isn’t that right?

Simon spoils you rotten though and only has himself to blame for it at this point. Any time he manages to get you laid out before him it is a guarantee he’ll finish you off at least twice.

Hell it’s practically a necessity, the only thing stopping him from proceeding with his initial plan. Your body would choke down on him, usually needing to be fucked open with his mouth and fingers before being able to take the length of him without protest.

You’re squirming again. The break from his tongue lashing against your clit allows you to regain some composure but still twitching in anticipation.

Not that your respite lasts for long. Simon trails one of his fingers across the seam of your lower lips, watching how your legs jerk on impulse as his touch ghosts across your swollen clit.

“So sensitive,” he teases as you let out a plaintive whine at the contact.

His middle finger slips past your folds, sliding easily all the way to the 3rd knuckle. Giving a few slow thrusts, his ring finger soon joins.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breaths and how absolutely wet you are. It’s filthy how his fingers squelch inside your cunt. Your moans pick up as he deliberately drags the pads of his fingers across that spongy spot inside of you.

Your brain seems to only be able to remember two words- “Simon” and “please”, chanting them as he works you closer to the edge.

“Be a good girl for me,” he answers cryptically, biting back a laugh at the tortured look on your face. Be a good girl and cum? Or be a good girl and don’t cum?

The hand not buried in your cunt trails up your body- amusement flickering across his face as you jolt from ticklish spots, his hand roaming up your belly, between your breasts and taking its place wrapped around your throat.

Your brain remembers three more words, the alternating chants broken by your accusatory “You’re being mean,”

He is. He’s done worse to you for sure, but he knows the accusation is also another plea. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back please let me cum and call me a good girl- I want to be good.

“You ever consider you’re a spoiled little princess?” He muses to you, lips hovering over your own as he awaits the smart assed retort he just knows-

“It’s your fault I’m like this,” there it is. He grins, giving a chaste peck that is wildly juxtaposed to the sinful things he’s doing to you.

The hand wrapped around your throat tightens. Not enough to damage your delicate wind pipe but enough to put the pressure on the blood vessels in your neck. He adjusts his other hand ever so slightly so his thumb can press against your clit, circling in firm movements in time as his ring and middle fingers work that one spot inside of you.

He gets the desired result- you clenching on his fingers, bucking and squirming uselessly.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asks with a falsely sweet tone, grinning as you hiss.

All the pressure from his hand is placed on the sides of your neck, your pleas and protests turning into mindless babbling.

Simon isn’t entirely without mercy, he just enjoys pushing you as close to the brink as he can.

“Come on then, love- cum for me.” He finally allows, watching with rapt attention as your eyes damn near cross.

His wrist and forearm are wet as you gush around his hand, grinning as your mess is timed with each thrust of his fingers. He doesn’t withdraw until he’s certain he’s wrung every last drop from you, although you’re not left unattended for long.

His grip on your neck lets up, doubly to let you recover from your orgasm as you gasp like a stranded fish as much as it is to have both hands free to position you how he wants.

Mindful that there’s not much slack to pull you down with, Simon holds you steady while he moves to place himself between your legs.

Your flesh is hot, swollen and needy as he lines himself up, one hand on your hip and the other grasping his length. Pliant as you are from your orgasm, it still takes a few thrusts to work you open enough to take the full length of him.

Simon is more than willing to feed you inch by inch of his cock, relishing in the wet suction of your body as you cling and clench around him.

“That feel good, pretty?” He poses the question to you as his hips clap against yours once you’re warmed up and taking him all the way to the base.

“Yes! Simon- yes!”

And what a fucking sight you make. Laid on your back, arms stretching over your head towards the headboard. Those pretty, plush thighs spread wide to accommodate him, giving Simon quite the show- watching as he buries himself in you to the hilt over and over and over again.

