#i have a file i'm really slowly working through

[purinfelix]

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I want?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.

[kiwriteswords]

Because You're Just a Man [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 10k|| AN: Who's going to explain to my boss that seeing this prompt caused me to get ZERO work done today. I'm getting more comfortable with writing smut again and this was honestly my favorite piece I have ever written so far! Also! Thank you for the encouragement on my original post @honeypiehotchner @ssamorganhotchner and @hoe4hotchner <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, canon typical themes, sexual themes, flirting, hotch and reader pushing each others limits, jealous!Hotch, simp!Hotch, unprotected sex, horny hotch, horny reader, provoking hotch hours. Summary: Based on the prompt from @urfriendlywriter: "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

The hum of the BAU office felt different at night--quieter, but still charged with the weight of unfinished cases and the scent of stale coffee.

It was late, most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was washed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the overhead fluorescents. You sat at your desk, typing halfheartedly on your laptop, stealing occasional glances at the one person still in the office.

Hotch.

He sat in his glass-walled office, posture perfect as ever, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been at this for hours. His jaw was tight, his fingers moving steadily across reports, and even from here, you could see the muscle in his cheek flex every time he clenched it.

God, he was impossible.

You’d been seeing him--or at least talking about the possibility of seeing him--for weeks now. There had been stolen moments, almost-confessions, a tension so thick between you that even the team had started noticing. But Hotch, ever the professional, ever the stoic leader, hadn’t given you much to go on. A lingering glance? A stray touch? A sharp inhale when you got too close? Sure. But he never acted. Never said anything.

Nothing concrete, anyways. 

And it was starting to drive you insane.

At first, you thought maybe he was just slow to act. That he wanted to be sure. But the more time passed, the more you started to wonder: Was he even attracted to you?

You knew he cared. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way he checked in after cases, always ensuring you were okay. But physically? He was impossible to read. He was so composed, so disciplined, that you couldn’t tell if he was holding himself back or if he simply didn’t feel the way you did.

So you decided to test him.

Nothing outrageous, nothing too obvious--just enough to see if you could shake his composure.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your blouse riding up just a fraction. If he was looking, he didn’t show it.

Fine.

You stood slowly, making a deliberate show of gathering your things. You could feel the soft stretch of your pencil skirt as you shifted, the way your blouse clung just right in the low light. You weren’t normally one to be overly conscious of what you wore to work, but tonight? Tonight, you wanted him to notice.

File in hand, you took your time walking toward his office, letting the faint click of your heels punctuate the silence.

He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he knew you were there.

"Still working?" you asked, voice just a little softer than usual.

Hotch finally glanced up, dark eyes flicking to yours before settling back on the paperwork in front of him. "Looks that way." His voice was smooth, measured. Controlled.

You stepped inside, setting the file down on his desk--closer than necessary. Close enough that you could smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne, something rich and warm beneath the sharpness of his aftershave.

"You should take a break," you mused, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "I don’t have time for a break."

"Not even for me?" You rested your hand against the edge of his desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as you leaned in--just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the proximity.

That did it.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

The slight shift of his jaw. The way his fingers tightened around his pen just briefly before setting it down.

A rush of satisfaction curled in your stomach.

So, he does notice.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came. Hotch barely spares you another glance, flipping the page of his report with that same unreadable, impassive expression. If he was affected, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it now.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him.

That’s how you want to play it, Hotchner?

Fine.

You could almost see it--the way his mind worked, the methodical discipline he relied on to keep himself locked up tight. He was compartmentalizing. Shoving down whatever impulse had flickered through him the second he caught your scent, or felt the heat of your body just inches from his desk.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That realization sent a slow hum of intrigue through you.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought. If you wanted to get a real reaction out of him, you’d have to be smarter about it. Subtler.

You straightened up, deliberately not lingering the way you had been. Let him think you were backing off.

“Don’t work too hard,” you said lightly, turning toward the door.

You swore you felt his eyes on you as you walked away--but when you glanced back, he was already staring at his paperwork again, jaw tight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back at your desk, you settled into your chair and let your fingers drift over your keyboard, not really typing, not really thinking about work anymore. Instead, your mind was spinning, plotting.

What else would get to him?

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You had all the time in the world to figure that out.

oxoxoxoxoxoxox

The conference room was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of files rustling, and the distant whir of the coffee machine in the bullpen. The team was gathering for a briefing, and you were one of the last to arrive, slipping in just as Hotch stood at the head of the table, setting down the case file.

You slid into the chair across from him, casually smoothing the hem of your skirt as you crossed your legs, slow and deliberate.

His gaze flicked up--so brief, so controlled, that anyone else would have missed it. But you didn’t.

Your stomach hummed with satisfaction.

His eyes dropped immediately to the folder in front of him, fingers adjusting his watch before flipping open the case file. His movements were precise, methodical. A man rebuilding his walls, brick by brick.

Good. You weren’t done testing their strength yet.

Morgan and JJ were still chatting, waiting for Garcia to finish setting up, so you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching Hotch as if you were actually interested in the file he was reading.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” you mused.

Hotch’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I was finishing reports.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Right. That explains why you’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he replied, voice smooth, but the way his grip subtly flexed around his pen told you otherwise.

“You kind of are.” You let the amusement curl in your voice. “At least a little.”

His exhale was barely audible, a long, slow breath through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at you, keeping his attention on the paperwork in front of him, but his fingers tightened around his pen just slightly.

You smiled.

And then, because you wanted to see just how much he was holding back, you stretched--a lazy, innocent stretch, your back arching just enough to accentuate your figure, your blouse shifting ever so slightly.

Hotch froze.

Just for half a second.

But it was there.

The slight pause in the movement of his pen. The subtle way his jaw went even tighter. The fraction of a second where his eyes flicked toward you before snapping back to his papers.

You bit back a smirk.

This was working.

You tapped your fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. “You know, Hotch, if you ever actually relaxed once in a while, I think the world would keep turning.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond--but at that moment, Garcia’s voice burst through the moment, her usual chipper tone filling the room.

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Hotch’s shoulders as he very purposefully turned his full attention to the case.

He was trying so hard.

And it was only making you more determined.

xoxoxoxoooxox

The night air in Quantico was thick with humidity, the kind that settled into your skin and made the inside of the BAU feel heavier than usual. It made you wonder if this is where they decided to save bureaucratic dollars, by turning the air conditioner off when people worked after office hours.

Most of the team had already left, the bullpen dimly lit except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the coffee machine cycling through its last brew of the night.

Hotch was still in his office, as always.

And you were still here.

At first, your little experiments had been entertaining--a game to see if you could shake his impossible composure, test the limits of his discipline. And while you had noticed the cracks--those fleeting glances, the small shifts in body language--he never let them grow into something more.

And it was starting to piss you off.

It wasn’t as if you expected him to shove the desk between you aside and kiss you breathless (though the thought was an incredibly tempting one). But you needed something. A sign. A confirmation that this thing--this slow, unbearable push-and-pull--wasn’t just in your head.

Because if he wasn’t interested, if all of this was just a cruel trick of your own imagination, then what the hell were you doing?

You pushed away from your desk, snatching up the case file you’d been pretending to work on, and made your way up the stairs to his office.

His door was open, but he was in his usual state of intense focus--pen in hand, elbow resting on the desk, brows drawn together. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his tie was loosened just enough to be tempting.

You leaned against the doorway, tilting your head. “You do realize the case is over, right?”

Hotch didn’t even look up. “Paperwork isn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “You work too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

There was something infuriating about his ability to stay perfectly neutral. You stepped closer, rounding his desk slightly, just enough to lean against the edge.

Close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about taking a break? Doing something fun?”

His eyes flicked up at that--just for a second--but his expression didn’t change. “I have fun.”

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. “No, you don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

You took it further. “When was the last time you let yourself actually relax?”

“I don’t have the luxury of--”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you interrupted, frustration leaking into your tone now. “You’re always like this. So composed, so in control.” You leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something just a little more pointed. “So unaffected.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. A warning. A silent caution that you were pushing too hard.

You ignored it.

You tilted your head, considering him, your frustration bubbling into something sharper.

And then, because you couldn’t stop yourself, because you were tired of second-guessing and waiting for something that might not even be there, you let the words slip:

"You must be the most disciplined man on the planet, Hotchner." You let it sit for a beat before adding, deliberately flippant, "Or maybe I’m just not your type."

That did it.

It was instant.

His pen stilled, fingers tightening around it before setting it down with deliberate care. His jaw tensed, the muscle there flickering under the low light. And then--finally--he looked at you.

Not a glance. Not a fleeting acknowledgment.

A look.

Slow. Measured. And dark in a way that made your breath hitch.

For the first time, you felt something shift in the air between you--something crackling, something dangerous.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto yours like he was considering his next move. Like he was deciding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. “You really think that?”

Your stomach tightened.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse picked up. “Well, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

His exhale was slow, controlled--like he was reining himself in.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were the one poking him--or if you had just walked straight into something you weren’t ready for.

The room felt smaller.

Hotch hadn’t moved--not an inch. He was still leaning back in his chair, arms resting on the desk, posture as composed as ever. And yet, something had shifted.

Maybe it was in the air between you, thick with unsaid things.

Maybe it was in his eyes--still dark, still unreadable, but no longer distant.

Or maybe it was in the silence, the heavy pause after your words had landed, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Maybe you were right? Maybe you were wrong? 

"You really think that?"

He repeated. His voice was low, controlled, but there was something new in it. Something deliberate.

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, determined to keep your ground, even as your heartbeat knocked against your ribs. “Well, again, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

Hotch inhaled slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he studied you.

And then--he smirked.

It wasn’t full, wasn’t obvious, but it was there. The barest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk once--just once--before leaning forward. Not much, but enough that the shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

"You expect me to react on your timeline," he said, voice smooth, steady. "You think if I don’t, it means I don’t feel it." His eyes flickered over your face, slow and deliberate. "That I don’t want to."

Heat licked up your spine.

His words were careful, calculated--but there was something beneath them. A warning.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. You lifted your chin slightly. "Am I wrong?"

Hotch exhaled sharply, the ghost of a laugh under his breath, before shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted. “But you are underestimating me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You felt the weight of those words, how easily they unraveled the confidence you’d built up.

Underestimating him?

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could speak, he continued, voice dropping just slightly:

“If I wanted to give in, I would have already.”

The sheer certainty in his tone sent a thrill down your spine.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "So why haven’t you?"

He held your gaze steady and unwavering.

"Because I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning this little game you're playing."

Your breath caught.

So he knew.

He’d known this whole time.

Bastard. 

Every shift in your tone. Every touch that lingered just a little too long. Every glance, every tease, every attempt to get a reaction out of him.

He had seen all of it.

And he had been letting you play.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, frustration and thrill curling into one. You had been trying to push him, to get under his skin, but now it was you who felt unsteady, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You think this is a game?" you challenged.

Hotch’s gaze flickered lower--just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch--before snapping back to yours.

“I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And I think you’re getting frustrated because I won’t give you one.”

You sucked in a breath, hands curling at your sides.

“And that’s why you’re underestimating me.”

Your throat tightened.

He’s turning this on you.

You had walked into this office thinking you were the one in control, that you were the one poking at his restraint.

But now, sitting there, completely composed, unshaken, he was making it clear:

He had never been the one losing control, but you did have an effect on him.

He was letting you think you were winning--letting you push, letting you test, letting you play.

But the second he wanted to break the tension, he would.

And not a moment sooner.

Silence stretched between you, and you realized that if you said anything now, you’d only be proving him right.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stepped back.

Not much. Just enough to put a few inches of space between you. Just enough to breathe.

Hotch’s lips twitched slightly, almost like he knew he had won this round.

"Goodnight," he said, voice as smooth as ever.

Your nails pressed into your palm, heat still simmering low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you turned.

And as you walked out of his office, one thought burned in your mind.

You had severely underestimated Aaron Hotchner.

And now, you were more determined than ever to make him break.

xxoxoxoxoxo

The local precinct smelled like stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place that saw too many long nights and not enough successful arrests. The team had been working with the local PD all morning, briefing the officers, pouring over evidence, and establishing a strategy for catching the unsub. The air was thick with tension--case tension, but also something else.

Hotch tension.

You had been careful, playing it safe the last couple of days after your last conversation with him. He had successfully flipped your game back on you, made you second-guess your own approach, and that had annoyed you. But more than that--it had intrigued you.

You had underestimated him.

But that only made you want to try harder.

So now, standing in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by officers, detectives, and your team, you found your next move.

It happened when one of the younger officers--a rookie, maybe mid-twenties--sidled up beside you while you were scanning over a map of the unsub’s hunting ground. He was cocky, too casual for a case like this, but harmless enough.

“You guys always get put on the bad ones, huh?” he asked, shaking his head.

You hummed, glancing at him briefly. “Something like that.”

He smelled like cheap cologne and bad news. 

His eyes flicked over you--not in a way that was offensive, but in a way that was obvious. “So, what’s it like working for him?” His gaze drifted past you, and you knew exactly who he was referring to.

You glanced toward the other side of the room, where Hotch was standing with Rossi and Morgan, discussing logistics with the local captain. He was doing what he always did--keeping his tone measured, his posture unwavering, his presence demanding attention even when he wasn’t speaking.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

The rookie smirked. “I mean, he’s kind of intense, right? Seems like the type of guy who doesn’t let his team breathe.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he lets us breathe. Just not when we’re wasting time.”

The officer chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “And what about after hours? He loosen up at all then?”

It was an innocent enough comment. It wasn’t inappropriate, wasn’t particularly suggestive, but it was loaded--an implication lingering beneath the surface.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift.

It wasn’t obvious. No one else in the room would have noticed. But you did.

His energy--you could feel it surrounding you without him even making as much as a subtle eye movement. He was all around you. All at once. Just not physically. 

The way Hotch’s posture stiffened, ever so slightly.

The way his conversation faltered for just a fraction of a second before continuing.

The way his fingers twitched, like he had the urge to look over but refused to.

You had just done something dangerous.

And you liked it.

A slow, wicked idea unfurled in your mind.

You didn’t even have to flirt with the rookie. You just had to let him think he had a shot. Let Hotch think that someone else might be in your orbit.

So you smiled--just a small, amused smile--as you said, “Why? You looking for some FBI mentorship?”

The officer grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

And then, because you could, because you were feeling reckless, you let your fingers lightly trail over his forearm. A barely there touch. A casual, fleeting thing.

But it wasn’t casual at all.

You felt the shift further before you even looked up.

And when you finally glanced toward Hotch--when you saw the way his gaze was locked onto you now, the sharp, barely restrained tension in his features--you almost lost your own composure.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were burning.

A rush of heat surged through your body.

Oh.

You had found something.

But before you could process it, Hotch’s voice cut through the air--calm, too calm.

“Agent,” he said sharply. “A word.”

Your stomach dropped.

And not in the way that made you nervous.

In the way that made your pulse spike.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, as Hotch gestured for you to follow him.

He didn’t wait for you--just walked toward one of the quieter hallways of the precinct, expecting you to keep up.

You did.

His legs were so long--such long strides. 

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if he was mad or if this was something else--if you had finally managed to push too far.

When he finally stopped, he turned abruptly, standing so close that you almost collided into him.

His jaw was tight. His breathing controlled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, playing the part of the innocent. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The officer.”

Your heart thumped. You knew what this was now.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something else entirely.

A slow, knowing smirk curved your lips. “Oh,” you said, tilting your head. “You were paying attention.”

His nostrils flared slightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice even lower now.

Your pulse thrummed in your throat. “Am I?”

Hotch’s gaze locked onto yours, something sharp, something restrained--but this time, barely.

For the first time, you knew you had him.

And now?

Now you were dying to see what happened when Aaron Hotchner stopped holding back.

The hallway was too quiet.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single breath, every shift in the air between you and Hotch. The precinct buzzed faintly in the distance, but here, in this small, dimly lit corridor, it felt like another world entirely.

Hotch hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

The space between you was barely a few inches, and yet, the tension crackled like a live wire, sparking in the narrow gap separating you.

His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His hands twitched--just slightly, like he was debating what to do with them.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, slow, measured, but there was something off about it--something that told you it wasn’t just an exhale. It was restraint.

Tightly coiled, barely-leashed restraint.

You had never seen him like this.

He was always so careful. So composed. So in control.

But right now? Right now, there was something just beneath the surface, something barely held together by the thread of his discipline.

And it was because of you.

You could feel your pulse hammering against your ribs, heat rising up your spine, but you didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t realize talking to an officer was against BAU protocol,” you mused, letting the words hang in the air between you, testing, pushing.

Hotch’s eyes darkened. “That’s not what this is about.”

Your lips curled slightly, your confidence returning in full force. “No?”

His breath hitched--just a fraction, just enough.

Then, before you could blink, he took a step closer.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

You were trained to decipher human behavior, after all. This man--he was one of the hardest shells to crack, but something told you how to put the pieces together now. 

Your spine straightened instinctively, the sudden nearness setting off a slow burn low in your stomach.

For the first time, it felt like he was the one testing you.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver trailed down your spine.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the heat between you thickened. “And what am I doing, Hotch?”

His jaw ticked. “You want a reaction.”

You tilted your head slightly, barely suppressing a smirk. “Do I?”

His exhale was sharp this time, less measured, less composed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically keeping himself from moving.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he leaned in--just enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, warm, sharp.

“You really want to test me?” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted slightly, a retort forming, but nothing came out.

Hotch let the moment hang, suspended, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then--just as quickly as he had closed the space--he pulled back, his expression unreadable once more.

His discipline snapped back into place like a steel trap, as if he had never let it slip at all.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And as he straightened, adjusting his tie, clearing his throat, you knew.

He wasn’t unaffected.

Not even close.

“Get back to work,” he said finally, voice smooth, controlled.

But he didn’t look at you when he said it.

And that?

That told you everything you needed to know.

You thought you had won.

You felt the tension, saw the moment Hotch nearly cracked, heard the shift in his breath. You knew now--knew for certain--that you affected him. That you weren’t imagining things.

That Aaron Hotchner wanted you.

And yet, as you walked back into the main room of the precinct, trying to steady your own breathing, trying to refocus on the case, something gnawed at you.

Because when he had pulled back, when he had gathered himself, when he had smoothed his tie and sent you back to work like nothing had happened--there had been something in his expression.

Not regret. Not hesitation.

Something else.

And you realized it too late.

You had just handed him the upper hand.

oxoxoxoxoxxoox

It started small.

You were seated at the long table in the precinct’s war room, reviewing files, mapping out patterns on a whiteboard with Morgan and Prentiss, when you felt it.

A gaze.

Hotch was across the room, engaged in a discussion with Rossi and the lead detective, his voice even, steady. Composed.

But he was watching you.

Not directly. Not obviously.

But you could feel it.

The way his eyes flicked toward you between sentences, the way his attention lingered just a second too long before returning to the conversation at hand.

It shouldn’t have rattled you.

But it did.

Because you had spent so long trying to get a reaction out of him. And now, suddenly, he wasn’t ignoring you. He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was watching you back.

And worse?

He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Your stomach twisted in a way you weren’t used to.

You forced yourself to refocus, flipping through the files in front of you, but it was impossible to concentrate, not when you could still feel his eyes on you, his presence like a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

And then--he upped the ante.

It was in the small things.

Like the next time you spoke to him--when you handed him a report, expecting him to simply take it like he always did, business as usual.

But instead, his fingers brushed yours as he took the file, slow, deliberate.

The touch was barely there, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

You glanced up at him, startled, only to find his gaze already on yours. Steady. Controlled.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Your lips parted, but he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

And then he walked away.

Your breath stuck in your throat.

Oh, he’s good.

It only got worse from there.

During the next strategy meeting, you found yourself seated beside him--not an unusual occurrence, but this time, you felt it.

The space between you was almost nonexistent.

His arm rested along the table, his fingers occasionally brushing the edge of your notepad, each accidental touch sending a slow hum through your body.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

Was when you went to reach for your coffee mug at the same time he reached for his.

Your fingers brushed again, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Not right away.

Instead, his thumb lingered against your skin for a half-second too long.

And when you looked up at him, startled, he just--

Smirked.

It was small. Subtle. So quick that if you hadn’t been looking, you might’ve missed it.

But it was there.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee mug like it was your lifeline, because suddenly, the temperature in the room felt ten degrees hotter.

And he just continued on like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just turned the game back on you.

You barely heard a word Morgan was saying, barely processed anything but the way Hotch’s arm remained just close enough that if you moved, even slightly, you would touch again.

He was toying with you now.

Testing you.

And suddenly, you understood.

He had been waiting for this.

Letting you push him. Letting you get bold.

Because he had known the whole time that the moment he pushed back, you wouldn’t be ready for it.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to refocus, forcing yourself to push through the way your stomach twisted, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Fine.

If he wanted to play, you could play.

But you were starting to realize something you hadn’t expected.

Aaron Hotchner was a much more dangerous opponent than you had ever given him credit for.

And now, you weren’t sure if you were winning--or if you were about to completely lose yourself in him.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place the team liked to celebrate in after a case closed--a quiet enough spot to talk, but loud enough that no one paid much attention to a group of FBI agents drinking in the corner.

The case had been a difficult one, drawn out and exhausting, but the unsub was in custody, the victims’ families had answers, and--for tonight at least--you could all breathe a little easier.

You nursed your drink, watching as Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Garcia said, Rossi swirling his whiskey in his glass as he smirked at whatever banter they were trading.

And then there was Hotch.

Sitting beside you, as always.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still distant in that way only he could manage--always composed, always aware of himself, of his surroundings.

Always in control.

You had spent the entire night testing that control.

At first, it was subtle. A lingering touch when you handed him his drink, a fleeting brush of your fingers against his wrist when you leaned in to speak over the noise of the bar.

Then, bolder.

A teasing remark, the way you laughed just a little softer when he said something dry and sarcastic, the way your hand rested lightly against his thigh just as you shifted in your seat.

