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weepingchronicles · 3 months ago

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cw: manipulation, nonconsensual kissing, yandere behavior, controlling behavior.

❝yandere!royal x gn!servant reader❞

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Amos was the youngest ruler in the entire nation, becoming King at the ripe age of eighteen. He had to grow very fast in order to rule his country, it wasn't often he had time to himself.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ In comes you, you were a family friend of his parents and he had known you since he was small, albeit not exceptionally well. You were a child of noble parents and although you hadn't realized it, you were being groomed to become Amos' personal "assistant."

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ You had known everything about him, memorized to a tee. His likes, dislikes, heritage, personality. You had known everything about him and he knew nothing about you.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ He always found you a bit unsettling so when you were officially introduced as his trusty assistant he was not surprised but a bit annoyed. He couldn't argue about it though, he had a kingdom to run and deep down knew you were the perfect fit. Whether he found you creepy or not wasn't his main concern.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Months had quickly passed sooner than he imagined. Amos ended up warming up to you a lot more than he had anticipated, you always seemed to know when to step in. When he needed you to stitch or fix a button on his shirt, get him coffee when he was spending late nights in his office, or when particular nobles were agitating him you stepped in with an excuse to get him away from it all. In fact. . he couldn't even think of a time when you weren't there, if you ever did something wrong he could not think of an example.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ There was some weird moments. Like when he found your lights still lit in the late hours of the night, or when he was caught red-handed sneaking into your quarters when you were out. He had found an array of different knives arranged neatly in a case. You had snuck up behind him and nearly gave him a heart attack, you were as silent as a feline. When questioned though, you merely explained they belonged to your family as apparently your family came from a long line of fighters. It was simply for decoration. Why did he not know that?

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ It angered him a bit after that. How come you knew so much about him but he so little about you? A weird feeling pulled in his chest, he didn't like it very much but he knew he must get to know his assistant. Or at least try.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ So he did, he would try to coax you into answering some basic questions of his. What's your favorite flower? Food? Asking your opinion on more things. But god, you were a tough one to crack. He knew you were often quiet but you only gave him one word answers to all his questions! Most people loved talking about themselves but you were the opposite.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ It was a bit frustrating to be honest. Did you not want him to know you? He didn't like to admit it but it almost hurt, did you not actually like him at all?

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ He did the only thing he thought he could do, he snooped and researched. It wasn't very hard for a King as it was often that he had enemies or even spies after him from other nations. But once again, he was let down. His people could barely find anything substantial about you that he didn't already know about.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ He felt powerless for once in his life. But he couldn't hide how his lack of knowledge on you made you. . alluring. He began to watch you more closely then ever before, convincing himself that it was to catch something in you that he had missed.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Following his usual morning routine, you had woken him up, drawing away his curtains to bring the morning light in. He groggily rolled over, opening one eye to view you in your impervious beauty. He hadn't noticed you in such a way before, the way the light lit up your hair, showing individual highlights. The methodical way you trace down his torso as you do up each button carefully, face clenched in focus. His heart beat faster, the apples of his cheeks warming. Does he. . like you?

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ The idea was unbelievable, at least to Amos. You were his servant, a noble but a servant no less. He didn't really believe in the concept of love much, it was all fictional tales that people wrote to feel better about in this tragic world. His parents never really loved each other, no one else he knew did so how could he?

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ It began to disrupt his work a tiny bit. He just couldn't focus with you in the room, he just kept staring at you and blushing like some lovesick puppy. He hated it. But he couldn't bear to get rid of you, even though he knew he very well should. He had to purge these.. yucky feelings somehow.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ He tried pushing you away, only letting you help with necessary tasks he needed you for. No more breakfast and coffee together or mornings helping him dress and undress— no more!

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ On the other hand, you were left clueless. You were oblivious just as he, as you were brought up with a more authoritative upbringing. You didn't notice his blushing cheeks, must be the warm weather? But you did notice the fast heart and frequent stares, the way he'd kick you out before you could even disrobe him. Had he found out?

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ You went to your parents for help, in which you got laughs at you in return. They explained the boy, the King had a crush on you. What! It was a bit hard to believe and a bit humiliating that you did not realize sooner but at least you could use this to your advantage, to assassinate the king.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Seducing wasn't your forte, you were good at killing and stealth for goodness' sake! But you tried, you remembered your touch always giving him shivers and causing him to pull back in shock. At the time you thought your skin was just cold but perhaps it wasn't your skin but rather the fact it was your touch that was the problem.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ You tried doing just that, brushing fingers when you handed him papers or his coffee. Whispering in his ear advice or information. It made you a bit giddy and smug at how well it worked, it was almost a bit cute the way he was instantly turned into a stuttering mess of a man who is supposed to be king.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Tonight was the night, you had prepared everything and under your jacket were concealed weapons. Amos had called you into his office late one night. You hadn't been so nervous on a job such as this one, to be fair it wasn't often you had to murder your childhood friend or perhaps this job was the longest one you have ever done yet. But you knew you had to go through with it, your parents were counting on you.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ You knocked before entering, the office was dimly lit besides some candles sitting on the desk. Amos's gaze shifted from his papers to you once you walked in, "Ah, you're here. Please sit down for me."

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "What did you call me for, Your Highness?" You tilt your head in concentration, batting your lashes in some innocent way you thought was enticing. Amos only laughed which caught you off-guard. "What's so funny?"

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Oh nothing, nothing. Just that you don't have to pretend anymore, at least with me." . . .

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ ". . What do you mean, Your Highness?"

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Dear, I know your plans. Your parents plan to assassinate me?" Your opened your lips to protest but you knew it was as useless as your heart sinking down to your gut. Your look must've amused him because he laughed again and stood up, rounding the desk to stand in front of you.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Are you going to arrest me or execute me?" You asked, knowing the answer already. At least you thought you did. Amos' amused face dropped and looked rather mortified at that idea.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Arrest you? Execute you? Lord, you must think me a monster then. No, no, dear. I would never do such a thing, to you at least. I can't say the same for your parents." What?

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Amos saw the reaction on your face and spoke before you could, "Now, now, before you fight me on this just know that I am doing you a favor. Those parents of yours manipulated you, groomed you into the perfect little soldier of theirs." He reached a hand out and ran his fingers through the fallen strands of hair in front of your face.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "You know I can kill you right where you stand right? I am armed with enough weapons to bathe this room in your blood," you seethed out. You couldn't lie and say he wasn't right but they were still your parents. They were the only ones you cared about and yet. .

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ He laughed again, "That is very funny but I'm afraid killing me won't do you much good. I have already ordered guards to collect your parents. It is up to you whether I can torture them to death or simply arrest them. At least I will treat them well in the royal dungeons, no?"

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ You had found yourself at a loss. There was no real good choice but perhaps having your parents arrested was the best.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ You sigh in dejection, only highlighting his cheshire cat grin. "What do you want?" You ask in defeat.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "I want you. You by my side always and I will treat you well, like royalty. Do that and I won't hurt a hair on your parents' head."

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ That's it? You figured he would want something else worse, but you've always been good at playing a part. The most confusing part of it all was why he'd want you of all people.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Fine. . . deal." You offered your hand to shake on it and he took it, only to then pull you in a quick hug. It had shocked you, feeling his hand wrap around your torso to pull you in even closer. His lips latched onto yours before you could blink or even pull out a weapon.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ Luckily it didn't last long as he pulled away to observe your face. Within that time you had taken out a dagger and placed it to his gut, not quite piercing but enough he could feel it. Oddly, he simply looked down to where the blade is placed with a dopey looking smile on his face.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Ah, dear, I think I like you more like this. More raw. But I can't have you attempting to murder me, looks like I will need to get rid of your weapons."

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ After that Amos took away all your weapons to who knows where. He kept you by his side, much like how it was before except now it felt more. . domestic more than anything. The worst of it was him being touchy, you could hardly contain your grimace each time he kissed your cheek or pet your head but you felt like you couldn't say anything with your parent's life on the line. He hadn't let you see your parents either, simply saying they are being fed and treated well. You could barely believe him but it was hard to argue with the King.

❤︎ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦢｡ "Stop worrying about your parents. Do they matter now? You have me, I'm the king, I am your only concern now. You're mine."

a/n: the end is so bad.. my brain ran out of juice but oh well. let me know if you want more amos!

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #yandere oc #yandere hcs #yandere original character #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n

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writers-potion · 9 months ago

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Writing Female Fighters

The Heroine Must. Fight.

Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.

Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.

Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.

Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty

The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.

A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.

On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.

She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.

A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.

In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.

In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.

Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.

More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness

In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.

Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.

Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.

A female pre-fight conversation may be: "If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be." "What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -" "But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?" "Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?" "Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"

A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter: "Who's the coward now?" "You're wrong." "Prove it." "Bastard."

Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.

She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.

When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.

Plausible Skills and Backstory

In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.

For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.

It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.

It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.

Inexperienced Female Fighters

A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:

Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.

Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.

Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)

Pull hair

Scratch.

In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.

Plausible Weapons and Clothing

All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).

Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.

When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.

For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.

For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.

A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.

She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.

She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.

Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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salemlunaa · 7 months ago

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VOID STATE: NO PRACTICE NEEDED

you either know you’re getting in or you aren’t, there’s no “trying”

So this topic has come to my attention, as i see alot of bloggers saying to shift you need practice and to stop giving people “unrealistic expectations”. No shade but to that i say bullshit. Shifting/Tapping in to the void is and will always be as easy as fucking breathing. We are gods meaning that everything and i mean everything is easy for us. Saying you need practice for something that is inside of us, something so easy, really contradicts the idea of being a god. We don’t need to practice for something inside of us. Saying that shifting is as easy as breathing isn’t toxic and deceiving it will be true if that’s what you stand firm in.

Now for those who have known about the void for a “long time”. Stop telling me how much “time” you’ve “wasted”, because you shouldn’t care, it’s not real and you know you can flip your thoughts in nano seconds. Again, i see so many people who lie and say that they are confident but in the back of their mind they go “i’ve known about the void and have been failing for 2 years, why would today be any different” or “i’ve wasted so much time let’s just see if i get in today”.

but let me tell you, there is no “trying”. You are either 100% you are tapping in today, or you know you won’t, there is no “i’ll try tonight” or “i’ll use this method and MIGHT get into the void today”, no no no when you come into this with a trying mindset you will never get far in this void journey. It’s like that tomorrow riddle the one saying “what says it’s coming but never does”. Because if you tell yourself that you’re trying, you will always be in the state of trying for the void and never in the state of having the void. This applies to any desire, you will always be in the state of desiring something (in this case, being the void) and never in the state of having that desire. You must know that you are entering the void, know that there is no other outcome than the void and it will be as easy as breathing.

You can’t have one foot out the door you must know and don’t think that this is hard to do, just flip your thoughts and persist whenever you think about the void. And as god your subconscious mind will see this and reflect the fact that the there is no other outcome than the void. So please do not feel discouraged like you have to practice for the void and “waste more time” or do challenges that last weeks to “fix your self concept” because these are things that can be done in seconds. Do i need to remind you who you are? as god, whatever you want comes to pass immediately, just stand firm in that and shifting and the void will be as easy as breathing.

BE 100% SURE OF YOURSELF AND KNOW THAT THE VOID IS THE ONLY OUTCOME, THEN IT WILL BE AS EASY AS BREATHING. ��🌌💋

(ps: did you guys miss me? 😏)

#salemlunaa #law of assumption #permashifting #shiftblr #shifting #reality shifting #success story #void state #loa #the void #void concept #respawning #self concept #void state tips #the void state #voidstate #shifters #master manifestor #manifesting

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pedgito · 8 months ago

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𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | a series of nights spent with a neighbor you find an unlikely connection with, sharing a similar interest to pass the time, it forms into something much more intense and suddenly, neither of you can deny it anymore.

content warning | no outbreak!joel, f!reader that is mentioned to have hair that can be pushed back but no exact length, descriptions of outfits, lots of w*ed smoking/consuming ed*bles, a quick mention of a burn, joel being a good neighbor, he's still the biggest girl dad, age gap implied but readers isn't specified, joel's not afraid to go for what he wants, most of the interactions happen while they're high so please keep that in mind when reading, lotsa boob worship, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, mentions of joel being sterile, strangers to friends to lovers. this was written over the course of a weekend don't look at me

word count — 8k

The first and only time you see him is when you’re moving in next door, trudging in the moving boxes on your own as he seems to ready up his own truck full of boxes, followed by two younger women who seem to be bickering at him and he bypasses them with a smug smile on his face—he’s older, so you came to your own assumption that it was probably his daughters.

That’s all you know about him.

Outside of the fact he drives a truck, works long hours, and that his name is Joel.

The girl with the begrudging smile and worn out converse called his name while you were throwing away your trash and trying to not seem like the nosey neighbor.

He comes, he goes. The roar of his truck is all you hear and you never really see him outside of an occasional swish of his curtains through your own windows, but occasionally you leave your trash can out by the curb longer than necessary and it magically appears at the beginning of your driveway.

Now, you don’t want to point fingers—but the only ones tucked away are his and your own, leaving the other neighbors to fend for themselves.

It’s a simple gesture, kind.

You want to thank him but you never get the chance.

You’re curious if he’s a night owl—lights staying on even into the early hours of the morning, shadows crossing around his living room that you can see from your bedroom window, tossing and turning most nights as you struggle and struggle to fall asleep.

You’ve learned methods to help, plenty—if you ever remember to charge your vibrator it was usually your first choice, a quick release of some of the built up tension over the day and you could eventually find it easier to fall asleep. But, your tried and true method was weed.

That was it. Sometimes you didn’t even need much—an edible to curb the anxiety that filled you, a puff or two at the pen you had stashed away in your bedside drawer, but most of the time it was occupying your mind with the work of rolling the joint before smoking it out your bedroom window that helped the best.

However, tonight was different.

You toss and turn and fling the blankets away that stick to your skin, the broken ceiling fan doing nothing to quell that muggy heat that was permeating in your house from earlier in the day—it just sat frozen, menacing and taunting at you. You search through the drawer at your bedside for the small tin case covered in stickers of various interests and things you enjoyed, kicking the sliding backdoor with your foot as you traveled through the living room to your kitchen and stepping out onto your back deck.

It’s still hot, but the breeze allows a noticeable difference.

You work quietly, hunched slightly over the railing and using the faint glow of the light hanging beside your backdoor, just finishing up rolling the joint as you bring it to your tongue and the distinct creak from the house next to you grabs your attention—the sliding door mimicking your own.

Your heart races and you don’t know why. It could be one of the girls, still strangers but somehow you find it easier to look that way if it was them—Joel was intimidating, the aura he carried within just a few seconds of a glance.

It is him, unfortunately—and suddenly you feel the need to hide your stash, tossing the tin box in the cheap plastic chair you bought when you first moved in. Tucking yourself away as you light the joint and bring it to your lips.

He’s being surprisingly noisy, chair scuffing the deck as he moves it around and you look at him curiously from across the way, a fence and several feet of grass dividing you both. You can see the mug clutched in his right hand and his left hand filled with a few various things. A phone, for sure—lighting up in his hand before he lays it on the table beside him, lifting a leg over the lounge chair in a straddle-like motion before he sits down.

And he does seem like a smoker, not that you have proof or theory—it was just the vibe, but as he lights the item in his hand and takes a slow drag you quickly realize there's not an ounce of nicotine in sight. It’s clear when he catches your gaze and his brow furrows slightly, noting the similar item tucked between your own fingers and you can’t help but laugh to yourself.

You don’t say a word. Neither does he. But, he does offer a weak smile when you grab the tin box from the chair, nodding in acknowledgement. Your entire body flutters to life for some weird reason that you will absolutely blame on the THC obscuring rational thought.

Thankfully, sleep comes easy after that.