He damn near wants to drool watching how your body bounces from the recoil of each snap of his hips. Makes his mouth water- makes him want to turn you into a fucking chew toy, the need to bury his teeth in your soft flesh. His eyes will flick from one part of you to the next, reveling in the soft bounce of your thighs, your belly, your breasts- he couldn’t pry his gaze away, enraptured with the doe eyed, fucked-dumb look on your face when his eyes drift up high enough.

“Whose cunt is this?”

The answer to the question is obvious, and one you know well. It’s not even really the actual question he has- more the lead up than anything else.

“Yours!” He shifts himself slightly, the change in angle working for you based on how you bark out “Oh! Right there!”

Simon grinned, knowing full well what he's doing as he moves to his original position. “You gonna prove it, love?”

Your head must be swimming from the delayed response- frustrated at him for deliberately ignoring your plea and changing the rhythm on purpose.

“Prove it?” Those glassy eyes focus on him, the words sounded out slowly by your cock drunk brain.

“Prove this cunt’s mine,” a sharp thrust elicits a yelp that’s just shy of, but nearing the border of too much. “Oughta fuck a baby into you. Show everyone you belong to me.”

The way you clench down on him draws a grunt deep from his chest, telling him just what you think of that idea.

“Everyone’ll know what a good fucking girl you are,” he’s working himself up, winding tighter and tighter as his mind runs away from him entirely. “Lifting your” he staggers as your clench is timed perfectly with his thrust “-fucking skirt for me,” a few more quick thrusts, “spreading those gorgeous thighs,” his hands are gripping your waist like a lifeline- “letting me have my way with you and not- wasting- a- fucking- drop.” his last words punctuated with strong snaps of his hips.

He’s babbling now, face buried in the crook of your neck as each thrust draws staccato cries from you. “Gonna look so fucking pretty- not gonna be able to take my damn hands off of you,” which was saying something given the current rate he was either bending you over or tying you up.

You clenching around him like a vice wasn’t helping matters either. “Simon please- I want it. Baby I want it. Please cum in me-“ and how was he ever going to ignore a request like that? With you asking so nicely while your cunt works its magic on his cock.

His body dwarfs yours, all broad shoulders and delicious muscling from years of training and physical work that comes with the job. You’re caged under him as he raises his head from your neck and his mouth crashes into yours.

“Mine,” he groans out between kisses. There’s going to be bruises across your body as his grip tightens on you- one hand still fisting the flesh of your hip, the other hooking underneath one of your knees and spreading that leg out to the side, fingers digging into the skin of your thigh as you both grunt at the change in angle.

The noises the two of you are making are absolutely obscene; the slap of his heavy balls against your ass, the wet sound of your cunt taking every last inch of him. Simon’s damn near on the verge of hyperventilating, keyed up as he is between you being as receptive as you’ve been to his dirty talk, reciprocating by pleading him to cum in you. How your thighs are trembling, muscles wound tight as you strain against your binds.

He prides himself on not being a selfish lover. Even as worked up as he is, the forefront thought in his mind chasing his own pleasure so he can be a good husband and fill you up like you’re pleading for so so prettily- there’s still that one part that keys into your reactions. Making sure you’re loving every stroke he gives as he chases his own high, that those yelps don’t take a turn for too much instead of please god don’t stop don’t stop don-

His vision whites out for a second as his orgasm hits him like a bus. The coil that had been twisting tighter and tighter springs free as he buries himself in you one last time with a groan befitting a wounded animal.

The urge to collapse settles on him, but Ghost pushes it aside. You’re tied to the bed, entirely unable to take the brunt of his weight like that and wouldn’t be able to wiggle out from under him with your hands bound.

He grounds himself as he comes down by peppering you in kisses, hands roaming your body. Your face, your neck- anywhere he can reach until he feels his legs are steady enough to comply with what he asks of them.

You’re still keyed up, having been worked close to a second orgasm but not quite getting to cross the threshold before Simon. He can hear you distantly, mewling and pleading for him to finish you off and has every intention of following through.