You had expected a reaction.

You wanted one.

But instead of pulling away, instead of scolding you, instead of doing what he always did--remaining unaffected, unshaken--Hotch did something worse.

He played along.

He didn’t move your hand. He didn’t shift away.

He let it happen.

And the worst part?

He let you sit with it.

Let you feel the weight of your own actions, the way the tension between you thickened, the way your pulse picked up when his dark eyes flicked toward yours, unreadable but aware.

He was so much better at this game than you were.

And you were losing.

You needed to tip the scales back in your favor.

So you made a choice.

You reached for your drink, fingers brushing the rim, and took a slow sip--letting your lips close around the edge of the glass, letting your tongue flicker just slightly against the rim as you pulled back.

It was innocent enough.

But the moment you placed your glass back down, you shifted in your seat--legs crossing deliberately, brushing against his knee as you tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

And then you said it.

Low. Soft. Just for him.

"You know, Hotch…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before."

It was a direct challenge.

A blatant, deliberate provocation.

And this time?

He reacted.

The shift was instantaneous.

His fingers tightened hard around his glass, his jaw clenching as his breath hitched--so subtly that no one else would have noticed, but you did.

His lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he was considering his next move.

Then, finally--finally--he turned to look at you fully.

And the intensity in his gaze?

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His voice was low, rough around the edges, laced with something you had never heard from him before.

"You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table, and you swallowed, suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

You had wanted this.

You had asked for this.

And now?

Now you weren’t sure if you were ready for what happened next.

Because the way Hotch was looking at you?

Like he had been holding back for so long--so painfully long--and was finally, finally reaching the edge of his control?

It sent a shiver down your spine.

And suddenly, for the first time since this little game started…

You realized you might have just gotten in over your head.

Your stomach clenched, heat flooding through your body in waves, but you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when his fingers flexed against his glass, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the strain in it.

Not when you realized--really realized--that you had finally done it.

You had finally pushed him to his limit.

And now, for the first time, you were the one feeling unsteady.

A slow smirk threatened at the corner of his lips, barely there, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass before he finally--finally--pulled his gaze away from yours.

But not before he leaned in, just a fraction closer.

Just enough for you to feel his warmth.

Just enough for his breath to ghost against your skin when he murmured, “Finish your drink.”

Your breath hitched.

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping the glass as your pulse pounded in your ears, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he hadn’t given you an order before.

Not like that.

Not in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table.

You took a slow sip, the whiskey burning down your throat, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was making your head spin.

It was him.

You were utterly and completely drunk on him. 

Hotch leaned back in his chair, as if regaining some of his composure, but you could see it now.

The way his fingers still flexed against the glass.

The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual.

The way his entire body was coiled tight, like he was waiting.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

You had no idea what he was waiting for.

A few minutes passed, conversation continuing around you, but it felt like background noise now--like nothing else in the room mattered except the heavy weight of whatever this was sitting between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Hotch glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

The shift sent a jolt of anticipation through your body.

He leaned down slightly, voice low in your ear.

"Let’s go."

Your stomach flipped.

You set your glass down, fingers slightly shaky as you grabbed your coat, barely managing a quick glance at the team.

Morgan smirked. Rossi raised an eyebrow. Prentiss definitely noticed something.

But you didn’t have time to care.

Because the moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, the second the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Hotch’s voice--low, measured, dangerous--cut through the silence.

"Tell me something."

You looked up, breath catching. “What?”

His gaze burned into yours, dark and unwavering.

"Was this just a game to you?"

Your throat tightened.

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched. “All of it,” he murmured. “The teasing. The touches. The way you looked at me back there.” His eyes flickered to your lips before snapping back to your gaze. “Was it just a game?”

The air between you was electric.

Your stomach churned, your pulse hammering in your chest, because this was it.

This was him--finally, finally dropping the act.

And the rawness in his voice?

The realness in it?

It made you realize exactly what you wanted.

Your lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping before you whispered, “No.”

Hotch’s entire body reacted to that word.

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

And then--finally--he stopped holding back.

His hand lifted--slow, deliberate--fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your chin up.

Not demanding. Not rushed.

Just assessing.

Just waiting.

Like he needed you to give him permission.

Like he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did.

And God, did you want this.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, exhaling softly as your fingers curled against the lapels of his jacket.

That was all it took.

Hotch moved.

His lips were on yours, firm but controlled--measured, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying not to lose himself completely.

But you wanted him to lose it.

So you made a sound--soft, desperate--pressing yourself closer, and that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A sharp inhale against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His body was warm, solid, hot, and suddenly you were gripping him, fingers twisting into his shirt as his lips parted, deepening the kiss, letting out a low, gravelly noise that sent a shockwave down your spine.

The street was too open.

The world was too present.

But Hotch--Aaron--was kissing you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And the second his hands tightened around you, the second his teeth grazed your lower lip, you knew.

You had both lost this game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

The kiss was heated, sharp, and all consuming, a slow unraveling of every ounce of tension you had been building for weeks.

Hotch’s hands were firm against your waist, fingers flexing like he was still battling the instinct to pull you closer, like he was still trying to cling to the last fragments of control that were slipping through his fingers.

You weren’t making it easy for him.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, pressing yourself into the solid warmth of his chest, needing more--needing all of him.

And God, the way he reacted--

The sharp inhale against your lips, the way his fingers dug into your waist, the soft, barely-contained groan that rumbled deep in his chest--

It was like nothing you had imagined.

He wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t measured.

He was starved.

Hotch tore his lips from yours, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your hips as if he was physically keeping himself from devouring you completely.

Your own breath was uneven, your hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his shirt.

“Aaron--”

His groan was immediate, like hearing his name like that sent a direct current through his body.

Then his hands moved.

He skimmed them up your sides, tracing the curves he had so painstakingly ignored for weeks, months, forever--his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before one of them slid into your hair, tilting your chin just so before he kissed you again.

Harder.

Rougher.

No restraint now.

It sent a shockwave through your body, heat pooling low in your stomach as his teeth scraped your lower lip, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed you, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

And God, you didn’t want him to stop.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were aware that you were still outside the bar, still in public, still far too exposed for what was rapidly spiraling into something uncontainable.

Hotch must have realized it at the same time because he broke away, breathless, dark eyes burning into yours.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

The ride to his place was a blur.

You barely remembered getting into the car.

Barely remembered the way his hands tightened on the wheel, the way his jaw ticked as you sat beside him, thighs pressing together, anticipating.

The air in the car was thick, electric with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.

And the second the door to his apartment closed behind you--

It snapped.

Hotch was on you before you could take another breath.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your hips, backing you against the wall like he needed to feel you, like he was making up for every second he had spent denying this.

Your breath hitched, your arms looping around his neck, nails dragging along the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you kissed him back, tilting your head to let him deepen it, let him take what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

His hands wandered, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers teasing the hem of your blouse before slipping beneath it, palms searing against your skin.

He let out a low groan, his mouth moving to your jaw, down to your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, sending a pulse straight to your core.

“Aaron--”

Another groan.

His fingers tightened on your hips, his breath warm against your skin.

“You--” He exhaled sharply, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

You shivered, gripping his shoulders. “Then show me.”

Something snapped in him at that.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, and before you could react, he was lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist, pressing you firmly against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours.

Heat flared through you at the sheer strength of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, the way his lips found yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, owning the kiss in a way that made you dizzy.

He walked you to the bedroom like that, lips never leaving yours, never giving you a moment to breathe.

And when he laid you down, settling between your legs, hands braced beside your head, his breath coming out ragged--

You realized you had been so, so wrong.

You had thought you were in control.

Had thought you were winning this game.

But the way Aaron Hotchner was looking at you now?

Like he owned you?

Like he was done holding back?

You knew.

You had never stood a chance.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow from the city lights spilling through the window. The air was thick--heavy--with heat and want and weeks of barely restrained tension finally snapping apart at the seams.

Hotch hovered above you, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tracing along your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, teasing.

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising beneath him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You had never seen him like this--eyes dark, his breath uneven, his entire body wound so tight, like he was fighting every urge to just take you right then and there.

He was still holding back.

You weren’t having that.

Your fingers tugged at his collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours again, hot and desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, consuming.

A low sound rumbled in his chest--a groan, gravelly and wrecked--as his weight settled between your legs, pressing firm against you, and God, you could feel everything.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, and that was it.

He broke.

Hotch's mouth moved--leaving your lips, tracing a path down your jaw, to the curve of your throat. He sucked, bit--just enough to make you gasp, his tongue sweeping over the sting.

"Aaron," you breathed, your hands threading into his hair, tugging hard.

His reaction was immediate--a deep groan against your skin, his fingers gripping your waist, his hips pressing flush against yours in a slow, torturous roll.

You gasped, arching up against him, heat flooding through your body as his hands wandered, sliding beneath your blouse, fingers tracing over your stomach, exploring.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips dragging down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You and your games.”

You smirked, gasping as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “I think you liked them.”

Hotch exhaled a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, laughing, but it was low, dark--not amusement, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Then he lifted his head, his fingers tilting your chin just so until your eyes met his.

“I let you play, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel, deep and gravelly, thick with desire. “But now?”

He smirked--smirked--and leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran through you, your pulse pounding, your entire body on fire.

Then, in one swift motion, he sat up, pulling you with him, his fingers tugging at the hem of your blouse. His eyes met yours, giving you one last out.

But there was no hesitation.

Not from you.

Not from him.

Your hands covered his, pushing the fabric up, and then it was gone--tossed aside, forgotten.

His eyes--God, the way he looked at you.

Dark. Devouring. Like he was memorizing every inch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick, rough.

Then his hands were on you again--roaming, claiming--his lips pressing, trailing, worshiping.

Your head tipped back, another breathless gasp escaping as his hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers making quick work of it before sliding the straps down your shoulders, his lips following their path, tongue flicking, teasing.

You arched into him, needing more, your own hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to even the playing field.

Hotch chuckled--deep, dark--before obliging, sitting back just enough to yank the offending fabric over his head.

Your breath hitched.

You had seen him in varying states of undress before--worn-down hotel rooms, bulletproof vests over tight shirts, dress shirts rolled up to his forearms.

But this?

Seeing him like this--the broad lines of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest, the faint scar near his ribs--

Your fingers traced over it instinctively, your touch featherlight.

Hotch inhaled sharply.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, a teasing edge beneath the gravel.

You barely had time to process before he was kissing you again--deep and desperate, his hands sliding down, over the curve of your hips, fingers gripping, pulling you closer.

You gasped, hands curling around his biceps, feeling the tension in them, the way he was still holding himself back, still reining himself in.

So you tested him again.

Rolling your hips just so against his.

Hotch groaned, a sharp, wrecked sound against your lips. His fingers dug into your thighs, his control finally fraying--

“Fuck,” he exhaled, forehead pressing to yours.

You smirked, barely able to breathe.

“That’s all it took?” you teased. “I thought you had more self-control than that, Hotchner.”

His breath hitched.

Then--

You barely had a second to react before he had you pinned, his body flush against yours, his lips ghosting over your ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, devastatingly wrecked.

"You're going to regret saying that."

Your breath caught.

Then his hands moved--and you shattered.

Your pulse pounded, every inch of your body burning under Hotch’s touch, under the way he was looking at you now--like he had waited for this, ached for this, and was finally letting himself have it.

You swallowed, fingers tightening against his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he was still holding himself back--even now.

"Then make me," you whispered.

Hotch moved.

His lips crashed against yours, harder this time, rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to touch you, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him as his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, exploring, learning you.

You were already dizzy, already losing yourself in him, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want careful.

You wanted him.

You tugged at his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Hotch caught your wrist, breath ragged, his forehead pressing to yours.

His eyes--dark and burning--searched yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist like he was waiting for something.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, strained, but still careful.

Your heart ached at the question, at the way he was still thinking about you, still making sure this was something you wanted.

You lifted your other hand, tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the restraint.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered.

Something in him snapped.

His lips were on yours again, his hands sliding lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist before pressing you firmly against the mattress.

His body was solid, strong, his weight pressing into you in a way that had your breath catching, heat spreading low in your stomach as his mouth wandered--down your jaw, your throat, lips and tongue claiming you inch by inch.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as his hands explored, learning the shape of you, teasing, tormenting--

"Aaron--"

The groan that ripped from his throat was wrecked, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You love saying my name like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but you could hear the strain in it.

You smirked, tilting your head back, offering him more as his lips traced a path down your collarbone. "I like what it does to you."

His breath hitched.

Then his teeth scraped, just enough to make you gasp, his hands finally making quick work of the last barriers between you.

Fabric was pulled away, discarded, forgotten.

And when his gaze lowered--when his hands finally moved where you needed them most--

You shattered.

Hotch devoured every reaction, every gasp, every moan, learning you, memorizing you, until you were a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

And when he finally, finally pressed into you--

It was slow. Deliberate.

Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

Like he wanted to ruin you.

Your fingers clawed at his back, legs wrapping tighter around him as he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck.

"You feel so--" His voice broke, his breath ragged, his lips pressing against your shoulder as he rolled his hips--

You gasped, arching into him, pleasure crashing through your veins.

Hotch cursed, a low, deep sound against your skin, his movements slow, controlled, but hard, perfect.

He was relentless.

He set the pace, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it, torturing you with the way he pulled back just enough before thrusting deep, the friction sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans were breathless, your nails scraping down his back, but it only spurred him on.

"You wanted this," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All those games--"

You gasped as his hips snapped harder, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"You wanted to see if you could break me."

He rolled his hips again, making your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

"Do you feel broken now?"

You let out a sound that wasn’t even words, your fingers fisting into the sheets, your entire body on fire.

Hotch smirked against your skin, but his composure was fraying now--his thrusts turning more erratic, his breath coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath your hands.

He was losing it too.

And God, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His head dipped, lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss as the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as his name tore from your lips.

Hotch groaned, his movements turning sloppy, frantic, chasing the edge--

And then he fell, his body shuddering against yours, his lips parting in a low, wrecked moan as he collapsed, breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your bodies were still tangled, limbs entwined, your hearts pounding in sync.

Then, finally, Hotch exhaled--a slow, deep breath--before lifting his head to look at you.

His gaze was soft now, but sated, his thumb brushing lazily over your cheek, tender.

"You really are trouble," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but teasing.

You smirked, tracing your fingers down his chest, lingering. "And yet, here we are."

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. "You love it."

His smirk widened slightly.

"Maybe."

Then he kissed you again--slower this time, softer.

Like he was memorizing the taste of you.

Like he already knew this wasn’t the last time.

And God, neither of you wanted it to be.

You blinked, the haze of exhaustion settling in as reality began to sink in.

You had slept with Aaron Hotchner.

And it hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been measured.

It had been raw. Consuming.

Desperate.

You swallowed, turning slightly in the bed, suddenly hyperaware that he was rolling off of you.

For a moment, your stomach twisted--should you leave? Would this change things between you? Was he already regretting it?

But before you could spiral, before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, you heard it--

The quiet sound of running water.

You furrowed your brows, shifting up slightly onto your elbows, and then you saw him.

Hotch was standing near the bathroom sink, his back to you, shirtless, his lean muscles flexing as he ran a washcloth under warm water.

Your breath caught.

And more than that--he wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t rushing.

He was taking care of you.

Your throat tightened.

He turned a moment later, towel in hand, his dark eyes immediately finding yours.

“You should lie back,” he murmured, voice softer now, the roughness of the night before smoothed into something gentle.

You blinked at him, lips parting, but you didn’t argue. You simply did as he asked, sinking back against the pillows, watching as he approached the bed.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his warm hand skimming lightly over your thigh before he pressed the warm cloth against your skin.

The sensation made you exhale, your body still aching in the best way, but his touch was tender, careful.

"You don't have to--"

Hotch gave you a look.

You stopped.

Because you realized--he wanted to.

He continued in silence, wiping away the remnants of the night before, his touch slow, thoughtful. His fingers brushed against you so gently that your chest tightened.

The air between you was different now.

The tension of the past weeks, the game you had been playing--it was gone.

All that was left was this.

Him.

You.

The weight of what you had just done, settling between you like something neither of you could take back.

When he was finished, he set the towel aside, fingers tracing over your hip absentmindedly before finally speaking.

"Are you okay?"

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you weren’t--God, you were--but because you hadn’t expected him to ask.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I am."

His lips pressed together slightly, his fingers brushing against your skin again, almost like he needed to feel you still there.

Your stomach twisted--not in doubt, but in something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

So you asked.

"What about you?"

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself, and then--finally--he met your gaze.

And you knew.

Whatever restraint he had left--whatever pieces of the mask he had been holding onto--it was gone.

"I'm not sure I know how to stop wanting you now," he admitted, voice low, raw.

Your breath hitched.

Because that?

That was the first real truth he had given you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest. "Then don't," you whispered.

Hotch exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tightening just slightly against your hip.

"You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak.

"I tried--" He exhaled again, rough, like he was frustrated with himself. "I tried to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing. That it was just...passing attraction."

You swallowed. "Was it?"

Hotch let out a short, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"No," he admitted. "It never was."

Your breath caught, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter, because this--this--was more than you had ever expected him to admit.

"You drove me insane," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "The way you looked at me. The way you challenged me. The way you--" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The way you said my name."

Your heart stuttered.

"You noticed that?"

Hotch huffed a soft laugh, his fingers trailing up your arm, his touch leaving a burning path in its wake.

"I noticed everything," he murmured. "The way you crossed your legs during briefings. The way you stretched when you were tired, your shirt lifting just enough to make me lose my train of thought. The way you knew exactly what you were doing--"

You let out a breathless laugh. "I didn’t always know."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerous.

"No?"

Your stomach flipped. "No."

His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

"You really think you weren’t getting to me?" His voice was low, rough, something dark beneath it.

Your breath hitched.

"You were always getting to me," he admitted. "And you loved it."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small beneath the weight of his gaze.

Because God--he was right.

You had.

You had loved it.

But what you hadn’t realized was that he had loved it, too.

"I--"

Hotch moved before you could speak, pressing you back into the mattress, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

His weight was warm, solid, comforting.

And for the first time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Only truth.

"I’m done holding back," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"Good," you whispered.

And when his lips met yours again, soft and slow, hands sliding under the sheets this time--

You knew.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was real.

And neither of you were walking away from it.

Not now.

Not ever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[viaisms]

twenty questions

summary: penelope accidentally mentions that someone has a crush on you, she can't say who it is but you make it into a game so she can :) warnings: spencer reid x bau!reader, gn reader, mentions of drinking wine, pg-13 language, talk of bugs?? its a nickname,,, lots of use of pet names lol, fluff, no mention of y/n yeehaw, pining, you're completely oblivious about how much spencer wants you, not proofread </3 authors note: first fic!! i haven't officially written a fic in. gosh, years?? since the pandemmy :( i really want to get back into writing, so have this little blurb that i thought of! by all means i am here for any constructive criticism you may have<3 wc: 2.7k

The clatter of fingertips tapping against a keyboard filled the dimly lit BAU office. You sit at your desk, eyes fixed on the glowing screen as you scroll through reports, cross-referencing case files and taking notes. The quiet hum of the building has long since settled into a lull; you barely realize how deeply you've fallen into your work,

The distant ticking of a clock finally breaks your trance, but it wasn't until you feel the hairs arise on the back of your neck that you become fully aware. You slowly blink with a quiet groan, glancing at the time at the bottom of your screen.

10:58 PM. Shit.

You align your fingertips atop of your keyboard, the soft clatter filling the office once more before you hear the all-too familiar voice.

"Babes, what are you still doing here?!"

You turn and see nobody else but Garcia, finally emitting from her bat-cave. Her arms cross against her chest, a disappointed hum coming from her pressed lips. "You, my love, should be at home in a nice hot bath with a glass of wine."

Your lips splay a lazy smirk as you lean back in your chair, stretching your body with a quiet groan. "I was just about to wrap up, Pen, I promise..." You assure your colleague, feeling the strain of staring at a screen all day every time that you blink.

"Good deal my beautiful bug," Penelope chirps as her arms drop to her side. She's just as tired as you are, having spent all of her day digging through databases to find information on a potential UnSub. Her heals click as she goes to turn away, walking back towards her office.

"You know, you have to get your beauty sleep for your lover boy in the mor..." Her once confident words grow timid as she begins to trail off.

Penelope's breath catches in her throat as she realizes the words that so effortlessly flew off her tongue, her blood running cold at her grave error. Spencer is going to kill her.

"My what?" Your eyes narrow, scoffing in a confused manner.

She stills, yet she doesn't turn to you.

"Nothing! I... I didn't say anything..." She mutters with a nervous stammer of your name, the rhythmic clicking of her heels continuing as she speeds to her office.

You stand, the wheels of your office chair sliding out from under you as you feel a weakness in both of your legs. You stretch once more, trying to think of when the last time you even stood was.

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her hand is resting on the cold, slick material of the doorknob that has the potential to separate her from this deep abyss that she just dug herself into. Instead, she stills for another moment before turning to you once more.

Penelope has to think of a lie, and quick.

"Obviously... I was talking about Morgan!"

There is a reason why she does what she does for a living, and is rarely out on the field with the rest of the crew unless her technical skills are needed.

Your eyes squint with a tentative hum. You don't believe Garcia, not for a second.

"You do know I'm a profiler..." A grumble of amusement comes from your chest at Penelope's attempt.

"Right..." She murmurs, her voice quiet as she breaks your gaze. She's mentally kicking herself for blabbing, such a rookie mistake in the game of workplace gossip.

Your eyebrows raise as you await Garcia's confession. However, she stays strong, not uttering another peep from her velvet-painted lips.

"So...?" You sing after a beat of silence, stars of hope glistening in the pools of your eyes.

With a whine, Penelope's shoulders drop.

"Look... I love you, sweetness, I do..." Her lips droop into a frown. Penelope's eyes greet your own somberly with a shake of her own head. "But I promised I wouldn't tell..."

