#it’s the way this was sent without emojis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrolook · 4 months ago

Text

Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

2K notes · View notes

alinathinkstoomuch · 4 months ago

Text

Filthier Flat-Pack Thoughts

18+ MDNI pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: your boss rejects you the first time but what happens when he's the one in charge? (part 2 of Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts, but can be read as a standalone) warnings: baso porn w/o plot, hotch has a filthy mouth, reader and hotch both have a thing for mirrors... p in v sex, fingering, idk man i got carried away, enjoy xx (not proof read, dont come for me) word count: 5.6k ✧ masterlist

You had taken the coward’s way out when Monday came. But really, what else were you supposed to do after throwing yourself at your boss and getting let down?

So, instead of facing the consequences of your actions – or worse, facing him – you sent Hotch a text claiming you weren’t feeling well and asked if you could use your PTO for the day.

He didn’t respond. Not directly, at least. But just before the usual morning briefing, Garcia had texted you.

Feel better soon, sunshine!!!

Accompanied by enough emojis to make your head spin. Which meant he must have told them. Which meant that it was fine. And yet, the thought of him seeing your message, reading it, and choosing not to reply left a pit in your stomach that you weren’t ready to unpack.

You just needed one more day.

One more day to shake off the mortification, to stop replaying every humiliating second of Friday night in your head, to convince yourself that come Tuesday, you would walk into work and pretend none of it ever happened.

You didn’t want the day to go to waste so you tried to be productive, throwing yourself into the thing that would keep your hands and mind occupied - finally unpacking.

And you had mostly succeeded.

Most of your boxes were empty, your things finally finding a place in your new home, and after an embarrassing amount of time, you had even managed to put together your bedside table. But despite the distraction, despite the minor victory of assembling furniture without Hotch’s help, the second you sat down, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, it was still there.

That awful, gnawing awareness that sooner or later you were going to have to face him.

You decided that a hot shower might help wash away the lingering shame clinging to your skin. You turned the water up almost too hot, as you stood under the shower head, hands pressed against the cool tiles.

It was fine.

You just needed to stop overthinking it. Hotch wasn’t cruel. He had let you down gently. He had done the right thing. So why did your stomach still twist at the memory of it?

By the time you stepped out, your body felt warm, relaxed - your mind, less so. You pulled on one of your softer, more delicate chemises – a small indulgence in comfort you desperate needed. Then, with a sigh, you settled onto the couch, grabbing your phone and tapping through your contacts.

Garcia picked up on the second ring.

“Ah, my fallen soldier! How are we holding up?”

You groaned, shifting on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. “I’m fine, Pen. Just taking a day to recover.”

“As you should, my dear. Self-care is critical after a weekend of… whatever happened that has you hiding away.”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out against the cushions. “Moving, Penelope. Moving has be hiding away. It is truly an exhausting process.”

Garcia hummed, evidently not convinced by your little white lie. “Well, boss man seems exhausted too. Or just very tense and broody. I can’t tell anymore, his scowls are all starting to blend together. Did he maybe pull a muscle helping you with your furniture or something?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Penelope -” you started, only to be cut off by a knock at your door.

You froze.

“Okay, who have you sent to my door this time?” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the sofa.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m not the mastermind behind all surprise visitors.”

You didn’t believe her for a second.

Still, you pulled on your robe, tugging it over your chemise as you made your way to the door. The fabric felt softer than usual, almost fragile, like it wasn’t quite enough of a barrier between you and what was waiting on the other side.

Balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, you tied a loose knot at your waist, fingers fidgeting with the belt as Garcia sighed dramatically on the other end.

“Well? Who is it? Spill.”

Your hand hesitated over the lock, a second of hesitation turning into two, three, before you finally turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing on your doorstep – again. Looking every bit like the man you had spent the last two days trying to avoid, trying to forget, trying not to replay in your head on a never-ending loop.

“Let me call you back, Garcia,” you murmured absentmindedly, already pulling the phone away from your ear, hanging up before she could even think to respond.

Because right now, the last thing you needed was an audience.

You barely registered the sound of the line disconnecting, too focused on the man standing in front of you. Hotch didn’t speak right away, didn’t explain why he was here, didn’t offer you anything to ease the knot forming in your stomach.

He just watched you, which was almost worse.

You had been bracing yourself for tomorrow, telling yourself that by then, the weight of everything would have settled just enough for you to fake your way through the awkwardness, to act like Friday night had never happened.

But here he was. Now. And the fragile plan you’d built to protect yourself had just gone up in flames.

“Can we sit?”

His voice was softer than you expected. Softer than you were ready for.

You pressed your lips together, shifting on your feet, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe, grounding yourself in the feel of the fabric, something real to hold onto.

A moment passed before you finally stepped aside, nodding slightly.

"Yeah."

Your lips pressed together as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe.

He moved toward the couch, and you should have followed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you lingered near the doorway, arms crossing over your chest, putting space between you. An invisible barrier, as if it could protect you from whatever was about to come next Hotch noticed, of course he did. His gaze flicked over you, reading every tiny shift in your posture, every hesitation, every instinct to put distance between you.

And still, he didn’t push. Not until he settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sit, angel."

It was the way he said it – so soft, so steady – that you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him right. You sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding this conversation and lowered yourself onto the couch, leaving enough space between you.

A brief pause stretched between you. He was studying you, assessing you, trying to read you. And you suddenly felt so exposed despite the layers of fabric now separating you from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone feeling dangerously close to concern.

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“Did you take today off because of what happened Friday?” he countered your question with another, leaning forward.

You expected the question, but hearing it out loud – acknowledging it – made you ache all over again. You dropped your gaze, fingers toying with the edge of your robe, avoiding his eyes like that somehow could make this easier. “I just… needed a day.”

Hotch nodded like he understood, like he had already known the answer before you even said it. His expression softened, and when he spoke again, it was even gentler than before.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Hotch didn’t look convinced, your name falling from his lips.

“I mean it,” you continued, making yourself sound certain. Trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You were kind, Hotch. You let me down in the nicest way possible. I appreciate that.”

“But –”

“I just needed today to clear my head,” you cut him off. “To remind myself that you were right.”

His brows furrowed. “Right?”

You let out a quiet, humourless laugh, dropping your eyes to your lap again. "That Friday night wasn't... real," you murmured, more to yourself than him. "It was stress and exhaustion and maybe a little too much wine. I let it get the best of me. It was a mistake."

The silence that followed was too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, waiting for him to agree, to tell you that yes, it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened, that you were right.

“Is that what you think?”

You looked up, brows pinching in confusion. “I mean…” You faltered, searching his face but it gave nothing away. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Hotch let out a breath, his fingers pressing into his thigh. “It wouldn’t have been right,” he said finally.

Maybe that should have been enough of an answer, maybe you should have left it alone. But you didn’t. Because something about the way he said it, the way his voice dipped slightly, made your stomach tighten, made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“That’s not the same as saying you didn’t want it.”

The moment they left your lips, you wished you could take them back.

His jaw clenched, his muscle ticking once.

And just as you started to convince yourself you had imagined this whole exchange, just as you prepared to backpedal, to fill the silence with some half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, the most beautifully damning words falling from this mouth -

“I did want it.”

The air left your lungs in a sharp, breathless rush and you felt the room tilt.

“Then…why –”

“Because you deserved better than that.”

His words were firm, absolute, wrapped in the same conviction he carried into every case, every impossible decision.

“Hotch –”

“You’d been drinking,” he continued. “You’d had a long week and I know how quickly having too many things lined up at once overwhelms you.”

That sentence alone was enough to unravel you because he really did know you. He knew how your mind worked, knew how pressure built inside you until it spilled over.

“And I would have spent the entire next day wondering if I’d just taken advantage of you.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet honesty in his words, at the careful way he measured them, as if he had thought about this. As if it had sat with him just as much as it had with you.

And fuck, you didn't know what to do with that.

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be drunk to know that I want –” you hesitated, “–wanted you.”

He looked up at you, like he was weighing every single word you’d just spoken, turning them over in his mind like pebbles, making sure he heard you right.

“And what do you want now?” he asked lowly.

He was giving you the choice. No leading words. No hidden meaning. Just a simple, open-ended question.

Your stomach twisted, nerves and something warmer curling in your chest, in your belly, in the space between your ribs.

"You," you admitted, barely above a breath. "I still want you."

He nodded slowly. “Then take me to your bedroom.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d even heard him right, but the look on his face told you that you had. A sharp pulse of awareness ran through you, so strong it made your fingers clench into the fabric of your robe. You weren't sure you'd even be stable on your feet after hearing those words from his mouth, but you were sure as hell going to try.

Before you could move, he stood first. Your eyes followed the movement, unable to look away as he shrugged off his jacket, the rustle of fabric filling the space between you. Then came the cufflinks – carefully removed, set aside-before he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the flex of muscle, the way his veins shifted beneath his skin.

And then, he reached for you. His hand open, waiting. Your gaze flickered up to his, searching, but all you found was patience and certainty.

“Only if you’re sure.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

You were sure. So damn sure.