Moving back down between your legs, a shiver runs up his spine as his over sensitive cock drags across the sheets. Settling with his face between your legs he takes a moment to observe his handwork.

Your cunt’s pretty and swollen- sensitive to, from how you jerk when his breath fans against you. Making soothing motions on your hip with one hand as he shushes you, his eyes focus on the thin line of his spend dribbling out of you.

Well that simply won’t do.

He uses one finger to trace back up your folds, pushing his cum back exactly where it belongs before sliding two fingers into you once again.

It doesn’t escape his notice how much easier it is this time, your fucked open body still soft and pliant for him. He debates teasing you about it for a second but the look on your face has it clear you’re close to crying- tension and anticipation having tears welling up in your eyes.

Spoiled the thought flashes across his head. Course it doesn’t help that he’s utterly whipped. He’ll give you anything you ask for just because you want it.

His head drops, eyes on you while his tongue lashes as your clit and his fingers fuck his cum back into you.

You cry and strain and buck against his hold. Simon knows he won’t have to wait long to feel you clenching around his fingers- it never does when he uses his mouth and fingers at the same time.

But he does wonder how quick he can wring a third out of you once he pushes you over the second time.

He’ll find out shortly- you’re already babbling, knowing the routine and half afraid he’ll make you hold it please let me cum please-

“Go on, pet.” He doesn’t so much pry his face away as he just mouths into your flesh, but got the same result either way.

Your back arches as you clamp tight on his fingers- Simon doesn’t let that get in the way of his ministrations, continuing to mouth at your clit and stroke that spot in you until your cries of pleasure turn into okay okay okay oka-

He doesn’t stop. You try crawling away from him but he puts a stop to that by quickly banding his forearm across your abdomen.

You have a safeword- kettle- if it actually was too much, and unless he hears you say it he’s going to keep a hold of you like a dog being threatened with having his favorite toy taken from him.

You’re being fucking loud, no way the neighbors can’t hear you unless they’re simply not home, and Simon doesn’t give a singular shit as he works you from your second orgasm clear into your third.

His efforts are rewarded with another rush of your cum, soaking his face and dripping down his chin.

Good. He’s still fixated on the idea of you being fat with his child, and the way he sees it the more he gets you to cum the better his chances are of it taking.

Your efforts to squirm out of his grip only increase, futile as they are.

“One more,” he lifts his head to offer you. “Be a good girl and give me one more.”

Those tears that had welled earlier are falling now, and Simon thinks you look absolutely divine with tear tracks down your face, make up smeared to hell.

“Okay,” you nod with a shaky breath- hips still trembling but no longer trying to squirm away from him.

He descends on you once again, intending to make the most of your compliance. What a good little wife he has.

He’s got your fourth orgasm rushing over you in record time, relishing in the way you tense and relax as your body tries to fight the overstimulation before your mind would quiet it. His hand strokes your hip and thigh soothingly, mumbling praises into your skin the entire time.

True to his word, he pulls away once you’ve come down.

You’re watching him with glassy eyes, limbs trembling as you finally catch a reprieve from his mouth.

“I’ll untie you now, okay love?” He’s checking where you are mentally, if he pushed too far-

You nod to him, eyes following as he steps away from the bed to grab the keys off the nightstand.

Your wrists are released from the cuffs only to be encircled by Simon’s hands- so much bigger than your own- as he gently rubs them and checks for any marks. “You alright, love?”

The soft smile you flash him has him ready to melt. “I’m good,” he watches you stretch, the slight wince. “Shoulder’s a bit tight.”

“I’ll run us a bath and we’ll see what I can do about that hm? How about you think about what you want for take out?”

He starts to turn, tethered in place as you reach out for him.

“Don’t go yet.”

He lets you lead him back into bed with a light pull on his hand.

Absolutely spoiled rotten, and yet Simon will gladly give or do anything for you if only you ask for it.