–

But, it doesn’t stay that way.

Most of the time you stay tucked inside, especially on the days and nights when the heat wasn’t as ablaze as usual, but there is usually a day or two out of the week where you find yourself outside—sometimes you lounge, or pace, but it never fails that the moment you step foot outside your backdoor, Joel does too.

Once a week, rarely twice—though it does happen, both of you find yourself in quiet submission as you smoke and enjoy the peace, even with the constant click of crickets and lighting bugs that seem attracted to both of your houses, flying around your backyard in a small swarm.

And you wanted to keep your distance, not wanting to impose on his space but your two months into these unspoken nightly meetings when your cheap lighter finally decides to shit itself, offering nothing but dull sparks against your overworked thumb, trying and failing to light the end of the joint.

Joel had been watching, an amused smile growing on his face as you cursed and tossed the lighter into your yard out of frustration—you’d grab it later, whatever. Eventually you sigh, giving up on it for the night and turning to pack away your stuff before Joel is calling over to you from his side of the fence, heart dropping into your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“I got a light,” He offers, “if you’re interested?”

It’s definitely a question. A proposition. An offering.

You scratch at your brow and hesitate for a millisecond, not giving yourself enough time to debate your answer before you’re mumbling “Fuck it,” and taking the path down the steps and to the gate that separated your yards, watching as he stepped toward you all in the same breath, feeling so much more intimidating this close—the smell of him, musky and sweet. His hair was wet, too.

He took a shower, got dressed, and immediately decided to step back out into the humid heat of Texas summer.

You pluck the lighter from his grip with a soft tug, flicking open the top. It was a good lighter, not the crappy three-pack you bought at the gas station down the road—it was chrome, engraved with a JM, and soft to the touch. You admire it for half a second before you attempt to light the end of your joint, still tucked between your lips.

But, as fate would have it, you make a fool of yourself. It wasn’t that you couldn’t get it lit, but that the wind was being your worst enemy in a situation where you just wanted to smoke the goddamn joint and go to bed.

Joel puffs at the joint between his lips and breathes out the smoke through his nose before he huffs out a low laugh and nods in your direction, reaching his arms over the fence and beckoning with his fingers for you to hand the lighter back over. You nearly go cross-eyed as his hands come toward your face—much larger than your own and far better at keeping the flame strong, he peeks around his cupped palm and waits for the end to turn a bright orange before he pulls away and you eagerly pull the smoke into your lungs.

“Thank you,” You tell him, rubbing your bare feet into the grass beneath you, patchy and poorly cut from your own mow job, but you were working the best with what you had—even if it was an ancient lawn mower you snagged at a garage sale that only worked half of the time.

You didn’t like to ask for help, hated it. But, here you were, taking help from a stranger.

Well, neighbor.

It didn’t feel fair to call him a stranger anymore, even if you’ve only spoken a little under ten words to him.

“No problem, sugar,” Joel responds and your cheeks burn with heat, that distinct nervousness spreading throughout your body that couldn’t be mistaken with anything else, “curious, though—you ain’t ever thought about investin' in a good lighter?”

You shrug, tapping away the ash gently with your fingertip and taking another puff, “Why? My neighbor’s got a perfectly good one himself?”

Joel raises his brows in unison and smiles slightly, he laughs. It’s more of a lazy chuckle.

“I… have more. I just lose them a lot. Besides, they’re only like ten bucks a pack.”

You’re waiting for him to cut the conversation short and walk back to his chair, but he finds himself leaning, arms tucked and crossed over the fence, oblivious to how daunting this felt to you—the man you’ve been so helplessly curious about for months suddenly standing in front of you and interested, unbothered…not at all what you expected from him.

“Thanks for constantly moving my trash bins,” You tell him randomly, blowing the smoke out through your lips as you tilt your chin up, “I always forget.”

Joel makes a face, wordlessly offering an “I know,” with his eyes and you roll yours in return, following it with a laugh as you pop a hip out slightly, leaning most of your weight onto one leg and crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly remembering how bare you were under your thin top, assuming you’ve probably already given him quite the show already.

Though, Joel seems like the type of man to be nice enough not to point it out.

You perk up suddenly, asking the first thing that comes to mind.

"Can I ask a question?"

Joel nods.

“What’s the JM stand for? On your lighter.”

“Sweetheart,” The laugh shakes his entire chest, “come on now.”

From sugar to sweetheart—you were clearly making quite the impression on him.

When you don’t respond he answers your question.

“Joel. Miller. I figured that was obvious,” He says, stubbing out the end of his joint into the wood on his side of the fence.

“Oh.”

“It’s on the mailbox.”

Curious, you leave him for a brief moment to slip through the side gate of your yard and….yeah, sure enough.

“I swear I’m not always like this,” You tell him as you make your way back over, forcing away the smile that was creeping its way onto your face.

“Too bad,” He responds, carding fingers through his still slightly damp hair before running his open palm over his beard, scratching at his chin, “s’pretty entertaining.”

“O-kay,” You answer, sarcasm smothering your tone, “I think it’s my bedtime, Joel Miller.”

“Goodnight then,” He bows his head slightly, “neighbor.”

The tone of it makes you snort with a soft laugh, flipping him off as you depart.

Suddenly, Joel Miller doesn’t seem all that scary.

–

The next week is suspiciously quiet, to your surprise. You’ve opted out of keeping yourself inside now that you had a friend to keep you company, but when he doesn’t show up after a few minutes, you can’t explain why you feel disappointed.

Next week is the same, his house suspiciously dark.

You can’t pass judgment—he could be busy, tired, or there could be no reason at all.

But, the need in you is there—for what, you’re not even sure.

By the third week you’re ready with a peace offering, a truce.

That night his lights are on and he’s even moving around, somewhere in his kitchen you’re assuming, but instead of sneaking out into the backyard you’re crossing over your front lawn and into his, seemingly fresh mowed and smelling of wet grass, having been under mostly rain showers all night and you knock at his door.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the door opens and you smile at the sight of him, sleep pants hanging low on his hips and his shirt slightly raised by his stomach. He looks exhausted, eyes puffy with sleep as he rubs at them with his knuckles, but he doesn’t look displeased at the sight of you—in fact, he almost smiles in response.

One rolled joint in your left hand, a second in your right. It’s a wordless gesture that makes Joel scoff in amusement and nod you inside of his home. His home. That you’ve never seen until now. You were in his house and it was the most casual thing in the world. You don’t linger for long, following him toward the sliding door to his backyard but the place feels…homey. Lived in. So much unlike your own and disorganized in a way that showed years of age and memories, pictures scattered along the walls and years of personal crafts that you couldn’t examine for as long as you wished.

“Sorry I disappeared,” He acknowledges the unasked question, even though it lingered on your tongue, “—got a huge job at work, getting the site ready has been a pain in my ass.”

You share the lounge chair, taking a seat against the part of the chair that was propped up while Joel opts for the end, giving you a comfortable amount of space to stretch out if you wanted but also, and maybe instinctively, trying not to pressure you into feeling like you had to share space with him.

“Can I ask?”

Like a goddamn broken record, Joel chuckles at that. Full and genuine as he lights the end of the joint and wordlessly helps you, the same cupping motion of his hands that you welcome this time, almost eagerly.

“Ya gotta stop askin’ that,” Joel says, “especially when you’re just gonna ask anyways.”

Well.

“I’m a carpenter. Long hours, got a bad sleep schedule ‘cause of it. Pays good, though.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Not interesting at all, I know.”

“No—no, I mean. I don’t know what I was expecting you to say. That sounds…fun?”

“If you think busted knuckles and an achy back is fun—but I’m old, can’t really escape that.”

You laugh under your breath and inhale the joint between your lips, blowing it out as you speak.

“You are not old, Joel. Come on.”

“I’ve got two fully grown daughters in college and a 401k callin’ my name in about a decade.”

“So, what? Fifty five? Fifty six? You can do better than that.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

You shrug at him, a satisfied smirk stretching over your face.

It’s a back and forth game you play for a while—nights spent at his house where you bicker back and forth, offering snacks and occasionally getting the royal treatment of dinner or a late-night breakfast if Joel was feeling too antsy to sleep.

He never flirts, really. Despite how you don’t cover up around him for his own sake, always showing up in your sleep clothes that barely allowed for any modesty or the summer clothes that clung to your body and hugged your curves, allowing his eyes to trace and outline all over your figure as much as he wanted to—and sometimes he did, catching his gaze on you for a brief moment before it fades.

But, the first crack in his hard facade comes over a late night meal of pancakes and bacon, grabbing the blueberries from his fridge as he fries the meat on the stove, his elbow bumping the fridge door and knocking the small plastic box of blueberries out of your hand and to the floor, a surprised yelp coming from your throat as you scramble to catch them all.

“Shit, shit—I’m sorry, that was my fault.” You apologize, picking at the blueberries that didn’t make it, shoveling them into your hand and Joel leans down slowly, kneeling as he scoops the tainted blueberries into his own hand and dumps them in the trash.

“My bad, baby—that was on me,” It flows off his tongue with ease and if he realizes he’s said it, he doesn’t acknowledge it, “damn grease popped at me—go on, sit down. I’ll clean the rest up and we can use up what’s left.”

You both enjoy your meal without a blip, not daring to address the slip-up—he peppers you with sugars and sweethearts and the occasional honey when you get a little too combative over a topic, but never baby.

The second time is less surprising and more of a comfort, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Again, struggling with his lighter—this time your hand is holding one of those sparklers you haven’t touched since you were a child—leftovers from the bunch that Sarah and Ellie, his two daughters had brought home over the holiday. You never came over, despite his insisting invitation and running into his brother Tommy on the way home the night prior to the Fourth of July. He'd insisted too.

It just won’t light—and Joel had made the mistake of getting a few of them wet when he’d cleaned off his deck that night and suddenly you’re wondering it’s just a dud.

You hover the flame, mind drifting as you watch the flame grow and you don’t realize you’re burning yourself until Joel is pulling the items from your hands, dropping you back down into reality as you feel the sting, the sudden burn to your thumb as Joel says something that you don’t quite hear at first.

“Sweetheart, you gotta pay attention—“

You look up at him meekly and he pulls you inside with a nod of his, turning on the cold water and pulling your hand under the stream.

“Where’d you go?”

You raise your eyebrows in question, the lingering high drifting off from earlier in the night.

“Oh—just, kinda spaced out, I guess?”

Joel rubs his thumb over yours gingerly and turns off the water, grabbing you a clean washcloth stuffed with a couple pieces of ice to soothe the burn for the time being.

“Baby, you really gotta be more careful.”

Your head snaps over to him as he threw a damp paper towel into the trash and watches the sudden realization cross your face—looking for uneasiness, fear, worry; but in an instant, your body relaxes and you shake your head.

“I promise. It won’t happen again.”

You see the way his lips part slightly, almost as if he’s gearing to add a, “Me too,” for a different reason, but it never comes.

Near the end of summer, you find yourself there again.

But, things feel different.

“So, I’ve got a surprise.”

Joel leans up at your words, arm resting over his knees as you plop the bag down on the table beside the chair—Joel looks slightly worried, eyes flicking toward you and back at the bag.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never tried edibles.”

“It’s not really my thing, sugar—”

“Joel, you’ve been smoking longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Now, you know that don’t mean a damn thing.”

You shake your head in fake dismay, slipping your hand into the bag to grab a few pieces.

One for him…a couple for you.

“Aren’t those supposed to be pretty strong?”

You shrug, “I think it depends. Person to person. I’ve never tried these before, but I’ve never had a bad trip, so…”

Joel’s eyes linger, finger poking at the small, cube gummy in your hand like a child discovering a new toy.

“Hey, we’re doing this together,” You offer as a half-assed comfort, “so if it sucks, it’ll suck for both of us.”

Joel doesn’t seem to need much convincing, though. He plucks the gummy from your palm and places it on his tongue, watching as you do the same and you chew, settling back on your palms at the end of the chair, feet outstretched and crossed in front of you as you stare up at the sky.

It was a Waxing Gibbous moon, not quite full but nearly there—it hovered over Joel’s house, just enough light to illuminate the space between you two. And you wait in comfortable silence aside from the low hum of music playing inside Joel’s house, dark inside now that he had turned off all the lights as you had followed him outside.

He always spent more time out here with you than he intended nowadays.

By a half hour, you find the idle conversation quickly divulges into things more obscure, your gaze lingering on the sky longer than you realize and Joel speaks to you softly, your heart pounding slowly in your ears.

“It ain’t going nowhere.”

You turn to him slightly, blinking a few times before you realize what he’s referring to.

“Oh. Well, obviously. It’s just pretty. I could stare at it all night.”

“Can’t blame you,” Joel responds, but his eyes are nowhere near the sky.

Oblivious, your gaze lingers upwards still, leaning back so far on your hands you feel yourself slip and yelp, only caught by Joel’s hands nearly a second short of a serious head injury.

“Come here,” Joel beckons, fingers wrapping around your bicep as he pulls you forward until your back is against his chest and he allows you to lean into him, feeling him clear his throat behind you as he keeps his hands a respectable distance despite how easily he’d move you into this position to begin with.

Commendable? Sure. Frustrating? Absolutely.

If you couldn’t feel the hard, solid line of his body at your backside it wouldn’t bother you so much. And the heat of his body, scolding to the touch like a furnace. He ran hot, that much you already knew just by a few faint touches before but this—it overwhelms your senses.

You try to distract yourself, noticing the carved out wooden statue of a cowboy riding a horse while it was rearing back, you squint your eyes before perking up with a sudden question.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Get what?”

You giggle slightly, tapping at his arm to grab his attention before you point in the direction of the statue placed by the stairs, “That thing.”

“Oh, that—I…made it.” He looks away with a sudden embarrassment as you quickly twist your head up to look at him in complete and utter shock—he scrunches his face up and dares to take a peek at you from his peripheral and his face heats up when he sees you looking so rapt.

“Joel, that is insanely fucking good.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” You mock his tone, “how long did that take to make?”

Joel tries to think—it’s been years now. Sarah was barely out of grade school and he had just adopted Ellie, it was all a blur anymore with both of the girls in college now.

“A month, on and off between jobs. It’s just a piece of junk, really.”

“Joel, shut up.”

Joel can’t hold back the even bigger laugh that escapes him at your bluntness.

“It’s just a hobby.”

“A hobby you seem to be really fuckin’ good at.”

Joel shrugs and you decide to leave it be, relaxing back into his chest more comfortably, though his arm lingers more closely to your body, fingertips resting against your bicep that slowly start to move on their own, whether by Joel’s own conscious movements or just by nature of seeking touch. It’s a gentle trace, it tickles and you shrug your arm slightly to which he responds with a gentle squeeze.

By the hour mark you find that Joel hates when you ask about his statues or some of the homemade structures in his backyard—littered throughout along with an old playhouse that you can only assume belonged to his daughters, much outgrown and covered in vines and weeds, intertwined through cracks in the wood.

He hates it so much he actually tries to distract you with something else. Anything.

Unfortunately, nothing really works. So, he changes gears completely.

“What’s with the sundress tonight?” Joel asks suddenly, the playful lilt to his voice hidden behind a sudden need for authority over the situation. “Gettin’ all dolled up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s new,” You say with an eagerness, rubbing your finger over the silk fabric of the dress, “do you like it?”

“You really askin’ my opinion?”

Of course. I bought it for you.

“Do you have one?” You say instead.

“It’s nice,” He runs his pointer finger and thumb over the strap on your left shoulder that slips down, lingering against your skin as his palm covers the expanse of it.

His touch feels far away but so intense, head swirling with thoughts you can’t follow—there’s a primal need there, though. And you can’t tell if he feels it too. If it’s just the weed in your system or if it’s weeks and weeks of built up tension boiling over the edge.