You rose to your feet, and the moment you did, his other hand moved to undo the knot of your robe. His fingers worked it loose, the tie slipping free with ease, his breath coming just a fraction heavier as the fabric parted, revealing the delicate, pale pink lace beneath.

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his eyes dragged over you, taking you in inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every detail.

And then he nodded toward the hallway. “After you.”

You turned, leading him down the hall, toward the first door on the right.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp spilled into the room, casting warm shadows against the walls. You silently thanked your past self for leaving it on –it was just enough light to see him, to see this, without feeling too exposed.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, moving toward the end of the bed. You didn't speak, didn't need to. You just waited, for his next instructions, for his next move.

Hotch's eyes swept over the room, taking everything in. It was still bare, not yet lived in, not yet filled with you –a work in progress, much like the two of you.

But then his gaze snagged on something. The full length mirror that rested against the wall, directly opposite your bed. You saw the moment he noticed it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his lips twitched, like he was already picturing something.

And then he moved.

Came to stand behind you, his hands finding your shoulders, warm and sure, guiding you just slightly until you were perfectly centered in front of it.

“That’s a very pretty mirror.”

Your eyes tracked every movement through the reflection, mouth parting, but for once you had no words. Then his lips brushed against your hair, barely there, but the heat of it lingered, seeping into your skin, into your bones, branding itself in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake.

“Did you put it there so you could watch while you touched yourself?”

A slow, molten heat curled through you, pooling deep in your belly, spreading down between your thighs. Your legs tensed on instinct, pressing together as his fingers traced over the bare skin of your arms, feather-light, teasing, making you ache.

“Hm, sweet angel?”

You nodded meekly, biting down on your lip to supress the moan threatening to escape – one he had earned with nothing more than words.

“Did you do it after I left?”

Your sharp inhale gave you away, your body betraying you before you could even think of forming a response. Your back arched into him, fingers twitching as he intertwined them with his own, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.

The mirror didn’t lie. You looked ruined already and he had barely touched you.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Use that pretty mouth before I find something else to do with it.”

That didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Aaron, please.”

A slow, satisfied hum rumbled against your back as his hands finally moved higher, fingers ghosting over your nipples.

“Did you start from here?”

You felt dizzy. So dizzy that if you weren’t leaning into him, if he wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve collapsed. His right hand drifted lower, tracing the outside of your thigh while his left gripped you tighter, his palm kneading into your flesh.

“Or did you start with your thighs?”

You could feel his smirk against you skin, could see it in his reflection – the way his dark eyes met yours in the mirror, the way his lips curled at the edges as his fingers edged higher, inching toward the heat between your legs.

The fabric of your slip bunched up in his fist, silk riding up your thighs, baring you to him, exposing your lace panties.

Hotch exhaled slowly, watching the way the delicate material clung to your body.

“Show me, pretty girl.” His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip firmer now. “I want to see what I missed out on.”

You looked at him through the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted in a soft pout because he couldn’t possibly be asking you to do this. Could he?

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Your thighs instinctively pressed together again, only to be met with his hand keeping them apart. A breathless sound escaped you, your body betraying you yet again, and his smirk deepened.

You knew what he wanted. And so, with shaky fingers, you moved your hand. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough space for your fingers to brush over the lace at the apex of your thighs.

“Atta girl.” His lips skimmed the curve of your jaw. “Show me. Show me how you thought of me.”

Your lashes fluttered, breath catching as your fingers dipped beneath the lace. Maybe it was a good thing it was your own touch and not his, because if he felt how wet you were, if he had proof of just how much you wanted him, it would only feed into his smugness.

And you weren’t sure you could survive that.

Hotch hummed in satisfaction, his right hand trailing up, covering yours, guiding it, controlling it as you started rubbing slow circles over your clit. His touch wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t forceful. It was intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of this – feel what it was like to have his hand over yours, dictating the rhythm, deciding exactly how much pleasure you were allowed to take.

“Did you say my name?” he asked, voice rough. “Did you pretend it was me?”

Your lips parted, a desperate, needy noise slipping past them, your body trembling as he watched.

“Look at yourself.”

You forced your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection and you barely recognised yourself. Your body was trembling against his, your slip bunched at your waist, panties pushed aside, thighs twitching as you fought for air.

“What do you see, angel?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers faltering as his words wrapped around you, sinking deep into your stomach.

“I see a pretty girl who falls apart the second I tell her to.”

Your entire body shook. A fresh whimper broke free, your knees threatening to give out as his left hand tightened at your waist, keeping you upright, keeping you his.

“Please, Aaron –” Your voice was wrecked, desperate. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

His exhale was slow, like he was savouring the sound of you breaking. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded feverishly, too fast, your entire body screaming for relief. “P-please. I need you to.”

His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to pull your hand away as he replaced it with his own. And then – God help you – his fingers moved.

A slow, deliberate drag through your slick folds, teasing, testing, until he found exactly what he was looking for. His touch was immediate and so much better than your own. A broken moan slipped past your lips, your head falling back onto his shoulder as your thighs quivered, struggling to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, like he had known this would happen. “So much better when I do it for you, isn’t it?”

Your only response was a chocked sob, your hands grasping at his forearm, nails digging in, pleading.

You felt him smile against your skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His pace quickened, precise and devastating, and you pressed into him – your body instinctively seeking more, needing all of him. And that’s when you felt it. The undeniable proof of what the sight of you like this had done to him. The thick, hard press of his arousal against the curve of your ass, straining against his slacks.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through you, a cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Hotch groaned – actually groaned – his hips pressing forward, just enough to let you feel him.

“You feel that? That’s what you do to me, angel.”

Your breath hiccupped, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, your thighs clamping around his wrist, body trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.

“Aaron –”

“Be a good girl for me, hm? Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body tensed, your back arched, and then you shattered, a strangled sob escaping your lips as he worked you through it, whispering low, filthy praises into your ear, his grip never faltering.

Your body slumped against his, boneless, spent, your breathing uneven as you struggled to come back down. And when your hazy eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, the sight made your stomach flip all over again.

“How was that, angel?”

He knew you would never be able to touch yourself again without thinking of this. Knew he had achieved exactly what he wanted.

“Really good,” you breathed, head lolling back against his shoulder, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

His lips curled into a knowing smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good, honey. But I’m going to need you to take everything off and get on all fours.”

Your stomach tensed.

Fuck.

He was trying to kill you.

His hands finally released you, giving you space to move, but not before he watched.

Waited.

Your fingers were unsteady as they found the hem of your slip, lifting it slowly, peeling away the last barrier between you. The silk slipped over your head, landing somewhere on the floor, followed by your underwear.

The air hit your bare skin, goosebumps trailing in its wake but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was him and the way he looked at you. You turned toward the bed, moving to crawl onto the mattress when his voice stopped you.

“Not the bed.”

You bit your lip as you turned back to face him, your pulse skittering in your throat. He was still fully dressed, still so composed when you were the exact opposite. His gaze dragged down your body at an achingly slow pace, taking his time, allowing himself to drink you in – every inch of you, every part he hadn’t gotten to see a few nights ago.

“The floor, angel. Right in front of the mirror.”

Your body burned as you complied, knees wobbling as you lowered yourself onto the floor. You positioned yourself exactly where he wanted, your palms pressing into the cool surface, your back arching slightly – offering yourself to him.

And the second you settled, the second you caught his gaze in the mirror you saw it. The way his eyes devoured you. The way his gaze landed between your thighs, locking onto your bare, glistening pussy, and the way his lips curled.

That bastard smirked.

Smirked at the mess between your legs, at what he had done to you.

You watched as he lowered himself behind you, his broad frame closing in, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second skin. A sharp inhale tore through you as you felt the press of his thumb collecting the wetness from your folds, spreading it, claiming it.

And just as you started to adjust to the feeling, just as your body tried to catch up – his thumb was gone, replaced with his middle and ring finger, teasing at your entrance, then slowly, slowly pushing inside.

A sound left you, something between a gasp and a whimper, something utterly helpless, so desperate it made your skin burn.

He chuckled.

“You can use my fingers, honey. But you’re going to have to do the work.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his through the mirror.

He wasn’t kidding. His fingers stayed inside you, buried deep but he wasn’t moving them. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, desperate for friction, for more but he stayed still.

“Go on,” he said, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, encouraging you. “Make yourself feel good.”

Your palms flattened against the hard surface beneath you, bracing yourself as you moved – tentative at first, a slow, testing roll of your hips as you slid down onto his fingers. The stretch had you sucking in a sharp breath, your lips parting around a whispered curse.

And he watched. His eyes never left you, locked onto your reflection in the mirror, tracking the way you rocked against his hands, the way your thighs trembled as you found your rhythm, the way you used him exactly the way he wanted you to.

But still it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed all of him, buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways his fingers never could. But he wasn’t offering that, so you took what you could get. You bucked your hips harder, forcing more friction, forcing the stretch, chasing what you knew only he could give you.

A sharp cry slipped from your lips. “Fuck, Aar –”

“I know, baby.” His fingers twitched inside you, pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you he was still in control “I know.”

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

A desperate whimper spilled from your lips at the sudden loss, your body clenching around nothing, the emptiness leaving a sharp pang of need that made your head spin. And yet, before panic could settle in, before you could beg for him, you heard it.