You feel a weight of disappointment on your chest, and with a sigh, you decide to drop it. Penelope sees the way the sparkle in your eye begins to dim, eliciting a whine from her barely audible to your own ears.

"But!" She chirps, trying to share some of her own light with you. Penelope shouldn't be doing this, and she knows it. However, she is far too nurturing to let a beautiful smile like yours falter for even a second. "If you guess it... it's not technically me telling you, right?"

"You know? I like the way your mind thinks," You hum, reveling in the fact that you got your way. "Twenty questions?" The cold sensation of the faux-leather hits you as you sit back in your chair.

The corner of Penelope's lips twitch upwards as a combination of guilt and excitement course through her veins. "You know I love a good game, hit me..." She murmurs, her voice self-assured as she pulls a chair from a nearby desk, her legs crossing as she sits next to you.

"Okay..." You mutter with a shaky sigh. The pounding of your heart fills your entire body, your stomach slightly cramping with nerves. "Is it someone I know?"

"Uh, duh?"

Your eyes flutter shut, raking through potential victims that fell for whatever love trap you didn't even intent on setting. "Male or female?"

"Acht! That's not part of the rules my curious friend and you know it," Her dark eyes narrow as she playfully scolds her colleague. "I'm totally counting it though, eighteen more questions..."

With pressed lips, you weigh out the obvious individuals who are least likely to be a contender. Penelope sees how deep you are in thought, and she can't help herself but quietly scoff.

How can you not know it's Spencer? She thinks to herself. Everyone around the office sees it -- everyone but you, apparently. As you think, her mind wanders to about two months prior, where Spencer came to her for love advice. Penelope, being herself, already knew he was fawning over you. She picked up on it the moment the genius somehow grew more awkward every time he were to speak to you.

However, also being herself, she refused to give him any sound advice until he spilled who the lucky contender was; which just so happened to be you.

The sound of your voice pulls her out of her own mind.

"Do I see them often?"

The corners of her lips prop upwards, almost tauntingly. "Very," she affirms.

Someone you see very often... you mentally walk through your day-to-day routine, retracing every step no matter how minuscule. You awake every morning to nobody in your apartment but your cat, besides the occasional sleepover with a friend every now and again. You ready yourself for work alone, your first stop in the morning being the local coffee shop down the street...

"Ooh! Is it someone from the coffee shop?" You chirp, your heart beginning to race at the idea of an unspoken stranger admiring your beauty from afar. Individuals you see there on a day-to-day basis flood your mind, although it completely falls empty for the exception of one person; a barista behind the counter, roughly your age who is not bad looking in the slightest.

"That would be a negative..." Her red-painted lips press together, a slight pang of disappointment hitting you in the gut that it wasn't the barista.

"Darn..." You tut, your mind trying to silently place the pieces of the puzzle together. Someone you know, someone you see often, not someone from the coffee shop...

Penelope can't believe how oblivious you are. How do you not pick up on the fact that Spencer follows you around the office like a lost puppy? Or the fact that when the two of you are on the field together, he insists you go with him or vice versa because he feels the need to protect you?

"No way that it's a colleague?" Your brows stitch together, your head slanting as you throw the inconceivable idea into the open.

Penelope's head slightly tilts downwards as she gazes at you through the top of her frames. She flashes you a sly, almost flirtatious grin at your not-so-far-fetched theory.

"And if it is?"

The feeling of your heart hammering in your heart is felt throughout your entire body, your cheeks warming as you feel blood rush to your brain.

"Who?!" You exclaim, completely forgoing the rules to the game. This narrows your options to about seven. Your hands fumble with the cotton on the hem of your shirt as you narrow your options down even further, a shuttering breath falling from your lips.

"How do you not know?!" Penelope is quick to match your energy, an actual pain shooting through her chest at your own naivety. Her brows raise as her eyes widen, her fists balling as she folds herself back from blurting it out.

Your lips part as you're about to exclaim something quick and witty back to your colleague when it hits you. Like a fish gulping for water, you feel the soft skin of your lips quickly snap shut.

The memories hit you all at once: the mornings you're in a rush and you forget your coffee - Reid excusing himself for a moment with a muttered excuse before returning with it minutes later, the nights you return home from a case and he offers to spend time with you because it pains you being alone after what you saw, the countless facts he will ramble to you on the plane because damn it, you're the only one that actually listens to him.

"Oh my god, Reid?" Your jaw drops as you gasp, your arms numbing as your nerves shoot past the roof and to the stratosphere.

With a relieved sigh, Penelope's palms slap against her thighs, planting her leg down onto the floor with her other one. "Finally!" She groans, almost feeling a sense of comfort that you know and the weird tension around the office while the two are around would soon come to an end.

"Since when?!" Your heart ticks against your chest so hard that you can hear it in your ears. Never in a million years would you assume it would be Spencer that would be silently pining over you. Reid?!

"Since like... forever, buttercup!" Penelope giggles. She can see the dots being connected in the pretty little brain of yours, and god, she loves it. Her voice softens, a warm, almost maternal intent behind them. "We really should be getting home..." She groans, her gaze flicking to the clock on the wall. "Since you two are totes madly in love already, let me know when one of you decides to make the move, okay?"

With a roll of your eyes, the back of your hand ever so gently strikes the side of Garcia's arm. She notices the way blush speckles across your face, a knowing grin playing against her own. You can't ignore the way your chest fuzzes over at the thought of Spencer feeling about you the way you feel about him, it makes your stomach ache with desire; you don't know if you love or hate the sensation.

"Goodnight, Garcia..." A mix between a chuckle and a sigh of contentment is emitted from you. She mumbles a quick 'good night' with a quick, playful wink before standing from her chair, returning it to its original home.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The next morning you're in a hurry to get to work, oversleeping by a long shot as it took you forever to wind down last night due to your wandering thoughts.

You get to your desk with merely minutes to spare, a tired, overwhelmed groan falling from your lips as you place your bag in your desk and splay your jacket against the back of your chair.

"Long night last night, agent?"

You don't even have to look up to know who it is... your body freezes for a moment, not sure if you're prepared to deal with this; not yet, anyways.

With a soft sigh, your gaze is lifted and immediately greeted with Spencer's. His large, curious and caring stare. His hazel eyes almost bare into your own, causing a tingle to run down your spine. You try to ignore the butterflies that patter within the walls of your stomach, yet they're hard to confine.

"Yeah... I'm fine, Reid," You nod, your lips tentatively pressing together. "Just didn't sleep worth the damn last night... just... thinking about the case..." You trail, the sound of your voice growing softer and quieter like a beautiful decrescendo.

His lips part for just a moment, an inaudible 'ah' coming from him before giving you an understanding nod.

"I figured... Garcia told me you were here late last night and I kind of... presumed this may happen," He muses with an awkward chuckle. "Which is why... I brought you this..."

Reid's tall frame trails away from your desk for a moment, which draws out a soft hum from you as you tap your fingertips against the smooth, cool material of your desk.

His long stride is quick to return, your heart almost leaping out of your throat as he sees what's within his long, slender fingers.

Your favorite coffee.

You accept the gesture, your stomach doing flips as you take the cup within the confines of your own grasp. You mumble something quick and playful, telling Spencer that he is your favorite person in the world right now for such a small action.

The feeling of someone else watching you is burned into the back of your skull, a sensation churning in your gut that you can't shake. Your gaze flicks over to the side, in which you're immediately greeted by Garcia.

She not-so-subtly flashes two thumbs up at you, her nails painted a shade of dark purple. "Go get 'em!" She mouths in approval, your gaze quickly turning over to the male in front of you in attempt to hide Penelope's matchmaking attempt.

"Hey... do you um... maybe want to get coffee at this place together sometime?" You attempt to thickly swallow down your nerves, trying to soothe the heartbeat creeping out of your chest.

Spencer is silent a moment, his lips twitching upwards in a sign of approval at your suggestion. You see the thoughts shifting through his mind, the rates of his blinks increasing in a sense of disbelief that you're actually asking him this.

"I-- um... yeah! Let's do tomorrow before work? If... you're okay getting up that early, if not we can totally do a different time, perhaps--"

"Tomorrow it is..." You cut him off, something you rarely do. He nods in agreement, a quiet 'tomorrow' mumbled from his lips as he attempts to conceal his excitement.

You’re not sure how to shake off the butterflies in your stomach, but Spencer’s shy smile is enough to make you feel warm all over. You take a sip of your coffee, letting the moment linger. Before you can say anything else, Garcia’s voice breaks through your thoughts, louder than life.

"You two better not cancel on me! I want details!" she teases from across the room, flashing a mischievous grin your way. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

Spencer, now fully aware of the matchmaker’s antics, lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair, looking even more flustered than before.

You meet his gaze again, a new kind of tension settling between you—a mix of nerves, excitement, and something deeper that you’re not ready to name just yet. You take a breath, feeling that the next chapter of whatever this is has already started, and it’s thrilling.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you murmur, unable to stop the grin that’s threatening to split your face. Spencer nods, his smile small but genuine, as he turns to head to his desk.

As he walks away, you catch a glimpse of Garcia again, this time with an exaggerated wink. You shake your head, but you can’t suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting, to say the least.

And maybe... just maybe, things are finally falling into place.

[littleapplle]

let's make this bed get squeaky!

after an unexpected wanderer attack, you show rafayel how fun it is to be a girl. - 2.9k w. - not proofread.

cw.: fem!rafayel, very implied fem!reader (srry!!) feminization (if you squint), raf isn't a woman but does get turned into one temporarily, porn with a bit of plot, nipple play, worshipping (if you squint), face sitting, so cunnilingus, 69, scissoring? humping... something in between idk... kinda subby raf too... self indulgence. alot of that. i'm the pervert here.

note: this was vv inspired by this art by @.beechu-beechu !! one of my fav artists here on tumblr and twt, pls check their work out!! <3 as soon as i saw fem!raf my brain MELTED. also this was a bit rushed, sorryyy !!><

“Love, you don’t have to freak out! The Hunter Association will find a way to revert it in no time. Relax!” — To be honest, you were too calm about it.

“Relax!? How am i supposed to- Oh, my bodyguard failed to save me from this catastrophe and now i have to pay the price with my beautiful body!” Rafayel cries in response, his voice far too dramatic and feminine.

And what has really happened? Well, a few hours ago. you and your boyfriend went out for an outdoor date in the middle of a small forest in Linkon City so Rafayel could, maybe, find inspiration for his next work.

It just so happened that the area you both decided to visit was a dead zone, your hunter watch was malfunctioning and did not warn you the area had wanderers nearby. Luckily, you were still in your hunter uniform and armed so it should be no biggie. The wanderer, a small creature you’ve never seen in any of your missions, had its back covered in pinkish spores that once Rafayel shouted out for you, exploded on his face, making him cough for air.

Wanderer defeated and your lover safe, you’re left with an… unique form of Rafayel.

“...Rafayel?” You call out for him cautiously, worried for his safety while waving your way through a cloud of pink dust.

To a few choked coughs, your ears perk. You’re alone with Rafayel but it’s not his voice you hear. Or so you thought.

The mist slowly dissipates in the air, and you’re finally able to see more than just the shape of his body choking for air dramatically. With narrowed eyes and a hand covering your mouth and nose – still concerned the mysterious dust is toxic – you call out his name once more before a gasp escapes your throat.

“Rafayel…? Wha- what is wrong with you?!” Comes out a little too harsh but your shock is genuine. Was this caused by the wanderer? Offended, he is quick to frown and bite back. “Wow cutie, i get seriously attacked and the first thing you ask me is that? What a great bodyguard i have! How can i file a complaint?” 

“That’s not what i meant!-” You stutter, “Uhm…” struggling with your words and confusion bubbling in your system, you move your hands to your boobs, trying to move his gaze down to his chest. Oh. Oh. His blouse did feel a bit tighter after all.

“What the fuck?!” 

Yeah… you’re sure that he spooked every single animal in the little forest with his scream.

Back to the present, you find yourself back in Rafayel’s home, trying to convince your boyfriend that being transformed into a woman by a wanderer isn’t the end of the world and that yes, it is temporary. 

“Raf, you’re gonna be fine. I heard Tara say something about a new type of wanderer lurking around earlier this week. We’re gonna find a way to turn you back, m’kay? You assure with more confidence now that your confusion over the situation has dissipated completely.

To your words he — she — does not answer, too busy sulking while staring at his new face in the pocket mirror you carry in your bag. 

“Besides… you’re quite the pretty girl, raf.” The sweet giggle that escapes your lips makes him frown.

 “Can you quit bullying me? Those cheap journalists are never going to shut up if they see me like this!” Rafayel cries. “I wanted to have a nice day out with you. ow… can’t have a single normal day in this city.”

That makes your ears perk and your body scoots closer to his form on the couch. You rest your head on his shoulder after kissing his puffy cheek. “Aww! ‘S no biggie, baby. We can still have fun indoors. I’ll just have to show you how fun it is to be a girl.”

You spend the day doing things you’d already do with him while enjoying quality time together but with some additional goodies. His purple hair is so long now and even softer! You take your time brushing it, massaging your nails on the scalp before trying multiple hairstyles.

Pigtails, buns, fishtail braids, boxer braids, ponytails… oh, you’ve tried every. single. one. Which he can’t really complain about! Who doesn’t love having their hair played with?

Rafayel is already used to the next activity, so he doesn’t even bat an eye when you ask him where he placed the nail polishes you bought a few months ago. 

“Pick a color baby!” You chirp, holding the tiny bottles in your hands. 

He does just that. Picking a lilac shade and offering his cold hands to you, Rafayel scoots closer to you on the couch. “You’re enjoying this too much.” He points out.

For a moment, you don’t answer, busy with the tiny brush between your fingers and trying not to smudge the milky paint in his short nails. “Hmmm maybe i am.” You giggle, “Can you blame me though?” 

It’s his turn to not answer, he thinks he’d sound too petty if he did. Rafayel loves the pampering, and even though he’d rather drown in the deepest and darkest waters of his long forgotten home than to admit this right now, he’s obsessed with you showering him in affection. Nothing is new, you’re sweet as ever and like a sea sponge, he absorbs all he can happily. 

Rafayel isn’t an insecure man, especially with his body. He knows he was sculpted by the seas with care and passion, born with the body of a god, something worthy of unending worship. So you eyeing him up and down was never a problem, but now? Oh, he feels small, he wants to dig up a hole on the hot sand and stay there for eternity, accompanied by the sand crabs.

Shame is a feeling he’s no longer used to and hates the taste of, he notes.

Noticing his silence, you put the brush down to look at him. 

“You okay, raf?” Genuine, innocent concern. 

“It hurts.” Puffing his cheeks, he frowns and closes his eyes.

“What hurts? Are your wrists sore agai-” — “No! Not that.” Rafayel whines, peeking at you through his long(er) lashes.

“Well, i’m not in the mood to play guess with you, fishie.” Arching a brow at his dramatic discomfort, you chuckle as he whines once more, “Heavens- they’re sore!”

And you have to bite your lip to not burst into laughter. Having the pleasure of seeing Rafayel, usually confident and sharp with his words, blushing like a literal girl was truly a sight you’d never thought you had to see.

“Your boobs?-” — “Don’t say it like that!” You swear that the big and tall windows of his home could’ve shattered in an instant with his horrified scream. 

“Awww, babyyy! Don’t be shy! We’ve all been through that, ‘s just part of girlhood!” You poke his cheek, aiming to tease him just a little more. Leaning in closer, you sit on his plump thighs.

Oh and he looks so done. 

“Stop acting like i’m a woman!-” He basically cries out in embarrassment.

“Oh but you are!” Interrupting him, you continue, “And as your girlfriend, and girl best friend, i’ll help you with your girl problems, raffy-”

“I’ll spit bubbles on you!” Rafayel interrupts back and you finally break down laughing on his lap.

Rafayel swears to himself that he wants to bite your head off so you stop teasing him, he hates how he can feel the tip of his pale ears get warmer each second and something inside him growing hotter. He’d bury your face on hot sand right now and yet he doesn’t move you from his lap.

As your laughter settles and you breathe in to calm down, you place a kiss on his burning cheek. A silent apology. “Seriously though, you’ve turned out to be quite… busty!” You giggle but continue before he can throw a fit again, “Can i massage you baby? Would you let me do that f’you, raf?” Whispering against his cheek, you nuzzle the bridge of your nose on his skin.

He just nods, still frowning in shame and with eyes closed shut. 

Your fingers trace his collarbones in sickly light touches, hands snaking down to the foreign feeling on his chest. 

He shivers and twitches under you once your hands cup his tits through his white blouse, the absence of a bra making your touch feel a little too intimate for his already overwhelmed brain. Your fingers feel him in circular motions, gently applying pressure to where his nipples take place.

Rafayel squirms, throwing his head back and trying to hide his face in his long, purple hair. “You’re so responsive, baby.” You coo, purposefully brushing your thumbs on his nipples, which ignites a yelp from his tight throat. 

The sensitive pebbles grow hard not so long later, making themselves visible under his light shirt. He curses you in his mind, the innocent and sweet way you talk to him could get him going anytime. Rafayel bites his glossy lip hard. 

Fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, you give him your sweetest smile. “Your body hasn’t changed at all baby. You still melt down when you have your chest played with.” You lean in, closing the space between you two and press a kiss on his trembling lips. “The only difference here is that you’re the prettiest,” kiss, “most whiny,” another kiss, “and cutest girl i’ve ever laid my eyes on.” and a last peck to seal your words like a spell.

Your lips leave his but the phantom sensation of your mouth against his stays. Your lips find home on his jawline, placing featherlight kisses on the milky white skin. 

“Can i take this off, raf? I might need a more serious inspection if you’re sore like that, hm?” Pinched by your fingers, the first button of his blouse comes undone, exposing more of his cleavage. “Y-yes.” Is all Rafayel answers, not much more than a shy whisper.

And that is the only sign you need to keep going. Your hands work gently but still eager to finish the job and reveal what’s under the expensive fabric. He helps you with the sleeves, accepting his fate and that even if he tried to shy away and hide, you wouldn’t let him. And how could you? Not now. Not when his perfect, spotless skin is exposed to the cool air of the living room, the sea breeze guided inside by the open windows making his nipples react at the temperature and stand tall.

Your lips, never far from his neck, kiss down his collarbones and the fat of his tits. His reactions are exactly what you’d expect, low whines and nonstop squirming under your touch. With open mouthed kisses to his areola, a cute light brown you note, you’re quick to give his nipple a playful lick, igniting a squeak from him. 

“D-don’t- do that-!” Rafaye’sl protests are ignored by your ears, while your lips suck on the sensitive pebble, your fingers pinch the other one, rolling it gently yet teasingly between your thumb and index finger.

Pop! – Is the sound your mouth makes as you let go. “Fuck..”, you eye him with hunger, and even though his eyes are squeezed shut, he seems to notice by your silence. “Stop staring. You’re ridiculous.” Of course he has to try and bite back.

“Am i now?” You kiss the corner of his lips, interrupting any petty answer he was about to give you. “Shit- need you to sit on my face. Can you do that f’me, baby? Please?” 

Rafayel feels like a virgin again, the foreign, weird and achy feeling between his legs makes his brain foggy. He wants to say no and shy away, spit a thousand bubbles at your face as he promised but he just can’t.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t freak out anyway. 

“N-no! That isn’t even your thing- i’m like, twice your size-” Before he can continue his protests, you’re already lying on your back on the big couch of his living room. “Please? Jus’ wanna let my girlfriend know how good it feels, mhm?” It is your turn to whine, beg.

He stares at you in horror but the pathetic look you give him wins. He kicks his pants and boxers off but his judgemental stare doesn’t falter. You can’t help but moan at the sight of his new, bare body. 

Rafayel was surely the prettiest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and now, prettiest woman too. He sits on your lap, facing you, testing the waters, hoping it’d be enough to quiet you down. “Closer, ‘fayel.” You urge.

This time he finally gives in with no complaints, shifting on your lap and closer to your shoulders. There, he turns on his back, hovering on top of your face before you grab his plush hips and push him down impatiently.

“A-ah!- don’t just do that-” He mewls.

You taste Rafayel before you can’t even see how wet he is. Spreading his ass with both hands, you pepper his cunt with eager kisses. He trembles at the new feeling, squirming and accidentally grinding against your lips, only igniting more whines to leave his pretty lips.

Your head spins at his sounds, brain mushy with how submissive you could get him to behave, at how fucking hot he sounds and how good he tastes. 

Finally diving in, your lips suck on his folds gently while your hands, once on his ass, help his hips move against you for more constant stimulation. 

“Fu-uck!- Dun stop. Please.” Rafayel squeals before a tiny lightbulb lightens up on his head.

Rafayel leans down, trembling on top of you as he pulls down your shorts just enough so he can have access to your panties. He doesn’t take it off, doesn’t have the patience to, only pulls them to the side and greets your awaiting pussy with a kiss. 

In this whole mess, you didn’t even realize how your arousal started to build up during this whole time. Too busy with Rafayel, looking at Rafayel, teasing Rafayel. You’re sure that he — she — is the siren that will drag you to the bottom of the sea with pretty mewls and then consume you. 

As he should, you think. You’d die happily.

To the kitten licks on your clit, you shiver, parting your legs open to help him. “Getting- mgh- bold now, baby? Thought you’d let me do all the work.” Muffled by the weight on top of you, you tease anyway.

You don’t give him much space to speak, wrapping your lips around his clit and sucking at  a steady pace. You’re not able to see his reaction but his mouth lets go of your cunt, his lashes tremble and close shut in pleasure. “Gonna cum, rafe? Oh- mgh- y’er such a sweet girl, raf.” You praise sweetly. 

Rafayel really tries to keep up with you but with his mushy brain, his head only rests against your thigh while he moans lowly. His clit throbs on your tongue thanks to your gentle words, you laugh mockingly under him. “Fuck- dun’ like when i call you pretty girl  but your body tells me otherwise, love. You don’t get much from lying here, raf.”