This is the closest Joel has allowed you to be—he’s relaxed, his barriers are down and the hand lingering on your elbow is careful but explorative, his fingers trailing to the middle of your chest, flipping the small silver necklace around your neck under his fingertips, feeling so delicate. More importantly, he feels your heart, stretching the palm out wide and over your skin.

“Y‘alright?”

You nod and shuffle your feet, planting them on the end of the chair as you pull your knees up, the dress falling just at the apex of your thighs, barely allowing any modesty and if you spread your thighs even a half inch—

Joel breaks his eyes away, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest despite your rapidly beating heart.

“That heart of yours is racin’, sugar. Are you sure?”

Again, you nod. But, the subtle shift against him forces his fingers lower as you adjust yourself higher, ass pressed right against his groin and it does no favor for Joel, who’s fingers dip just below the fabric of your dress in the process, grazing down the center of your chest.

“You nervous or something?”

Nervous, no. Joel didn’t make you nervous anymore. The heat between your legs told you otherwise, and the need for touch was impossible to ignore and maybe just for a moment—just a second, you could let him. It would solve this ridiculous ache that had grown between your legs.

Joel seems so in tune with you and he sees the way your eyes are locked on his hand, unmoving but the half of his fingers tucked under the top of your dress.

“You don’t make me nervous, Joel.”

That wasn’t necessarily the question—and suddenly, you realize your misstep, looking up at him suddenly to catch the intense look on his face, almost like he was anticipating your gaze. His bottom lip is slightly parted from his top, face flush from the summer heat but his eyes are dark, follow the path of your face until it lands on his hand and then he speaks.

“What is it then?”

The way you press your thighs together at the sound of his voice, low and heated, spoken behind a gaze that made you feel small but admired.

Touch me. Make it better.

You don’t say it, it’s only a thought.

But, Joel is a mind reader. He never leaves your sight, but his hand moves on its own accord and squeezes your breast gently. His rough and calloused palm is a stark contrast over soft skin and if you would have made any sign of not wanting this, he would’ve pulled away.

Instead, your chest cants under his touch and your head nods without an answer to his question, because he already knew.

“Lemme see ‘em, sweetheart,” It takes little effort to pull the straps down your shoulders, his other hand pushing the fabric just below your breasts, allowing them free and Joel makes a soft, low noise behind you as he covers your chest with both hands, thumbs grazing over your nipples as they pebble under his touch, “that feel better?”

Not good. Not alright. Better—was he helping you? Was he soothing that ache he’d created?

“Y-Yeah, yes.”

He’s just as curious, squeezing the flesh in hands and occasionally letting his finger trace down your abdomen as your dress shifts and shifts until it’s barely a means to keeping your modesty over your lap, hands pressed down at the space beside Joel’s hips as you push yourself up until your head is nearly level with his, his hands squeezing your tits together as you sigh. He hooks his chin over you shoulder and watches, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back.

“You need more?” He asks, “Tell me, baby—I’m right here.”

The baby rings through your head like a warning bell.

Once was an accident, twice a coincidence, three times…

Stop it. Stop it now and you won’t have to face the awkwardness after your high wore off and you both had a night to sleep and think and regret—but you find yourself nodding anyway.

Why was Joel any different from a random hookup? Other than being your neighbor, slowly coming to what you consider to be a friend, crumbling apart before you as he hikes your dress up over your hips and grips it tight.

You nod to his question.

“Take those off,” He speaks over your shoulder and you don’t need persuading, fingers hooking into the underwear clinging to your hips and down, over your ankles as you kick them away and almost instantly Joel’s hands are on your knees, spreading you wide, his palms squeezing at the inside of your thigh, “shit, look at that—“

He dips a finger down the center of your pussy, through the slick pool of accumulated pleasure and pulls away, shiny and glistening against his fingertips as he breathes against the shell of your ear, “All that just from me touchin’ you?”

You could answer—keep dragging out this game of cat and mouse that had started between you but instead you reach for his hand, placing it against your cunt as he cups it with his palm, dragging the two middle most fingers up and down the seam, circling over your clit briefly before they’re plunging inside of you with ease, aided by just how wet you were—your pussy throbs around his fingers.

Words are few and far between outside of the soft, mewling noises you make into the side of his face as your arm comes up and wraps around the back of his neck, yanking at the short hair at his nape and dragging your mouth along his cheek as you breath out in short huffs, his other hand coming down to circle at your clit with no preamble—straight for the kill and eager without saying it.

His grip is heavy, forceful as his fingers pump in and out of you pussy with little care, the soft squelch of your arousal around his fingers forcing the heat to climb to your face and you feel his jeans rutting into the backside, desperate for relief just as much as you but too selfless to speak up about it.

And you feel the crest in your chest, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy flutters around his fingers, a shout that is quickly muffled by Joel’s hand as it covers your mouth, the fingers still buried inside of you and working you through the aftershocks as he shushes you gently. Your body feels like it’s vibrating, legs shaking slightly as he removes his fingers and squeezes tenderly at the inside of your thigh, feeling the dampness from his fingers spread over your skin before they’re climbing their way up your body, along your skin until he’s bringing them to his mouth silently and cleaning them up like he’d made a mess of his meal, your eyes widen at the sight and you feel overtaken, flooded with desire that you can’t sit and suffer with any longer.

“Knew I was right in callin’ you sugar,” He teases, catching your face in between his fingers as you turn to kneel between his legs, “so damn sweet.”

His fingers tap at his thighs, rough denim under his fingertips to match his overworked, weathered hands and you can’t help but admire, knowing they had been buried inside of you a few moments ago and you bow your head, popping the button of Joel’s jeans as he casually reaches for your hips, kneading the muscle of your thighs as he watches, helping you situate his jeans far enough down his own thighs that you can slip your hands past his boxers, straining against the weight of his cock, hard and aching as it reached up toward his stomach.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” He tells you, but you scoff slightly in amusement, not wanting to know how frazzled you look, half-lidded and bloodshot eyes under the moonlight, bare aside from the newly bought dress at your waist and Joel is most definitely still staring at your tits, his eyes dragging up to your face a few seconds too late, “I’m guessin’ we should of talked through this first but I just wanted to make you feel good—”

“You think I feel obligated?” Your eyebrow raises up slightly before you’re pulling his boxer down just enough that his cock springs out, bobbing away from his stomach slightly and you only allow yourself half a second to react.

He’s big, from root to tip you know it is the biggest you’ve ever had and you’re waiting for the cocky remark, the begging for compliments and thoughts that you hear so often during these halfway thought out hook-ups but this wasn’t that. It was weeks of build up, the tension line snapping under the weight of your unspoken desire for each other.

“Joel—”

“Don’t go boostin’ my ego,” He chuckles, “—not you, baby.”

You laugh softly and dip your head, feeling his hand curve over and through your hair, down your neck before it settles against the middle of your back and he brushes the stray hair from your face, allows his finger to rest behind your ear as you tilt your head and lick a long stripe up his cock, flicking your eyes up briefly to catch him staring, mouth closed and unnaturally stoic for a moment, like he’s holding his breath.

“Show me,” You plead with him, “whaddya like?”

You move down slightly to roll your tongue along his balls, the weight of it in your mouth as you suckle and feel his fingertips scrape gently along your skin, allowing a few moments of your own exploration before he’s wrapping his hand around his shaft and using the other to grip your chin and rubbing the tip against your half-open mouth, forcing a dribble of spit between your lips and letting it trail down the tip before he feeds his cock into your mouth, tongue spreading flat over the underside and keeping him in your eye-line before it’s nearly impossible, feeling him guide you down until his cock nudges the back of your throat with a slight sting, eyes watering.

“Look at that,” His voice is low, gruff as it rumbles in his chest, “makin’ it all fit in that pretty little moutha’ yours.”

You quickly realize that Joel enjoys watching you feel consumed by him, choking on his cock as your head bobs up and down with fervor, a gentle guiding hand against the back of your head as you breathe through your nose, feeling him nudge the back of your throat over and over and over until you find yourself fighting for air and oblivious to the symphony of curses Joel was spewing above you as his neck was tight, straining as he tipped his own head back against the chair.

And he looks too fucking good to pass up on. You rise, pulling at the collar of his shirt to grab his attention and his eyes open wide, his pupils blown out and dilated as he watches you move, biting at your bottom lip as you shuffled your legs over his hips to straddle him.

“Can you fuck me?”

“Can I—sweetheart, you sure?”

You give him a look of flippant disregard, too impatient to pace through the steps of sureness. But, Joel is focused suddenly, pulling your attention to him as his palm finds your face, cradling your cheek and rubbing his thumb over the shape of your lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” He tells you.

“Yes, Joel.” You answer him impatiently, “I just—I mean I don’t have anything, but…”

“You ain’t gotta worry about that,” Joel chuckles, “been out of commission for a while, sugar.”

You can’t help to release the giggle that bubbles in your chest at that.

He’d had kids, a family at some point—but that wasn’t his life now. He was a renewed bachelor, experiencing all the things he’d put on the back-burner to be a good and proper father. While this hadn’t been at the top of his list, or even anywhere on it really, you can see the happy satisfaction on his face with how comfortable he’s grown in the time you’ve gotten to know one another.

“Can’t tell,” You comment slyly as you lift up on your knees, allowing Joel to shift his jeans further down until they’re bunched sloppily at his ankles.

Joel rolls his eyes fondly, “Go on, baby.”

He watches, eyes following your hand as you grip his cock at the base, rubbing it along the center of your cunt, gliding through messy arousal and finding some excitement in the way he squeezes at your thighs a little too hard, fingers curling around the back of your knee as the head of his cock catches against your clit, again, again, barely allowing him to press inside of you until finally, a few harsh pleas balancing on his tongue that quickly dissipate as you sink down onto him inch by suffocating inch.

You breathe out slowly, watching Joel as he watches you, his eyes locked on the sight of his cock as it settles inside of you, only allowing the slow, gentle rock of your hips as you adjust.

His stomach flexes under your touch, fisting your hands into his shirt and lifting it out of the way before Joel gets the hint and strips himself completely, kicking his jeans off weakly as you sigh, squeezing gently as his shoulders and feeling his hands grip at your backside, into the soft flesh of your cheeks and you strip the wrinkled fabric over your head, tossing it somewhere behind Joel’s head as you fingers grip along the edge the bar of the chair above his head, lifting your hips in time with his movements as he keeps a firm hand on you, allowing soft puffs of groans to fall from his lips as your tits bounce with the frantic movement and Joel leans forward, capturing the side of your breast between his teeth, a gentle bite that causes you to squeak.

It’s quickly soothed by his tongue before he flicks it over your nipple, circling the peaked and pebbled nub before he’s sucking it between his teeth, eyes locking on yours from the depraved angle it allows you, still able to spot the few shining grays of his hair in this light. You card your fingers through his hair and arch your chest into his mouth, “J-Joel, maybe we should move this inside.”

He shakes his head, mouth still stuffed full with you as you moan out loudly when he smacks your ass in one gentle but solid swing and you want to blame his boldness on the dwindling drug in your system, but somehow you come to the conclusion that it was just Joel, unbridled and wanting. Of you.

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” Joel disagrees as he pulls back, “no one gives a damn ‘round here, anyways.”

“Says you,” You laugh weakly, whimpering softly as he snaps his hips into you with sudden force, his hand reaching for the back of your neck to urge you forward, forgoing your body for your lips and it’s more intense than anything else going on around you—his cock stuffed inside of you, the fingers on your skin, it didn’t matter for that brief second of a first touch, kissing you sloppily as you moan into each other’s shared space.

“Well, I do—got this one neighbor,” He jokes, “nosey as shit but damn is she a good fuckin’ time.”

You gasp as he pulls you close, free arm wrapping around your back as he slips his tongue past your lips, using the opportunity as your lips part to devour you in an instant and you pull at the stands of his hair in turn, kissing him back with a harsh pressure that begs for more.

“M’not nosey,” You defend lamely, “just—fuck, curious, ya know?”

“Thank god for that,” Joel sighs, and your pussy flutters before squeezing around him, “oh, fuck baby—do that... do that again.”

You do, teasingly, watching as Joel curses under his breath and leans back, watching you move against him without shame, a hand pressing against your stomach to guide you to lean back slightly, “Look at that, sweetheart—makin’ a goddamn mess on me.”

The short, coarse hair at his groin is wet and sure enough, covered in the messy slick of you and mixed with the thin sheen of sweat that had covered both of your bodies in this sticky heat.

“You like the idea of gettin’ high and letting me fuck you?” Joel questions amongst the pound of your heart in your ears, the heat of his gaze quickly driving you toward the edge again. He chuckles, “Dirty—dirty girl. Was that what you’ve been plannin’ since the beginning?”

“Would’ve let you fuck me either way,” You admit, only a half-truth. You weren’t sure if you’d ever pluck up the courage had Joel not made the first move, but you’re damn sure glad he did anyways, “and with a cock like that, god—”

“Easy,” Joel warns, “givin’ me a complex the way you were looking at it.”

“It’s big, Joel.” You admit, pushing the stray hair that had fallen down over his forehead away and back into this messily quaffed hair, “You like knowing I can barely fit it all in my mouth, don’t—don’t act coy about it.”

He’s not—he’d been more than willing to allow you to choke on the girth of him until you begged for mercy, but given his normally gentle nature with you, he wasn’t going to take it that far.

Your brow drags up in a pinch, moaning as his thumb presses against your clit and circles, presses down gently, just the right amount of everything to drive you to near insanity. Your thighs squeeze against his own where he has you spread out, hands balled up into fists that punch gently at his chest.

“You’re right there, baby—gotcha, I gotcha.” He murmurs, watching you intently as you grip at the arm wrapped around your back to keep you upright, fingers digging into his bicep as you tip over the edge, legs shaking through the second orgasm he’s given you that night, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you start to see the flurry of stars in your darkened vision.

Your limbs give out shortly after, falling against his chest as he snaps his hips, just near the edge himself as he groans, grunts, breathing hotly into the curve of your neck and you rub at the little spot behind his ear that makes him chuckle, “Want it all inside,” You tell him through a cloud haze of need and pure desire, “can you do that, Joel?”

“Fill you up, sugar?” He asks, sounding a little taken aback, “If that’s—if that’s somethin’ you’re comfortable with.”

You nod eagerly and he loosens the reins completely, lifting one of your legs until you can plant a foot near his hip and he pounds into you, pulling back when he feels the impending orgasm grow in his gut, hot and intense. He watches as he comes inside of you with a few slow snaps of his hips.

“Shit,” He curses after a drawn-out silence, helping you move off of him and into a more comfortable position between his legs as he grabs lazily for his shirt, cleaning up the mess of your wet arousal against his skin and letting the spoiled shirt rest over his groin for modesty, breathing in slow, full breaths.

It’s been too long for him and he knows it.

Joel reaches for the dress that caught on the edge of the chair by his head and hands it over, watching as you slipped it over your head, legs still spread out over his own and he can’t help but draw his eyes to the sight of his come dripping out between your legs and he grins subtly, motioning you forward with a tired finger that you look at curiously before scooting forward an inch, thinking he may wipe something of your face, arrange a piece of hair back into place, but instead he’s slipping his ring finger inside of you and it forces a surprised gasp from your chest.

You laugh airily and swat his hand away, “Stop that,” You tell him.

“Just makin’ sure you don’t waste any of it, sweetheart.”

You snort, flipping him off half-heartedly as you reach for your underwear, standing up to pull it back up your hips and under your dress, swaying slightly on your feet after having been sat for so long.

You sigh, pushing your hair back with your hands, suddenly feeling sticky and gross in the aftermath and Joel seems to notice, slowly redressing himself as he stands.

“Why don’t you shower?” Joel suggests, leaving his jeans unbutton but pulled back up his hips. Shirt balled up in his hand.