The click of his belt buckle.

Your head moved up to meet his eyes in the mirror just in time to see him work the leather through the loops before letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He never broke contact as he reached for the button of his slacks, undoing it before the soft sound of his zipper filled the room.

He took his time.

Watched you squirm, watched the way your thighs could do nothing but press together.

His slacks slipped down, bunching at his feet, and then, finally, his boxers. Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he exposed himself, the tip of his cock already slick with precum, showing you just how much he wanted this – wanted you.

Once his shirt was discarded, he lowered himself back down, hands finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind you who you belonged to. Your back arched, your body responding before your mind could catch up, offering yourself to him in every way you knew he wanted.

You felt the hard, warm press of his cock against the back of your thigh, the slickness of it smearing against your skin, though you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you.

It didn’t matter because the next thing he was doing was dragging himself against your aching, soaked pussy. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as the thick length of him slid through your folds just enough to have you clenching around nothing.

He did it again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel him, letting the weight of his cock glide through your wetness, coating himself in it, using your own arousal to make you squirm.

"Jesus," he exhaled, his grip on your hips tightening, fingertips pressing into your skin like he was barely holding on. "So fucking wet for me, angel. You need it that bad, huh?”

The desperation in your body was humiliating, but you didn’t care. Not when he was teasing you like this, not when the heat between your legs pulsed and throbbed with every slow glide of his cock, not when he was so close to giving you what you wanted but still holding back.

“So bad, please,” you begged, pushing back against him, arching your spine, doing anything to get him where you needed. Every inch of you was trembling, every muscle coiled tight, your body nothing but pure, raw need.

He hummed, rolling his hips just enough for his tip to nudge against your entrance.

“Okay, sweet girl, okay.” His voice was gentle as he gave in. “But I need you to watch.”

His hand trailed up your spine before threading into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

And just as you sucked in that breath, he thrust inside you, the sudden, overwhelming stretch stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping against the hard surface as your body jolted forward from the sheer force of it. The sensation was too much, not enough, everything all at once. Your head spun, struggling to process the way he filled you, how impossibly deep he was, how your body clenched around him, trying to adjust, trying to take him.

A ragged curse tore from his lips, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers pressing so hard into your skin that you knew you’d feel it long after this moment had passed.

His pace was slow – tortuous if you had to use one word to describe it. You watched him in in the mirror, the way his head tipped back, brows furrowed in restraint, chest rising and falling as he bottomed out inside you, taking a second to breathe before pulling back, leaving just the tip inside—before slamming back in.

A wet, filthy sound filled the room, followed by a broken sob from your lips as your body struggled to keep up with the intensity of it. The way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you, the way he was ruining you.

You didn’t know what you were begging for when his name slipped past your lips, raw and desperate. You just knew you needed it. More of him. Deeper. Harder. Just more.

"You're gonna come for me," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna make a mess all over my cock while I fuck you through it, yeah?"

You nodded mindlessly, over and over again. “Y-yeah. Y-Yes.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, finding you clit once more, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, unravelling you inch by inch. Your body was already trembling, barely holding on, every muscle tensed.

And he knew it. Of course, he knew it.

He could feel it, the way you clenched around him, the way your breath caught, the way you pushed back against him like you were chasing something you were already seconds away from losing yourself to.

“Fuck, baby, your gripping me so tight.”

Your body reacted to the words, your head dropping forward, your hands curling into fists against the floor as another wave of pleasure crashed through you.

"That's it, angel," he coaxed, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts hitting deeper. "Let me have it."

You came again, your body shuddering, incoherent mumbles falling from you lips as the orgasm swallowed you whole. But it still wasn’t enough for him. If anything, feeling you fall apart only spurred him on, made him rougher, hungrier, his grip bruising as he held you there, as he used your body to chase his own release.

His movements turned sloppy, his breath uneven, each thrust deep and desperate, dragging out his pleasure just a little longer. And then – his body tensed, his hands tightening on your hips as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, your name spilling from his lips as he buried himself inside you, coming hard, filling you completely.

His hips rocked into you a few more times, slower now, savouring every last second, his breath warm against your skin, ragged and uneven as he rode out the final waves of his release.

Then, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin. “You okay?” he whispered.

You let out a breathless, satisfied hum. “More than okay.”

His hands slid to your hips and with careful movements, he rolled you onto your back, pulling out slowly before settling you against the floor. The loss of him sent a shiver through you, but you barely had time to dwell on it before his body hovered over yours.

You stretched beneath him, your fingers trailing up his arm, tracing the muscles still tensed from holding himself back. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you teased, "Who knew Aaron Hotchner had such a filthy mouth?"

“Consider it payback for not wearing a bra.”

You let out a laugh. “Well if that’s payback, I might just have to start wearing short skits with no underwear at the office.”

“Is that so?”

You grinned, stretching your arms above your head in an indulgent, satisfied way. “Mm-hm. I mean, if this is how you handle insubordination, I’d say I have a pretty strong case for pushing the dress code.”

His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through you, something warm and rare and entirely for you. His weight shifted slightly as he reached for you, one hand trailing along your side, stopping just below your breast.

“Angel,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, brushing against your jaw before dragging down your neck. “You do that and it’ll be your last day in the office.”

“You’d fire me?”

He shook his head, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Never, honey. You just wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner one shot #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner smut #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #mine🌟

1K notes · View notes

burningembers91 · 5 months ago

Text

The Beauty of Vulnerability - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up Piece to: Not Who I Want to Be

Synopsis: Thanos is ready to show who he really is

Warnings: Alcohol and drug misuse/addiction, p in v, oral, 18+ only!

Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times before you finally picked it up. Thanos had sent you a selfie of him posing on his balcony, the Seoul skyline in the background. He had his usual goofy expression on his face, his tattoos visible on his shirtless body. He’d followed the selfie up with several emojis and a plea to join him on his balcony. You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but zoom in on his abs visible in the lower lefthand corner of the screen. It had been six weeks since your meeting in the nightclub, and as much as you’d tried to resist, he’d charmed his way into your life.

Thanos was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was so vibrant, so full of life and yet so broken. His eyes were filled with such sadness, a sadness that never quite went away no matter how hard he laughed, or how many jokes he told. He was the classic class clown, always striving to make you laugh. You hadn’t believed him when he told you he was a famous rapper, not until you’d Googled him the next day. Your friends didn’t believe you’d met him either, not until you showed them the message you’d sent him. you’d listened to his music, and although it wasn’t entirely to your taste, there was no denying the man had talent.

You’d met a few times since then, mostly at Thanos’ apartment. You’d once made the mistake of heading to a restaurant for dinner and spent the entire time fighting off screaming girls armed with iPhones and killer glares in your direction. You hadn’t quite got a feel of who this man was, didn’t quite understand what made him tick. He was a wildcard, but there was an underlying sweetness about him.

While you were reserved with your feelings, Thanos was head over heels for you. You gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, gave him purpose on days that without you would have been filled with drugs and booze. He hadn’t quite managed to quit the narcotics, but a lifetime habit was hard to break. But you’d inspired him to write music again, had given him an entirely new lease on life. The day after he’d met you, he spent all day messaging you on Instagram. The next day, he removed the parasites from his apartment, the ones who only came round when they wanted to party, take drugs or cling to his coattails. He deep cleaned his apartment, tipping bottles of booze and pills down the toilet. He sat at his piano for the first time in years, penning a song that was so different to anything he’d written before. The music seemed to flow through him, the words coming so naturally. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written something sober, the melody overwhelming him until he was reduced to tears. He’d spent so long pretending to be someone else, it was nice to have a piece of the real him shine through.

He understood you wanted to take things slow, and he’d be a fool to rush into this headfirst. That had always been his mistake. Thanos usually acted first and thought later, but he didn’t want to fuck up whatever this was that he had with you. There were a few times when he slipped back into his old habits, taking a pill when the world got a little too much, drinking himself to sleep when his racing thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. He hadn’t told you about his addictions, but you knew.

You saw it in his eyes, saw the ways his hands shook when he was starting to withdraw. You’d seen friends addicted in the past, and it hadn’t ended well. That’s why you were taking things slow; you were waiting for the moment Thanos would inevitably break your heart. Your head screamed at you to leave, but your heart told you this man was worth fighting for.

You joined him later that evening on his balcony, just as the sky turned candy floss pink as the sun began to set. He handed you a glass of champagne worth more than your monthly salary, kissing you softly on your cheek. His days were long and lonely without you, counting down the hours until he saw you again. You were the anchor that kept him grounded to the world, the woman who stopped him from floating away into the clouds. His fingernails were painted black today, the colour matching the thickly tattooed line that snaked from his middle finger to his neck. you liked to trace that line, smiling as he shivered against you. you hadn’t slept together yet, but every day you found it harder to find a reason not to. His lips skimmed your cheek again, making their way down to your lips. Thanos loved kissing you, loved the way your lips felt against his. You were impossibly soft, your tongue meeting his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the glass of expensive champagne long forgotten.