Shut up. Is what he really wants to tell you, maybe flick your forehead and say all the petty things he can think of. His thighs shake violently and with another loud and melodic cry, Rafayel cums. 

You keep going for a little longer, kissing his folds and clit and sweet affection before a strangled whine makes you pull away. 

He helps himself out of your face, sitting on the couch with his head resting on a blue pillow with the face of someone who just came back from pound town. Rafayel doesn’t bat an eye when you manhandle him closer to your body.

His lips find yours in an instant, kissing you with need, like he just came out of the ocean for the first time and his lungs aren’t used to the summer breeze on the beach. He sucks on your tongue, swiping his own on your under lip in a sloppy kiss.

You two fight for space on the couch, now feeling a bit cramped. Rafayel’s legs tangle on yours messily and he finds himself on your lap once again, grinding and humping against you like this is exactly where he was meant to be. Smiling on his mouth, you can’t help but tease him. 

“Insatiable much? Pretty girl can’t take her hands off me hm?” You chuckle but are quickly interrupted, moaning loudly when his clit accidentally bumps on yours, which Rafayel takes advantage of.

And you let him, your only guidance being the phantom touch of your hands on his waist. “You can’t really ever keep your mouth shut, can you?” He sighs, “Not near you, ever.” 

You’re quick to cum too, with hitched breath and hips buckling under his in search of more stimulation, any moans are silenced by his lips insistently glued to yours.

Noticing your body melting on the couch cushions, Rafayel lets himself relax on top of you, too. With a last kiss to your neck, he buries his face on your shoulder blade.

“I’ll file a report about what happened later, m’kay? Dun stress.” — “Hmmm.” Is all he’s able to answer while your free hand massages his scalp, slowly drifting him off to sleep.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[keirareidss]

be mean to me - s.r

♡ summary: maybe spencer wasn't so bothered by your meanness

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI,sub!spencer, smut with a hint of plot

wc: 2.2k

Spencer thought he had a pretty good grasp on what he liked. He knew what made him feel good and he knew what he didn't like. He knew he liked you. But there was one little thing. Minuscule, really. It didn't even matter all that much, it's just... sometimes, you happened to be a little...

mean.

"Spence get me a coffee while you're up would you?" You ordered asked, barely looking up from your file, when he had stood up to bring a file to Hotch.

"Sure." He nodded, heading up the stairs to drop off the file and then moving into the kitchen to make your coffee just the way you like. He was stirring a little bit of milk into your mug, black with a little cartoon of snoopy on it, when Derek sauntered into the kitchen.

"Hey, man. Why do you let her do that?"

"Do what?" Spencer asked.

"Order you around. Is there something in it for you?" Derek grins.

"No, I- I just like being helpful."

"Ohh, I get it. You like it. You naught boy." Morgan teased, making Spencer flush red in embarrassment.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Spencer stammered, grabbing your mug and pushing past Derek who wolf whistles after him. He sets the mug down on your desk next to you and you finally look up at him.

"What took so long?" You asked, picking up the mug and taking a sip, staring at him over the lip of the cup.

"I, uh- Derek was just teasing me."

"About what?" You asked and his blush deepened.

"Um, nothing really, it's not important." He said, sitting back at his desk and ducking into his work. You stared at him for a moment before shrugging and going back to your work.

-

You and Spencer were looking through files in the Florida police precinct. The rest of the team was out at crime scenes or talking to victims so the two of you were left to your own devices.

"Do you have the file in McKinley?" You asked.

"Um... uh, yeah right here." He said sifting through the pile of files around him before passing it to you. "Do you think he's a suspect?" Spencer asks.

"Come on, Spencer, don't be stupid." You chuckled sadistically. "You know he's not a suspect. I'm more concerned with his dating history." You said, flipping through the file.

"Why, what does that have to do with the case?" Spencer asked?

"Spence, come on." You stood up, moving to stand behind his chair and dropping the file in front of him. "Look, he was briefly married to Carla Finch before they divorced. Then he moved in with Betty Grey who pops up in The Jackson's file as their maid." You talked slowly as if you were talking to a child. Spencer blushed, feeling the tent in his trousers grow.

"Okay, I got it."

"Yeah?" You stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him. "You sure? Or should I really spell it out for you?" You sassed.

"N-no I get it." Spencer cursed himself for stammering, a blush rising on his cheeks.

"Good boy." You squeezed his shoulder before sitting back down with your file. Spencer shifted in his seat, adjusting his trousers as he avoided looking at you.

-

You and Spencer were having a little dinner with the BAU at your house. You were cooking a nice meal, a little celebration for the case you just finished. Spencer was in the kitchen helping you cook, or rather, trying.

"Spence are you even mixing it?" You asked, glancing into his bowl where the ingredients were messily combined.

"I'm trying." He defended.

"Okay, well, try harder, this has to be a meal, not a bunch of ingredients."

"Okay, I know." You continued flitting around the kitchen, checking oven timers, seasoning, glazing, perfecting, and Spencer did his piece.

"Spencer, get me the oven mitt." You said and he immediately abandoned his task to do what you asked.

"Here you go." He stood next to you, holding it out. You grabbed it, sliding it on your hand. You grabbed his jaw in your other hand, planting a kiss on his cheek before opening the oven. Spencer smiles, going back to his previous task.

~

The BAU arrives and everyone sits down to enjoy dinner. Around halfway through, Derek speaks up.

"Mm, what is in this chicken? It's so good."

"Thank you, I worked hard, so..." You trailed off with a grin and the team chuckled.

"Did you know that chickens are actually very intelligent. They can demonstrate complex cognitive abilities, including the ability to recognize faces, learn from experience, and even perform basic math. They can-" You cut him off, squeezing his thigh and leaning a bit closer to him.

"Later, babe." You murmured. Spencer gave a tight lipped smile and looked down at his food.

"Sorry."

"So, does anyone want dessert?" You asked, standing up. They all gave their agreements and you brought over the cake you made. Everyone had a slice and then the team all sat around the living room together. You were chatting with JJ and next to you on the couch sat Spencer who was debating with Morgan.

"Elle, can you-"

"Shh, hang on." You held up a finger in his direction, not even looking at him as you leaned a little closer to JJ to hear the end of your story. Once she finished you turned to Spencer and Derek. "What do you want?"

"We need you to settle this for us. Is almond milk milk?" Derek asked, completely serious. You stared at them, glancing between him and Spencer.

"What?"

"Simple question. Is almond milk considered milk?" Derek asked again.

"Are you kidding me?" You said.

"Of course it's not milk, it's just almonds, water, salt, emulsifier, sweetener, and vitamins." Spencer exclaimed.

"It's literally in the name! Almond milk! It's milk!" Derek defended.

"It isn't!"

"Oh my god, you're both idiots." You groaned.

"What?" Spencer asks.

"I don't fucking care. This is the stupidest argument I've ever heard."

"Well you don't have to be so mean about it." Morgan says but Spencer stays quiet, shifting in his seat as your hand brushes the side of his thigh.

"I'm not. Have you two heard yourselves? Is almond milk milk? You couldn't think of anything better to talk about?"

"Well..." Derek trailed off and you rolled your eyes, turning back to JJ.

-

Eventually, the night was coming to a close and the team made their way to the door.

"See you at work on Monday." Emily waved goodbye.

"See you guys. And it is milk." Derek said, pointing at Spencer.

"It isn't-"

"Don't. Do not start this again." You interjected.

"Meanie." Derek grinned before leaving and you pushed him out the door, shutting it behind him. Spencer moved to go to the bedroom and you followed.

"Hey, hey, hang on." You grabbed his arm before he could make it to the en-suite. "I'm sorry about earlier, Spence. I wasn't trying to be mean to you, or Morgan… I guess. I know I can be a little mean sometimes but it's out of love, I swear." You were about to apologize some more when you felt Spencer’s hands glide up under your shirt and rest on the dip of your waist. You looked up to see Spencer avoiding eye contact. 

"You can be a little mean." He said so softly you almost didn't catch it. "I don't mind." Oh. Oh. You grinned wickedly. 

"You kinky bastard." Spencer couldn't have gotten redder if he tried and pushed his face into your neck with a defeated groan.

"Shut up." He grumbled.

"Damn, all this time I thought you hated when I was being mean but... you're turned on aren't you?" You teased, pulling back to look at him.

"Maybe..." He was staring at the ground, avoiding eye contact. You reached up, hooking a knuckle under his chin and tilting his head up to look into your eyes.

"Spence."

"Yeah?"

"Get on the bed." His eyes widened and he scrambled to get on the bed, pushing himself back until his back was against the headboard. He watched you saunter to the foot of the bed. "Take your clothes off." You ordered and he quickly did so, yanking his clothes off until he sat in just his boxers, hands curling into the sheets by his sides nervously. You slowly stripped, tossing your clothes on the floor before crawling across the bed to him. He watched with wide, lust filled eyes as you made your way to him, pressing a kiss to his hip, moving up to his stomach. You kissed up his chest to his neck, pausing to suck on his pulse point. Spencer gasped as your teeth grazed his skin, biting down. You pull away, leaning in to brush your lips against his. He whines when you don't kiss him, making you grin.

"Do you want something Spencer?"

"Mhm." He whines.

"Well you have to tell me what you want, I can't read your mind." You teased.

"I want you to kiss me."

"Ask nicely."

"Please kiss me. Please." He begs you. You grinned, finally pressing your lips against his roughly. You swallowed the moan he let out, your legs straddling his hips. You started to grind your core over his clothed cock, feeling wetness pool between your thighs. Spencer whimpered your name. "Please, more, I need- I need more." He gasped in the middle of his sentence.

"More what, baby?"

"More- more... ah!" He bucked his hips when you reached down, gripping his cock through his boxers, beginning to slowly stroke him.

"Use your words, Spence, what do you want?"

"I- I want you to- to ride me." He says, his voice quieting in embarrassment as his face blushed red.

"Hmm... I don't think you're ready yet." You teased, continuing to stroke his length through fabric. Spencer whined letting his head fall back against the headboard as you slipped your fingertips under the waistband, pulling them down his legs. You took his cock in your hand again stroking up and down, painfully slow, taking your sweet times as you watched Spencer's chest heave up and down, sweat forming on his brow. After a torturous five minutes, Spencer whimpered out,

"Please, please, I need more."

"Yeah?" You couldn't help the grin on your face at his desperation. You sped up your movements and Spencer let out a breathy moan. You continued until he was teetering on the edge, his back arching as he rushed out, 'I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!'

And then you stopped. Spencer whined loudly.

"Why'd you stop?" He slurred out in a pleasure drunken haze.

"Well you don't want to come now and ruin everything do you?" You said condescendingly, brushing the hair back from his flushed face.

"You're so mean." He grumbled.

"But you love it, don't you?" You said, kissing his pouty lips. He opened his mouth to retort when you grabbed his cock again. He gasped as you quickly brought him to the edge again, keeping him there with your slow strokes.

"Please, please, please." He changed, squirming with the need to release. His hips bucked up towards your hand and you pulled it away, making him whine once more.

"Am I being too mean?" You asked teasingly.

"No, no, just- please."

"So you're saying I could be meaner?"

"No! No, please, I can't- I can't take it."

"Okay, okay, I'll be nice. For once." You smirked, stripping yourself of your underwear and straddling his lap. You slowly lower yourself onto his length and he gasps. Once he's fully sheathed inside you, you start to move your hips back and forth, making him shudder. You plant your hands on his chest, rocking your hips in a circle. Spencer moans, his head dropping back once more, exposing his throat for you to kiss and suck on. His moans are music to your ears as you grind against him, his hands on your hips.

"Oh god, please, I'm so close, please."

"Do you wanna cum pretty boy?"

"Mhm, I wanna cum, please." He begs.

"How bad?" You asked, grinning.

"So bad, I- I wanna cum, please, I'm so close."

"Okay, baby, come for me." You rolled your hips harder, needing to feel his sweet release inside you. He moans as he finishes inside you, his hips bucking at the pleasurable feeling. You keep riding him, wanting to get yourself off. Spencer whines, feeling very overstimulated. "I'm almost there, I'm close." You moaned breathily. Spencer gripped the sheets in his hands as he whimpered, his chest heaving. You moaned, your head dropping back as you came on his twitching cock buried inside you. You collapsed against him, breathing in his scent combined with the scent of sex that filled the room. He wrapped his arms around you, because no matter how exhausted he was, he would always be delighted to hold you.

a/n: I genuinely couldn't tell if I was writing the reader to be too mean or not mean enough but I think it works :]

[corkinavoid]

DDxDC Cold Fingers

Written for: Flufftober, prompt 7. Hoodie Weather

"I'm home!" Danny's voice comes from the door right after the click of the lock. Tim just hums in response, too caught up in reading the file on his tablet. He really needs to finish the report today, this case has been closed for three days now-

Something cold touches his stomach, and Tim yelps in surprise, kicking his foot on reflex. Danny dodges easily, taking a step back and laughing.

"You and your cold fingers," Tim huffs, sliding down on the couch and tugging the hem of his hoodie lower and over his knees, so his sneaky boyfriend won't have a chance to steal his warmth anymore.

Danny pouts and tries anyway, putting his palms on Tim's knees - he can feel the cold even through his pj-pants - and sliding them up slowly.

"You know I love you, Tim," he says, an innocent look in his eyes and a ton of mischief in his voice. Tim slaps his hands and moves back on the couch, out of Danny's range.

"I do, but keep your hands away from me," he warns. Danny seems to miss the warning entirely, climbing up on the couch and moving his fingers in a menacing manner.

"But it's so cold out there," he whines, trying to get closer, as Tim keeps fighting him, while still holding the tablet in his hands. "I need some warmth. And love. And-"

Tim places his foot right in the center of Danny's chest, keeping him from coming closer. By this time, he is almost laying down on the couch, and the position is really stupid. Just like his boyfriend's grin and his attempts to get his hands under Tim's hoodie.

"And I worked really hard on warming myself up," Tim argues. Which is, actually, true: it's been raining since yesterday, so Tim wisely stayed inside, bundled up in blankets and working from home. Except for patrol, but that's a whole different story. "I'm not sharing it with someone who hadn't put a token of effort in it."

Danny pouts, but sighs and steps away. Tim keeps a suspicious eye on him, but, after a few seconds, he slowly goes back to his report.

A big mistake.

The next moment, Danny all but falls on top of him, and his ice cold hands are under Tim's hoodie and all over his naked stomach and ribs, and Tim is squealing, hitting him on the shoulders and wriggling out of his grip. Danny is laughing, squeezing him in a hug that sends chilly shivers down Tim's spine.

"Cold-cold-cold, Danny, no, stop!" He gasps for air, but his boyfriend just chuckles and showers his face in tiny, quick and cold kisses. Tim shakes his head, dodging and trying to get rid of them just to prove a point.

"But ple-e-ease," Danny whines, still smiling so wide Tim is afraid his face is going to crack.

"You're..." he huffs, out of breath because of all the fighting. And then, breathes out, slumping down and going lax on the couch, "...Insufferable."

Danny's eyes are brighter than stars, and his hair is a mess. Tim runs a hand through it - yup, wet from the rain, because someone forgot his umbrella again - and raises an eyebrow.

"What am I getting in return?"

"My eternal love," Danny answers immediately, his not so cold anymore hands rubbing slow circles over Tim's skin. He shivers again, but this time, it's not because of the temperature.

"Like I don't already have that," he rolls his eyes, but he knows he is smiling.

"M-yeah?" His dork of a boyfriend hums, and then leans down, finally giving him a proper kiss. This one is not cold, it's soft and warm, slowly heating Tim from inside out until he is all out of breath again.

And Danny's hands also feel almost hot under his hoodie.

Tim smiles, wrapping his arms around Danny's neck.

"Welcome home," he greets, content and nearly melting under his boyfriend's touch. Right until a horrible though strikes him, and his face drops, "Wait, where's my tablet?!"

[eclipse-msoul]

"Aren't you an adorable little thing? "

It was a chilling night in every cruel city of Gotham. The shadows had surrounded every street, every corner with a dark tint - not a soul was on the street, well except the vigilantes that protected mother Gotham like her children.

It was getting late, about to strike four am in the early morning. Three vigilantes made their way home. Their footsteps were silent hoping not to wake the innocent woman whose laughter had spread joy into their life.

“ So you've all returned from your night duty…” A familiar quiet whisper and they turned. Blue shocked eyes along with the shade of green turned from wide and alert to warm and relaxed. A sigh escaped the eldest lips. “ Phew, you really scared us there Alfred.”

“ Correction, you got scared, Dickhead.” The second eldest grunted, “ Morning Alfred.”

“ Good morning Master Jason. It seems you finally decided to return early for once.” Alfrd remarked, nudging Jason of his disapproval of staying out of home for so many days.

“ oh, yeah..” Jason stammered, “ Sorry.”

Alfred raised his brow, did the child finally learn to apologize?

Jaosn broke his fantasies into two.

“ It was Dick head's fault!”

“ Jay-” Dick gasped, dramatically, “ How could you!”

“ What Dick got your head- or did your name get your dick? Quit trying to act innocent.” Jason grinned. Oh, Alfred could recognize that smirk anywhere.

The third brother scoated, his body stiffer than anything. His cracking steps caught everyone's attention. Tim let out a yawn, “ I'm going to work on my cases.” Dick and Jason made eye contact, their fight stopping mid way. “ Oh, no you don't you brat.”

Dick came in front of his tired brother and flicked his finger on Tim’s forehead. “ You're heading to bed, little wing.” he said, bending down to his height.

Tim gave his brother an annoyed glance , a sigh came out, “The files aren't going to solve themselves.” Oh, Dick and Jason were not not having it.

“ And you are going to be in an early grave. You want to die so badly? I can make it happen, you know replacement?” Jason spoke. Dick crossed his hand in front of Jason. “ He's right Timmy. You need sleep.”

His blue eyes glanced his younger brother with concern and Tim felt suffocated.

His head turned towards the butler. “Alfred-”his eyes were exhausted, one could make out those terrible black circles that formed over the past days. Alfred gave him an unamused look, “ Off to bed sir.”

“Fine..” Tim grunted, taking off his mask and walking away.

Alfred skillfully caught the tossed mask thrown his way. His eyes were elegant stern, “ Wait.”

Tim's checking feat stops and he looks at Alfred tired. Letting out a yawn, Alfred was not amused. “ Your phone master Tim if you will.” Tim groaned.

“ But-”

“No but sir-”

“Alfred-”

“Master Tim.”

Tim handed over his phone and electronic Jason ratted out to Alfred about. Finally after being thoroughly inspected he could be left alone.

Dick and Jason had gone to their rooms to sleep. Tim didn't want to sleep but his access to the cave was currently in Alfred's hand. He could easily get it but he respected Alfred too much for that.

“ Stupid brothers…” He muffled.

He walked aimlessly through the Wayne Mansion hallways, his eyes glancing up and down the old portraits and artifacts the path decorated. Everything was so out of life, so dull and dread.

He wanted to get back to his work so badly.

“Hmms”

And his feet stopped.

He looked up, and saw himself standing in front of your door. The door was the familiar, warm colour, drawing him in. His head unintentionally came closer and soon it was touching your door frame.

He could make out your snores.

You sounded so peaceful.

" Timmy?" You mumbled half asleep, he his wiped up and he stared daze. Your eyes sinned him from up to down. " Didn't sleep yet ?"

" I wasn't tried."

" Were you?"

He didn't reply.

You sighed under a smile. Tapping on your bed you spoke. " Come here. " He was hesitant but you were always patient with him.

Slowly he made his way to your bed and sat down. Your arm grabbed him neck and pulled him closer. " Goodnight. "you hummed before going back to sleep.

Your hand remained patting on his back. And he felt like he was twelve again - Falling in your arms to a deep sleep.

In the morning, if your favourite chocolates were placed on the table of your bedroom. You definitely didn't send Tim a smile and a big hug.

Giggle-

He could be such an adorable nephew sometimes.

[dinoandguitar]

Hello Kat!! it’s me again lol just wanted to thank u for the mingyu ver. of the new born story 😭😭 loved it sm he the man of my dreams FRRRRR.

Can i request something of how did him and his s/o found out they were pregnant? I think it would be so cute 😭😭😭 tysm in advance!! love ur writing, you’re so good at this <3333

"Do you want pancakes...?"

Husband!KimMingyu x Afab!Reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, Nausea, and other pregnancy symptoms. Mentions of food. Mentions of boobs.

A/N : Hiii Thank you so much for your kind words. Means so much to me. I'm so glad you like my work. Hope you like this one as well! Thank you so much, again. Lots of love x

Masterlist

It all started off with a forgotten coffee…

Mingyu had made it for you, just the way you liked it. But when he brought it to you, you barely glanced at it. “You okay?” he asked gently, setting the glass beside you on the table.

“Yeah,” you said, blinking tiredly at the open laptop in front of you. “Just not really in the mood.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You? Not in the mood for coffee?? Are you possessed?”

You laughed, tossing a pillow at him, but he filed the moment away. Then came being repulsive when it came to food. You pushed away your favourite meals after only a single bite. Then your energy dipped. You were always tired, napping through movies, curling into Mingyu like a sleepy cat.

“You’ve been sleeping so much lately,” he murmured one night, brushing his thumb over your cheek as you lay on his chest.

“Mmm. Can’t help it. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“A cute truck.”

You snorted. “What even is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. But if something’s off, you should-”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled. “I’m probably just run-down.”

He nodded, though a small furrow stayed between his brows.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A few mornings later, everything came crashing down…over eggs.

No like, Literally.

You and Mingyu were makinh breakfast, and the moment he cracked the egg into the pan, the smell hit you. It hit you bad.. You gagged and rushed to the sink, nearly knocking over the orange juice on the way. Mingyu dropped everything, following after you with wide eyes. “Woah..Babe?? What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, wiping your mouth with a towel. “That smell just hit me out of nowhere. That’s never happened before.” He blinked. “Okay… okay. Hold on.” He took your shoulders in his hands, locking eyes. “Have you been feeling sick in the mornings?”