You look geared to say no, but Joel sweetens the deal.

He looks at his watch, nearing two in the morning.

“I’ll make us an early breakfast,” He offers, shrugging with a lazy smile, “I mean—early early, because I know you’re probably starvin’. I know I am.”

“Only if you’ll make the blueberry pancakes.”

Of course that was the ultimatum.

“Deal, sugar—go get your ass in the shower.” He nods toward the house and you laugh, running away from the hand that pushes at your back.

So, maybe Joel wasn’t the scary neighbor you assumed him to be. But, you couldn’t deny the bursting affection that was growing in your chest for him and that was even more terrifying.

And when he serves up the pancakes to you, hair damp and dripping down your back and onto the shirt he’d lent you, a small square of pancake balanced on a fork that he feeds into your mouth, you feel it.

He's still shirtless, barefoot against his kitchen floor.

“We can—we can do this again, right?”

Joel smiles, looking down at the plate as he cuts off another piece.

“I’ve been waitin’ an entire summer to get the courage to do that, or even ask you on a proper date—we can do whatever you want, sugar.”

“Dates are overrated,” You shrug, “I like this better.”

“Good,” Joel grins, “least now I can mow that lawn of yours without feelin’ bad for asking.”

“Excuse you—I do just fine on my own,” You gasp with mock offense.

You’re lying—that mower was a piece of shit and Joel could see the way your face quickly melts into embarrassment, laughing quietly behind his fist.

“I like helpin’ out,” He tells you with a shrug, beginning to list off a few things he could help work on around your house, eyes drifting off as he went through the mental list, oblivious to the sudden closeness as you leaned over the counter and capture his lips, closed mouth with both of your cheeks puffed full of pancakes.

“You ramble when you’re high,” You tease him, “it’s adorable.”

Joel grimaces at the word but relents when he sees you smile, wide and spreading out across your entire face, snatching the fork from his hand while he’s distracted.

“So, same time next week?”

“Deal, sweetheart.”

Joel doesn’t care that you show up empty-handed the following week.

And frankly, neither do you.

divider creds: @saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pasca #pedro pascal characters #my writing #um i have no reason other than pure horknee-ness

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3verythingiknowaboutlove · 29 days ago

Text

say yes to heaven

how spencer and you deal (or don't deal) with the fact that he doesn’t want a baby anymore after coming home from prison, and you really do.

MDNI | angst

word count: 2226 warnings & tags & stuff: bau!reader, avoidant reader, avoidant spencer, no happy ending (wtf), reader wants a baby, one line about reader not having a certain religious belief, they like almost have sex, spencer undresses reader, lots of talk about a condom, they dont really fight at all?, very underdeveloped/bad description of quantum immortality author's note: heyyyyy guyss whats up..... this is a different vibe to my regular stuff and i fear it may be really ooc?? i don't know how to feel but i literally have to post or i'll go even more crazy sooo here we are!! have a delightful day, let me know your thoughts if you have any, ily!!!

Antique shops, you and Spencer have decided, are the hidden gems of this nation yet to be appreciated enough by the general public.

Each town or city you visit is bound to have one, and going to them has become a little celebratory tradition. In the early mornings after cases are solved, right before the plane ride home, you take a look around. You’re typically the first and only ones in the store, wandering with intertwined hands and sipping on ‘2 extra foamy cappuccinos with an additional shot of espresso, please’ and occasionally, but not necessarily, choosing something to take back to D.C.

You’ve been trying your absolute hardest to fill your home to the brim– sometimes with objects, and other times with words, or touch, or the ever so valuable and fleeting concept of shared time– in effort to replace what had been lost in that three month long period when it was completely devoid of tangible, fresh love.

It’s today you’re wandering through a quaint, very cluttered shop in western Oregon, the Pacific visible from the store’s windows.

Wheels up in an hour. Don’t be late. Hotch’s text buzzes in your pocket, but you barely glance at it– there’s something about the Oregon coast that reaches into your heart and gives it a gentle massage, enveloping you in a refreshing lack of urgency.

Spencer, in his own peaceful world, is staring at a tall wall of books. He reaches out to pick up a dusty rendition of Moby Dick, carefully cracking it open to the first few pages to check the publication date, brow scrunching as he reads. You go to peer over his arm to check as well, when something catches the corner of your eye. You let go of his hand to inspect.

A bassinet. Dark wood, surface polished to a faint sheen, with intricate little waves engraved on the sides, like the ocean’s misty outreach had come all the way into the shop and placed this here for you to see.

You weren’t exactly sure when this now familiar ache had started; this deep, internal desire felt in your stomach for a little hand to be gripped around your pointer and for tiny onesies to fill your laundry basket, but you’re sure, with every fiber of your being, that you want it to be there.

“Spence,” you say softly, voice jarring in the otherwise stillness of the shop. “Come look.” He carefully closes the book and puts it back where it was and pads over, looking down at the bassinet. His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Wow. It looks like it was made in the 80s, maybe even earlier. You won’t find any level of detailing more recently than that, it’s too labor intensive for modern production methods. Good find.”

“I know. Should we get it?” you ask, biting a smile. He quickly meets your eyes, brow raising slightly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, voice even.

“I mean, I just think it’s really cute, with the waves and stuff.” you say bashfully, nudging it with your toe so it rocks back and forth. Spencer swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

“Yeah, I just…” Spencer hesitates. “I don't think we’d be able to bring it on the jet. It would probably snap in half if we held it in the wrong way,” he says, making your brain race even though he hasn’t said a single thing that should cause it to do so.

“Oh.”

You blink.

“No, yeah, you’re totally right. It’s too inconvenient. You should get that copy of Moby Dick instead. That edition looked cool, with the forward explaining all the names,” you say gently, pushing a smile, nudging him back towards the shelf. He goes, shooting you one last glance as you move to observe a few clocks hanging on the wall.

Spencer doesn’t reach for your hand again when he comes back.

…

The house is quiet when you arrive back home, hours later. Spencer sets his bag down by the door, and yours goes next to his to be dealt with later.

Exhaustion from the case is heavy in your limbs; the long flight and the sleepless nights are seeping into your bones, but Spencer seems perfectly intent upon kissing it better. You rest your forehead on his chest, exhaling softly, contentedly, as he presses kiss after kiss into your hair. He gently rests his hands on your waist and pushes you against the door– not as an act of dominance, like if someone were viewing you two from afar might assume, but one of simple convenience.

His hand reaches up to tilt your chin to the position he wants. Before leaning in to your neck, he pauses.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to bed?” he asks. “You didn't sleep last night.” You shake your head, giving his cheek a small peck of your own.

“It’s one of those tireds where I can’t even think about sleep ever again.”

A small smile grows on his face.

“I bet I can change that,” Spencer offers, knuckles skimming over your waist. You smile and let him tug you upstairs to your room and guide your hips to sit on the bed. His hand cups the side of your jaw, as always, lips moving to press against yours in a soft, affectionate display of his adoration. His other hand moves to your waist, squeezing, and you shiver a little in response, making him hum gently.

His hands go underneath the hem of your top. “Okay?” he asks. You nod, lifting your arms to help. His eyes take their time tracing over you, but never in a way that couldn't be defined as sweet. His hand leaves your cheek and goes to the bedside table, sliding open the drawer. It draws toward the front left corner, as it always does, when it pauses. He turns to look at you, hesitating.

You, whose legs are now pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them. You stare at the yellow light of the lamp you and Spencer picked out months ago reflecting against those countless little squares of foil.

Your lips are drawn inwards, between your teeth, unable to help your mind from racing to other realities, ones where every detail is the very same, except Spencer chose not to open that drawer tonight.

…

Spencer explained the basis of quantum immortality to you a long time ago, in the early stages of your relationship, at a time so late in the night where a regular person would never be able to form coherent thoughts, let alone thoughts like these.

You were slumped over the kitchen island, peering at him as he wandered around, silently marveling at the preciousness of your boyfriend the world seemed to take for granted as he tried to get you to understand how cool this concept was.

“There’s also an interpretation of quantum mechanics proposed by a physicist named Hugh Everett which involves a ‘many worlds’ concept: essentially, it suggests that every possible outcome of an event creates its own branch of reality, meaning an infinite number of parallel worlds exist, each containing a version of events where everything that can happen, does happen,” he starts, widening his eyes for dramatic effect. “So quantum immortality is rooted in the concept that when we die in one timeline, we essentially just move on to the next one where every detail is the same except… well, you don’t die.”

He went on to emphatically talk about some guy’s cat in a box, but how this time, in a thought experiment that demonstrates this theory of immortality, you’re the cat.

You had pretty much lost him when he got to that part.

…

You blink, shoving the memory from your mind.

“You’re staring,” you point out quietly.

“You’re pretty,” Spencer responds. He sits next to you on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You watch as his other hand fiddles with the condom he grabbed, running his thumb over the edges of the wrapper. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Did I do something?” You shake your head softly.

“Mm-mm.”

“Really? Because we’ve been sitting in silence and you haven’t stopped staring at the condom in my hand for the past two minutes.”

You exhale quietly, internally screaming at yourself to just spit it out.

It’s never been easy, being an agent dating an agent. Sure, agreements have been made to not profile each other, but with so many years of experience, small observations and connections about your partner’s nature are an automatic practice. You know that Spencer takes 3 sugars in his coffee just as well as you know he says your name more frequently and shortens his sentences when scared, almost like he tries to instead convey the appearance he’s mad.

You also know very well that you and Spencer have both been consciously avoiding this conversation like the plague, especially since his homecoming.

You gnaw at your lip, trying to think of something to say, but your mind can only come up with freaky images of cats that are simultaneously alive and dead until observed.

“`M sorry, I was just thinking. Lost in my mind.”

“Thinking about what?”

Relationships that are simultaneously kept and broken until a certain conversation is had.

“Um. Quantum immortality. Who’s that guy? Hugh Jackman?”

Spencer straightens, eyebrows raising a little. “Hugh Everett,” he supplies. His tone is gentle, coaxing. “You’ve been thinking about that? I told you about him months ago.”

He stands as you quietly think of a response, grabbing a hoodie from the closet to tug over your bare torso, letting his hand gently cradle the back of your head after doing so.

“Yeah. I did a little more reading on it. It’s kind of a nice thought I keep going back to. Obviously really, really scary when you think about it for too long. But nice in the sense that there’s probably a version of us out there somewhere where…” you trail off, suddenly extremely aware of the weight of your words.

He glances down to the condom he left on the comforter.

The thick silence that follows feels like it stretches across a thousand timelines, each one probably also filled with countless what-ifs and unspoken words and really bad communication, and at the very root of all of it, fear. That deep, gaping hole in both of your souls.

When Spencer finally looks at you, his eyes are so deep it takes your breath away. So deep that it jars you into just saying it.

“Spencer,” you begin, voice so quiet. “Do you still want kids?”

You find yourself shooting up a silent prayer to whoever is out there looking out for you– God or Isaac Newton or Hugh Everett or Jason Gideon:

Pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you continue– a habit probably picked up from the person standing right in front of you. “I just feel like there was a time where we were almost talking about it, but then it… went away.”

He reaches out to gently take the condom you were now fiddling with and sets it back in the drawer, his hand resting on the edge of the table as if grounding himself. His face is soft, almost glowing in the dim yellow light.

“I know,” he starts, voice crackling at the edges.

You stay dead silent.

“I didn’t mean for it to go away,” Spencer says, the crack in his voice causing you to glance up and see his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod, shakily, though the perpetual ache in your stomach is sharper now, more like it’s a knife stabbing you through the gut.

“I get it,” you say, even though part of you doesn’t want to. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You can’t even bring yourself to think of the implications of what he just said– all you know is that there is something fundamentally different between you and Spencer that wasn’t there before.

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. You know I do. But I can’t. Not now.”

You reach out your hand for him to take.

“Spencer,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Really. We don’t have to talk about it any more.”

His lips press into a thin line, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Clearly. It wasn’t a statement said to be believed. There was nothing okay, at all, but this isn’t a fight- there’s nothing to fight about. There's just a quiet understanding. He nods, finally, and steps back. “We should get some sleep,” he says, his voice almost too soft to hear.

You watch as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, still in his work clothes, leaving just enough space for you beside him. After a moment you curl up next to him because, despite everything, doing the alternative would be so much worse.

Spencer's arms wrap around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, and you close your eyes and let the silence settle over you both, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. Something you would have given anything to have not so long ago.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #piper’s works

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 month ago

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What are some ways the Mafia crew would try to further woo their dearest love? And in return, what ways could we further endear ourselves to them?

Scary spooky mafia guys...... trying their hardest to woo a pretty human. AGH it hits all the notes!!!!

Horror gets overwhelmed. You make him so happy, so fuzzy, so warm - but he doesn't believe he can 'woo' you. Not when he can't bear his own reflection, not when even his Dust and Killer consider him violent and frightening. Horror believes his affection for you is his only redeeming quality. He doesn't think you'll like him, but he literally can't stop himself from trying, so when he has his heart set on you his methods are... surprisingly slow and tentative. Especially considering how mercurial he usually is. He brings you flowers that made him think of you, he makes you food, he pores over his brother's dating manual and panics when something happens that he hasn't read about. He's nervous to even hold your hand in case he scares you; the other skeletons are so handsome and eloquent and flirtatious, how could he ever compare? If he frightens you off, he'll never get you back. He has to be gentle.

How could you endear yourself to Horror? Tell him how handsome he is. Tell him how often he's charming without realising. Compliment his cooking. It really won't be that hard, he's already head over heels, but hearing that you like him means so much.

Dust... does not struggle with wooing. Sorry Horror. Dust is frightening, certainly, but his quietness gives him an undeniable magnetism. Like a wolf - sure, you can see his sharp teeth when he smiles, you can see the moonlight flash in his empty eyes. But when he draws close... you can't help but want to move nearer, and touch his soft, silver pelt. Compared to the other three, his romancing is much more underhanded, more about you than grand gestures toward you - which can honestly be a relief when you're being pursued by such big personalities. He turns on the charm, talks quietly and sweetly, stands just a little too close to be platonic, rents your favourite movie when you're down, and (most importantly) positioning himself as your friend and confidant against the other bad guys. He clearly doesn't want to be involved with them, and it's easier to keep you close if you trust him more.

Dust is won over by sincere affection and compliments. For all that looming and flirting, he sure does fall apart quickly when you look right into his eyelights and tell him you like having him around. At that point, he's all yours.

Killer firmly believes that if he can make you laugh, he can make you love him. It's all about getting those giggles, baby. Whatever kind of jokes you like is the kind he tells, he's impressively quick on the draw and never runs out of material, on occasion you may have to ask him to stop joking because your cheeks and abdomen hurt from laughing. He's careful not to be too much... he knows when to be bombastic, when to just be a bit silly and teasing, and when to offer a shoulder to lean on because you're not in the mood. His romantic side is obviously going to be in full force - bouquets, sweets, cards, dates - but his number one wooing technique is getting you to smile. The world you've been unwillingly dragged into can be truly terrifying, and even with the skeletons surrounding you, you'll no doubt feel the nerves and pressure. Killer's humour is a welcome distraction.

It's... hard to tell what endears you to Killer. Honestly, it's hard to tell what Killer is ever thinking. How do you know what's real affection, and what's just a way of making you feel comfortable around him? How can you tell when he's not acting anymore? Though, if you look at how hard he's working every single day to make you that little bit happier... maybe it's not possible to be any more dear to him than you already are.