“I wrote a song for you,” he whispered, playing with them hem of your skirt. “Can I play it for you?” You nodded, tilting your head back as his lips continued to kiss you, trailing across your jawline and down your neck. He was so crazy about you, so head over heels he felt like he might go insane. You made his entire body tingle, from his scalp to his toes, and he found himself constantly getting lost in your eyes.

Pulling you from the comfort of his outdoor sofa, he led you to his music room, offering you a seat on his plush leather stool. He sat at his piano, nerves wracking his body as he took a deep breath. Usually, he’d pop a pill to calm his nerves, or down a few shots of tequila. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to sit with those nerves, to show his vulnerability to you in a way he’d never shown anyone. As he began to play, his voice singing in perfect harmony with the notes, you watched in silence. Every inch of you was covered in goosebumps, the tune on the piano so beautifully encompassing his feelings towards you. Never had a man treated you the way Thanos had; he made you feel like a Goddess.

When the song was over, Thanos stayed at the piano, his bottom lip trembling. You watched him for a few moments, your heart aching as a lifetime of emotions bubbled to the surface. He was so tired of being someone he wasn’t, of surrounding himself with people who didn’t give a shit about him. Until 6 weeks ago, he had no one to call when he was lonely, no one to hug him when he was feeling sad. He’d had no one to turn to when the world got dark, but you were here now. Sitting across from him, your eyes brimming with tears, he didn’t know how to convey his feelings towards you other than through song.

Nothing about him was real; nothing was authentically him. His name wasn’t even real; he’d modelled it on a fucking purple CGI villain. A single tear fell from his eye, landing on the ivory keys with a splatter. A deep, wracking sob escaped him and his closed his eyes as he felt the darkness closing in. He longed for a release, longed to feel the numbness that came with the pills he popped like candy.

Your arms encircled him, pulling his shaking body into yours. You stood there for a while, stroking his shock of purple hair while he sobbed into your chest. He’d never cried in front of a woman before, had never shown any emotion other than unabashed confidence. “My name isn’t even Thanos,” he choked after a while. “I know,” you smiled, “I doubted your parents named you after a Marvel villain.” You wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb, placing a soft kiss on each of his eyelids. He looked so fragile, so broken as his head slumped against your breasts, his body still shaking with the occasional sob. “What is your name?” He looked up at you. He hadn’t said he real name for years; Thanos had become his brand, the crutch he used almost as much as the drugs and alcohol. “Choi Su-Bong,” he whispered. “My name is Choi Su-Bong.”

You kissed him, pulling him down onto the soft carpet of his music room floor. “Choi Su-Bong,” you smiled, “My Choi Su-Bong.” He made love to you right there on the floor, the sounds of your moans melting into the sound-proof walls. Su-Bong had never felt like this with anyone before. He was usually completely numb when he fucked someone, if he remembered fucking them at all. But with you, he was sober, perhaps for the first time in his life. He felt every touch, every thrust so deeply. He let you take charge, straddling him as you lowered yourself onto him. Your fingers traced his abs, the sensation overwhelming him as your nails dragged gently across his skin, tracing the tattoos that littered his torso and chest. He’d never known something could feel this good, had never realised that your entire body could feel like it was on fire in the best way possible. He was desperate to touch every inch of you, to feel every part of your exposed skin. He guided your chest towards his mouth, his lips locking around your sensitive nipple as he took it gently between his teeth. Your moans were heavenly, more beautiful than any song he’d ever heard. He came with an earth-shattering groan, his fingers gripping the skin on your thighs as he finished inside of you. He carried you to his room after, laying you down on his silk sheets before drawing out your pleasure again and again. Your body shook for him, your breathy moans spurring him on. You tasted like heaven, your slickness coating his mouth and tongue as he devoured you again and again.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, waking up as the sun broke over the horizon. Thanos was gone, but Choi Su-Bong had replaced him. His arms cradled you as you watched the sun rise, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. Finally rousing from bed, he padded through to the kitchen. He was no chef, but last night had worked up quite the appetite. He ordered breakfast from a local café, spreading out the food across his expansive kitchen. He wasn’t sure what your favourite was, so he ordered one of everything. You sat and ate together, smiling at each other over your coffee mugs.

There would be hard days ahead, but Choi Su-Bong was determined to start fresh. New music, new friends, a new perspective. He’d never had anything in life that made him want to be a better person. But now he had you, and you were worth fighting for.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #thanos x reader #thanos squid game #squid game thanos #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #squid game x you

1K notes · View notes

greengoblinswifey · 8 months ago

Text

White Boy of the Month- Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, jealous!reader, unprotected sex, oral(f receiving) creampie, praise kink, established relationship, this monstrosity i conjured up.

author’s note: i’ve only ever written smut for characters and not actors so i feel a bit weird about this, hope you guys like it regardless. ps: this is all just fantasy <3

Nicholas was everywhere these days. TikTok’s new “white boy of the month”, and it seemed like everyone had taken notice. You were lying in bed, scrolling through TikTok, watching yet another edit of him. The one that kept popping up on your feed was to "Shake Dat Ah" by Bossman Dlow, and it had blown up. The video cut perfectly between slow-motion shots of him smiling and laughing, looking so effortlessly handsome with that amazing body. You couldn’t help but watch it on repeat.

You were so engrossed in it that you didn’t notice Nicholas walking into the room until he stood by the bed. Your eyes widened as you quickly tried to scroll away from the TikTok, but it was too late. He caught you.

“You’re watching the edits again, aren’t you?” Nicholas chuckled, his lips curving into that playful smirk you knew too well. “Enjoying them?”

Your face warmed, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “I enjoy having you in front of me way more,” you teased, giving him a wink.

He grinned and joined you on the bed, lying beside you. He nestled his head on your chest, his face resting against your tits as he made himself comfortable. You resumed watching the TikTok, this time paying attention to the comments. As expected, they were filled with thirsty women.

“He’s so hot, I can’t take it!” “Nicholas Chavez is my husband now, no one can tell me otherwise.” “I’m gonna need him to come over here and shake dat ah for me.” “Fuck me daddy.” “I need him so fucking bad.”

You rolled your eyes at the flood of heart-eye emojis and wild comments, but couldn’t help feeling a slight twinge of jealousy. Nicholas, sensing your shift in mood, peeked up at you.

“Jealous?” he asked softly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You hesitated, scrolling through another comment about how someone wanted to marry him and have him deflower them. “Maybe just a little,” you admitted, though you couldn’t help but smile down at him. “It’s not like I can’t see why they’re obsessed.”

He reached up, placing a kiss on your collarbone, his eyes never leaving yours. “They can have the edits, but I’m here with you.”

You exhaled softly, letting go of the jealousy. You knew you had him, right there in your arms, and no TikTok comment could take that away. “I guess I can deal with it,” you teased, your fingers brushing through his hair. “As long as you remember who you really belong to.”

He laughed, his breath warm against your skin. “Always.”

The energy between you and Nicholas shifted in an instant. His playful demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more intense. Without a word, he reached up, pulling your tank top down just enough to free your tits. Your breath hitched as his warm hands cupped them, and you tossed your phone to the side, the TikTok edits now a distant thought, though you’d definitely be watching and gushing later. Your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping softly as he kissed down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, his lips pressed firmly against your clothed pussy, making you gasp. Without hesitation, he grabbed the fabric and, with a sharp rip, tore them off with his strong, muscular arms. The rawness of the action sent a jolt of arousal through you, and you felt your body respond immediately.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. Your eyes met his, and he smirked. “No woman in any comment section will ever feel my tongue on them like you do right now.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you, ravishing your clit with fierce hunger. His tongue moved in circles, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your core. His finger slid inside you, curling in just the right way, making you whimper. When he added a second finger, your body couldn’t take it anymore. Your back arched off the bed as you came hard, cumming all over his mouth and fingers, your moans filling the room.

Nicholas didn’t stop, his lips and fingers continuing to work you through the orgasm, his eyes locked on your face. “So pretty,” he murmured between licks, “Your pussy looks so pretty. You look so pretty when you cum.”

Your chest heaved as you came down from your high, your mind hazy with pleasure. His words sent another flush of heat through you as he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening. “I’m all yours,” he whispered, his fingers still inside you, moving slowly. “And you’re all mine.”

“I’m yours Nicholas,” you whimpered and he smiled.

He pulled off his boxers, his big, thick cock springing free, standing hard and ready. The tip was a bright, flushed pink, curving just slightly, making your breath hitch in anticipation. He settled between your legs, teasing your clit with the head of his cock, rubbing it slowly, sending shivers through your entire body. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him inside you.

He positioned himself at your entrance, and slowly, so slowly, began to push in. His cock stretched you inch by inch, your tight pussy gripping him as he filled you. He let out a deep hiss as he sank deeper, his body trembling from the pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint.

You clung to his arms, gasping, “You’re so big,” the words barely a whisper as he continued pushing inside, his thick length stretching you to the limit. When he was fully inside, he paused, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily before he started to move, pounding into you in deep, steady strokes.

“You’re my beautiful girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he thrusted into you. “And I’m yours. Forever. No one’s ever gonna take me away from you.”