“…Sometimes.”

He blinked again, mouth slightly open. “Are your boobs sore?”

“Wait-what? Mingyu!”

“Just answer.”

“…yes?”

His grip tightened just a little. “When was your last period?”

Your brain stuttered. “Uhh… I think… your birthday weekend?”

“That was six weeks ago.”

You froze. He bolted. Like literally ran to the bathroom.

“Mingyu! Where are you going!?” you called after him.

“Emergency kit under the sink! I knew we still had one!”

You stood there, stunned, still holding a dish towel.

A few minutes later, he returned with the test like it was made of glass. “Wanna do it together?” he asked, voice soft.

You nodded, still in shock, and disappeared into the bathroom. Mingyu paced the entire hallway while you waited for the result, counting ceiling tiles and muttering, “It’s okay, it’s okay, whatever it says, we’ll be okay-oh my God what if it says yes? What if-?”

“Gyu.”

Your voice.

He turned, heart thudding, and you stood in the doorway, holding the stick with trembling fingers. You didn’t have to say anything. Mingyu took one look at the two pink lines and went completely still. And then, slowly, the biggest, most awestruck smile bloomed on his face.

“Wait… you’re pregnant?”

You nodded.

“You’r-you’re pregnant? Like… like with a baby? Like a tiny human?!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of you. “Yes! I think so!”

“Oh my God,” he said, grabbing your face and kissing you, “Oh my God. We made a baby. We’re—oh God, are you okay? Are you feeling okay? Should we sit down? Do you want fruit? Or pickles? Or—wait, is that a thing yet?!”

You laughed harder, tears stinging your eyes. “Gyu! Breathe!”

He sat you down on the couch, ran to get you water, then snacks, then his hoodie, then a stuffed bear from your shelf.

“We need to…no-wait, later… Uh.. Do you want pancakes?”

“Do you want pancakes?” you teased.

“I want a whole bakery now! I want- OH MY GOD! Our kid's gonna be thw cutest baby ever!”

You stared at him. He looked like a golden retriever on energy drinks. His eyes sparkled like Christmas.

You covered your face, laughing and crying all at once. He kissed your temple, then your hand, then your belly…treating it like a sacred space.

“We’re gonna be a family,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I get to be a dad. With you as the mom. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You cupped his cheek, whispering, “You’re gonna be the best Appa, Gyu.”

He choked back a tear and kissed you again, softer this time. “Okay. Let’s go to the doctor tomorrow. And after that… baby name brainstorming and shopping begins.”

“Already?”

“Obviously. We’ve got nine months, and I need to make sure everything is perfect. ‘Cause you are perfect… and so is our baby.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A/N : Hoping you all liked it! My requests are open :)

[alicewritez]

Gossip - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1329

summary: you’re a new recruit at the BAU and a firm favourite of Hotch, which has not gone unnoticed by the team. unbeknownst to the team, you and Aaron are in a relationship and are holding another secret; there’s more to what than meets the eye.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: implied age gap, mentions of student-teacher dynamic, brief mention of pregnancy at the end but nothing too descriptive. it’s just a bit of fun/fluff. feel free to send requests of any criminal minds character you’d like 🩷

You leave Aaron's office after he briefed you on your tasks for the day; still in the probationary period. You're a newly hired profiler and a very clear favourite of Aaron's. You were surprised to hear that everyone thinks of him as a bit of a grump - he's a soft, gentle and kind man underneath the hard and stern exterior.

As you leave his office, everyone turns to look at you and you're flooded with questions. Are you two secretly related? Why does he like you so much? What is going on between the pair of you?

But truthfully, you didn't know yourself, you were just as clueless as the rest of the team. Sure, you could definitely say you harboured a crush for the man, but he had made no attempt to reciprocate those feelings. Not that he really knew about yours anyway.

Derek gives you a gentle nudge, grinning widely as his eyes glisten with mischief and he surprised a laugh. "So, you and Hotch are close?"

You shrug as you sit down at your desk. "I don't know, I suppose so..". Morgan raises an eyebrow at your nonchalant response. "You don't know?"

Penelope chimes in as she weaves her way back through the desks to get to her office. "It's so obvious. You two are clearly close! You're also, like, half his age. How do you know each other?"

You set your files on your desk. "He was one of my teachers back at the FBI Academy."

Both Derek and Penelope's eyes widen at the revelation, not imagining it could have been something as simple as that. David chuckles from his office before moving to stand against the doorframe with his arms folded. "So you're the fresh-faced prodigy we've all been hearing about."

David's smile widens. He knows you're exactly the prodigy the FBI has been boasting about for months. "But it's true, isn't it? You got your Ph.D. at nineteen and you're the youngest person to join the BAU. You were also the youngest to graduate the FBI Academy."

You suck in a breath, "well, you've certainly done your research.. but I only graduated thanks to Hotch..". Derek leans forward, his smile growing wider. "'Hotch', huh? He really is a softie for you, isn't he?"

You furrow your brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we've all noticed that he's much tamer around you." Penelope chimes in again, her voice full of excitement. "Yes! Much softer, too! I've never seen him smile so often until you joined."

"I think you're reading too much into this. He's probably just being nice because I'm new." You wave them off, making a start on the files piled in your desk.

Spencer, the youngest besides you, looks at you skeptically. Sometimes he could be too smart for his own good. "You're not just any new agent, though. You're a brilliant one. You're smart, talented, gifted, and young. And you're a favourite of our unit chief. Who also happens to be a grumpy, intense man who can be hard to impress. I agree with Derek and Penelope, there must be more to the story."

"Well there really isn't." You sigh as you start writing some notes up. Each member look slightly skeptical at your response, but decide to drop the subject for now, seeing how you wanted to just get on with your work. Once you were done with your notes and reports, you excuse yourself to Hotch’s office, knocking gently on the door.

A few seconds pass before you hear his voice call out. “Come in.”

You slowly step inside and close the door behind you, files in hand. Hotch looks up as he hears the door open and close, looking up at you with a small smile. “Finished with your reports already? Impressive, as always.”

“Yeah but,” you pause, “that’s not the reason I’m here.” Hotch raises an eyebrow as he sets down his pen, giving you his full attention. “Then what is it?”

“The team are figuring it out.” You fiddle with the corners of the files in your hand, while Hotch’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Figured it out? Figured what out?”

“Stop playing dumb Aaron… about us..”

Hotch pauses for a moment at your use of his first name, then a sigh escapes his lips before he rubs a hand over his forehead. “I suppose they’re all talking about it, then.”

“Talk of the office yeah.” You sit down, dropping the files onto his desk with a small thud. “I suppose they were bound to find out we were together sooner or later but, I didn’t think it would be this quick.”

Hotch chuckles softly, his eyes focusing on you. Seeing your worried expression, he stands and walks around the desk to stand in front of you. He takes your hands, intertwining your fingers together. “They’re just being nosey. They’ll get over it and move onto the next bit of gossip soon.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “I hope so.” He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, the gesture affectionate and soothing. He knows you don’t like being the constant topic of office gossip. “Hey, look at me.” He tilts your head up gently so that you’re looking directly into his eyes.

You look into his eyes, melting under his touch. He gazes into your eyes and over your face, his expression full of affection. He lifts a hand and tenderly strokes your cheek, his touch sending chills down your spine. “No matter what the others think or say, none of it matters. I chose you. I’ll always choose you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you whisper, “I love you.”

He smiles at your soft admission, his heart swelling with love and affection. He pulls you closer, his arms encircling your waist. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You smile giddily, your arms wrapping around his torso. “You’re being very bold doing this in the office.”

He chuckles, his arms holding you close to him. Despite the risk of someone walking in on the two of you at any moment, he’s too lost in the moment to care. “Can you blame me? It’s my way of showing the others who you belong to.”

You smile softly up at him. “I think we should give them something else to gossip about.” He grins gown at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you have in mind, sweetheart?”

You pull away from him, bringing your hands to rest on your stomach. “We tell them about this.” You and Aaron had found out weeks ago, but chose to keep it quiet for now, not wanting too many to be involved just yet. It was nice that just you and Aaron knew.

His smile widens at your words. He follows the movement of your hands, placing a gentle hand over yours on your stomach. “You think it’s time?”

“We can’t hide it forever.. however much we may want to.” You respond, deep down wanting to keep it to you and Aaron for a while longer, but also knowing the team deserved to know.

He nods, his eyes fixed on the spot where his hand is resting on your stomach. He can’t help but smile wider. “You’re right. But are you ready for all the questions and comments we’re going to get?”

“No, but.. it was all going to come out eventually..”

He nods in agreement, his hand gently caressing your stomach after pulling your hands away. “You’re right. You know, you’re the bravest and most brilliant person I know. Nothing can stop us.” He drops his head down and plants a tender kiss on your forehead, then on your cheek before finally capturing your lips in a loving kiss.

Little did either of you know, the team had all been listening in from outside his office door, hearing every word. But they wouldn’t say anything, they’d let you and Aaron go to them first.

[felibrary]

╭──╯ POUR THE ALCOHOL HEART OUT !

PAIRING: aventurine x reader

SYNOPSIS: they say love comes when you least expect it — does that also apply to former romantic relationships?; alternatively: in which a drunk aventurine gets dumped onto you by his colleagues for you to take care of. 

wordcount: 4.3k (IM CRYING WHAT THE HELL) | content & warnings: consumption of alcohol/drunk aventurine, unestablished relationship (exes), angst if you squint, topaz is referred to here by jelena (her real name), reader is mentioned to wear jewelry, hints/implications of starvation/ed (?)- not eating, insecure!aventurine, kind of rushed and open ending - interpret it however you'd like :-) ; oneshot

tags: @azullumi (hi pookiemon who def wont read this also its 4:20 rn and I'm writing ur note before my synopsis. send help pls)

AUTHORS NOTE: someone praise me for the creative title :p and sorry that this took so long i'm currently experiencing writers block or whatever also just because this is long doesn't mean its good - don't get your hopes up too high 😭 if i said id like this, id be lying. but still that doesn't change the fact that id be crying if this flops..like all of my other recent works..

ding, ding, ding

the shrieking noise of your doorbell invades your ears, ringing continuously. it's annoying — unbearable even, and to worsen things you've been stuck in this predicament for the past 2 minutes now. 

with your head buried in between your fuzzy cushions, you try to drown out the noise thus completely ignoring the way your phone buzzes on the nightstand next to you. 

hopefully, your neighbors won't file a complaint about loud noise against you, but that's a problem for tomorrow. right now you're faced with a worse matter: making those who interrupted your sleep leave. 

do these people not know what a peaceful slumber is? (apparently not when they have the time to pay you a visit during this time.) 

almost as if your prayers were heard, the noise dies down and you sigh in relief. lazily you shift around in your bedsheets to be in a more comfortable position, nuzzling your head into the cool pillows once more.

but just when you think that the people have finally left, the agitating noise starts once again, and you have to stop yourself from letting out an irritated groan.

slowly you roll yourself out of the comfort of your bed. now sitting on the edge of your bed you’re contemplating; dwelling if you should really stand up now and open the door. 

it could be a bunch of strangers, and who knows which danger will encounter you.

you let out a defeated sigh. whatever it may be, it can't be that bad. turning sideways you try to search for your phone, and upon finding it your lips curl up into a small triumphant smile.

your fingers hover over the buttons on the side before pressing a finger onto the power button. upon seeing the bright light you blink a bunch of times, lashes pressing against each other in a repetitive motion to get used to the light first.

(2) missed calls by an unknown caller ID +xxxxxx: mx. [name] please be so kind as to open the door. thank you.  +xxxxxx: it’s urgent, please.  +xxxxxx: would you be so kind as to do us this favor, for his and our sake? 

a bunch of notifications light up on your screen but you decide to ignore them. instead, you use your phone as a flashlight to guide you through the dark of your apartment. 

who in the right mind decides to ring your doorbell at this time? and who in the right mind chooses to open the door despite the possible dangers? (you.)

despite the door serving as a separation between your apartment and the hallway, you can clearly hear two people bickering outside your apartment door.

“..ritas, hold him tighter. you're letting him fall,” the voice belongs to a woman, and she seems to be concerned about someone, that's the most you can tell.

“i am not. it's not that dark to tell that that is clearly your arm which is slipping from his body,” this time a man speaks up. his voice is hoarse and stern as he corrects the woman. 

well, this is going to be fun. you take a deep breath before opening the door, let's just hope for the best.

as you open the door, you're met with two unfamiliar faces. 

amidst the dimly lit hallway stands a woman with white hair and a red streak on her bangs. her eyes look like shards of crystals that have been puzzled together, simply magnificent. 

next to her stands a tall man, his golden eyes are hidden beneath his dark bangs which stick to his forehead, nevertheless, the warm light that radiates from the pair of honey-colored eyes shines through the depths of the night.

and squished in between them is someone else. hanging from above the ceiling there are a few lamps that adorn the hallway. the warm light that they shed lands upon the back of the person's head making their golden hair look like a shiny coin that swims amidst the ocean.

from the clothes and their silhouette, you'd figure that they're a man, however, you can't be sure due to their face being hidden.

so many questions race through your mind, who are these people? do they know what time it is? and what are they doing in front of your door? 

but the only thing you can utter at this moment is a curt and groggy: “sorry, how can i help you?”

an apologetic smile finds its way onto the woman's lips, and this time you're able to take a proper look at her. 

there are dark circles surrounding her colourful eyes and you can only wonder why she's up so late when instead she should be getting well-deserved sleep.

“apologies, how rude of us to not introduce ourselves. you can call me to- jelena. and next to me is doctor veritas ratio,” 

the man she tilts her head towards only nods in acknowledgment which you can only return. “well, it's nice to meet you, jelena and veritas. is there something you need from me?”

both names feel familiar to your ears as if you've heard them once or twice before, although you're not sure where you've heard them.

“and, that in the middle might be who?” your eyes drift over the person whose arms are draped around the backs of topaz and veritas.

“that's exactly why we're here,” hearing veritas’ voice makes you look up in surprise. “we're aventurine’s colleagues and we brought him here for you to take care of him,”

this has to be some sort of dream if not a nightmare at worst.

you're completely awake now, with furrowed eyebrows and an awkward smile on your lips you stare at the person — well aventurine as you now know, in utter disbelief. 

the only thing you're able to choke out at this very moment is a strained. “i’m sorry?” 

“you've heard me the first time, i don't like repeating myself — you're supposed to take care of that guy of a nuisance here.” veritas nudges aventurine’s shoulder to make his point clear. 

your ex and his colleagues standing in front of your door at maybe like two am in the morning had to be some sort of torture-like fever dream. 

“no, with all due respect: no.” you quickly mutter with gritted teeth before trying to slam the door shut as soon as possible. 

jelena, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be a fan of your idea and quickly puts her foot into the space between your door and the hallway as a way to stop you from closing the door.

“i..” she starts, but you notice the heavy side-eye she receives from veritas that makes it known that she's not the only one who's tired of aventurine and his shenanigans, and thus makes jelena quickly correct herself. 

“well, we know that it's unbelievable — unbelievably stupid if you might even say so, but hear us out okay?” she pleads.

she's making it hard for you to say no, so the only thing you can do is lean against your doorframe and listen to her. 

(what other choice do you even have when veritas is shooting burning stares right through you.)

jelena sighs embarrassedly. “aventurine invited us out to drink today, i’ve — no, we have found it suspicious and weird right off the bat, but he insisted and the tab was on him so it would've been rude not to go.” 

“well, our instincts were right because he kept mourning and babbling our ears off about how he'd be drinking this glass of wine with you on your guys' anniversary today instead of this bar,” jelena begins before taking a small pause as if contemplating what to tell you next.

her eyes take the shape of crescent moons and she proceeds to press her lips into a strained smile before continuing. “it was kinda endearing to watch at the beginning but over time it became unbearable,” she murmured more to herself than to you.

you can only try to imagine the scene. aventurine with red-tinted ears and a flushed face babbling about how he misses you. 

great, how dreamy.

veritas coughs to bring the attention to him, snapping you out of your thoughts “well, after that he fell flat onto the counter and we thought that he had suddenly fainted,” he adds. “until he then started whining about how he wanted to go home. so here we are.” 

now you're just confused. now, why is he here again?

“how does home refer to my place now? his place is or at least was much bigger than mine,” you scoff skeptically before realizing that that have might come over as rude. “sorry, i’m just confused and don't see any connections here. also, how'd you know where i live oh, and my number?”

jelena mutters out a small it's fine and veritas only sighs. “so you see, we tried to drive him back to his place but when we arrived he started complaining that he wants to go home — you.” 

“he started pulling out his phone and set your address on the GPS before demanding or well ordering us to drive him to your place,” he lets out an exasperated sigh upon explaining. 

“as for your number, due to his phone still being on we went through his contact list and found you right on top — saved at his emergency contact. endearing, really, ” veritas remarks sarcastically.

you're surprised — pleasantly surprised. aventurine still thinks of you? 

“correction: i was the one who drove.” jelena suddenly objected as she threw veritas a heavy side-eye.

“yes, but it's still us — we were the ones who brought him here and drove together to this place despite you being behind the wheel,  jelena,” veritas scoffs. 

“in whose car did he purge into? correct, mine. my whole car reeks of vomit now,” jelena shudders upon remembering the sight of aventurine throwing up. 

“well yes but that doesn't change the fact tha-” veritas isn't able to finish his sentence, you stop him from doing so. interrupting his complaint with one of your own.

“okay, if bickering is the only thing the both of you came here for, i don't wanna hear it. i’ll take him in, but just for tonight, is that clear?” your offer is simple. you take care of aventurine and they stop their banter so you can continue sleeping. 

it honestly benefits them more than it benefits you. 

“a nice compromise which went easier than i thought.” jelena’s face lightens up with a triumphant smile. “we'll leave him in your care then.” 

they dump aventurine onto you and he slightly topples before landing in your arms, head buried in the crook of your neck and arms tangled over your shoulders.

his warm breath fans over your neck and the close proximity makes you stiffen in place. it's not like you haven't felt this sensation before, but this time it's under different circumstances.

it's not the same as back then.

as soon as they leave aventurine in your care they bid their goodbye and leave. 

aventurine’s flushed cheeks gleam pink in the warm light, his breath tickles the exposed skin on your collarbone which almost makes you drop him.

but your arms cling onto him. grip firm and steady as you claw your hands over his clothed back, steadily holding onto him as if scared that once you lose hold of him, he'll slip out of your grasp (once more.) 

anxiety cowers at you like a child who's lost their parents and is helplessly seeking for them in a crowd of people. 

hand scarily empty as its eyes sway through the sea of people, blurred faces who will never hold one’s hand like your parents once did.

despite meeting several people who could hold your hand, whisper sweet nothings into your ear — love you; teach you what love is.

his hand is the only one you'd wrap yours around, no matter the stains and scars it leaves.

you continue to cling to him — you always did. 

well, this is certainly going to be a fun night to remember.

———————

golden rays of sunshine that beam with warmth seep through the curtains and proceed to bathe aventurine’s lying figure in the warm essence.  

the sensation tickles his skin and he lets out a muffled groan, shutting his eyes several times before eventually indulging in the morning tenderness. slowly (and after many attempts) his lilac eyes are used to the brightness. 

he’d be lying if he said that being engulfed in the luminous light wasn’t overwhelming — especially as someone who’s gotten it taken away early on and has only later been introduced to it once again. 

(although the sparkle that once resided in his eyes was long gone, there was no longer a child whose eyes once glimmered in joy upon being caressed by the sunlight.)   

being embraced by the warmth and its radiating light, he can’t help but feel like a trapped and helpless stage actor. one who despite fleeing and running away, continuously gets followed by the spotlight, thus standing in the limelight and having to perform a show for the people who are seated together in the rows below.

regardless of the people watching him, applauding for him, praising him, he feels utterly empty — empty and alone. 

although there were people to assist him on stage, co-workers around him who offered help which he reluctantly also somewhat relived accepted.

the emptiness that houses within him remains.

(perhaps he has become so accustomed to the feeling of being alone that it has been a while since he’s ever felt lonely.)

as soon as his eyes have adjusted to the brightness of his surroundings, they widen in shock. 

this surely must be a dream, right? he promised himself that he’d never return to this place despite longing to see it you again.

his eyes quickly flicker around the room in confusion. how’d he get here? this wasn’t his room or well it technically was. it’s the room he once shared with you.

it’s no wonder he’s slept this well. 

his once sleepless nights which were haunted by nightmares and resulted in hourless sessions of just staring at his ceiling, eyes trailing after the fan as it spun around in circles until the chirping of the birds outside awakened him, turned into calm nights after moving together with you.

a cloud of nostalgia fogs his mind as he recalls how you never understood why he insisted on moving into your apartment despite his being much bigger. (he supposes his place never gave him that certain sense of belonging that he sought after.)

aventurine’s eyes dart through your room to search for any changes that might have occurred.

the books you always read before going to sleep (sometimes even reading him a snippet of the part where you’re currently at) are still messily stapled on your nightstand. 

he smiles fondly before continuing his search, eyes wandering through the room and halting as he sees all the jewelry he’s bought for you, all tidily arranged on your vanity.

which contrasts with all the sticky notes that are loosely hanging off your mirror and the trinkets he's brought you from other planets that are messily splayed out on your desk.

his pink eyes pause as he catches sight of the chair next to the bed. his clothes that you “borrowed” (he always found it endearing how you walked around in his clothes as if you owned them — not like he minded) once and never gave back even after the breakup, sit neatly folded on the white chair next to your bed. 

everything is kept in place and remains the same as before: the books, the trinkets, the jewelry, and well.

his eyes drift from the chair down to his body. you changed his clothes for him.

the uneasiness that lingers in his chest slightly melts away, slowly and torturously like wax dripping off a candle.

you didn’t throw the things he gifted you away.

aventurine slips out of the covers that were once his, the sheets slightly rustle and leave behind creases as he sits at the edge of your bed. with the amount of force that aventurine uses to press his elbows against his knees it almost feels like daggers piercing into his flesh, and with his head buried between the palms of his hands, he can only laugh — a mocking grin plasters itself on aventurine’s face.

it’s ridiculous, almost pathetic the way he’s relieved. he has no right to feel so after being the one who suggested the breakup. 

he doesn’t even understand how he ended up here. jelena and veritas insisted on bringing him home, so why’s he here? everything from the former night is mushed up and blurry, he doesn’t recall the reason why he was brought here. 

neither does he understand why you offered him a place to stay, he feels like a dirty pup shamelessly returning to its owner after choosing to abandon them.

aventurine sighs before slipping into the pair of clothes that have remained untouched in the past few minutes. the shirt is a bit bigger than expected and the pants hang loosely off his hips but the scent remained the same. from the moment he let you borrow his clothes to now, the present the smell is one he’s all too acquainted with — his own. 

the only thing that he can picture at this moment is his clothes rotting in the depths of your closet, long forgotten as they get engulfed by the scent of your clothes.

his hands are hidden in the pockets of the pair of pants to conceal the way they’re trembling, fingers itching as they anxiously tap against his thigh. 

he’s nothing but a coward. 

he takes a deep breath before getting up, the goosebumps that prickle on his skin, the clenching of his teeth, and the constant urge to just storm out and leave now — they’re all suffocating him. gnawing at his skin like a rabid animal chewing the remaining flesh of a dead body.

as he enters the living room, his coat draped over the chair he’s standing in front of and you are the first things he spots. 