Nightmare likes to throw his money around. He has an incredible skill for catching when you really like something, reading your face for even the subtlest shine in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to cover your reactions he will catch when you want something and buy it for you. ... But that's not his only wooing trick. Nightmare is, to most people, a violent and unpleasant man who lets his temper take him wherever it pleases. But once he understands his feelings for you and fully commits to romance, he's charming. Lethally charming. He was raised a prince, after all, Dream isn't the only one who has a way with words. You'll start a simple conversation with him, and then you blink and you're sitting on his desk in his study telling him things you've never told anyone. You'll go to him specifically trying not to be swayed - and then when you snap back to reality the two of you are sharing a very luxurious bottle of wine in his room and you've just agreed to be his plus one to a gala this weekend. After all, if he wants to buy you another eye-wateringly expensive necklace, he's going to have to convince you to try some on first.

Nightmare appreciates any attempt to get to know him. His whole life, he's felt like he's living in Dream's shadow, so when you try to actually understand and learn about Nightmare he gets as flattered as he does flustered. Find out about his favourite painters and musicians, read his favourite books, ask him about himself. No one ever has before.

#llamagines #bad sanses #mafia au #being with nightmare is like suddenly waking up from a crazy night out #except instead of waking up in bed with a hangover #you wake up listening to an orchestra from a private booth. wearing jewellery that costs twice your old rent

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drurrito · 10 months ago

Text

Night Drive (18+)

Summary: You get a new car

AN: 18+ only y'all--we're gonna pretend that there are plenty of other self-driving cars that aren't t*sla...I hope this makes up for me not putting out another part of AYTO yet! All mistakes are mine.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: cursing; reader has a dick; dom//powerbottom!Natasha; sub//top!reader

----------------

You sink lower into your seat as you rev the engine of your new car with the widest grin Natasha can't see. Natasha looks hardly impressed from your view beyond the barely-legal tint of the windows.

You decide to roll down your window and plead your case.

"Hey baby."

Natasha rolls her eyes. You already screw yourself coming right out the gate with pleasantries, Natasha knows you're desperate to get on her good side when you do that.

"So...what do you think?" You vaguely gesture to the rest of the car and Natasha scoffs.

"I think you were a finance bro in your past life," she crosses her arms, and you relent, "probably," you sing as you round the car to lean against the hood. The gun metal gray still holds a shine in the moonlight. This wasn't an impulse purchase, you had been talking about buying a new car for a while now. You would go on little rants about the specs of certain cars whenever you saw them on the road or on TV. It's not like you were waiting when you had the money, being an avenger was a pretty-paying gig. You were just waiting for the right one, at the right time--a method you mastered by the time Natasha came around.

"Wanna go for a joyride?" You offer, already leaning off the hood and spinning the key in your hand.

Natasha wants to keep giving you a hard time, but you look so damn good in front of your sleek, expensive, new backdrop. Your muscles bulge under your fitted black shirt, and you have the cockiest smile on your face, like you knew you were winning this race.

"And if we get pulled over?"

"With SHIELD plates? I'm not worried about it," it almost comes out like it's scripted. You're not above rehearsing a speech for Natasha if it means getting your way. You're pulling out all the stops, but Natasha wants to remind you who's really behind the wheel. Her eyes rake over you slowly, intensely--the same way fresh lava travels over earth. You're standing at attention and you don't even know it.

"You gonna open the door for me or just stand there like you forgot your manners?" Natasha watches in amusement as you fumble for the door handle. She slides onto the cool leather while you make your way into the driver's seat yet again. You wait patiently for her to get comfortable and buckle in.

It's only when you rev the engine with a wink that Natasha muses this might have been a bad idea on her part. You punch the gas pedal and she's quickly acquainted with the back of the cherry red bucket seat.

----------------

Natasha decides that she doesn't like going fast unless the fate of the world depends on it. She also decides this is the one exception when she sees the freeway system of veins in your forearms as you grip the steering wheel. Natasha feels like she's flying when she watches your triceps flex while you turn the wheel or do something as mundane as turning on her seat heater.

Natasha slides her seatbelt off in a way that doesn't set off the sensor--she didn't want this moment to be ruined by a lecture on why it's important to buckle-up. You're too distracted by the beat of your night drive playlist to notice her crawling closer to you.

You feel her lips on the shell of your ear, "eyes on the road, got it?"

"Yes ma'am," you try to say cooly, you don't dare chance a look over at her. She hums with satisfaction and rewards you with a kiss on the skin behind your ear and a nibble on your lobe that tightens the coil in your belly.

Natasha sucks and licks at your neck while her deft fingers work to undo your belt and zipper. Her hand explores the border of your waistband before dipping under and finding what it was looking for. You let out a whisper of a gasp when Natasha admires your full length and girth. Your grip on the wheel tightens, Natasha chuckles when she hears the leather under your fingers groan.

Natasha begins to stroke you slowly, agonizingly so, but that doesn't keep your hips from bucking up into her hand.

"Tash," that only elicits a rumble against your neck. Natasha's other hand curls around your neck and gives a light squeeze that makes your vision blur for a second. Her stroking picks up speed, you have to work impossibly hard to keep your foot off the brakes.

"Natasha, please."

"I like the way you say please, baby," she mumbles with your skin between her teeth.

"What did I tell you?"

"Eyes on the road, ma'am," you say with a quickness that makes the corner of her lips curl up in satisfaction.

"So smart," she praises before you helplessly watch her head lower until you feel her lips greet your cock with a sloppy kiss. You throw your head back against your seat with a pathetic moan.

"So desperate," Natasha teases, and your mind feels like it's going a million miles an hour--multitasking is usually your strong suit, but it seems damn near impossible now.

Natasha's tongue travels the length of you, your hips feebly buck into her mouth when she finally grants you entrance. You slow your speed to safely take a hand off the wheel and hold her hair back. She thanks you with a gentle squeeze on your thigh and the prettiest sounds you could have only ever imagined.

Your playlist is already repeating itself by the time Natasha comes up for air. She can barely hear it over your panting anyway. You're rock hard and right where she wants you.

"The car can drive itself, you know," you breathe out. Natasha's brow quirks with curiosity.

"Show me," it's a gentle command, but your fingers rush to press the right sequence of buttons. You ease the seat back with haste, and Natasha just lets you sit there for a few beats to take you in and also leave you in suspense.

Your fingers dumbly flex against your legs while you wait for further instruction from Natasha. She doesn't even try to hide her smirk when your eyes begin to dart between the road and her.

"You're not gonna let us crash right, dove?" Natasha's finger traces a feather-light trail down your arm. It's a genuine question, even though she knows you probably did some sizable research on the safety features of the car before you even entertained buying it.

"No ma'am, you're precious cargo," you give an easy smile and that's Natasha's cue to move and straddle your lap. You help her with your hands on her hips, your hands quickly retreating to your sides when she's situated over you.

Natasha swears your eyes are sparkling as you watch her slide her panties to the side with one hand and take your length in the other.

"Eyes on me, baby, just for a second," she coos and you obey. Natasha can't help but admire the striations of your muscles working overtime to restrain yourself. You've always been intoxicatingly obedient, even when it's downright painful. Your eyes are locked on Natasha's, you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan when she finally eases down onto your cock. She's already working her hips in a way that has your entire body buzzing. You can count on one hand how many cars have passed you by this whole time, just like you expected.

Your fingers dig into the leather of your seat, your eyes periodically glancing at the road to make sure it hasn't veered off course for whatever reason. Natasha steals a few sloppy kisses when she leans into you to get a better angle and bounce on your cock at a speed that should be illegal.

"Tash, I'm gonna-," you choke out between labored breaths.

"What was that baby?" she leans back and oh god, you wish you had the kind of self-control your car has right now. You feel like you're going to pass out watching Natasha ride your cock, you're too blissed out to realize that she's spelling out 'm-i-n-e-' with her hips.

"I'm gonna come so fast."

"I know baby."

That seals your fate. Your arm reaches back to brace yourself against the seat. With a long and drawn-out "fuck," Natasha feels you push deeper into her, filling her up with every last drop of you. You both fall into a sweaty, moaning heap against the seat. Your body trembling with aftershocks as Natasha scratches at the skin on the back of your neck. You only get to drink this feeling in for a few seconds until you see red and blue flashing lights in your rearview mirror.

"Shit," you sit up and Natasha freezes when she sees what you see. You feverishly check your speedometer, you're not speeding. You start rifling through your brain to see if you forgot to do something, insurance? Plates? Registration?

Your questions are answered when you watch the cop car speed off into the night. Natasha lets out a heavy sigh of relief that makes your dick twitch, reminding you both that you're still inside of her.

"Told you," you try not to sound so exasperated. Natasha just rolls her eyes before kissing your temple. Night drives might just become a regular thing now.

#not a word #not one peep #works #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff smut #what do i say?#use protection #dont actually have sex while operating a moving vehicle?#if you know what this is inspired by no u don't

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scam-alerts · 3 months ago

Text

🔎Scam Exam(ination)🔍(updated 2/9/25)

Seen as: I would like a commission of my son/pet... Scam Type: Commission

Also: See this update on how scammers are changing the scam.

Accounts running this scam: iloveartworks asperlisonloveart zeeloverk paleblizzardsoul herwizardlove sandralmon humongousbarbarianinternet furrynachodelusion bigellev ericatylerart

Proof of iloveartworks being a scammer can be seen/found here and here. The other accounts listed above all follow the same script and additional proof and can usually be found in the tags: #scam, #scams, or #scam alert.

IMPORTANT: Update as of 1/31/25 - They are now threatening law enforcement if you do not send them payment via the fake paypal email. This is a scare tactic. Please see that section once you get to it. Thank you.

-----

Being open to commissions isn't uncommon if you're an artist.

You may often find yourself receiving messages from strangers looking to commission you for a picture of their OC or even their favorite ship.

But if you receive a message like this, you should be careful you don't fall into a scammers trap.

-----

How it starts:

it starts by receiving a message from another user requesting a commission. Again, typical common practice if you're an artist.

What they ask for at the start, is usually the first red flag.

IMPORTANT 1/15/25: These scammers are now sending Asks and commenting on peoples posts asking 'are you open to commission? Send me a DM.' So please be aware of this as well!

Here are some images of how this scam conversation starts:

Images provided by: (1)@neogandw, (2)@foggywiz4rd, (3-4)@maikaartwork

🚩Red flag's (part 1)🚩

I want you to draw my son/daughter.

I want you to draw my son/daughter's pet.

It's a blank blog with no posts/reblogs

It's a blog that's only a few days/week old.

While this request seems simple enough, this scam gets worse.

Here are some recent examples of the dog they will request:

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An offer too good to refuse:

Now you may be thinking, 'surely this can't be bad or malicious, right?' They just want you to draw a picture of their child or their child's pet! And that's definitely what the scammer wants you to think. Which is what brings us to the next set of red flags:

Left image from @neogandw, right image from @maikaartwork

🚩Red flag's (part 2)🚩

'I will pay you $200-$500+' (an amount way way beyond your normal asking price.)

'I just want the best you can do.' (They don't know how to answer questions related to details such as pose, background, style, objects you want included, etc.)

'It's for their birthday/holiday' - ' I want it done as soon as possible.' (They will push that you do this with a sense of urgency so you don't ask questions.)

-----

The Catch:

Now, if you haven't reported and blocked them by now, and you agree to take this persons commission, this is where the catch to this scam comes into play.

If you tell the scammer to send you an invoice, they will refuse.

If you tell them to use your preferred method, they will refuse.

Those methods just 'wont/don't work', you see.

What they really want, is your PayPal email and your name.

From here they will say that they sent you payment, and that you should check your email. Or that 'they got an email and something went wrong' and that you should check your email.

And here is where the scam comes to ahead.

They will send you a fake email meant to look like it came from PayPal that looks like the ones shown below:

Second image provided by @badlibbing

Second set of images provided by @petxka, thank you!

This third image comes from @elrealelchunk on 1/31/25 and is very important. Scammers are now threatening law enforcement if you do not send them money.

Again as noted in the top of the post, this is 100% a scare tactic.

-----

What this email means / How this scam works:

In the case of screenshot one (provided by @neogandw) the 'MONALISA' is the person who was trying to commission them.

The payment hasn't 'went through', and the e-mail (from 'fake PayPal') is saying that they, the artist, needs to send $200 to 'MONALISA' to 'expand the limit' of their account to get the $500 that is owed to them.

Read the e-mail and think about what you're being asked to do:

'You are to send (name) money to expand your account.' You are to send someone money, to get money.

If your account is limited, why would you need to send another PayPal user money to 'unlock' your account or 'expand it', and not just contact PayPal itself to try and resolve that issue...?

This is not how PayPal works, in any sense.

This is just a way for them to scam you.

There are also a handful of red flags in this email alone.

🚩Red flag's (part 3)🚩

The sender address is not from an official paypal.com address, but instead a gmail.com address. This means that this came from a person, not a company.

The formatting. Let's be frank, no official email from PayPal will ever look like this.

The spelling/grammar issues are everywhere.

Weird url's at the bottom of the email. (I removed them for safety reasons)

Additionally: You may also find or see links in this emails instructing you to 'go here' to unlock your account. These are phishing (wikipedia) links that they will use to steal your PayPal login information. Never click links in emails asking you to 'fix an issue' with your account unless you can verify who the sender is.

If you send these people your money, you will get blocked and never see them again. That's just how this scam goes...

If you'd like another variation of this scam which talks about money wiring, you can check out @maikaartwork's version by clicking here!

-----

Final thoughts:

If you fall for a scam like this, thankfully there still might be hope.

Contact PayPal and explain what happened in detail. Show them every shred of evidence that you have showing that you were scammed including the name of who scammed you, and the email that sent you the scam, and who you wound up sending the money to.

If you use the messaging system that uses the AI chat bot, ask it repeatedly to 'speak to a real person' until you get sent to a live agent. (this is stupidly frustrating but sadly it's what you have to do.)

And remember, take screenshots and report these users to the websites they are running these scams on. If they DM you on tumblr? Report the DM. If they do it on insta, bsky, twitter or even discord?

Make sure you report them there too.

ALSO: Beware of recovery scammers. This is anyone coming into your DM's telling you they can 'help you get your money back' after you made a post talking about how you got scammed. These scammers are just looking for a quick buck.

Here's a post about ethical hackers (aka recovery scammers)

Other helpful guides on spotting scams. (by @kyra45)

#scam #scam alert #scams #paypal scam #art commission scam #commission scam #art scam #can you draw my pet #can you draw my son #can you draw my sons pet #asperlisonloveart #iloveartworks #zeeloverk #paleblizzardsoul #herwizardlove #humongousbarbarianinternet #furrynachodelusion #bigellev #ericatylerart

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badathumanemotions · 4 months ago

Note

Hey could you do a Spencer NSFW fic where you end up trapped in a confined space with him (maybe hiding from an unsub) and all your personal space is gone and stuff gets heated yk and then maybe it’s carried on later in a hotel room that they had to share (dom spence, degradation, size kink etc) whatever you want to do really 🫶🫶

Hidden Feelings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Category: Smut CW: Smut, Oral Sex (fem), Praise, Dirty Talk, Use of Good Girl and Sweet Girl, Riding, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Aftercare, Love Confessions. WC: 7,194 My brains been foggy lately so it's taking me longer to write these. Sorry guys. Also because of the long breaks I totally forgot to add everything you asked for and my Dom Spencer's a little rusty. Sorry anon. (Not Proof Read)

In the heart of a long-forgotten industrial district, the abandoned restaurant stood, a relic of a bygone era. The team had received an anonymous tip, a whisper on the wind that led them to this desolate corner. You and Spencer Reid drew the short straws, tasked with investigating the eerie structure.

Peeling paint and shattered windows cast a grim pallor over the faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you approached, your footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Spencer, ever the intellectual, rattled off facts about the place's history, trying to fill the silence with something other than the heavy tension that hung in the air.