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, your clit rubbing against his hard, muscular body as he drove into you. His pace quickened, and you looked up at him, heart racing at the sight. His disheveled hair fell into his half-lidded, pretty eyes, his lips flushed and parted, groaning your name over and over like a chant, like he was worshiping you.

Your own lips parted in a moan, his name spilling from you like a prayer, like he was your priest, the only one you could ever confess to. The pleasure built inside you with every thrust, his body, his touch, his words claiming you completely. He wasn’t just fucking you, he was worshiping you, and in that moment, you were lost to him, praying with every moan, every cry of his name.

Nicholas could feel how close you were, your breath quickened, your moans growing louder, and your pussy gripped him like a vice. His eyes darkened with desire as he watched the way your body reacted to his every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, and with a low, husky voice, he rasped, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You’ll look even more beautiful cumming on my cock while I’m fucking you like this.”

His words ignited the fire inside you, pushing you past the brink. With a sharp cry, your orgasm crashed through you, and your body trembled uncontrollably. Your pussy tightened around him, squeezing him as you came hard, your walls pulsating and clenching around his thick cock. He groaned deeply, feeling every spasm as you drenched him, but he didn’t let up. He kept thrusting, his pace relentless, pushing you through the waves of pleasure, letting you ride it out fully.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he growled through clenched teeth, still lost in the tightness of your body. His hands gripped your hips tightly, feeling your warmth and the way your pussy gripped him like you never wanted to let go. He thrusted in harder, determined to give you more, to show you just how much you drove him crazy.

His own release was building fast, but he held back just long enough to murmur against your ear, “It’s my turn now. And you know what I want.”

Without hesitation, you arched your back for him, pressing your ass high in the air, presenting yourself to him as he moved behind you. Nicholas positioned himself between your legs, guiding his cock back inside you with one swift, hard thrust. You moaned at the feeling of being filled up again, his cock stretching you as he pounded into you from behind.

His grip tightened around your waist, and each thrust was more powerful than the last. His hands occasionally left your hips to deliver firm slaps to your ass, the sound of his hands meeting your skin echoing in the room. “God, look at you,” he growled, his voice low and thick with lust. “So fucking sexy. And this ass, so fucking perfect.”

You glanced back at him, your half-lidded eyes catching sight of his toned, muscular body—his abs flexing with every thrust, his biceps bulging as he held you in place. His messy hair framed his chiseled face, and the raw look of pleasure etched into his expression was enough to make you moan his name all over again, lost in the sight of him.

The pleasure built quickly inside you once more, your pussy gripping his cock tighter, squeezing him as another wave of pleasure started to overtake you. Nicholas could feel it too, his cock throbbing inside of you as he growled low in his throat. “I’m gonna cum,” he warned, his voice strained. “I’m close, baby.”

You were desperate, your voice needy as you begged, “Please, Nick, cum inside me. I want it. Fill me up.”

He hesitated, smirking as he slowed his pace for just a moment. “I can’t hear you,” he teased. “You’re gonna have to say that louder, baby.”

Your desperation heightened, and you practically screamed it this time. “Cum inside me, Nick! I need it! Please!”

With a deep, guttural groan, he slammed into you one final time, holding you close as his cock pulsed inside you, releasing thick, hot spurts of cum deep within you. He moaned your name as he came, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pressing you against him as he filled you up. He didn’t pull out right away, instead, he relished the feeling of being inside you, his cock still throbbing, every muscle in his body tense as he savored the moment.

Before you could catch your breath, he swiftly flipped you over, pulling you on top of him. His cock was still buried deep inside your pussy as he shifted the position, thrusting up into you gently now, making sure you squeezed every last drop of his cum out. You whimpered softly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your pussy gripping him as he guided your hips slowly.

Nicholas gazed up at you, his hands tender now, caressing your waist as he whispered between kisses. “My baby. You’re so fucking beautiful. I love you so much.”

You leaned down to kiss him softly, your heart swelling at his words. “I love you too,” you murmured, your voice tired but full of affection.

Nicholas kissed your forehead and whispered against your skin, “I’m so happy my career’s taking off, and no matter what, you’ll always be by my side, and I’ll take care of you every step of the way. You deserve the world.”

You smiled softly, resting your head on his chest as he moved to get up. “Wait,” you said, stopping him. “Don’t go. I just want to stay like this, with you inside me, and I wanna listen your heartbeat.”

He grinned, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close again. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.” He kissed the top of your head and settled back, letting you rest against his chest, his heart beating steadily beneath your ear as you both drifted off into a peaceful, satisfied slumber, completely wrapped in each other.

2K notes · View notes

mazeeelabyrinth · 1 month ago

Text

*⁀°▪︎♡ you didn't knock. he didn't lock. classic sitcom timing.

*⁀°▪︎♡ pairing: lads lis x afab!reader

*⁀°▪︎♡ tags: second person pov, 18+, shameless smut, masturbation, masturbation interruptus, big dicks in hand, caleb stole a panty, ooc, crack

*⁀°▪︎♡ a/n: reverse situation of the previous one. I'm just catching up with my ao3, don't mind me.

*⁀°▪︎♡ wc: 819

masterlist ❀ ao3 ❀ navigation

You were just looking for a snack. His snack stash.

That’s how this whole thing started.

A snack. A goddamn midnight craving.

You padded barefoot through the dimly lit hallway of the apartment, oversized T-shirt slipping off your shoulder, the vague scent of cologne and clean sweat clinging to the walls.

Your man was supposed to be out doing—whatever space princes/artists/surgeons/criminals/pilots did at 10:00 P.M.

You weren’t expecting him to be in his room yet. Especially not doing that. Okay, maybe hoping for a payback from when he caught you flicking the bean.

But fate said, “You know what this bitch needs? Trauma. And thirst.”

*⁀➷ Caleb

The door to Caleb’s room was slightly ajar. Rookie mistake. You pushed it open — and instantly regretted everything.

There he was. On the edge of his bed, shirtless, pants tugged low, one strong arm working furiously over his cock with the enthusiasm of a teenager who just discovered incognito mode. Your panties — your lacy black ones — were in his other hand. Pressed to his face. Inhales like he was breathing in the scent of goddamn salvation.

“Caleb?!”

He froze — mid-stroke — then blinked at you, unrepentantly. “Oh. Hey, pipsqueak.” His smile was boyish, shameless. “Look, I can explain. I mean, technically you walked in on me—”

You didn’t know whether to scream or pass out. Probably both.

“I was just… y'know. Field testing. Gravity calibration. With your scent. For morale.”

Absolutely no shame. Zero.

And his dick? Still very much in his hand. Still twitching.

*⁀➷ Sylus

You should have known better than to open his door without knocking. The moment your foot crossed the threshold, the scent of cigarette smoke and trouble hit you like a damn freight train.

He was reclining on the chaise like a smug demon prince, shirt unbuttoned, long legs spread just enough to show you everything. And yes — hand wrapped lazily around his cock, stroking it like he was painting sin itself.

He didn’t even flinch.

“Well, well. Finally decided to stop pretending you’re not curious?”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my god, Sylus—!”

He exhaled smoke from between parted lips, red eyes locking onto yours. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep staring like that and I’ll assume you wanna help.”

You spun to leave. He chuckled darkly.

"Door's always open. Just like my fly, apparently."

*⁀➷ Zayne

The quietest of them all, and somehow, this was the most traumatizing.

You were looking for damn snacks. How the hell were you supposed to know he'd be in his medical office — alone — pants unbuttoned, brows furrowed, hand gripping himself like he was solving equations via ejaculation?

He gasped your name — like a curse or a prayer — eyes wide behind those fogged-up glasses.

“Zayne?! What are you doing?!”

He immediately turned away, shoulders tense. “Please leave.”

The surgeon was malfunctioning. Visibly. You were 98% sure his soul left his body.

“I—this isn’t—You weren’t supposed to—”

The poor man couldn’t form a full sentence. You backed out slowly, your own face burning hotter than his sterilization lights.

...But you did see the way his hand twitched when he thought you’d left.

Zayne sent a text 30 seconds later:

We will never speak of this.

Also, knock next time.

There’s an emoji. It’s the knife.

*⁀➷ Rafayel

The door creaked open like a horror movie cliché. Except instead of murder, you got moaning.

Soft, breathy, absolutely shameless moaning.

You peeked in and nearly bit your tongue.

There was Rafayel, shirt open, chest flushed, one leg kicked over the arm of a chair, head tossed back dramatically. In his lap — a tube of body oil and a very busy hand. He looked like a damn Renaissance painting if it had a NSFW rating.

“Oh,” he sighed, completely unaware. “Such divine tension…”

“RAFAYEL!”

He yelped — actually yelped — flinging his arm over his lap like a kid caught drawing dicks in class. His eyes went wide, cheeks pink.

“Don’t you know how to knock, love?! This is private creative expression!”

“…You were jerking off.”

“With aesthetic flair!”

*⁀➷ Xavier

Xavier’s room was too quiet. Eerily so. You stepped inside, worried he’d forgotten to eat again — only to realize that no, he was very much occupied.

Standing at the window, bathed in moonlight like some tragic poetry quote, hand fisting himself in slow, deliberate motions. His head leaned against the glass. Eyes half-lidded. Breath fogging the pane as he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like your name.