(as if you haven’t occupied his mind the entire time whilst being away from you — there isn’t a single day in his entire life where he doesn’t mourn after people. it’s pathetic, really, the way nostalgia torments him, but he’s a man with nothing on his hands other than the scars of the past. so what other choice does he have?)

you look up from your phone, eyes flickering around the small room before landing on the end of the dining table but aventurine’s eyes are glued to the neatly wrapped flower bouquet lying in the middle of the desk, perfectly lying there on the white table cloth.

nausea bubbles in his stomach. have you already moved on? he shouldn’t care — he’s not supposed to care, but he can’t help it. 

he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and a wave of relief washes over him, he snaps out of his thoughts and follows your gaze, and only then does he notice the plate of assorted fruits and the bowl of steaming soup, standing on your dining table. 

as if noticing his hesitance you reluctantly speak up. “you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, i won’t force you to,” the smile you give him is somewhat strained and the way your eyes quickly fly down his body doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

his eyes widen in surprise and his immediate response to that is to quickly seat himself on the chair. “no..it’s fine,” aventurine gulps. “no need to check me out either. i’ve always liked your homecooked meals a lot, no?” he chuckles as if trying to throw a joke into the room that’ll lift the tense mood that he’s created.

(he hopes that now his body is at least somehow concealed by the table so you won’t have to stare at him any longer. he’s not worth looking at.)

“thank you for the food,” he mumbles under his breath and if you hear it you don’t acknowledge it. aventurine stares down at the food, contemplating what to do. he picks up the metal spoon lying next to it and dips it into the soup. 

breathe in, breathe out.

breathe in, breathe out.

breathe in, breathe out — you’ll be fine.

aventurine continues to stir the soup inside the bowl, sometimes lifting its contents only to let it droop down into the soup again. “so, mind telling me what happened yesterday?” 

your eyes lock from across the table and you give him a deadpan expression. “you seriously don’t remember?” the little smirk that quirks at your lips is contagious and he can’t help but smile a bit himself.

“well obviously not, when i’m asking,” he remarks back sarcastically. 

he missed bickering with you. it felt so familiar, so nostalgic — so right.

you put your phone down on the table and start explaining. “well to put it short, your colleagues, jelena and veritas if i recall correctly, brought you here because you were drunk since you kept whining about wanting to go home and well considering me as your home.”

oh.

“right and as soon as i brought you into my place you purged all over your clothes and my floor” you quickly add. “but don’t worry i washed it for you, it’s behind you.” 

“ah really? how rude of me,” he utters bashfully. “apologies then, as compensation, i’ll head home now and send some credits to your bank account although perhaps that might not be a good idea. seeing your partner’s ex (the word lies bitter on his tongue) still lurking around in their home and even sending them credits — that’d be shameless of me. apologies.”

you let out a small laugh that slightly lifts the uneasiness that has been resting on his shoulders. “aventurine, what are you even talking about?” although you seem to find fun in this, your voice is filled with confusion.

the metal spoon he has been firmly gripping for the past few minutes sags against the bowl as aventurine points at the flower bouquet sitting on the neat tablecloth. “the flowers,” he murmurs to himself more than to you.

“oh,” you laugh. “i bought them for myself,” you admit sheepishly before getting up to unwrap the bouquet, revealing a beautiful arrangement of colorful flowers.

you quickly scurry into the kitchen to fill up a vase with water before gracefully setting the flowers down into the now with water-filled vase. “they’re pretty, aren’t they?” you admire the flowers with a smile on your face. “very pretty indeed.” aventurine smiles as his gaze is focused on you.

only then as you rearrange the flowers, making sure that they won’t sag over the rim of the vase, he notices the ring you’re wearing. a promise ring.

aventurine blinks a few times to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming, but he’d recognize this ring everywhere. how could he not when it’s the same ring that adorns his ring finger? 

“is there any particular reason you kept the jewelry i gifted you?” his gaze drifts to the ring that is in full display and which is glowing under your living room light. 

your eyes that were focusing on the flowers just now, suddenly look down to peek at the ring. “well, it’d be a shame to throw it away. it was expensive after all,” you express truthfully.

“but you also kept the sticky notes i wrote for you every morning in your room — you kept everything i gifted you. the pressed flower bookmarks, the shitty handmade bracelet, my clothes — everything,” he notes.

your response is nothing but short. “oh, uh yeah.”

why? he wants to ask but he knows that trying to force an answer out of you is no good, if you don’t want to respond you needn’t.

“i guess i missed having you around. the things you got me served me as a reminder that you're somehow still with me,” despite your admission being no louder than a whisper it clearly reaches aventurine’s ears.

but he’s in no position to tease you — he’s way too stunned for that, as if not being able to believe your words.

he feels like a small child who discovers that the fables and tales adults tell aren’t real, that those were made-up stories with made-up people which he so desperately tries to deny.

“i see,” he mumbles. “yeah,” you nod your head and look away. 

the awkward silence that follows is unbearable — it’s killing him. 

to know that you still think about him, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least the tiniest bit happy but he also knows that it’s ironic and that he shouldn’t feel like this.

as if you’re able to read his mind you snap him out of his thoughts with a mere question. “aventurine, what’s on your mind?”

“you always knew me too well for my own liking,” he chuckles in defeat, and in return, you can only smile.

“but, i suppose, i’m just..relieved?” he admits while staring down at the untouched soup that reflects his pleased expression.

“relieved about what exactly?” you ask curiously, head tilted to the side as you await his response. “relieved that i’m not the only one who thinks of the other,” he smiles, letting out a small sigh when doing so.

“so you were jealous or what?” you jokingly scoff. the smirk on your lips is mischievous, but your eyes deceive you. they’re soft as they stare down at him.

“don’t ask questions to which you already know the answers to.”

END NOTE: as yall can tell i seem to enjoy writing aventurine and alcohol together (ref. wyws & ttol) does the "a" in aventurine atp stand for angst or alcohol...(both) /lh

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[kiyzukiy]

Cat distribution system

Sypnosis: Life is hard as it is, so all we all wish for is some comfort in a furry friend. No one accounted for life playing funny tricks so what would happen if you find Caleb in a trash dumpster?

Tags: reader x Caleb, fluff, Cat!Caleb, crack?, funny (hopefully)

A/N: I got inspired by another fic I found on here with a similar flow. If anybody knows what I'm talking about please tag that person. I don't want to disregard any original ideas! >.<

As always, if I missed any tags please tell me.

Word count: 4.8k

I hope you enjoy <3

Divider by me

You groan as you stretch yourself out. Sitting too long is always such a hassle. Tired bones and you felt like your muscles have calcified. If you wouldn't have moved now someone could have mistaken you for a stone statue the way you were perched at your work desk and scrolled endlessly through files. 

Doesn't matter now though. The clock finally releasing you from your workload. Tomorrow was also a day and the files wouldn't suddenly grow legs and run away. No need to do overtime today. 

You rubbed your face. Trying to shake off your exhaustion and slowly blinking the dryness in your eyes away. One more stretch that let out a satisfying crack in your back and you stood up. Packing your things together and making sure that this time you also took your thermal mug with you. Waving your coworkers goodbye you made your way home. Head already in the clouds with your game. Planning your time out of doing your dailies and just admiring your favourite fictional man. A pity that they don’t build men like that in real life.

The chill evening air hitting your face made you shiver the first step you took outside. Cuddling up in your coat and wrapping your scarf up just a tad higher you began your track home. 

Fuck it's cold, you think to yourself. When would spring arrive and you didn't have to be out in this freezing weather anymore? Don't get me wrong, winter is something beautiful and when the snow hits the landscape it was akin to a fairy tale setting. The sunsets even more stunning with the low light and making everything glisten. Colours spreading over the horizon in deep violet and heartwarming orange. Frozen over roads just a bit slippery which made your way to work a small adventure when you played the game “do I land on my bum today or not?”. But enough was enough. 

You wanted the sun back in your days having had your fill with this gloomy grey cloudscape. Waking up when it was still dark out and going home when night greets you again was draining more of your energy than you liked to admit. What made matters worse wasn't even that it didn’t affect only you, but that the melancholic and cold atmosphere was spreading slowly over to the people around you. It was in the way minor inconveniences would grate the nerves of your colleagues or the small tick of the jaw of your boss. The forced smile in service people who normally would make it seem genuine. Point was: everyone was fed up and ready for the seasons to change. When was the last time you saw the sun actually? Was it last October? Two weeks ago? You don't remember anymore. Just- just a long time ago. Pretty sure. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but all you wanted was to feel the warmth again and getting your vitamin D in. 

A rustle next to you snapped you out of your self-pitying lament. Confused you turned your head to the right. Nothing. Just a dark alley. A car passed you by on your left, shortly illuminating a sliver of said alley. A dumpster could be made out but nothing exciting. You shrugged your shoulders and took one step, but another rustle stopped you once more. A sigh left you. Would you really go investigate? You swore this is how the stupid character out of a horror movie always died. This exact way but the curiosity in your mind and veins tried their very best to lure you into that alley to go look. One peak wouldn't hurt right? A man who wanted to drag you into it would have done it by now. There wouldn't be a more perfect chance than right now. The way you stood there like a fine lady in bewilderment. 

This is what you get when you forget the one time your headphones at home. If it would be any other day, you would have continued on. Having passed this particular alley countless times and in daylight it wouldn’t be as scary as it was in this instance. Hopping from one foot to the other, you were uncertain. Would you really? You also could just…leave. Never finding out and always wondering. Spending sleepless nights wondering what could have been in this very alley that made these rustling noises. Or you would forget about it as soon as tomorrow morning came. Maybe it was just the wind that blew over a leaf or bag. On the other hand this could be a cool story you could tell your friends about. Or you could get mugged. 

Alright fuck it. You go. Otherwise you would stand out here in the cold for the next ten minutes pondering about if this decision will have negative consequences on your life. 

Tentatively you took one step into the alley. Instantly your common sense kicked in and pressed adrenaline into your veins. My god, this is the way you would die. Mentally have written your testament and who you would leave behind what you took another step. 

“Hello?”, you asked hesitantly into the night. Frustrated with yourself you grunted. Naturally a serial killer would answer you out of the alley with “yes, behind this dark corner. I made sandwiches, you want one?”. 

You had half a mind just turning back around again, but as if on cue another rustle. This time followed with a bang out of the dumpster. You let out a breath of relief. Oh by the gods, it was just a stray animal…or was it? Nevertheless the strong grip of fear that held your breathing back let a bit loose and you made your way to the dumpster with sure steps. 

Your heart clenched in your chest at the thought that maybe an unlucky racoon got trapped in the dumpster and would meet an unsightly end in one of the waste disposal sites. Without a second thought you opened it and peered inside. Barely enough light from the street lights flooded one side of the dumpster and you saw- nothing. It was pitch black. Quickly you patted your pockets. First coat and then your pant pockets for your phone. One hand fished for it and rather clumsy you unlocked it to get to your flashlight. Now with your weapon of light you peered inside once more and this time you saw- trash. At first. A lot of it, nothing out of the ordinary for a dumpster in a lived in neighborhood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement and following it was your hand with your phone. 

“Naaww you poor guy. How did you end up in here?”, you cooed after you spotted a brown cat that had a completely black right arm. Its fluffy fur was completely damped and it looked very dirty. Also something you could expect of a stray cat. Slowly and cautiously you held out your hand to it as to not scare the cat away. 

“Come here. Let me help you”, you said in a low voice. The cat looked at you, then at your hand, rather unimpressed. In true cat manner it seemed like it wanted to say “I don't need your help puny little human”. You giggled. 

“Come on. I don't bite and as soon as you are out of the dumpster I leave you alone. What do you say?”, you tried to reason with the cat as if it could understand you. To your astonishment it acted like it did. Suspicious of your hand the cat sniffed it first. Deeming you not an immediate threat it rose up from its position and stepped closer to your hand and yourself. Slowly you dragged your hand to a spot where you could easily grab the cat and lift it out. 

“Alright buddy. I’m going to grab you now so don't make me regret it by scratching me”, you spoke more to yourself than the cat. You really didn't want to go to the next doctor and get a tetanus vaccine in. The cat still unimpressed with you followed your movement though. Securely you wrapped one hand around its ribcage and the other, after putting your phone away, beneath its hind paws and scooped it up and over the dumpster back on the ground. 

“There ya go”, you smiled down at the cat. “Didn’t even hurt.” 

The cat looked up at you and only then do you notice its blue eyes that really dipped into a deep violet. A splatter of yellowish green accompanied the irises. For such a beautiful cat to be a stray, you almost didn't believe it. 

Also, the cat didn't move. You fully expected it to dash away as soon as its paws were back on the ground but it just stood in front of you. Almost like it was waiting for something. 

“Go on now. Go home”, you crouched down and offered your hand again. “Or don't you have a home? Such a beautiful cat as yourself.” 

The cat once more went to your hand. Starting to purr as it rubbed its head against your hand. Demanding pats. 

“Yes”, you giggled. “Such a handsome cat. And friendly too. You must have a home, right?” 

The cat meowed as if it tried to answer you. Your heart broke a bit. For sure this handsome fellow had a home. As you absentmindedly patted the cat all over you looked around. You felt no collar around the cat’s neck and wondered who it could belong to. Thinking about what to do next, the cat started to rub itself around you. Bumping into you and almost pushing you out of balance. 

“Alright, alright”, you began patting it in earnest again. 

“So, how about I take you home with me for now and then just put up missing posters, hm? Is that a plan?”, you asked the cat. Meowing back at you, you took it as a yes to your plan. Inwardly you celebrated. The cat distribution system finally chose you! Maybe not for long but you now were in the possession of a new cuddly friend. You might not have anything at home but that could be easily fixed. This beautiful fellow also might not stick around for long but for however long you swore you would take the best care of him. Her? It? Right, you never ascertained which gender the cat had. Eh, whatever. As long as you didn't get attached to it and without much pain could give it away again, all was good. Right. Right? 

Future you will hate you for this decision. 

The cat stretched, walking around you once more and then pawing at your knees as if to beg to get picked up again. Opening your coat and scooping it up from the ground, you fulfilled the cat’s wishes. 

“My god. You are really friendly”, you mused to yourself and scratched the cat's head to which in return it purred even louder. 

Together you made your way out of the alley. The dumpster forgotten and your way home just a bit warmer. 

“Don’t run away, okay?”, you said softly to the cat before untangling it from your torso. On your track home it made itself very comfortable on you while you carried it. Its head often flitting from one place to another. You blamed the new height of perspective for the cat's behaviour. Couldn’t blame it, really. Imagine yourself getting hoisted up five times your own height and then carried around places that you never seen before. Now that would be an adventure. For the most part the breathing was calm so you didn’t worry that much. More surprised at the fact how the cat didn’t struggle once to get free. Just enjoying the free ride. 

Cat on the ground in front of the door of your apartment you dove one hand into your bag, trying to find your keys that you carelessly flung inside. With half an eye on the cat all the time. Not that it would decide in the last moment to make a run for it. Granted that it wouldn’t come far or could cats push open an apartment complex door? Probably not or the coincidence would just be big enough that one of your neighbors decided to go out in that exact moment as well. 

You shook your head off these thoughts. Cat was still on the ground and eyeing your door expectantly. Seemingly cat wasn’t even thinking about going anywhere but inside your apartment and here you were already thinking about all the different possible scenarios that would ensue when it ran away. Silly you. 

Key victoriously between your fingers you finally unlocked your home and cat dashed inside like the devil was after it. Puzzled you stood at your door for a bit. 

“Alright? Well…make yourself at home, I guess”, slowly trudging you went after it into your own four walls. Serotonin tingling your brain with the happiness that cat was very excited to explore its new home. 

Exhaustion slowly made itself apparent. Clawing at you and dragging your already tired body. Exhaustion and hunger but motivation wasn’t nowhere near you to make yourself food instantly. Cat on the other hand was curiously looking around. Taking in its new environment. Sniffing, patting around and jumping on shelves to get a better view. 

“Don’t throw it down, I swear to god”, you warned as you spotted cat near a vase with flowers inside. Body despite the sluggish feeling ready to jump to save the vase from its crashing end. Expertly the cat avoided the glass and danced around anything that was not stable. You let out a breath of relief. Automatically your body carried to your couch in the living room on which you rather unceremoniously slumped down on. Ah, finally home. 

_____

How the fuck did he get here? One moment he was in the deepspace tunnel, conducting a new mission and the next he had four paws. Trash surrounded him, it was fucking dark too. He could make out the sound of cars passing by and people walking on the street. Where was he? To his own surprise he wasn’t that cold until he realised that he had fur as well and when he tried to speak only a meow came out. In no way in hell did he turn into a cat, did he? No. What? 

In his moment of utter disorientation, a lid opened and a beautiful face peered down to him. Down? Ah, right. The cat thing. 

Caleb watched you fumble for your phone only to be blinded the very next moment by the harsh light of a phone flashlight. It took several blinks to get his bearing again. You reached out your hand to him. Now this was getting ridiculous. “Poor guy”? “How did he end up here”? Sweetheart, that's what he should be asking. Who the fuck are you anyway and why did you open up this-? Where was he? Is this a trash dumpster? Oh his fucking gods. If he could sigh in annoyance, he would. 

Caleb eyed your hand suspiciously. The smart move would be to take it. Considering everything, he couldn’t get out of this dumpster alone and what could be worse is that, tomorrow the dumpster could be emptied. Nor did he trust humanity enough that another friendly soul would come and pick him up or at least get him out. You were his only shot right now, even if he didn’t want to admit it. So? He sniffed you. Creepy in his own mind but he was a cat now. The least he could do was to make it look convincing. 

You pulled your hand closer to yourself as if to lure him out of his corner. As if he wouldn’t just go to you willingly. How long would he need to put up with this act? Irritation flared up within him. This is so beneath him. 

Scratch you? Yeah, why not actually? Instead he let him get picked up gently. Now was not the time to bite the hand that was feeding him.

The moment was faster over than he could comprehend. Swoop- and he was back on the ground. Caleb looked around. Alright, an alley and- you. In your full glory. Black pants, hair tied up, thick scarf around your neck, an open hanging coat and warm looking boots. Beautiful, pretty and cozy looking. Not a threat. A quick scan and he was certain you carried no gun. Not his worst choice, he thought. 

Let's make a run for it. What do cats normally do to get pity? Humans usually die to pet them. Swallowing his pride he went to you. Did he like to get touched? Sensitive question. If it would be his childhood friend, he wouldn’t mind but a complete stranger? In this form no less? God, that needed willpower and he was already running low because of this situation. Please let this all be a dream and he would wake up in a few moments in Skyhaven. 

“A home?”, yeah in the arms of someone else but that was not here. Just where in heaven sake was he? Get this over with, woman and just take him with you. 

Please, he meowed. Inwardly he sighed. Good lord…

Mercy was shown and you actually picked him up. Giddy and a happy smile on your face you wrapped him up in your coat. It was warm and against his own doing he began to purr at the sensation. Okay so maybe this wasn’t as bad as he imagined. Distracted a bit and sleep pulling at him, he let himself enjoy this small reprieve for a bit. 

Lights flitted by behind his eyelids and he looked around. First fact? This is not Linkon nor Skyhaven. Second, he didn’t recognise anything. If this was in fact a dream, his subconsciousness was running wild today. The only thing grounding him was you. Your warmth, your soothing touch and your somewhat familiar scent that he confused with that of MC. It wasn’t as overwhelming or confusing when he could nuzzle up to you for now. Just shortly, only for a bit. To get his mind back on track, you know? 

The walk you both took, well- you took with him being carried, was not long lived. You said something but he didn’t pay any attention. Something something not running away something something. Where would he go anyway? For christ sake he was a cat right now. First thing he needs to get rid off anyway. Second thing was to get back home. Like home. Once more begging to the skies above that this was a dream. A very vivid one. Caleb couldn't decide if this was a nightmare or not. Was he maybe more exhausted than he wanted to admit? Did he have an accident on his expedition and was now in a coma? Please let it be just that. Maybe also just cognitive training done by Ever. What does he know? 