Inside, the restaurant was a maze of dust-covered tables and chairs, the smell of stale grease clinging stubbornly to the air. The kitchen was a jungle of rusty pans and forgotten spices, the floor sticky with a layer of grime that had built up over the years. Despite the emptiness, it felt as though you were intruding on a place where secrets had been left to fester in the dark.

The tip you received was vague, hinting at suspicious activity in the area. You and Spencer moved methodically, your eyes scanning every corner for the faintest trace of anything could help with the case. You weren't quite sure what you were looking for – a clue, a sign, anything to justify the uneasy feeling that had settled in your stomach. Spencer paused every so often, his sharp mind analyzing anything out of place.

It was in the kitchen that you stumbled upon the horror. The ticket holder, once used to organize orders, now held a different kind of queue – a series of surveillance photos of the victims. Each face hauntingly familiar from the case files you've studied. The sight of their images, captured unknowingly by the monsters you were hunting, sent a cold chill through your system. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed out the meticulously laid out schedules scattered around the kitchen counters. It was clear that these Unsubs had been stalking their prey, plotting their every move.

The two of you withdrew your weapons now on high alert. You continued clearing the place, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the lives at stake. You could feel Spencer's tension beside you, his breaths shallow and eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of the trio.

Approaching a back office, you pushed the door open with your foot, not taking any chances. The room was a time capsule of forgotten paperwork and dusty filing cabinets. A desk sat in the centre, with a table beside it covered by a faded tablecloth.

The papers scattered across the surface looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry. Invoices, receipts, and pay stubs lay in a disorganized heap. You squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the dates. They were from before the restaurant had closed, a mundane record of a business that no longer existed.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the empty dining area. You and Spencer froze, your eyes locking for a split second. The blood drained from your face as you both realized the gravity of the situation. The Unsubs had returned and you were out numbered.

You caught a glimpse of four men, their silhouettes looming through the dust. At least two were obviously armed, their weapons glinting in the sliver of light that pierced the dimly lit space. They were getting closer and you had to think fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you grabbed Spencer by the arm and pushed him down onto the floor, under the protection of the dusty tablecloth. He tumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise, and you quickly followed, landing on top of him in a desperate attempt to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the fabric of the cloth billowed around you, threatening to give you away with every breath.

With quick hands, you pulled out your phone and silently typed a message to Hotch, your thumb hovering over the 'Send' button. The footsteps grew louder, each step bringing the danger closer. You hit 'Send' and shoved the phone into your pocket. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath yours, his muscles coiled like a spring, clearly thrown off by you sitting on top of him.

He begins to squirm, and you knew he was uncomfortable, not just from the fear of being discovered but also from your proximity. The cramped space made it impossible not to be aware of every inch of your bodies pressing together.

Spencer tries to sit up, but you're quick to react. You place a hand firmly on his chest and push him back down, shaking your head.

Suddenly, he whispered, his voice strained and urgent, "We should change positions, it's not…ideal." But before he could finish, you clamped your hand over his mouth. You didn't know if the Unsubs had heard you, but you couldn't take that risk.

"Quiet, we don't want them to hear us."

You felt Spencer's body stiffen even further as your breath danced against the sensitive skin of his neck. You could feel his pulse racing against your chest, a frantic drumbeat matching the tempo of your own heart. You shifted slightly, the movement pressing your ass against his growing arousal. His breath hitched beneath your palm. It was an accident, but one that sent a jolt of heat through you.

The voices grew louder, the Unsubs seemingly oblivious to the danger hiding in the shadows. They talked in hushed tones, their words muffled by walls between them and your hiding spot. You strained to listen, hoping for some clue as to their plans or identities. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was one of excitement and anticipation.

As the moments dragged on, the tension in the air thickened, coiling around you and Spencer like a serpent. His body was taut beneath yours, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between you. The adrenaline had shifted gears, no longer just a fight-or-flight response but a potent cocktail of fear and desire.

You felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, knuckles almost white with restraint. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and the friction of your movements was setting something alight between you. It was a dangerous dance, one that had no place in the middle of a horror show, but your body didn't seem to care about the setting.

Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign, a silent question. Was this real or just the situation playing tricks on you both? But the desire was unmistakable, a palpable force that seemed to fill the air in the tiny space. You drop your head down, your nose brushing against his cheek, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought about what it would be like to kiss him right then and there.

The sound of the Unsubs grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the hall outside the office door. Spencer's hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through your clothes, setting every nerve ending alight. The fear was still there, a live wire running through your veins, but it had morphed into something more primal, something that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat.

You met Spencer's gaze, and in that fraction of a second, everything changed. The hunger you saw in his eyes was raw and undeniable. It was a look you'd never seen from him before, one that made your heart skip a beat and your body respond in ways you hadn't anticipated. For a moment, the horror of the situation was forgotten, replaced by the all-consuming need to touch, to taste, to claim.

Your hand slowly slid from his mouth to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble that had formed over the past few days of non-stop work. His breath was hot against your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either of you, but in the face of the danger lurking outside, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. The sound of the Unsubs' footsteps grew fainter as they moved away from the office, but the intensity between you only grew stronger. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, and you both leaned in, lips almost touching.

Suddenly, salvation in the form of a vibration. Your phone. The team had gotten your message. You felt a rush of hope as you realized that rescue was on the way. The vibration against your leg was a silent shout of reassurance, a beacon in the dark.

You both knew that you had to keep it together, to keep the facade of professionalism until the danger had passed. The text message seemed to sober you both up, the urgency of the situation slapping you back into the stark reality of your predicament.

You glanced down at the screen, noting the time since you'd sent the SOS. It felt like hours, but it had only been minutes. The message was simple: "In position. Hold tight." Spencer's eyes met yours, understanding passing between you in a fraction of a second. The weight on your chest lifted slightly, the fear ebbing away just enough to allow you to breathe again.

The sound of the Unsubs grew fainter as they moved away from the office. You dared not speak, not even a whisper, as you both listened intently for any clue to their whereabouts. Spencer's hand slid from your hair to the small of your back, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your spine. You shivered at his touch, the line between terror and passion blurring further.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shattering glass. The Unsubs had been spooked, and the cavalry had arrived. The SWAT team, alerted by your message, had come crashing through the restaurant's front windows, the shards raining down like a crystal waterfall in the dusty room. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath you, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action.

You both took this as your cue to come out of hiding. With a silent nod of understanding, you slithered out from under the tablecloth, drawing your weapon as you went. Spencer was right behind you, his eyes sharp and focused, scanning the room for any sign of the quartet. The office door was slightly ajar, and the sound of chaos outside grew louder with each passing second.

As you emerged into the corridor, the scene that met you was one of organized mayhem. The SWAT team was spread out through the restaurant, their movements precise and calculated as they secured the area. You saw Morgan taking down one of the Unsubs with a well-placed tackle, the man's body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

The other three Unsubs were already in cuffs, their faces a mix of shock and rage as they were read their rights. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that it was over, that no one else would suffer because of them.

He approached you and Spencer, his gaze sweeping over the two of you with a practiced eye. "Are you both okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, and Spencer managed a tight smile.

Morgan's eyes lingered on the two of you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could see the unspoken tension that had arisen between you during the standoff. But he said nothing, only nodded and turned back to the rest of the team.

The wrap-up was a blur, a flurry of activity that seemed to happen in fast-forward. You watched as the Unsubs were led out of the building, their heads bowed in defeat. The SWAT team secured the perimeter, and the forensic unit began their meticulous dance of collecting evidence. Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from earlier lingering.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of an SUV, the cool leather pressing against your heated skin. Spencer was sitting beside you, the two of you trading glances. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the electricity of the kiss you had almost shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if it was the adrenaline that had pushed you both over the edge, or if there had always been something more simmering beneath the surface. The team was busy around you, talking and filling in the gaps of what had just transpired. But all you could think about was the way Spencer's body had felt beneath yours, the way his hands had explored you in the dark.

Once back at the precinct, you were just going through the motions. While the majority of the team interrogated the Unsubs, you found yourself cataloguing evidence with a sense of detachment, your mind replaying the events in the abandoned restaurant.

The almost kiss kept playing in your mind like a record on repeat. You couldn't shake the feeling of Spencer's breath against your skin, the way his eyes had searched yours for something unspoken. Each time you reached for a new piece of evidence, your hand would tremble slightly, a reminder of the intimate moment you had shared.

The touch of his fingers on your spine had been electric, sending a shiver down to the very core of you. You found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin on skin, feeling as if you were still entwined under that dusty tablecloth. The memory of his arms around you was a comforting embrace that seemed to linger.

You froze for a moment as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were sharing a room with Spencer tonight. The implications of what had almost happened weighed heavily on your mind as you continued to process the adrenaline-filled afternoon. You'd been partners for so long, so close, yet this was uncharted territory. You couldn't help but wonder how this would affect your relationship, both personally and professionally.

The case was wrapped up. Everything else was left for the locals. You and the team had done your part, leaving the cleanup to the local law enforcement. The Unsubs were behind bars, and the victims could now find some semblance of peace.

As you and the team divided into cars, you found yourself paired with Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer ended up in the car with Hotch, Rossi, and JJ, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the doors slammed shut, leaving you to wonder what might happen next. The drive to the hotel was a blur of city lights and the muffled chatter of your colleagues. You were lost in thought, replaying every heart-pounding moment in the abandoned restaurant.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a bustle of activity. The team checked in with weary efficiency, the gravity of the case still weighing on everyone's shoulders. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as Spencer's gaze didn't seek you out among the crowd. Perhaps it was better this way, you thought, a chance to cool off and sort out the tumultuous emotions that had taken hold of you.

You headed up to the room, the elevator's slow ascent feeling like an eternity. You were sure that the conversation that was bound to happen would be a letdown. It had to be the adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself. It was the only explanation for the way your body had responded to his touch. But as the doors opened and you stepped into the quiet corridor, the memory of his arms around you seemed to follow you.

You fished the room key out of your pocket and slipped it into the lock, turning the handle with a click. The door swung open, revealing a space that felt too small for the emotions you were carrying.

Standing in the middle of the room, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before Spencer joined you in your shared hotel room. The walls felt closer than they should, the air filled with the anticipation of an unspoken conversation that loomed. You studied your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any signs of distress, hoping to maintain a facade of calm.

As the lock clicked open, the sound echoed through the room. Your entire body tensed, not ready for what the night might hold. Spencer stepped in, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they settled on you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out between you. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. You searched his gaze, desperate to find some clue, some hint of what was going through his mind. But Spencer was a master of poker faces, and he wasn't giving you anything to work with.

Then, without any warning, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, stealing the breath from your lungs. You felt your knees wobble as you kissed him back with an equal fervour.

You gripped onto Spencer's shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands splayed against the small of your back.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Tell me you want this" he growled.

"Yes," you assured him, the word coming out as a breathless whisper. "I want you," you clarified.

With frantic movements, you both began to undress each other, the fabric of your clothes seeming to dissolve away in your haste. Buttons popped and zippers hissed as the barriers between you fell away. You could feel the heat from his skin as your shirts were discarded.

Spencer reached around and unclipped your bra with an ease that made your stomach flip. He took his sweet time peeling the fabric away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He didn't waste a second before his mouth found them, his lips closing around your nipple with a gentle suction that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your back arching, pushing your chest closer to his face.

With a groan, he began to suck, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive bud as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His hands followed suit, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the peaks as he played with your nipples. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Each nip and suck sent electricity through your body, making your legs threaten to give out.

Once he had his fill, he moved on to your trousers, taking them and your underwear down with a gentle urgency. You stepped out of the fabric pooled around your ankles, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knelt before you, marvelling at the sight before him, his eyes dark with desire. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked up, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "All mine to taste." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes travelled down your body.

With a gentle but firm tug, Spencer's hands slid down to the back of your thighs, urging you closer. You stepped into the embrace, feeling his warm breath against your sex. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper of need. His fingers dug into the flesh, gripping tightly as if he needed the anchor.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the seam of your pussy. You felt his hot breath against your clit, the anticipation making it throb with desire. He circled the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, the touch so light it was almost maddening.

You moaned, your hands finding their way into his hair, gripping the soft strands as he began to apply more pressure. Spencer's eyes never left yours as he started to devour you, his mouth working magic on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were grinding against his face, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands moving to grip your ass, pulling you closer until you were practically riding his face. His tongue plunged into your wetness, tasting you deeply, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that had you teetering on the edge.

"That's right, sweetheart," Spencer murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Cum for me. Let me feel you come apart." His words were a command, a demand that sent a thrill through your body. You could feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten, your orgasm building in your core.

Obeying his urging, you began to rock your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue. The pressure was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his mouth wide open collecting your juices. His hands tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in, urging you to move faster, to give him what he wanted.

And then, with a final, needy grind against his mouth, you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You could see the triumph flash in his eyes as he felt you come apart. He didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck until your legs gave out needing him to catch you.

With a firm grip on your waist, he guided you to the bed, his movements sure and decisive. The mattress dipped as you sat down, and he didn't waste a second before he was beside you, his body pressing into yours, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was hungry.

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, the words a dark praise that sent a thrill through your body. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body following yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made your heart race even faster. You felt the heat of him, his arousal pressing against your thigh, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching down and taking him in your hand.

Spencer sat up, his eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of his clothes. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of the toned body you had only ever seen glimpses of. His chest was bare, a blush trailing down it, and his erection was clear through his boxer briefs. He watched your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his gaze as he revealed himself to you.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he pushed the last of his clothes off. "How hard it was to keep my hands to myself while we were hiding." His hand slid down his body, gripping his cock, giving it a slow stroke that had you biting your lip.

The admission sent a bolt of desire through you, making your heart race even faster. You had known there was something between you, something that went beyond friendship and partnership, but to hear him voice it so bluntly was exhilarating.

Spencer climbed over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, "While you were on top of me, I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding me like that, taking me deep inside you." His words were raw, unfiltered, and they sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his arousal, his cock pressing into your thigh as he spoke.

He trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent promise of what was to come. "I wanted to rip your clothes off right there," he confessed, his voice a low growl that resonated through your body. "To feel you wet and ready for me, to hear you scream my name as I made you cum."

The words alone were almost enough to push you over the edge again. Your pussy throbbed with need, your inner walls clenching around emptiness, desperate for his touch. A moan slipped past your lips, and you threw your head back, giving him full access to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a shiver of pleasure that went straight to your core.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathy whisper that seemed to hang in the air. "I need you inside me." Your voice was ragged with desire, your eyes never leaving his as you made your plea. The raw need in your eyes seemed to be all the permission Spencer needed.

With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low and dominant. "I'll take care of you."

He slammed into you with a force that made you gasp. The feeling of being filled by him was almost painful in its intensity, but the pain quickly gave way to pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

Spencer's eyes were hooded with desire as he watched your reaction, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. His hands gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under his grip as he thrust deeper and deeper, his whole body taut with the effort.

You could feel the mattress shift with every pounding stroke, the springs groaning in protest beneath you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him deeper.

Spencer took your cue, his hands moving from the headboard to your hips, his grip unyielding as he set a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hips snapped against you, his cock filling you completely, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. He was a force of nature, a storm of passion that you had unleashed, and you were helpless to do anything but ride the waves of pleasure that he brought.

You could feel the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. Each time he pushed into you, your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your lips. His eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, his expression one of fierce concentration.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. You obeyed, locking your gaze onto his, unable to look away as he claimed you, body and soul. His dominance was intoxicating, the way he took control of your pleasure, leaving you powerless to do anything but submit to his will.

With a slight adjustment of his hips, he angled himself just right, and you felt the electric sensation as his cock hit your g-spot. A shocked yelp escaped your lips, your eyes widening with surprise. The intensity was almost too much, but you didn't want him to stop.