Your brain blue-screened.

“Oh. You’ve returned earlier than the statistical forecast predicted,” he said softly, cock still in hand like this was just a casual Tuesday.

You backed up.

He turned to look at you fully. “Should I stop? Or... do you want to watch the stars fall with me?”

...

This man was going to be the death of you.

901 notes · View notes

always-just-red · 25 days ago

Note

hii! i have a request!

the mc/reader has a pet cat and adores cats so rafayel will have to accept that his beloved bride has a furry little companion bc them and the cat are a 2 for 1 deal and the cat is basically their baby and there’ll alway probably be a cat in the home forever

ty!! adore ur writing!

Aww thank you anon!! As a devoted cat-person, I'm THRILLED to finally be sharing my vision of cat-dad Raf. 🙂‍↕️ This fic felt so personal in the end, I swear I can't write Raf without it accidentally becoming this window into all the intimacy I want but don't have 😭 Anyway!!! Dedicating this to my babies, Floof and Velcro!

Cat-Sitting

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: Was it really a good idea to leave Rafayel and your cat unsupervised?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship

| Word count: 2.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Captain Jenna indicates the large, glass monitor behind her— a finger dragging across it, zooming in on a smaller section of the virtual map. “There’s been an insurgence of Wanderer activity here, and—” another swipe of her finger— “here, so we’ll be increasing patrols in these districts. While public safety remains the priority, we should be investigating any unusual fluctuations of…”

You’re so, so tired. Your chin is resting on your hand and your leader’s briefing is starting to sound like a bedtime story. Sat beside you, Xavier is looking similarly uninspired. The blue of his eyes is glazing over. His eyelids are drooping. When he blinks, it’s slow and unfocused.

Your phone buzzes and it feels like you’ve been doused in cold water; your heart jumps. Glancing around, thankfully no-one but Xavier noticed. His gaze flits over to you with lazy interest as you reach into your pocket, checking your phone under the table. It’s a text from Rafayel: your cat is broken??

You frown, ever so slightly. Before your mind has any time to run away with that ominous message, another notification comes through:

[Silly fish <3 has sent an image]

With one more furtive check that no-one’s watching, you tap at the screen, opening up your messages. You squint down at the photo. It’s your cat, perched on the arm of your sofa. She looks perfectly content, and decidedly unbroken.

Rafayel texts: it had legs before, right?

Again: where

And again: where are they???

You have to consciously hold back your smile. Your cat’s legs are tucked away underneath her; you can’t see them in the photo. ‘Loaf’, you surreptitiously text back.

Rafayel responds: ???????????

You close your phone as more messages come through. You don’t have to read them to know it’s the same emoji, over and over: artsy birb, lying in a puddle of tears. You’ve silenced your phone so it no longer buzzes. Jenna is drawing patrol routes on her map. Xavier leans over to you, whispering: “How’s the first-time cat-sitter?”

Without saying a word, you move your phone under the table so he can sneak a peek at it. There are now twenty-three unread messages. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Xavier chuckles under his breath, and this time, you can’t help but smile. Jenna turns, locking both of you in a steely-grey stare. Xavier gives her a grin, and you give her a double thumbs-up. With a sigh, she goes back to her presentation.

…

“So I said, ‘what am I supposed to do? Not kill the Wanderer? Y’know, the Wanderer tearing its way through a street full of people— just because it’s a tiiiiny bit different than normal?’ And get this! He says, ‘yes.’ He says, ‘you should have taken some time to study it, brought me data and samples.’ Can you believe that?”

You laugh quietly as you finish up typing your latest report. You can believe that, actually. If a Wanderer broke in through the window of this building right here, right now, you’re pretty sure Nero would be sat with a clipboard, taking notes. “C’mon, what did you expect?”

“Uh… some empathy, maybe?” your colleague frowns.

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” Your phone rings in your pocket, and you whip it out with business-like efficiency. You’re on autopilot. “Hello?” you ask, opening up the next set of gloriously exciting blank text boxes on your screen.

“Cutie!”

It’s basically a yell. You narrow your eyes at your monitor, inputting your name, your badge number. “Raf,” you return apathetically. “What’s up?”

“Code red. Code red!”

“Mmhmm?” You don’t know what that means.

“You have to come home. Right now. It’s an emergency!”

“Is it, though?” Your keyboard clacks, only stopping when you have to check today’s date before filling it out on your form.

“Are you even listening? I said code red. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yup! Gold star for Rafayel.”

“Seriously?! I’m trying to tell you that your precious little angel’s in trouble.”

Was that supposed to be your voice? You don’t sound like that. “I’m sorry you’re in trouble, Raf.”

“No!” he squeaks. “Not me! The— oh for the love of the ocean, the lobsters, the sharks and the crabs— can you just get here? Please?!”

For the love of all of those things, hmm? You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way. Hang in there. Okay, angel? Little angel fishie. Ooh! Angelfish!”

There’s silence from the other end. “…You done?”

You hit enter on your keyboard. “Please, we both know you’re blushing right now.”

…

You stand at the door of your apartment— home early from work, courtesy of the old ‘family emergency!’ card. It’s sort of nice, honestly; you can’t remember the last time you got to play it. Family emergency… You think of you and Rafayel, your little cat, and Reddie. There’s a warm feeling in your heart as you open the door.

That feeling is gone when Rafayel snatches you by your arm.

“Quick,” he says, dragging you towards the lounge, “quick, quick, quick!”

No ‘welcome home’ kiss means something’s wrong. Actually wrong. Your bag tumbles from your shoulder; you have to skirt around the coffee table to keep from crashing into it. “Whoa,” you mumble, “Raf, slow down. What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“Look!”

At last, your arm is released. Your heart is in your throat as you do look, and—

You’ve got to be kidding.

Your cat has moved from the arm of the couch, but she didn’t make it far. She’s snuggled up like an adorable croissant— one paw over her face. You realise, fairly quickly, that the ‘emergency’ lies in what she’s found a nest in: a crumpled heap with a criss-cross pattern. Cream, navy, and red wool, all squished up beneath her. It’s Rafayel’s cardigan.

“Aww!” you coo.

“Aww?” Rafayel echoes. “That’s all you have to say— aww?”

You’re not listening. You crouch down beside the couch, leaning in close. “Hi baby,” you coo again, tickling at your cat’s paw gently. She lifts it, one eye half-opening. You smile, and the eye widens more— filling with your reflection. “Has the big, bad fishie been bullying you today?”

She makes a tiny chirp as she stretches her front legs.

“That’s a lie!” Rafayel snaps.

“Oh no!” you sympathise— pointedly not with the man behind you. “What did he do, huh? This is a safe space. You can tell me.”

Both of your cat’s eyes are open now, still heavy with sleep. She speaks back to you: matching your tone with a soft-spoken meow.

“I see,” you tut, nodding. “And then what?”

She meows again. You gasp.

Suddenly, Rafayel is on his knees beside you, jabbing a finger towards her face. “You traitor! We had a deal.”

Your cat stares at the finger. Yawns— briefly an eldritch horror: all sharp, shining teeth— before curling a paw over it. Rafayel goes still. His eyes shine with the quiet panic you see when you brush a hair away from his forehead, or sweep a tear from his cheek with your thumb. It’s so soft; he doesn’t know what to do with it. You smile knowingly. He sees you and clears his throat, his hand slinking back.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “I have an idea. Lemme just…”

He pinches an edge of the cardigan. “What’re you doing?” you ask.

“You ever seen that magic trick? With the tablecloth? I’ve just gotta…”

“No!”

He’s biting back a grin as he adds: “But if I’m fast enough—”

“No, Raf!” you giggle as you intercept him. He laughs in a small, genuine way too, his hands shooting back to the cardigan every time you manage to wrestle them off of it. You have to pry at his fingers. Catch them before he sends your cat on an unscheduled flight across your apartment.

Inches away, she watches your scrabbling hands, completely unperturbed. When Rafayel gives up— his fingers relaxing in their tangle with yours, his laughter dwindling— she blinks drowsily.

Time feels slower, and somehow forgiving. You lay your head down on the sofa. “Do you really want your cardigan back?” you murmur, because your cat is asleep again.

Rafayel slumps, mirroring you as he pulls your hand close to his lips. “Nah.” His voice is like warm, orange light, and he kisses the tip of your forefinger. “It’s okay. What’s mine is yours, cutie. And what’s yours is—” he falters, looking towards the bundle of fur beside you.

You hum appreciatively, letting him plant one, two more kisses before you pull your hand away. “Wait here,” you breathe, pushing yourself back up onto your feet.

One expedition to the kitchen later, you return with a small bag of treats. You find your previous seat on the floor, then reach into the bag— pulling out a small, fish-shaped biscuit. “Look,” you chuckle, wiggling it through the air like it’s swimming, “it’s you.”

“Ha, ha.” Rafayel rolls his eyes, cheek still squished against the couch.

He needs more convincing, so you make the fish swim in his direction, stopping just short of his nose. It floats patiently before him, persisting even when his face wrinkles. You wiggle it one way. Then the other. This earns you another eyeroll, but he does at least smile.