He heard keys jiggling, a soft clicking of a lock falling back and then a door opening. The ash-brown haired man…uh cat made a run for it. Into the apartment! He stopped in his tracks to get everything in. Analysing your furniture and layout. There was one floor length window that opened up to a small, cozy balcony. A couch in an open space that he guessed was your living room. With a TV mounted to the opposite side of the couch. A lengthy cupboard underneath. On it a few nick-nacks: a charger cable connected to a tablet, a switch console and a bunch of books. The couch itself was decorated with plushies and cushions rounded up with a throw blanket. Some of the walls accented by warm pastel colours to widen the otherwise small space. He peered down one corridor and made out two doors. Guessing one of them was a bathroom and the other your own. 

Caleb inspected your walls. The one on the far end and left of the couch was more bookshelf than wall. Filled up almost to the brim but he spotted also there nick-nacks in between. He jumped on the couch arm and continued on another shelf. Slowly getting closer to your kitchen area. Once more he heard you say something. Bla bla not throwing down something. He had half a mind to fuck with you, but again not the opportunity to bite the hand that feeds him. Curious what you meant in the first place he looked back and felt the vase against his body. God it was so weird to see his fluffy legs and a tail too. Dirt clung to the fur and he wondered what he did before he regained his consciousness in that dumpster. But better not test what it would take to make you throw him out back on the street. For all he could know, you could be the one with answers. If not, he could still leave. 

Rustling and then a dull thumb. Caleb once more looked back. You all but collapsed on your couch and let out a sigh. Tiredness was written all over your face. Your body practically radiated exhaustion. The ash-brown cat didn’t notice before but how could he? Way too immersed in his own problems. Nonetheless were you kind enough to pick him up. Brave enough to go into that spooky alley. Hell, he wouldn’t have. Not without a gun at least. You also were nice enough to carry him here. Not once complaining. If he dares to say, happy to have him with you. Just as warm as he was. Disregarding that he smelled like the trash he lay in.

Suddenly you moved, like you just remembered something important. As if possessed you scrambled up and reached for your tablet. Okay? 

Back to discovering your place he left you to your own devices. 

Noises sprung from your tablet. An interesting melody and a woman singing. Just what were you doing? Playing a game? Well, he was done looking at your kitchen that was, well what could be interesting about a kitchen? It was a kitchen. Jumping from the counter to your table and back on the ground he tapped over to you. One last jump on the couch right next to you. What he saw next made his breath hitch. 

There she was. His childhood friend. On the screen…with another guy? Did you just took pictures of her with another man? Who was he? Some dude with white hair and a pose slung around his childhood friend. They looked happy together. Frozen in time for the picture. What is going on? Did you know her? How could you do this? How- what? How did you take pictures of her? Switching her poses like that? But why did it look so much like a game? Like a 3D rendering of her? What was going on? 

But as soon as he needed to process what he saw, your fingers deftly moved over the screen and collected some rewards in an…event? What? Huh? 

“Is it a new bug? Why can’t I select Caleb?”, you mumbled to yourself. Completely oblivious to the distress ball that he was right now. To your own confusion you couldn’t do anything with Caleb in your game besides recalling the memories you have obtained of him. 

The head of just mentioned man reared. What was happening? Did you know him? What was this game? Who are you? What is happening?! 

Enough, he jumped on your tablet. 

“What the- ey!”, you exclaimed and he just meowed back. That's what he wanted to yell right now. What was going on?! Answer him! 

“You can’t just- get off!”, you giggled. Not taking his jumbling, confusing emotions and obvious distress seriously. 

Okay, different approach. He quickly needed a different approach. Before he could come up with anything you picked him up once more and placed him beside you. Damn him right now for being nothing but an eight pound raging ball of fur. Take him seriously, god damn it! Caleb began to meow again and cursed inside his thoughts. One paw on your tablet, but you giggled again. 

“What is it? You also want to play?”, you smiled at him, picked him up. Again. Woman, do it one more time and he is going to forget his rational part about him and would really bite you. He needed answers and not pats. Oh- okay. You placed him on your lap. The tablet on your knees so he could have a good view of it. 

“Should I explain it to you?”, you continued on and began showing him everything the game had to offer. Beginning with talking with four different men, battling wanderers in bounty hunting or abyssal chaos up to the “main story”, as you called it, until the memories you collected of said four men. Him included as the fifth. What? Without thinking he raised his paw on “falling for you” and selecting himself. Not half a fuck given that he gave himself away, that he was, in fact, not a cat. That's the whole point though, wasn't it? He was a man! Not a damn cat! He was stuck here. God knows where and you! You just playing with her life, with his! With his life like it was a game?! 

These were…all his, well some of them anyway, memories he had with MC. The childhood friend he tried to protect at all costs. Given that his methods weren’t always as pure as he wanted them to be but more often than not necessary. All splayed out for your eyes to see and…rekindle them? Watch them over and over? Relive them?

“Do you like him?”, you asked in a soft voice and he turned to look at you. Totally not caring that he, a cat, was patting on your tablet with human like intelligence. Were you that tired? Half asleep already? 

Like him? He was him! How could he tell you that? So that you would explain further. Maybe he could figure out this way how he got here. Wrecking his brain he tried to come up with anything. Fuck it. Fucking dip this cat shit. Even more so than he already has. How blaringly obvious did he need to be? For your rather slow mind to comprehend what he means. 

Trying to figure out how to show you, tell you or rather scream at you that this 3D rendering of him was he, he put a paw on his image and then on his furry body. As well as he could at least. Which in result was him patting his image then getting up, sitting on his hind legs and putting his paw on his torso area. Caleb begged to the skies above that you understood his message but to his dismay you looked at him puzzled. Oh his fucking gods…

Alright. Different approach. This was taking all of his patience and he barely had none. 

Once more he put one paw on his image that beneath showed a short video out of the perspective of what he only could guess was MC. He didn’t want to think too long about it. Focus. Again he raised his other paw and put it on his chest. This time though he meowed and looked at you imploringly. Please, please let this be enough so you put two and two together. But even he realised that this was rather far-fetched and if this same thing would happen to him, neither would he understand what a cat would try to tell him. 

“What is it? Why-”, and then you looked at the screen that froze over the memory. “Hm?”

Oh my god, did you understand? Please! 

You looked past his small frame and he could see the thoughts behind your eyes. Yes, yes, yes. Yeah, he was Caleb! Come on. Give him answers!

“Nah”, you giggled. Not knowing what you might have said he just nodded with his head. 

“His name is Caleb, should I call you that as well?”, you thought out loud and stroked down from his head to his back. 

No! Yes, his name was Caleb but no! God fucking damn it. Just how was he supposed to tell you that Caleb was well- him. He was Caleb. The same man, now a cat in this universe, that you saw on that screen. Distraught, he wrecked his brain. Unfortunate for him there was no book or briefing or training he could have done to prepare him for playing charades as a cat. “How weird would it be if I named you after a otome game video character?”, you sighed. “God, I must be very lonely to even be considering that.” Maybe, but not the point here, woman. You could question your terrible life choices another time but right now, he needed you to figure out his image riddle!

~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*

Henlo, to everybody that made it all the way down here! I plan on making this a multi part story, so stay tunned! If anybody has some cat involved stuff and want to see it here, don't be too shy to tell me about it <3

Thank you for reading, beautiful soul

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

The Homeless Post

Hey, guys. I've been working up the nerve to post this for a while. I'm putting most of it under a cut but I'll give the TLDR up here:

We are going to be homeless for an unspecified amount of time due to some legal issues - whole separate post. We will be living out of the car and a tent, so essentially long-term camping. We need some gear and other assorted items. Here is our wishlist.

Signal boosting is appreciated for obvious reasons.

I have a Paypal.me and a Ko-Fi; the Ko-Fi has a store that will soon have stuff available on it, and a subscription model. I also have Chime, Paypal, and Cashapp, all with the cashtag NovasPrime. At a later date I may set up a gofundme but I don't really want to right now, because guilt and self-internalized ableism is a helluva drug.

On to the story.

So, we were told (mid-December) that we needed to be out by the end of February, from the place we were living in, or eviction would be filed. I don't want an eviction on my record, so I started the process of working towards that goal.

I quickly realized that there was an Issue, and the Issue was that we simply cannot get into any of the low-income housing because… Raven has a felony "failure to comply" warrant in Oregon.

We were surprised, because we thought they were in compliance, but it turns out… No. No, they were not. The records of their attending therapy and anger management were not being sent to the place. On top of that, I discovered that they had ordered Raven to do community service, and even though they were helping with lots of causes and orgs down here, it doesn't count.

Why, you may ask? Well, for one, it wasn't being documented. Not a huge issue, it can be. But also…. They wanted Raven to do THEIR community service.

Which they wanted to charge $40 a day for.

Raven is a disabled veteran. They are limited in the type of volunteer work they can do, but also? They can't afford $40 a day for 30 days. Who the hell can? Why would that be a thing?

After a couple of phone calls, I realized we just needed to go to Oregon. So I began planning for THAT. Our roomie was still adamant about the end of February, so I started planning. We got a storage unit and started sorting shit, and packing it, and slowly transferring it to the storage unit.

And then Shit happened, as it does. The car started overheating. It has also come due for an oil change. It needs a transmission flush, too. And new brakes. Some of this I can do myself, but some of it I can't. I have a friend who could help me do most or all of it, but he's on house arrest until March 25th (he is in recovery now, but drunk driving is a bad thing, guys. Don't do it). He said he'll help after he gets off, which is awesome of him, but like. That's still about a week away (as of right now, because he works) before I can even get the overheating taken care of, let alone the rest.

In the midst of all of this, I was also trying to figure out a timeline... and realized I couldn't, because we had no idea how long we were going to be in Oregon. I have a few friends scattered throughout the state, but I wasn't counting on being able to stay with anyone. We have three cats and two people. What to do?

A friend of mine agreed to watch two of the cats for me for as long as it takes. She has her own house and cats of her own. So, until the car started overheating, we brought the two girl cats over once a week to get used to the place and meet her cats.

But we weren't packing fast enough. Winter is a rough time for both of us because of our disabilities; the weather makes it painful to move. We also had to sort through 20 years of assorted shit; at one point I had a life that hadn't fallen fully apart, so I kept everything. Plus, I had all of my dad's shit that I inherited. I've finally accepted that I can part with most of the useless stuff, but some of it I can't bear to. TLDR: our stuff is mostly still at the old place.

I was able to work out a deal with the friend who's taking care of our cats, to crash at her house for a month. WE and the CATS were out of the old place by March 1, but our shit wasn't, and we've had issues packing it up and moving it. Luckily, old roomie has agreed to just tack an extra month of rent onto what I owe him (to be paid back when we get back from the debacle in Oregon) so we're slowly moving things to storage. I'm just constantly filling the car with water to keep it from overheating and praying that the engine can take it.

However, here's the thing. The Big Thing.

We're technically homeless now, and we'll be Real Homeless as of April 1. The car cannot currently make it to Oregon (honestly? I'd rather buy a cheap minivan or SUV, and leave the car here with my kid, but I simply don't have the money, even though there's a ton of them for sale around here in good shape).

We're going to have to rough it for a while. Raven can get a pass to camp for free at all Nevada State Parks for $30 a year, so we're getting that on payday, and we have a decent tent and sleeping bag (singular, but it'll do). I have some assorted camping gear, even. But there's a lot we do need to just….fix our shit and be able to get to Oregon. Oregon has one of these as well, and it allows 10 days of camping per month. It's free and we've already applied for it. California has one too, but you have to apply in-person if you're not a CA resident. So that'll happen in a bit.

But we are gonna need… help. Raven gets VA disability. $2200ish a month. Sounds like a lot right? It's not. It's really not.

Between car insurance, gas, fixing the car, general car maintenance, phone bills, food (we qualify for a whopping $26 a month in SNAP benefits), things we have to buy to fulfill our end of bargains here, and the camping gear we DON'T have, next month is looking pretty awful.

While Raven is in jail, they get no benefits. I'm also disabled, but juuuust disabled enough on paper that I can't get disability (as you can guess, this is going to be even harder now in the Trump administration, so I'm just working on geting documentation of my disabilities so that when he's gone I can apply). I can't hold down more than really really part-time work because of pain and mental health issues, even though I have been desperately trying to find one. So I'm going to have to survive off of doordash, most likely.

If Raven's jail time isn't going to be that long, it's not that big a deal.

They could be in jail for up to six months.

So, why this post?

One, to explain that my posting will be very sporadic and frenzied when I do. More than usual, anyway.

Two, because I'm going to need your help. There are several ways to help.

Encouraging notes! Currently we have a PO Box, listed above. When we go to Oregon, if we're going to be there for more than a week or so, I'm getting another PO Box and getting mail forwarded from that one to the Oregon one. Digital notes are nice too. I just really like postcards, little cards, letters, etc. Pictures of cool shit where you live. Whatever. Something to keep my spirits up. Anything.

I have set up a wishlist, as seen above. I know, we don't like Amazon, but I don't know where else to do a wishlist that doesn't like. Give out a home address. Since I'm having this stuff shipped to a friend's house, I really don't want to do that. Once I'm in OR, I'll find out where I can have things shipped. PO Boxes are hit-and-miss with Amazon.

As noted above, I am accepting donations and I have a Ko-Fi store and subscriptions. I am working on getting things put onto the Ko-Fi store on a pay-what-you-can model; anything from short fiction to Am Adult instruction sheets to 3D designs, whatever I can manage at any given time. Raven will also be doing drawings and such. I'm also working on making things available to anyone who chooses to subscribe!

Signal boosting this post. I need as many people to see it as possible, not just for monetary benefit, but so I can find people in Oregon maybe willing to let me and my one cat crash on their couch or pitch the tent in their back yard. I'm also going to be documenting all of this and getting documentation on the case in the first place, because Raven shouldn't have even been arrested. So I need people to see this so that word gets out about this kind of thing. Oregon needs to change some shit.

Thanks for reading. I'll have updates as I can.

[stairain]

Desk Pet.

Despite knowing the importance of work, Spencer still can't help but distract you in the worst way possible.

Warnings: Sub Spencer, meanish reader, slight pet play (use of nickname puppy), grinding, leg humping, cumming in pants, begging. // Sorry for disappearing! It will happen again!

WC: 3.0K

You were sitting at your desk in your bedroom, intently staring at your computer screen as you tried to file through your work. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration and you were so deep in thought you didn’t even hear your boyfriend Spencer walk into the room. 

He had been working late, so it was just past midnight. His footsteps were silent as he walked past you towards the bed. But he saw you were engrossed in your work and was going to sneak past you without disturbing you, but a thought popped into his mind and he suddenly couldn’t resist.

Biting your lip, you look down at the papers on the table and start to write something down, oblivious to the way Spencer was sneakily padding over to you with a clear intention in mind. You didn't know what he had planned, but you knew you couldn't afford any distractions right now.

He came up behind you and stood at your left-hand side. Your attention was still focused on the papers in front of you, much to his dismay. He leaned in slowly and kissed the right side of your neck, moving any pieces of hair that got in his way. He then nuzzled his face against your neck, his breathing becoming quick and shallow.

A shudder ran up your spine and your heart almost stopped before you processed what was happening as he snapped you out of your work-induced trance. After the initial shock, your eyebrows knit further in annoyance. You had a lot of things to get done, and he sure wasn't helping, and you knew he knew that.

"Not now, Spence. I'm really really busy, do you think you can give me a few hours?"

You try to sound as sweet as possible, because you knew for a fact that he could not wait a few more hours. He was impatient and needy at the worst times, now being one of them. You tried to ignore the warm feeling of his lips pressing tiny kisses against your neck.

“How about now? I just want a little taste..”

His lust blown eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked at you, with a slight playful smile. His voice sounded low and husky and his eyes burned with arousal. His words had a slight edge of desperation to them and he seemed to have no intention of giving up any time soon.

Breaking your gaze from your work you look at him just long enough that those wide eyes of his almost win you over, but you're quick to get back to writing as you shake your head. The desperation was evident in his voice, but you really had so much to do. You just couldn't afford to stop and give him what he wanted.

"Baby, I told you. I'm really busy, be a good boy and be patient for me, please?"

Spencer had looked like a hurt puppy when you turned away from him, he couldn’t believe you didn’t give in after his first time asking. His face twisted into a sad frown as you wrote on your stupid papers. He sighed again and tried harder to get your attention.

“Just a few minutes, please? Do I really have to wait until later?”

He asked pitifully. The puppy dog eyes and little frown that looked so adorable on his face were working overtime to get you to give in and fuck him already.

With a soft chuckle you look at him and shake your head once more. It was always hard to say no to him, and you rarely did, which is why he always took it so hard.

It was always so endearing how desperate he got when he didn't get what he wanted. You really did want to give him what he wanted, but he was far too spoiled already. He had to learn his lesson sooner or later.

"Spence, baby. Go lay down or read a book until I'm finished, I promise after I'm finished we can do whatever you want, okay? You'll be okay waiting for a bit."

He was determined to make you give in by any means necessary. The slacks he neglected to change out of were growing tighter by the second, heavy cock straining against the already uncomfortable material. He was so hard and needy and he didn’t know what he’d do if you kept this up. 

Spencer leaned in closer to you, and his lips pressed against the side of your neck again. This time he sucked and swirled his wet tongue against it, creating a tingling feeling that spread throughout your body. He looked down at you with a pleading look, trying to make you give into his pleading and begging sooner rather than later.

“Please.. I-I can’t wait an entire night to be with you. I just can’t..” He whined, looking at you pitifully. His tone was almost like he was throwing a tantrum, and at this point he might as well have been.

"Well you're going to have to, if I don't get this finished I'm fucked."

You didn't even spare him the glance, already knowing he was giving you those pouty lips and sad puppy eyes. Maybe it was because you really did need to focus, or because you knew if you looked at him for longer than a second you wouldn't be able to.

His bottom lip curled downwards into a pout and he let out a sigh, before slowly leaning back away from you. He took a step back but his eyes remained glued on you. 

“Okay. Fine. I’ll be a good boy..” He whined again, and pouted.

The dejected tone in his voice sent a pang through your heart, and you couldn't help the way you bit your lip in thought at how to proceed this. You knew you had to work, but you also knew how much he loved being around you. Sighing, you speak your compromise.

"Come here."

You called out in a firm voice, waiting for his presence behind you again.

He seemed a little surprised by your rather blunt word choice, but he obeyed nonetheless and came back over to stand behind you. Plus your tone of voice when you called for him turned him on in an instant. You still had your attention on your work and he knew that, but he liked the small progress he was making. 

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

He was still in a slightly dejected tone, but he had a glimmer of hope. He craved to hear and feel the passion and desire he knew you had inside of you, and he needed it now. 

"Get on the ground."

You offhandedly said, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought. With your rolling office chair, you pushed yourself back a bit so he had more space. Space to sit underneath your desk like a good pet while you finish your work. He was so desperate for your attention, he'd take anything you offered.

The moment he heard those words his heart dropped into his stomach. He was so desperate to be with you, that even being right at your feet was more than he could ever ask for. He loved when you told him what to do and when to do something. He absolutely adored being ordered around.

Spencer was quick to obey you as he fell to his knees and crawled under the desk, waiting for more orders. His eyes burned with lust as he stared up at you. 

Your eyes flickered down at him once he was settled between your legs, and you widened them the littlest bit more, just to tease him. Without another word, you began typing on your computer, seemingly ignoring him after telling him to kneel at your feet like a dog.

To put it simply, he was desperate to be noticed. He wanted your attention so bad he’d do anything for it. He wanted you to acknowledge him, give him the littlest glance and he’d be happy.

Yet, he still knew better than to bother you right now while you were working after already burning that bridge. So he just looked up at you as you typed away on your computer and waited for a sign from you. His eyes locked with yours that were glued to the screen and he looked at you with a gaze full of adoration and worship. 

But you hadn't even been granted five minutes of peace and quiet before you felt him scooting closer towards you. He seemed to take a liking to your right leg, gravitating towards it and not so subtly opening his own legs to slot your calf between them. You stop typing for a moment, but you don't give the satisfaction of sight.

"Spencer."

Voice low and scolding, you warn him with just the call of his name. You thought you had given him more than enough attention, especially after he had been such a brat and refused to leave you alone. He's lucky you even let him sit under your desk, and now he was taking advantage of it.

His eyes darted forward when he heard your low, scolding voice, as if he had been caught. He looked at you with eyes that were positively spilling faux innocence, like he was expecting to be let off the hook.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

Spencer asked quietly, tilting his head to one side. His expression looked hopeful, like he was expecting more. A part of him was hoping to be rewarded for his behavior. He knew that wasn’t the case, though. You never rewarded misbehavior.

"Watch it."

You warned him once again. The tone in your voice was nothing short of intimidating and serious, and yet it did nothing but turn him on even more. You could feel his arousal throbbing against your ankle as he cozied himself up against your leg. You tried to ignore the weight and heat of his shaft pressing on you, but you were just a woman. 

He rested his chin on your knee, eyes wide and sparkling. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked a little confused as he tried to figure out what he had done wrong so as to deserve your warning. You told him to get on the ground, you never told him he couldn’t use your leg to get himself off. He had no idea he was taking advantage of your kindness, and yet had no problem doing it.

“Watch what?”

The brunet asked innocently. He kept his eyes glued to yours, waiting to see what you were going to do, as if challenging you. The longer he looked up at you, the hornier he got. Taking a deep inhale through your nose and rolling your eyes, you snap at him. 

"I've told you countless times, I need to get my work done. I can't give you what you want."

You reminded him once again, eyes darting everywhere on the desk and yet not one glance underneath it. You had hardly registered the way his hips were slowly rolling down against your leg and how his plush pink lips parted with a soft moan. He was grinding against you like a bitch in heat, barely listening to a word you said at this point. 

He let out a whimper as he pushed the pulsing head of his dick against you without a care in the world. Those wide, adorable brown eyes of his looked so desperate as he continued to look up and try his best as to not be caught by you. You couldn't see it, but you felt his arms hook around your leg for more leverage to hump against you pathetically. 

“I know, I know. I just–can’t wait. It has to be you..” 