The sound of your moans grew louder with every thrust, filling the small room. Spencer smirked, his eyes dark with arousal as he leaned in close, his hand coming up to cover your mouth. "Quiet," he whispered, his voice a seductive rumble in your ear. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" It was a playful reminder of your earlier words.

You moaned against his hand, the muffled sound only serving to add to the intensity of the moment. The heat from his palm was like a brand on your skin, searing your lips as you fought to keep your noises contained.

As the pleasure mounted, he slowly switched to putting his thumb in your mouth while the rest of his hand cupped your cheek. The act was both innocent and incredibly erotic, a silent plea for more as your teeth grazed his skin, your tongue swirling around the digit.

The sound of his groan filled the room, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your pussy clench around his cock. Spencer's eyes darkened with need, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, his hips moving faster, his strokes more urgent.

"So fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" His words went straight to your pussy, your body responding instinctively to his words. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"Tell me," he demanded, his hips grinding into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels." You moaned around his thumb, the sound muffled and wanton.

"Am I fucking you so good you can't answer?" he taunted, his voice low and full of smug satisfaction.

You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as he hit that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense that you could feel yourself climbing towards another orgasm.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolled over, flipping onto his, and you straddled him, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck, I need to see you ride me," he grunted.

Wasting no time, you immediately got to work, arching your lower back and slamming your ass down against his pelvis. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back in your head. Each downward thrust was met with an upward surge of his hips, filling you completely.

Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening with each bounce, leaving the promise of bruises in his wake. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock stroking your g-spot with an almost punishing precision that had your toes curling.

"That's right, be a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my cock just like that." The words were a command that had your pussy clenching around him, desperate to please. You picked up the pace, the slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder with each passing second.

Spencer's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and admiration. "Look how much you want it," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Look how much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." His words were like a drug, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

"You like me praising you," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to where you were joined. "Calling you a good girl?" His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently as his hips began to move again, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I felt the way your cunt started squeezing me," he continued, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Every time I say it, you get wetter, don't you?"

You couldn't help but nod, the truth of his words evident in the way your body was responding. You felt the heat of his palm on your cheek, the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin grounding you.

With a growl of pure need, Spencer brought your face down to meet his in a passionate kiss that was both possessive and tender. His tongue claimed your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of his cock inside you making your head spin.

Both his hands grabbed your ass, the firm grip of his fingers digging into your flesh. He used the leverage to slam your hips down onto him, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the power behind each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within you.

Spencer's voice was a low growl in your ear, his words a mix of praise and need. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I want to fill you up, have you dripping with my seed." The thought of his release inside you had your pussy clenching around him, the walls quivering with the anticipation of his climax.

"Will you let me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. The question was loaded, filled with a mix of hope and desire that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, the word "yes" barely escaping your mouth before it was swallowed by his kiss. Spencer's hips bucked up into you, the urgency of his movements increasing. He broke the kiss, panting. "I need to feel you come around me," he groaned.

The frantic pace continued, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity as you raced towards the peak of pleasure. Spencer's grip on your ass was bruising, but you didn't care. You needed this, needed him to make you feel alive in a way you never had before. His cock slammed into your g-spot over and over, causing non-stop pleasure.

Your kiss grew sloppier, tongues tangling and breaths mingling as if you were trying to breathe each other in. The taste of him was intoxicating. You felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to break at any moment.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," Spencer begged, his voice strained with his own need. And as if those words were the key to your release, your body obeyed. You felt the orgasm crash over you, a tidal wave of sensation that had you throwing your head back and screaming his name. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body spasming on top of him, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

The sight of you, lost in the throes of ecstasy, was too much for Spencer. With a roar, he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him seeing stars. His hips jerked upwards, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his hands gripping you tightly.

You moaned at the feeling of him cumming in you, the sensation of being filled sending you spiralling over the edge into another orgasm. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling was primal, a deep-seated satisfaction that resonated through every part of your being.

As the last tremors of pleasure passed, you collapsed boneless against him, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, his heart pounding against your skin. You could feel the stickiness of your juices between your legs, mingling with his seed.

Spencer's hand came up to draw patterns across your spine, the touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips traced the contours of your back, moving in a lazy pattern. You leaned into the caress, the tension in your body slowly beginning to melt away.

For a while, you both lay there, just breathing, the sound of your harsh pants slowly evening out as your heart rates returned to normal. The silence between you was conent, a shared understanding that didn't require any words. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart, and the sticky warmth between your legs.

Spencer was the first to move, cupping your cheek gently and turning your face to look at him. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brought you into a sweet, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, the words he whispered were filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief. "I can't believe I finally have you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

The truth of his words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy on your chest. You had both crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as you stared into his eyes, the warmth of his gaze and the tender way he held you made you feel that this was right. That this was what you both needed.

You felt his cock begin to soften inside you, the pulsing subsiding as your bodies slowly calmed from the intense climax. The feeling was strange, almost bittersweet, as if your body was mourning the loss of his hardness. Gently, he pulled out, his movements careful and deliberate, mindful of your sensitivity. A gush of warmth accompanied his exit, leaving a wetness that was both a reminder of what had just occurred and a promise of what was to come.

Spencer looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray hair from your face. "Come on," he prompted. "Let's get cleaned up." He offered you a hand, helping you to your unsteady feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak from the pleasure he had wrung from your body. You took his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom.

Spencer turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the small space. He stepped in, testing the temperature with his hand before turning back to you with a nod, extending his hand once again. You stepped in, the warm spray cascading over your bodies, washing away the sweat and semen.

He took a washcloth soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to clean you. You watched him, the tender way he moved the cloth across your skin, wiping away the sweat and slick. His eyes were focused on his task, the intensity of the moments before replaced by a softness that made your heart ache.

You leaned into his touch, your body relaxing against his as he took care of you. Each stroke of the washcloth was like a caress, soothing the ache in your muscles and the throb of your pussy. He was thorough, paying special attention to every inch of your skin, as if he was worshipping your body.

Once he was satisfied that you were clean, Spencer quickly cleaned himself and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention back to you. "Let me dry you off," he murmured, his eyes gentle.

You stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water leaving your skin glistening. Spencer took a towel from the rack, his movements methodical as he began to gently pat you down. Starting at your face, he moved down your neck, taking special care around the sensitive areas.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to break the spell that had been cast between you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and around to your back, his touch feather light as he dried your skin. Each brush of the terrycloth cause goosebumps to break out.

Once Spencer had you thoroughly dried, he wrapped the towel around your body, tucking it in tightly, almost like he was afraid to let you go. He took your hand, leading you to the second bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat down, the softness a welcome relief after the intense moments that had passed.

He took a seat beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to understand something," he began, his voice serious. "What we just did, it's not just about the case or the adrenaline. It's not just about the physical attraction we have."

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "I want you, not just your body, but all of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to know every part of you, every thought, every fear, every dream."

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his heart was laid bare for you. "This isn't just about scratching an itch," he continued. "It's about connecting on a level that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced." His words were a declaration, a promise of something more substantial than the fleeting moments of passion you've shared.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin as you searched for the right words. "Spencer," you began, your voice a whisper. "I feel the same way." The confession felt like a weight lifted off your chest. You had been holding it in for so long, the fear of ruining your friendship and professional relationship had kept you from saying what you truly felt.

His eyes searched yours, the intensity in them making your heart race. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice hopeful yet tentative.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the quiet hotel room. "I do." Spencer's hand tightened around yours, his smile growing as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a kiss that spoke of relief and joy, a silent acknowledgement that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

As the tension between you dissipated, you both got ready for bed, moving with a newfound ease. You slid under the cool sheets of the second bed. Spencer followed, his body fitting against yours as if he had been made for you.

You were so giddy with the intensity of what had just transpired that you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep. Yet, as you cuddled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfort of his embrace began to lull you into a peaceful slumber. His arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your very bones.

As the night passed, you both slipped into a deep sleep, your bodies entwined like lovers lost in each other’s embrace. The tension of the case and the passion between you had drained you both, leaving nothing but peaceful rest.

#criminal minds #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #dominate spencer reid #mgg #mgg smut

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certaimromance · 6 months ago

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ꫂ ၴႅၴ Allegation of Love.

Aaron Hotchner x Lawyer!reader

Summary: When you arrive at the police station to defend a client's innocence, you don't expect the man accusing her to be the same man you've been dating for months.

Words: 1,6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of crime and serial killers. established relationship. aaron already divorced. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I just love Hotch and wanted to write something with him here. To me, he is definitely the kind of man who is so tired from work that he tries not to mention it on a date (of course, after all the trauma he has been through).

It wasn't that you were annoying, particularly aggressive, or obsessed with being right, you just did your job to the best of your ability. Even if that meant being the villain of other people's stories and mentally going over every law to make sure it was obeyed.

The issue was that not everyone saw it the same way. In the workplace, where you managed, your exact memorization of the rules wasn't always appreciated if you were the one carrying the defense and doing everything to overthrow the other side's theories. For the same reason, you usually had to argue with cops, prosecutors, judges, and—on this occasion—even an FBI agent who wasn't happy with your presence.

You had in your hands an alleged confession of several murders delivered by your client under the coercion of the man who was interrogating her, without your presence there and with some pretty questionable methods to put her in an empty room without concrete evidence or an order from the judge. Unbelievably, it was a fairly common occurrence in your day-to-day work.

At least it was until the boss of the agent you were arguing with showed up and everything started to get complicated.

“What's going on here?”

The cross words and your intensity in emphasizing the injustice of the manipulation of the confession did not allow you to realize that there was someone else in the room. Much less that it was someone who looked exclusively at you until one of the police officers present cleared his throat.

“There has been a violation of the law.” You slowly turned to look behind you, and that's when you saw him.

Aaron stood stiffly, trying to look professional and serious, wearing a tie that matched your dress.

“There wasn't one, Hotch. We just got the confession.” Agent Morgan interjected into the silence provoked by the exchange of glances between you and his supervisor.

For the first time in the half hour you'd been there, you were completely silent. Even when two more agents showed up to try to defuse the situation, you didn't stop repeating the same arguments and insisting on your point. Now, however, you seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

There was a long pause before Aaron spoke carefully. “I'll take care of clarifying the situation.”

Trying to remain serious and stoic, he led you to one of the station's offices with the excuse that he wanted to talk about the case quietly so as not to attract the attention of his team. The strange thing was that he called you by name in front of everyone, without anyone having introduced you before. Maybe one of you two would have noticed if you had been a little less attentive to the other and more attentive to how the situation looked in the other's eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as soon as he closed the door behind you, loosening the tension in his jaw a little, at least now it was just the two of you.

“Where's my 'Good to see you, sweetie. Please don't sue us' or anything like that?”

He raised an eyebrow at your comment, hoping you would take it seriously. Automatically and unconsciously, he had begun to move away from you and sat down on the other side of the desk, marking a distance between the two of you. Aaron had brought out his work side and you had hidden it at the mere sight of him.

“The woman your team pressured into confessing to a crime is my client.” You finally spoke in a serious tone, staring at him with some surprise. This wasn't the usual dynamic with him—you usually had a more relaxed side to him.

“Since when do you take cases like this?”

“Since it's been assigned to me.” You said, raising your shoulders. “One of the buffet partners is on vacation and left me to his clients, as I mentioned the other night.”

The other night when you were in his car, when he had his hand on your thigh as he drove home, when he smiled at you every chance he got to turn around and look at you. When the two of you weren't on completely different sidewalks and weren't supposed to act like strangers.

“This is pretty weird.” You said after watching him for a few seconds and noticing that he seemed lost in his memories. “I hope the agent I was arguing with isn't your friend. That would be awkward.”

Aaron looked at you, trying to figure out what could have happened before he showed up. He already knew you were a good lawyer, very capable and, above all, a good striker. It was too weird for him to think that you had been using your skills against his own team, against the friends he once wanted to introduce you to and that you had now met for the first time in the most unimaginable way.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing.”

“You look at me like I'm a ghost.”

His brow furrowed again.

He didn't want to say out loud that everything related to his work had ended badly and was completely destroyed, just like his ex-marriage and any attempt to fix it. He had always felt comfortable with you because your work was just as demanding but less dangerous than his. You usually handled family cases, divorces, estates, and coordinating child care. You were away from the blood, the killers, and all the atrocities he lived with.

“I'm worried about you being in the middle of this. It can be dangerous.” He showed his concern for you and had to hold back from holding your hand.

“You should worry more about the lawsuit.” You pointed out in a tone somewhere between teasing and serious. You didn't like him worrying too much. “I'm very good.”

“This is serious.” He finally let his guard down and placed his hand on your knee from under the table, giving it a gentle touch.

That was the man you know and love.

“Me too, it's my job.”

“And you're making my job harder.” He pointed out with a small smile in response to yours.

What were the chances of your love life and work life crossing paths like this? You thought they were pretty slim, which is why you steered clear of talking about work when you were together.

You were just about to answer when you heard a tap on the door and one of the agents who had been watching you during your discussion came over to give Aaron some information about the profile. You couldn't understand him very well because he seemed to be speaking in code because of your presence.

“I'll be there in a moment, Rossi. Get the team together and we'll talk.” Hotchner finished earnestly. You could still feel the warmth of his touch on your knee. “I'm just finishing up here.”

As soon as he left the office, you looked at Aaron with surprise.

“Is he who you always mention?” You asked, and he nodded. “I thought it was 'Rosie,' not 'Rossi,' and that he was a woman.”

“Now I understand why you grimace when I mention his name.” He replied with some amusement. “You were jealous.”

Yes, especially when you found out that they'd shared a room once.

“Don't mock me, I'm about to sue you.” You advertiste in a fake threatening tone, pointing a finger at him. “And I don't care how handsome you look right now, I'll do my job.”

“Me too.” He replied, trying to ignore your compliment to keep a serious expression on his face. “And you look pretty too, I like that dress.”

The love between you seemed to be bubbling anyway, and it was impossible to hide it when you had breakfast together just a few hours ago. You went from making him coffee to offering him a lawsuit if he didn't agree with you.

“I know, I'll use this dress while I debunk your profile theory.” You got up from your seat suddenly after taking your phone out of your bag. It was then that you looked him in the eye. “Are you going to release my client now or should I call the judge?”

“You're not going to take a suspect in five murders. I'm not going to let her off the hook.” He copied your action.

“Give me the evidence then, love.”

Oh, to call him that at that point was a cheap shot, especially when you were the one who won because he had no concrete evidence, only theories and his complex profile.

“But stay away from her anyway, she can be dangerous. My agents will keep an eye on her.” He snorted after a few seconds, trying to find an argument, but failing.

At that moment, you gave him a little smile, proud of yourself and what you had accomplished. “See you at dinner?”

“Sure.” He replied without being able to help but give you a small smile in return. “But I'll pick the place.”

“Well, that's an argument I'll let you win.” You put your phone back in your bag and took a couple of steps towards the door, stopping when you saw him coming after you. “Can I kiss my opponent?”

“This is pretty unprofessional.” He said, putting a hand on your waist and leaning you against the door. Without hesitation, he kissed you firmly on the lips.

After a few minutes, the two of you walked out of the office as if nothing had happened, and the professional scene continued. Your heels clicked towards the exit with your client at your side, while Aaron met with his team, trying to find new ways to solve the case and refine the profile. The only problem was that he happened to be working with people who were very detail-oriented.

And, gosh, it was impossible not to notice the traces of your lipstick on his lips.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #thomas gibson

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yourneighborlyweirdo · 5 months ago

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The Easiest Way to Manifest/The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide to Manifesting! (My Personal Method)

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What if I told you there was a way to instantly manifest whatever you’ve ever wanted?

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I’m talking like, you think it and it appears minutes (or even seconds with practice) right before your eyes?

If you’re interested, this is how.