You flick the fish over to your cat. She’s awake in an instant, mouth snatching it up: teeth splintering it with a crack. You swear you see the colour leave Rafayel’s face. You hand him the bag of treats, and with a pout, he starts to set up a trail of them: leading across the sofa. There’s a mournful sigh for each he lays down. Even the odd, whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” you huff. “I watched you eat an entire seafood platter last night.”

He narrows his eyes at you, holding your gaze as he puts the next treat down deliberately slowly. Behind him, your cat has stood, stretched, and is now pottering along, crunching away without a care in the world. Rafayel reaches for his cardigan, giving it a shake before threading his arms through the sleeves.

When the crunching stops, he turns— another treat caught between two of his fingers. Your cat takes it carefully, delicately, and she chirps as those same fingers tickle the top of her head. A contented purr underscores the moment. Rafayel smiles as he plays with her ears.

Then he catches you watching him, your eyebrow raised. “What?” he asks self-consciously.

You scoff. “Code red my ass.”

…

Rafayel doesn’t really know when you fell asleep.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his pencil moves mindfully slowly: a quiet scratch, scratch as it waltzes over his sketchbook. The room has gone dark. Tangerine light has stopped spilling from the windows, and he can’t reach any light switch, so he settles for the bleedings of the TV. Cool blues. Pale greens. The space around him flickers, and there are voices, too: broadcasters, droning on.

He hears it, even though he’s trying not to. “Another Wanderer attack”, they report. “Indicative of a recent, worrying insurgence of incidents.” Updated statistics. Civilian casualties. Hunter casualties.

Rafayel’s pencil has stopped. After a moment, he sighs— pressing a kiss to the top of your head you don’t feel, and will never know the weight of. He forces himself to look back down. Draw the shapes and the lines of the things that distract him from that feeling in his chest.

Someone is watching him.

His gaze wanders up, finding eyes across the room. Your cat is studying him from afar, sat with her tail curled neatly around her paws. He pokes his tongue out at her. She chirps back. He returns to his sketches, and half a minute later, she lands on the arm of the couch beside him, having pounced gracefully up. She doesn’t deserve any more of his attention. His pencil moves up and down, up and down, and she’s transfixed by the end of it. She lifts a paw, and—

“Nuh uh,” Rafayel warns, his eyes still on the page.

The paw waits. Rafayel chuckles. He raises the pencil, waggling it in the air between them, and her pupils go wide as she bats at it. With one sweep, she brings it closer to her mouth— bites down. Crunch.

Rafayel tuts: “Monster.”

Thankfully, she’s soon bored by the game. She sits, watching him expectantly, like he must have another one lined up for her. He doesn’t, so he turns his sketchbook towards her instead.

“What d’you think, little co-conspirator?”

The page is full of sketches, mostly of you. There’s one of you sat at your kitchen island, sipping some tea and looking like you wished you were back in bed; your hair was a mess. There’s also Reddie: soft, flowy lines and shimmering, monochrome scales. In one corner, your cat is sleeping with her legs tucked underneath her. ‘Loaf’ he’s written next to it, with a crude, tiny sketch of some bread.

Your cat isn’t looking; she’s staring past the page, at the real you. With a half-formed meow, she leaps onto his legs, making a beeline for yours. “Nope!” he says, blocking her path with the sketchbook. “Sorry, kitty, but our brave hunter needs to rest.”

She tries to get past him, but for her every movement, his sketchbook moves too: always one step ahead. With another, more indignant meow, she starts to tread circles on his lap. Then she kneads at his leg, claws sinking in. “Monster,” he whispers again, drawing air through his teeth. “Relax, will you? Jeez.”

His thighs are still being treated like pincushions, so he lifts her gently, his other hand reaching behind him. He knows what she wants. His cardigan is draped over the back of the sofa, and he drags it onto his lap—straightening it out as he grumbles, “this is extortion, you know.”

The cat is lowered back down, and she curls up in the wool of his cardigan, like that had always been the plan. A purr begins to rumble, deepening as Rafayel pets at her head, running fingers— aching from sketching— through the warmth of her fur. Her eyes are sleepy. Rafayel yawns, his head drooping to rest against yours.

His fingers move mindlessly, enjoying the softness while the television talks of tragedy, and he doesn’t notice.

#🖋rach is actually writing #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #qi yu #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

405 notes · View notes

mocchiixxx · 2 months ago

Text

Birthday Bombshell

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Surprise Visit, Idol!AU

🐶 Kim Mingyu x Reader

Summary: When your flight to Mexico gets delayed, you break the news to Mingyu that you won’t make it for his birthday, or so he thinks. Little does he know, you’re already on a backup flight, planning the sweetest surprise with the help of his members. What he expects to be a lonely night turns into the best birthday ever.

“I’m really sorry, babe... I won’t make it to Mexico after all.”

You hit send and immediately bit your lip, trying to stifle your grin as you adjusted your hoodie and sank into the plane seat. The flight attendants were already prepping for landing, and your heart was beating like crazy, not because you were nervous about flying, but because of the surprise that was about to go down.

The group chat with the Seventeen members had been blowing up since last night, and luckily, the boys were absolute legends for keeping your secret. Mingyu had no idea you were about to show up in Mexico for his birthday after he thought you’d miss it completely.

A few hours ago, your original flight had been delayed indefinitely due to some major airport malfunction, and you were devastated, especially since this trip had been in the works for weeks. You were supposed to fly out, see him perform at Tecate Pa’l Norte, then celebrate his birthday with him in Mexico. But as soon as the delay happened, you texted Mingyu, heart heavy, telling him you couldn’t make it.

What you didn’t tell him? You found another flight just two hours later. Chaotic? Yes. Expensive? Hell yes. Worth it? Every single cent.

Your phone buzzed.

Mingyu: It’s okay, baby. I understand. There’ll be other birthdays.

Your heart squeezed. The man deserved the world and here he was comforting you on his birthday.

Mingyu: I was just excited to show you around. And to cuddle. Mostly cuddle.

You almost texted back, “You’ll get more than cuddles in a few hours,” but decided that might give you away.

Instead, you replied:

You: I’ll make it up to you when you get back. I promise.

He sent a sad face emoji. Then a photo of him pouting dramatically, with “Sad birthday boy.” in the caption.

You saved it immediately. It was going on your lock screen later.

Hours Later: Hotel in Monterrey

The hotel suite was quiet, for once. Most of the members had gone out to get takeout or were pretending to be out, part of the plan to get Mingyu alone in the room.

He was lying on the couch in sweats, hair still damp from his post-concert shower, staring at the TV blankly.

“Even the cake’s not gonna taste good without her,” he muttered.

The door suddenly clicked.

He blinked. “Hyung?”

No answer.

He sat up.

“Joshua hyung? Dino?”

Still nothing.

Then he heard it.

The soft creak of the door opening all the way, followed by a very familiar voice—

“Room service for a sad birthday boy?”

Mingyu blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then he shot up from the couch like someone had set his pants on fire. “Y/N?!”

You stepped into the suite, arms full with a bag of takeout (the members helped you get it earlier), and a cupcake with a single candle.

“Happy birthday, Gyu,” you grinned.

He didn’t move. Just stared.

Then—

“You LIED TO ME?!” he half-yelled, but his voice cracked into a laugh as he crossed the room and pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever received.

“You’re here? You’re here?!”

“I’m here,” you laughed into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you like a vice. “Your birthday isn’t complete without me, right?”

He pulled back, eyes sparkling. “Wait, so—so the delayed flight? The texts? That was all fake?”

“Not fake! The delay was real. But I caught a new flight two hours later. And the guys helped keep the surprise.”

He blinked again, expression somewhere between stunned and betrayed and so in love.

“I was gonna cry over my birthday cake tonight,” he said dramatically. “Do you realize what you almost made me do?”

You giggled, pulling him toward the table where you’d placed the cupcake. “Well, now you get to cry with joy. Make a wish, birthday boy.”

He leaned close to the candle, but paused.

“Already came true,” he said with that soft, dorky smile of his. “You’re here.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating.

He blew out the candle and turned to you, taking your hands. “You really flew all the way to Mexico… just to be with me?”

“Of course I did. You think I’d let you spend your birthday without me?”

He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. “I seriously don’t deserve you.”

You grinned. “You better mean that when I ask for a shoulder massage later.”

He laughed, pulling you in for a kiss. “You got it. And I’m stealing at least half that cupcake.”

“Over my dead body, Kim Mingyu.”

“I am the birthday boy!”

“Which means you share!”

The door suddenly burst open and the members tumbled in, cheering and whistling like it was a surprise party, which, technically, it still was.

“Happy birthday, bro!” Vernon yelled, tossing a party hat at Mingyu.

Joshua walked over and slapped his back. “Your girl pulled it off. She’s cooler than you.”

“No argument here,” Mingyu beamed, one arm still wrapped around your waist.

Woozi raised an eyebrow. “Now can we eat? I’ve been holding back on that fried chicken for thirty minutes.”

You and Mingyu laughed, and as the members started setting up an impromptu birthday dinner on the hotel table, Mingyu turned to you one last time.