Your breath hitched as your breath got caught in your throat. Something about those words he just whimpered out, they were winning you over. You purse your lips with a sigh and look down at the pathetic puppy at your feet. The movements of his hips and crotch had slowed down, but you could tell he was just itching to start again. The way his eyebrows were slightly upturned in the temptation of bliss, and the soft puffs of a whimper leaving his mouth. It was too much, and you were worn weak.

"You have five minutes, if you don't get off by then, you leave this room. Understood?"

Spencer smiled widely when he heard what you agreed to, and he crawled forward more to hug your leg closer to his chest. Pressing his forehead against your knee, he made small, soft whimpering noises as he got to work. 

“Yes, Ma’am. I understand. Five minutes.” 

He recited back to you as coherently as he could, already lost in the feeling of your unmoving ankle colliding so deliciously with his leaking cock. He was staining the insides of his boxers with sticky warm precum, and the wetness made his head spin and his breath shallow.

Turning your attention back to the work at hand and not the bitch at your feet, you shake your head and try your hardest to ignore the way he was practically humping your leg at this point. He was trying his hardest to keep quiet, but it obviously wasn't working. If Spencer was anything, it was vocal when he felt his best. You could feel every stutter of his hips and the way the rest of his body shook when he pressed his arousal harder against the bone of your calf. You'd be lying if you told yourself this wasn't turning you on beyond belief, ignoring him as he used you for his own pleasure.

He pushed himself against your leg some more, but he didn’t push it too far for now. You knew he was about to burst, but he tried so hard to hold it in to enjoy it. He was breathing more heavily as instinctively kissed your knee. His sounds of need became louder with every hump.

“Oh, fuck.” 

He shuddered out, his voice still low and sultry and nothing short of needy. His whole body quivered with the amount of effort he was using to hold on. Not only would it be humiliating to have finished not even thirty seconds after you granted him permission to get himself off, but it would be an utter waste of time. 

As the seconds ticked by and approached his time limit, the push and pull of his lower body was almost maddening. He was rubbing himself so hard against you through his pants, and you secretly hoped he'd be able to finish in five minutes, considering how badly you wanted to see him make a mess without even having to touch him, let alone pay attention to him.

Spencer looked up at you, and he still had four minutes to go before his time was up. He was already out of control, and it was getting harder and harder to hold himself back.

He kept rubbing himself on you and making those low, desperate sounds. He was going to explode soon, and although unlikely, he hoped that you would stop working when those five minutes were up. He hoped you would finally pay attention to him. He was so needy and desperate. He wanted you now. 

While he was having the time of his life grinding against you, it just wasn’t what he really needed. He needed to be buried inside of you, pushing as deep as he possibly can as your cunt sucked him in even further. He needed to have you gushing around him as his elbows gave out on him as he tried his hardest to keep fucking you through his third orgasm. 

But he wasn’t going to get that, not tonight. 

Deciding to try and be nicer to your poor boy, you move one hand away from your work and card it through his soft curls. Running your nails against his scalp, back and forth, as if to imitate the cant of his hips. It almost served as a silent praise, 'what a good job you're doing' you could have said, but you had a demeanor to keep up and a report to write up.

He couldn’t help the pathetic groan that was punched out of him at your touch. You always knew where he loved being touched the most, and you knew it never felt as good when he did it himself. 

“Oh, fuck–please.”

The words left his mouth in a hiss as he pushed himself more against you. His jaw shook and his sounds grew in intensity as his body froze and he squeezed your leg impossibly tighter. It wasn't a moment later that you felt his entire body go rigid against you and his breath caught in his throat in what sounded like a choked sob.

The tightness of Spencer’s pants did nothing to mask his shame as he exploded into the poor stained fabric. His eyes instantly found your face and almost forced you to look right back at him as he finished. His mouth was quivering as pathetic whimpers and moans punched their way out of his throat. Thick spurts of warm cum made their way into his boxers. He had positively soaked the front of his pants, with a minute left to spare.

The moment he finished, he fell flat against you and his hand reached out and grabbed your thigh, clinging onto you like he was dying and you were his lifeline. His head was pressed firmly against your leg and he was still shaking and breathing heavily from his release.

His face was burning red from the strain he just went through. He felt as though he shot out his soul in the process of drenching himself. He had a stupid grin on his face as he looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“Can I stay now?” He asked in a desperate tone, with those same damned puppy dog eyes.

Rolling your eyes, you smile down at him and suck on your teeth. He always knew how to push your buttons and get what he wanted, every single time.

“Fine. But keep those hands to yourself.”

[burningembers91]

Lunch Date - Park Min-Su x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

The Secretary

Synopsis: While out for lunch, Min-Su struggles to voice his needs.

A/N: This storyline is going to be a slow burner, but trust me... It'll be worth it. I really want to build up the tension and show how much Min-Su struggles with being his own advocate. I also wrote the first two pieces at work today, and had to resist the urge to write the third because I have so many other characters I'm writing for that I'm slowly losing track!

Park Min-Su had taken you to lunch today, or rather, his father had insisted he take you to lunch. The restaurant was on the top floor of a high-rise building, with 360 views of the Seoul skyline. It was a cloudless day, the sun streaming through the windows and bathing you in the most exquisite golden hue. Min-Su was hot, his shirt and suit jacket clinging to him as he fiddled with his tie. He could see you biting your bottom lip as you studied the menu, could smell your perfume clinging to your shirt. Your bare legs were crossed, your heeled foot tapping against the table as you hummed quietly.

He couldn’t bare to look up, couldn’t bare to make eye contact with you. Your presence was almost stifling, Min-Su barely holding it together when you were around. You were his secretary, you were meant to work for him, and yet you spent most of your time telling Min-Su to tell you what to do. “Would you like me to get you a coffee?” You’d asked him that morning, as he sat at his desk adjusting his too-tight tie, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. “Uhh…” He looked wildly around, unsure if you were talking to him, despite the fact it was just you and him in his office. “Mr Park,” you smiled, coming to sit next to him at the expansive mahogany desk he had no desire to sit at. “If you’d like me to get you a coffee, please just ask.” “O-ok,” he stammered. He did want a coffee, you always made it exactly the way he liked it. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to ask you. he could barely maintain eye contact with you, all too aware of your nipples ever so slightly visible through the fabric of your shirt. You busied yourself with the day’s agenda, handing Min-Su various files, explaining each one in detail. You would wait patiently until he asked you for a drink, knowing that he wanted one. You couldn’t understand why he found it so hard to ask for things, but he was constantly silent. He finally plucked up the courage, and you brought him his coffee, just the way he liked it.

He peeked up at you from the menu and your eyes met. You had red lipstick on today, one that contrasted perfectly against the cream colour of your shirt. You smiled at him, and Min-Su forgot to take a breath. He was terrible around women, but you were something else entirely. He’d thought about you many times over the few months you’d been working for him. He thought about how, if he’d been a confident man, he’d have asked you out on a date. He’d have pressed you against the glass windows of his top floor office and undressed you, before fucking you against his desk. But as it stood, he could barely say your name, his words only coming out as the faintest whisper. You were so confident, so sure of yourself; a lioness working for a mouse. “I think I fancy the ravioli,” you smiled. “What are you getting?” There it was again, his complete inability to hold any form of conversation with you. You intimidated him, but in the best way possible. He didn’t really like the look of anything on the menu other than the chicken, but the chicken came with mushrooms and Min-Su couldn’t stand them. You knew that of course, it was your business to know everything about him, but you wanted to see if he’d say something. “Maybe the chicken,” he mumbled, taking a gulp of water. He didn’t know why he couldn’t voice his opinion, why he was so scared to open his mouth. He supposed it came from a lifetime of having everything planned out for him. from the moment he’d been born, he was told where to go, what to do, who to be and what his future would entail. His father was a stern man, and years of fearing his wrath had reduced Min-Su to a timid little lamb. He struggled to ask for help, struggled to have his voice heard by a man who couldn’t be bothered to listen.

The waiter came to take your order and Min-Su asked for the chicken, not mentioning the fact that he didn’t like mushrooms. He could so easily have asked for them to be substituted for something else, and his inability to speak up for himself made you feel sad for him. Lunch arrived, and you watched him push the food around his plate, the smell of them making him feel sick. “If you don’t like mushrooms, why don’t you ask them to take them off the plate? They could always give you something else.” “I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, shrugging. He wanted to be able to speak up, but he was terrified of people turning around and laughing right in his face. You leaned forward towards his plate, piercing the soft buttery fungi with your fork before popping it into your mouth, winking at Min-Su.

You were so confident, so bold. Min-Su didn’t understand how you had such certainty in your actions. You never flustered, never faltered. He liked the way you were so unashamedly yourself; he found it incredibly sexy. You didn’t care what others thought, and Min-Su wished he could be like you. As you headed back to the office, you turned to him. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell people what you want,” you told him. “You should try it sometime.”

That night, Min-Su thought of all the things he’d tell you he wanted if he was brave enough. He’d tell you he wanted to kiss to you, to taste you, to make love to you in every corner of the office. He’d tell you that he didn’t want to be a CEO, that he didn’t want to sit at a desk all day. He’d tell you he wanted to be with you, to love you and hold you and never let you go. But the next morning, he couldn’t get the words to leave his mouth. You were in a green dress today, one that clung to your waist, hips and the curve of your ass. He wanted to tell you that you look beautiful today, but his mouth wouldn’t move. He couldn’t tell you any of the things he really wanted to say, but he could ask for something simple. “Excuse me?” he said, as you dropped off his daily agenda. “Please could you make me a coffee?”

[midnightshindig]

ik its cliche, but enemies to lovers with cecil? remember to go easy on yourself! 😊

Cecil x Gn!Reader

I looooove enemies to readers, thank you for the request!!

this ended up being more annoying reader x annoyed Cecil BUT I still like it ^^;

Hcs under the cut!

Cecil doesn't believe in letting Talent go to waste

So when an alien humanoid spy seduces and almost takes down the GotG from the inside out, he's intrigued

But to be fair, it isn't hard to get past Rex.

Watching you disarm Rudy, Amanda, Zandale, and even Rae though? was impressive

So you ended up in his care, being slowly re-educated on Earth customs

Cecil was sure that, at the very least, you could provide good information on your home planet

What he wasn't expecting was your attempt to break out to go so well

He gets a call at like four in the morning that you've escaped your cell, and are currently awol

Shit.

What surprises him is when he sees you at a work event two weeks later, on the arm of some clueless big wig

"Ohhhhh Renold, you're soooo funny!"

He's showing you off like some pet

Cecil marches over and grabs you by the arm, dragging you into a private room at the event

"What the hell are you doing?! You escape and you're already trying to infiltrate us?" He slams you by the shoulder into the ornate wallpaper, he's trying to be intimidating

It isn't working.

You raise an eyebrow, pursing your lips at him

"Maybe I just wanted to see you <3" You wink, catching him just off guard enough for your to slip his grasp, escaping into the door next to you and out through a window.

Damn, you're good.

The next few months of Cecil's life are like this: a sick cat-and-mouse game in which you continually try different ways to espionage your way into government ranks.

Every time he personally catches you, like you want him to, and you're so quick with the comments:

"Uh oh, you caught me, you gonna lock me up?"

"Cecil! Baby it's been too long, lemme take these files and we'll get coffee sometime"

"Yknow that tie really does something for you, did you cut your hair?"

"Is that a state-issued walkie-talkie in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

it's driving him crazy.

It culminates when finally Cecil catches you again, as you're handcuffed and he's personally interrogating you

you've been getting under his skin

and he's so fucking tired of seeing you in those revealing clothes, trying to shmooze your way into international secrets.

What was your angle? What did you want? You had to know the flirting wasn't going to work on him?

Well hell, if you did you certainly didn't show it

"haiiiii <3" You smiled sweetly as Cecil walked into the room, stoic as ever

He took a seat across from you, ignoring when your heel knocked his loafer

"You're being charged with espionage and fraud, as well as failure to self-report upon arrival to Earth, and, of course, breaking out of prison."

"My my, that sounds serious!" You were fucking with him

Cecil scowled "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!" Your awful impression made Cecil's eye twitch

"I'm being fucking serious, y/n. I can have you put away somewhere higher capacity, highest security, somewhere even you won't escape from."

You leaned forward, resting your head on your flat palms, propping onto the table "As long as I get to see you, Cecil-Weasel" you stuck your tongue out with a flirty wink

He stood up, slamming his hands on the table "DAMNIT- ugh- fuck. What." he stared you down, bubbling as he spoke "What do you want?"

You sighed, phasing through the handcuffs and walking freely around the room

He didn't know you could do that.

Could you do that the whole time? Why? Why bother with the infiltration?

"I want something to do, my home planet sent me here to assess your protectors, and we suuuuuuuck, you guys are actually kind of great" Your voice was bored, if not grated

Cecil watched as you sat on the table, crossing your legs with pizzaz

"But my boss is a dickhead and doesn't believe me, sooooo I'm stuck here until they try and invade, lose-- because our only powers are Danny fucking Phantom-- and then finally get to go back home when they fail."

You admired your nails before glancing at Cecil. "So now, I'm just an alien trying to have some fun while I'm here."

Cecil just blinked

an alien invasion? But you seemed confident they would fail spectacularly, was this part of the ploy? What were you playing at?

"So... if you could phase through things, why bother with the kiss-ass and roleplay? Surely there are more entertaining things than that." He folded his arms, choosing to pick his battles about your lack of containment.

You sighed, twirling your hand at the wrist as you spoke "Yeahhh, it's whatever. Maybe I just wanted to see you, piss you off. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're just as much of a dick as my boss, but-" you leaned back on your arms, scanning him up and down "you're pretty cute for a human."

Cecil could feel his face burn red

But he had decades of practice on keeping his composure and maintained it well

"Okay, I'll make you a deal."

"oh I love deals."

"Quiet." he sighed "You work for me--"

"Oh goodie." your dry voice cut through

"Quieeeet..." Cecil hissed, before continuing "You work for me, I give you entertaining jobs, you're on a short leash but you're not being hunted like an animal. In exchange, you get an apartment, a little bit of money, and-"

"I want you to take me for an Earth date. I've been told they're supposed to be fun, but the ones I've been on have been quite miserable." You tilted your head dryly, not a hint of sarcasm or humor in your voice

What the fuck is your deal?

"Um. Okay? So you agree."

You stand up, motioning to shake his hand, before kissing the back of it "Mhm ^^"

Cecil is a grown ass man

The head of the GDA

And here he is with a cute alien across from him drinking a frappuccino with whipped cream

God damn. He had to hand it to you, he'd been hustled.

But I mean, fuck, he couldn't even be that mad about it?

Like, okay. Yeah, you're cute and pretty, and whatever, sure.

But this is just for national security.

Him paying the check and holding your hand is just for discretion to not draw attention

Him walking you to your new apartment instead of teleporting is just to stay in character

When you give him a cheeky kiss before smiling at him and running inside your apartment, it's just to hold up pretenses for your neighbors.

Right?

But, then you demand to see him again, once for every mission you accomplish. And a sick ritual forms

He's going for the good of the world and to be as prepared for this alien invasion as possible

But he kinda enjoys the break from work

You complete a mission, and Cecil takes you out, that's the new deal

an unspoken one that quickly roots itself in both your lives

The movies, roller skating, public gardens, and all the things about Earth made it exciting.

He finds himself looking forward to these outings

You seem so fascinated with it all, so genuinely pleased to be there and to be around him

Sure, you're coy and snide and a flirt, but you're refreshingly genuine when it counts

And Cecil starts doubting if he can keep up with this

"Yknow...." you trail off, a paper pamphlet detailing the walking trail for the Bronx Zoo. "This is like our tenth date and you still haven't kissed me yet."

Cecil just about chokes on his zoo themed water from his lion shaped cup

"What."

"Yknow!" you roll your eyes and fold your arms, pamphlet tucked under your armpit "Even on my home planet you would've made a move by now, I'm starting to get offended."

Cecil's shocked "You know this is just so you'll do your job, right? Y/n this is so that you stop terrorizing and colluding with governmental officials, not because I enjoy playing high school sweethearts with you!" he's frustrated, made all the worse by the fact he is enjoying himself

You stare at him for a moment, before shrugging "Whatever man." it's harsh, almost calloused. What he said really bothered you "You don't wanna admit it, sure, fuck it."

You stomp off, and the rest of the date is tense as hell

Cecil has to grapple with what he wants to do, to like actually make a move or to keep up this infuriating charade

and fuck are you infuriating.

As you're standing against the door to your apartment, Cecil devices to just embrace the 2000s romance anime cringe of it all and kiss you

It's magical (for you) and pretty enjoyable (for him)

and when he backs up, you've got this shit eating grin on your face

cocky bitch

Cecil raises an unimpressed eyebrow, watching as you smile wider and phase through your door

he's all "okay at least that's over" before he hears the door unlock

"Come onnnn! Come in come in!"

and so he does, promptly entering your apartment for the first time

It's nice.

you've decorated it in a surprisingly mature manner, it's definitely you, but it has a charm to it

"Cmon, make yourself at home, get comfortable."

and he did

Maybe. ugh. Cecil groaned at the improbability and romcom nature of his thoughts

but maybe

ewwww okay seriously this is so fluffy and too emotional for Cecil-

his doubts cleared when you came back into the room with a coffee tray and a pack of cards

"I got you a black coffee, and I want you to teach me how to play your human card games. I see the guys at HQ play them and I want to know how"

Cecil settled into your couch with a familiar ease, taking in the scene

Maybe you weren't so bad after all

[sageyxbabey]

Every Move You Make

MDNI John Price x Fem!Reader | your husband likes to watch you

Inspired by @the-californicationist who so graciously tagged me with the idea "Price comes home and watches you finger yourself." Teehee c:

WC: ~900 (this is entirely not proofread it might be a bit shit i'm so sorry)

CW: none, really. just mutual masturbation and piv

At last, you allow yourself to melt onto your sheets. Freshly showered and free from work for the day. You should have two hours until your husband makes it home. More than enough time to help yourself release a bit of… pent-up tension. You wriggle your pants off, graceless in your exhaustion, and begin circling your fingers gently over your clit. No need to rush.

You’re finally in the throes of your pleasure, that slow build of warmth and electricity in your core just beginning to culminate into something absolutely delicious, when–

You jolt at the shift in weight at the end of the bed. Eyes flying open, you lock gazes with your husband, one knee resting on the mattress but otherwise preternaturally still, like a wolf waiting for his prey to bolt. He’s early.

“John,” you pant.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His rumbling voice is almost as dangerous as the smile slowly spreading across his face. “Don’t stop on my account.” He moves slowly, sinking his other knee into the bed and shifting forward until your thighs lay over his. 

You don’t move, enthralled by the look on your husband’s face. He’s so very hungry.

 Normally, John would have slapped your hands aside by now and taken over for you. Wasn’t that one of the benefits of having a partner? Orgasms that you didn’t have to give yourself? 

He raises an eyebrow, looking between your face and your glistening cunt, “Well? I want to see the show I almost missed out on,” he grumbles.

Ah, it was going to be like that today.

Your fingers dip into the slick arousal pooling at your entrance before returning to dance over your clit. Your eyes never leave John’s face, but his stare is fixed upon the movements of your hand, licking his chops. He hums, big hands stroking over the sensitive skin of your thighs, soothing you like a wild animal. He’s burning you alive, you just know it. Every nerve ending lights up at his touch like iron filings following the pull of a magnet. There’s no stopping the moan that crawls out of your throat, and your pussy clenches pitifully around nothing. 

Empty, empty, empty.

You need your husband. You need your John inside you. 

When you’re finally considering begging, you watch him bend his head forward. “Stop,” he says. 

‘Thank fuck,’ you think. At last, your husband is going to take care of it, and you can relax–

You hear him spit. You feel wetness land on your clit and meander down to your opening.

“Alright,” he whispers with a short nod, “Continue.”

You blink at him owlishly, frustration building with each pulse of arousal through your swollen clit. It’s only now that you realise John has shucked his work trousers down to the mid-thigh without your notice, one large hand fisted tightly around his cock. You tease yourself again, this time with the wet gift he has provided you, and his hand starts to move.

You stop. He stops. You speed up, he speeds up.

He smirks, a low chuckle escaping him. He looks like a dragon billowing smoke. “Thank you for finally catching on, love, I was worried you’d leave me to play all by myself.” That smile from earlier turns into a full-on grin, just a little too toothy to be innocent. 

Dangerous, your husband.

That’s okay. You’ve always liked it when he puts those teeth around your neck.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you sigh. His eyes snap to your face for a moment at your words, before they focus back on his prize. “I’ll always play with you,” you croon. Your free hand trails a path from your knee to your centre, one fingertip circling lazily around your entrance. Your husband’s eyes narrow viciously. 

“Don’t,” he growls. His hand stills on the base of his cock, watching. Waiting. Hunting.

You laugh and thrust two fingers inside yourself.

You barely get to crook them before John snaps, massive paw wrenching your hands from your flesh, notching himself against your cunt before sliding home in one smooth stroke. You’re not laughing now. You’re shrieking. 

“You little fucking minx, you just couldn’t help yourself. Are you happy?” He asks, the weight of his hips pinning you open beneath him like a butterfly under glass. You’re grinning like the cat that got the cream, cheeks burning with mirth. Your husband chuckles darkly at the sight.

“Of course you’re fucking happy.” John pulls out until he’s barely inside of you, “Can never let me sit back and watch, can you? Always so desperate to have your husband inside of you.” He drives his point home with a brutal thrust, and you wail at the feeling of his tip popping past the tight ring of muscles just behind your entrance. 

“Yes,” you cry. “Always want you inside, need you inside…” Your words trail off into moans, clawing at John’s shoulders until his entire body is draped on top of you, crushing you into the mattress. It takes barely a minute before you’re bearing down on his cock with a blinding orgasm.

You let your wolf devour you that night.

tag list:

@universitypenguin @teenagellamaangel @frogtowne