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Introduction:

So, let’s get into it. Hey, if you don’t know me, I’m kinda new here on Tumblr—new like I just started posting today type shit. (I literally set up my account hours ago.) I’ve been scrolling on this app for atleast a month now and I’ve been seeing some posts that are pretty helpful, so I just want to give my personal advice to any of those who are struggling. (Because that used to be me.) I wanna start this off with a warning…

Warning: If this doesn’t resonate with you, take what you like and leave the rest. If my advice doesn’t help you out it doesn’t have to! And don’t force yourself to use my technique if it feels weird to do or something you aren’t comfortable with. But if my method doesn’t work for you, (which I highly doubt because this can work with anyone and everyone) then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. And also, I am not a professional. I am merely a vessel trying to pass my knowledge on to others. But, I do consider myself a Master at Manifesting, only because I’ve Mastered it. And my only goal is to help you Master it too. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to drop a comment or a DM. Thanks!

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The Law:

In this technique, I will be using the Law of Assumption. If you’re not sure what this is, let me explain…

The Law of Assumption is a universal Law for manifestation. As the name suggests, it means assuming. Everything you assume will become your reality. Practicing the Law of Assumption means realizing that the 4D (Your mental reality, your imagination) is the only thing that matters, not your 3D (Your physical reality, the thing you’re seeing right in front of your 2 eyes.)

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(Side Note: I use “LOA” to abbreviate/shorten “Law of Assumption.” Both of these terms will be highlighted in pink for your understanding. Also, the 4D is your imagination and the 3D is the physical world around you. I suggest you remember these terms.)

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An Example Scenario of Using The Law:

Example: Let’s say, I really want a soda. But I’m laying down in my bed, so obviously, I can’t see a soda in front of me. But, using the LOA, I can get my soda. Here’s how…

So, I’m sitting here in my bed really wishing I had a soda in my hands. To manifest a soda, I will use the LOA. To use the LOA, I will either think or speak out loud, whatever you want to do, to manifest. I will start thinking. “Damn. I really want a soda right now. I know I’ll get my soda. I want it so I can get it. I will have my soda, one way or another.” And a couple minutes later, I got a text from my parent saying they brought me a soda from the gas station. (Yes this example is a true story on how I started manifesting using the LOA for the first time.)

If you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, let me break it down. Here’s what just happened in that example:

1. I really wanted something (in this case the “something” was a soda)

2. I started to think about how I wanted it, then I assumed that I would get it, one way or another.

3. Boom! I got my desire. (Which was the soda in this case.)

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Breaking It Down:

See how easy that was? Within minutes I got my desire in only 3 easy steps. If you’re still confused, let me explain…

What happened there was I identified what I wanted (AKA: My desire being something I wanted.) Then, I used the LOA to manifest my desire to becoming my reality. Then naturally, the 3D followed what I thought in my 4D.

Literally the only thing I did was think what I wanted to happen and it happened in front of my eyes.

You: “But why? But how? How is that even possible—”

What happened was I thought something in my imagination (my 4D) and the physical world (the 3D) conformed because the 4D will always be in charge of the 3D.

Think of the 3D as a chief in a restaurant. The 4D is the waiter, and you are a customer in that restaurant. Let’s say you wanted to manifest a soda, so you’d say, “Waiter! I would like one soda please.” And the waiter, (The 4D) writes down in his notepad that you ordered a soda. The waiter would then go to the back and go tell the chief (The 3D) what you ordered, and then the chief would make it, and then you would get it.

That’s what the 3D and 4D are. You’d “tell the waiter what you want to order” (AKA: Think in your brain using your imagination/4D what you want to manifest) Then the “chief would cook up what you ordered and you’d get your order.” (AKA: The 3D will make what you manifested happen in your physical world and your manifestation would appear in front of your eyes.)

Hopefully now you understand what the LOA is, how to use it, and what happens when you do use it.

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What Happens When I Manifest Something and The 3D doesn’t conform?

Let me say this now: That is impossible. It is impossible for your 3D to not conform to the 4D. The 3D only will NOT conform when you ASSUME it won’t.

Your assumptions will become your reality. To change your assumptions, use your thoughts and imagination, (AKA: the 4D) and your 4D will become your 3D.

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

Read those 2 sentences again until they are memorized.

Don’t you see? Do you understand how easy it is?

So let’s say, you manifested something, imagined it (using the 4D) and it didn’t appear right infront of your eyes. Don’t panic. It’s okay. Take a breather, and tell yourself that you will get your desire. You imagined it in the 4D, and after reading this post, you’re sure that the 3D will conform because it WILL. Just persist in the fact that you WILL get your desire.

(Do you get what I’m saying here? Assume, assume, assume. Assume you will get your desire. Assume it will come quickly. Assume that it’s easy because it is! When in doubt, assume, assume, assume.)

If you don’t get your desire, it’s because you’re assuming (AKA: Thinking) that it won’t. Assume that you can and will manifest, and it will.

The 3D DOES NOT MATTER. You know why? Because, I’ll repeat,

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

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A Step By Step Tutorial:

1. Identify what you want to manifest.

2. Assume it will happen by thinking.

3. You get your desire.

You can assume things many ways. Here are my favorite ways in the form of sentences:

1. Assuming it will happen in the future. (Example: Using sentences containing “I Will.” Sentences in the future tense. “I know I will get desire one way or another.”)

2. Assuming it will happen in the present. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Am.”Sentences in the present tense. “I have my desire.”)

3. Assuming it already happened in the past. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Had.” Sentences in the past tense. This is also referred to as “Living in the End.” “I already have my desire.”)

Remember that all of these ways are ways to manifest. There is no better one than the other—use what works best for you! (I personally use all 3 ways all the time. They all work the same way and for me, not one is better then the other. They’re all great and they all work. Use what works best for you!!! Don’t let anyone tell you one works better then the other because that’s simply not true. I’ve manifested using all three and so can you!)

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Summary And Last Thoughts:

In order to manifest, you only need to figure out what you want to manifest, then think about it as an assumption, (one of the 3 ways I listed above, using a Past, Present, or Future sentence) and then just wait knowing you will get your desire.

Notice how in this post I never covered the “how” or the “when.” (The only “how” I covered was how manifestation works with the 4D and 3D, nothing beyond that.) Because you don’t need to focus on those things! Focus on manifesting, NOT how it happens or when. The only time you should be focusing on the when is when you are manifesting your desire to come quicker.

Also notice how in this post, it was a continuous cycle of…

Thoughts=Assumptions

Thoughts+Assumptions=Your Desired Reality

Anyone can manifest. And this isn’t the only way to manifest, this is one method of many. It’s easy when you assume it’s easy!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

I hope this post helped atleast someone. Have a good evening, morning, or afternoon. If you have a question or concern, feel free to drop a comment or send a DM.

The ultimate Law of Assumption song (You deserve your manifestation and that’s why you should get it!)

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Sincerely,

Your Neighborly Werido

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littleslaywrites · 23 days ago

Text

no privacy among profilers | aaron hotchner x bau!reader

based on this request

summary: after months of secretly dating, hotch and you reveal your relationship to the team at jj's wedding

word count: 1.9k

cw: fluff, age gap, allusions to smut but nothing described, alcohol consumption

The twinkling of the stars mixed with the fairy lights above you, casting a magical glow on the backyard. The team has a giddy energy, still excited about the surprise wedding you’d just witnessed. That was one thing you loved about your job. You shared each other’s ups and downs, becoming a family in a way.

You had spent a good amount of time getting ready, wanting to look nice for your first formal event with the team. Specifically, you wanted to look nice for Hotch. You knew he’d shower you with compliments no matter what, but you had the intention of taking his breath away.

It had been a few months since you’d started dating, hiding it from the team. You were a profiler, so you recognized Hotch’s interest in you from your first day on the job. He liked to think that he hid it well, but you were watching closely. The rest of the team was oblivious to the way he watched you, blushing ever so slightly when you met eyes.

You’d quickly found that the two of you were similar, both in profiling styles and personality types. When the team went out for drinks, you always found yourself sitting next to him, often breaking into a conversation away from the rest of the group. As the newest and youngest member of the team, you worried about not being taken seriously, but Hotch always backed you up whenever you presented a theory. By your third month at the BAU, you had tasked yourself with reminding him to take breaks for lunch, and telling him to go home when he spent too long at his desk after a case.

Your first date night began innocently enough. You asked him out for dinner after work one day, saying he should take a break from all the late nights at the office. When he looked down at his hands, you knew you had him. The slight tell was enough for you to begin plotting, figuring out how to turn the night from a casual dinner to a full-on date.

You could tell Hotch was using all his might to stay professional. Fraternization is forbidden for those of the same rank, not to mention between a boss and their employee. You also knew he was hesitant about the age gap, a good fifteen years between the two of you.

Across the table, his eyes were trained on your face, not daring to glance down at your shirt. You’d undone two of the buttons to try to make your outfit seem less like you’d worn it all day at the office, as well as to show just the slightest bit of skin. Enough to get his attention, but not too much as to maintain plausible deniability.

Hotch knew he probably shouldn’t have accepted your invitation. He knew better than to give in to the request of the much younger employee he’d been crushing on. Since he’d first met you, he’d been trying to keep you off his mind. He stole glances, ones he was sure you’d noticed. At least, he noticed the way you looked at him. The two of you played a game, trying to capture moments without the rest of the team noticing. With you sitting in front of him, top undone just enough to barely cover your bra, his eyes kept bouncing down to the tiny bit of cleavage that was revealed.

By the time dessert had been placed in front of you, you had worked up enough courage (or at least enough liquid courage) to say something. “My eyes are up here,” you said after one particularly long stare.

Hotch almost chokes on his drink. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, although his face turns completely red, contradicting the statement.

You remember the interrogation methods you’ve been taught, and stay silent, waiting for Hotch to make the next move.

The silence is broken with a giggle. Surprisingly, it’s not from you. It’s Hotch. You never imagined he could giggle, considering you were shocked the first time you heard him laugh. In response, you start to giggle, and in your drunken haze, the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter.

You’re a little self conscious, noticing the others dining at the restaurant staring, but when you look up to meet Hotch’s eyes, you stop caring. There’s a twinkle in his coffee colored eyes, and it makes him look younger, less burdened.

“I think you do know what I mean,” you say through your laughter.

“And what if I do?” he says, fully embracing your teasing.

“I have a couple ideas” you reply, taking a sip of what must be your third drink.

“And what might those be?”

“Why don’t you come back to my apartment?” You leaned as close to him as you could while you were separated by the table. “I’ll show you there.”

That’s how he ended up in your bed, laying in your arms as the sun peeked through the blinds.

“As your superior, this goes against quite a few FBI regulations,” he says playfully as the light wakes you up.

“And as the man laying in my bed?”

“I can forget the rules if you can.”

You decided not to tell the team, knowing it’d complicate the dynamic too much. Instead, your game of stolen glances continues, just on a larger scale. Now it was quick touches of your hands on the jet, sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms like high schoolers.

The way Hotch looked tonight was making it particularly difficult to keep yourself from staring. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, showing just the slightest bit of skin. It’s reminiscent of your own scheme on your first date. Somehow he’s more irresistible now that you know what he looks like under the formal attire.

Spencer is swaying with you to the music. The team is all slightly buzzed, passing each other around on the dance floor.

“Hotch has been staring at you all night,” he says, turning so Hotch is behind you.

“Hmm?” You try to hide your reaction.

“Is there something happening between you? I don’t want to profile you or anything, but…”

You look up at him, surprised by the boldness. Usually Spencer would be too shy to comment on this sort of thing, which is why you don’t have a good cover for his inquiry. When you spin so you’re facing Hotch, his eyes really are on you.

“I think you’ve finally gone nuts, Reid.” You look down, smiling awkwardly, and you're sure he can see right through your lie.

You try to brush off his words, but something nags at you. So, when the song is over, you go straight to Hotch, disregarding the reaction Spencer will surely have to your choice of dance partner.

Placing one hand on your waist and taking the other in his firm hand, he holds you to his chest. His touch is light, and for once his insistence on being a gentleman annoys you.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, slightly squeezing your hand. In response, you squeeze at the shoulder your hand rests on.

“Spencer’s onto us,” you whisper.

“Of course he is,” Hotch chuckles slightly. “Can’t hide anything from a genius.”

You know eyes are on you, especially since Spencer is talking with Penelope, meaning she’s currently about to spill Spencer's theory about you and Hotch to literally everyone.

“I guess they’re bound to find out eventually.”

“What are you implying?” He leans back to look at you. You can tell he’s resisting the smile that’s trying to break free.

“All I’m saying is,” you let a smile overtake you as his lips twitch into a tight smile, “we can’t hide forever.”

When you turn, you glance around, noticing the team all standing beside the drinks table. They avert their eyes when you glance over, but it’s clear they’re staring.

“I think we have an audience,” you remark, letting your lips brush against Hotch’s ear.

He holds you a little tighter, his heart fluttering slightly from the sensation.

“I say we give them a show,” you say, finally tired of the tiptoeing around you’ve been doing for the past three months.

“Miss y/n, how scandalous,” he teases before removing his hand from yours and holding your cheek. You can almost feel the intake of breath from your watchers.

Hotch looks gorgeous under the twinkling lights, that gleam in his eyes intensified by the warm glow. It’s a look that’s reserved for you, and even then, only in your private moments. You always feel honored when you see that sparkle, knowing the rest of the team has only seen a fraction of it on nights out after long cases.

“Kiss me,” you say. It’s practically a dare, urging him to be the one who initiates the reveal. The second you say it, he knows he can’t resist you. Not when your lips look so delicious in the curve of your smile.

Leaning down, your lips meet, lightly at first. Your eyes flutter shut, filled with the familiar warmth his kisses always give you. Leaning into him, you deepen the kiss for a brief moment. When you pull away, he chases after you slightly, left wanting more.

“Is that all I get?” He tries to pout, but your smile infects him.

“Anything more might give Garcia a heart attack.” Glancing over at her, you think she’s about ready to drop dead, with one hand on her heart and her mouth hanging open.

The rest of the team is no less shocked. Emily and Morgan have erupted into chatter, arguing about who “knew it first”. Spencer has that smug look he always gets when he’s proven right. Even JJ and Will have frozen mid-dance, giving each other a look of surprise.

Laughing at their collective disarray, you call out. “What?”

“Y/n!” Garcia calls out. “How long have you been hiding this from us?”

“Three months, give or take,” Hotch responds. Garcia lets out an indignant gasp, pulling the three people around her into a group discussion of the signs they’ve missed.

“There’s no such thing as privacy when you work with profilers,” Hotch says quietly to you.

When the song ends, he leads you to the open bar. You probably don’t need another drink, considering you were already bold enough for a confession.

Rossi is already there, pouring himself a drink. “I was wondering when you were going to break the news to the team,” he says.

“You told him?” You give Hotch an accusatory look.

“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Rossi says, saving Hotch from any potential indictments. “You two aren’t as subtle as you think you are, at least not to a founding member of the BAU.”

He makes his dramatic exit from the conversation, Hotch giving you a glance as he walks off.

“I’m glad they know,” he says as he hands you a glass. “I don’t like hiding you.”

“I’m sure you’ll get all the bragging rights now that they know you’ve captured your younger subordinate.”

He chuckles slightly at your teasing. “Not when they see the paperwork I’ll need to fill out.”

You sigh slightly at this, remembering the obstacles that come with the reveal of your relationship. Nevertheless, you’re too elated from the confession to care. It’s hard to care about anything when Hotch gives you that bright smile so few people get to see.

“This is going to be complicated,” you say, a smile betraying your attempt at seriousness.

“It’s worth it,” Hotch says, pulling you in for another kiss, no longer caring about the watchful eyes that surround you. “It’s worth it for you.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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