“Best birthday ever,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Told you I’d make it.”

He kissed your temple and whispered, “Remind me to never doubt you again.”

You leaned against his chest, happy, full of love, and already mentally planning how to outdo this for next year.

A/N: 20250406 Happy MINGYU's Day! 🥳🐶 My wish is for us to be together, but if that's not possible, just set me up with one of your friends or members instead. HAHAHAHA just kidding, enjoy your day our big puppy! Sending love🫶

#seventeen #svt #seventeen fanfic #svt imagines #svt x reader #seventeen carat #carat #svt carat #svt fluff #seventeen x reader #mingyu #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu fluff #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu

533 notes · View notes

moriitis · 6 months ago

Text

Don't talk to strangers on the internet.

Toby Rogers x Female Reader. Content/Warnings; phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, threats, graphic themes, sexual themes.

18+ MINORS DNI. NSFW/SMUT.

Word count; 4.7k

So, you met this guy. He was cute, his pictures on his social media were inviting enough and eventually the two of you got around to talking. He was.. charming of sorts, oh, and funny too! But there was one thing that always rubbed you the wrong way, how he always avoided certain questions. You'd had your fair share of friendships over the wonders of the internet, you knew a handful of people and if you were asked, you knew their age, whereabouts they came from and what their dog was called. The usual information you felt any friend was ought to know but this guy.. you weren't sure; a part of you just assuming that maybe he some sort of catfish? - Or just a very private person and hey, who were you to blame? The internet could be a weird, dangerous and pretty scary place. You'd had the phrase 'Stranger danger' drilled into your head more times than you could count. But him -

Toby.

That was all you knew of him. Well, other than he was also in his twenties and owned a crappy pick up truck. He'd met you through -

Toby: a friend of a friend….. thought u seemed cute :)

And well, he was cute to so fuck it; you gave him a chance and opened the DM he sent. His Instagram was plain as anything, with barely any followers and equally barely posts. Some crappy mirror selfie, a photo of his truck and then a picture of a cake. It all felt… well, weird and it gave your gut a weird feeling.

[Y/N]: friend of a friend? umm.. who?

Naturally, you were open to meeting new people and forming friendships, but your Instagram was pretty private and you couldn't think of which friend who would give it out without your consent.

1 Image Attached.

And it was a screenshot of your friends Instagram. It was.. better than nothing but it only opened up a lot more questions than answers. It was bad, you were single, lonely and he was cute; so fuck it you'd let it slide this once. After accepting his follow request, you allowed him further into your private life. The photos and pictures on your feed detailing every part and aspect of your life. The park you would visit, what you ate for breakfast, your Spotify wrapped, photos of your pets, it was endless but your Instagram was your safe space; so you posted a lot on there. Even after accepting him, a part of you expected him to almost immediately ask for nudes or better yet, send some unasked dick picture in your DMs. But that was where Toby surprised you, because for months he kinda just ghosted you or wouldn't message at all. You weren't going to complain, you liked not having someone spam the shit out of you.

Then, as days and weeks ticked by, you'd upload more. Admittedly, you forgot about your little DM encounter with Toby until he liked your photo. It was just a picture of your new nails, a little treat you'd like to get once the blue moon. As soon as you got the notification, your phone buzzed again and it was another DM from Toby.

Toby: hey. sorry i havent messaged in awhile. lol

You blinked, unsure on what to type back but it was too late now because you'd opened the message and he had seen that you had seen it. So you both sat in the chat, lingering, that familiar online green dot beside his profile picture as you thought on what to say. This small talk shit was… a bit boring and you hated it. So, after a moment, you typed a response.

[Y/N]: oh no dont worry its ok!

He read it in an instant.

Toby: im toby btw. srry i never like rlly introduced myself and now u probs think im some creep

A laughing emoji followed behind his sentence and you couldn't help the smile creeping across your face. You swiftly tapped your fingers against the screen as you typed back a reply.

[Y/N]: im [Y/N]. haha its ok

You cringed a little, you felt like you were being so blunt toward him; so for safety measures you sent a little smiling emoji after your own text.

The small talk flickered back and forth for a couple more months until Toby's messages became a little more consistent and as much as you hated to admit it; you were opening up to him more and more. The awkwardness of the first interaction seemed to have disappeared the more you interacted with him, yet that nagging voice in the back of your mind were persistent. Despite the time you had known each other, Toby would dodge each question you asked him.

[Y/N]: so where r u from?

Then suddenly he'd go offline. Then at other times he would respond at insane hours of the morning. Time zones, you thought. Maybe he were just across the country and he'd respond at times when you were asleep? It made sense, it was logical and yet that voice still lingered; that something was weird about this Toby user. His green flags kept you around though, or the random memes or reels he would send you that would make you laugh. Before you knew it, the months rolled into a year already of knowing him and each time he'd send you a message, there'd be a flutter of excitement in the pits of your stomach.

It was late, well, early actually. Your sleep schedule was beyond fucked and you were sleeping until noon and staying up until the early hours of the morning. Toby must've been a night owl too, because almost every time he saw you online in the early hours of the morning, he'd send a message. This time though, there was no message and he was offline, the chat between the two of you unusually quiet. Now, perhaps it was the lack of sleep and the impulsiveness that followed, but you were lingering in the chat; debating whether you should message him or not. You didn't want to bother or disturb him, especially if he were sleeping.. but you were adamant he had to be awake.

4:24 AM.

[Y/N]: r u awake

Silence, no respond and with a sigh you admitted defeat. Maybe you should just try to sleep. Then, that green bubble appeared next to his picture and you quickly tapped back into the chat.

Toby: now i am

[Y/N]: fuck im srry did i wake u up

Toby: lol nah i was joking :p

You rolled your eyes, smiling softly to yourself.

[Y/N]: wat u doin

Toby's speech bubble appeared, disappeared, appeared and then disappeared again in the chat.

1 Image Attached.

Your curiosity peaked and you raised a brow. Admittedly, you were nervous to open it because now you were convinced it was going to be a picture of his dick. This had, sadly, happened too many times and it had become a little predictable now. However, as you clicked opened the image, it was nothing but a picture of him laying on a bed. There was a tv on a dresser, it looked like he were watching some movie but honestly, your attention was elsewhere. The sheets were draped over his legs in an almost half-assed fashion. Your eyes, dare you admit it, trailed higher up the photo. His bare legs on display, one laid out straight while the other propped up with his knee in the air. It looked as if he were only in his boxers but you couldn't really tell, it was dark and the only thing illuminating the photo was the glare from the tv before him. Now, Toby was hot, you were single and you couldn't help but admit that maybe you were a little lonely and that photo opened up a lot more feelings than you anticipated to feel tonight. Swiping off the photo, you saw he was lingering in the chat and decided to message back quickly before it got weird.

[Y/N]: oh lol just watching tv. kinda boring.

You teased and Toby sent a laughing emoji.

Toby: probably better than wat u r doing… wat r u doing? huh?!

You laughed at the tone of message. With a huff, you raised your phone above you before snapping a photo. Your face, thankfully, was out of frame, but the photo allowed him to catch a glimpse of your collarbones; the rest of your chest tucked away under the thicket of your duvet. It was a teasing photo, you could admit that. He could see your jaw and jawline, a soft smile across your face.

It was also dark in your room, so you used the phone's flash to give him better access of what he was looking at. Then you sent, not wanting to give it another thought. Toby reacted to the photo with a gasped emoji but you knew he were just teasing, the motion enough to make you chuckle softly.

Toby: ur legit not even doing anything and me watching tv is boring? lol ok.

You loved how comfortable you now seemed with one another, a huge difference compared to a year ago when he first popped up in your DMs. His message made you laugh again, sending him a gif of someone poking their tongue out.

[Y/N]: u sound like a hater

Toby: me??? a hater???? LOLLLLLL sure.

Then the chat went silent a little, but he were still online; waiting, yearning even. This friendship between you and Toby was something you cherished, it flowed so well that it felt as if you guys had known each other longer than a year. With a sigh, you tapped your fingers against your screen; trying to find words to keep the conversation going. It seemed, however, that Toby thought the same thing and he had already beat you to it.

Toby: u know. ive never heard ur voice.

Those words, nothing but a simple array of pixels, was enough to make you feel another flutter of excitement. You were a little surprised by his message and you also knew that he were right. You hadn't heard his voice either and now a part of you were also equally curious.

[Y/N]: what r u implying? lol

Toby: idk. maybe i should have ur number and call u.

You raised a brow, it was smooth; trying to get your number and all that. You weren't going to hesitate, because admittedly you felt a little more comfortable with Toby than ever before.

[Y/N]: lol but its late and im tired. plus i sound like shit :p

It were true and even though everything in your very being told you that you wanted to call him, you were also a little nervous at the prospect of it.

Toby: u think i care?

He was right, why do you care? Maybe it was because there were feelings that were blossoming. Fuck, and that was bad itself as you had no idea if this guy even had a girlfriend. You didn't want to be some wrecker, or worse, the other woman. But why would you care? Is the only thought you could muster up, it's not like this phone call was going to go anywhere. You were friends, nothing else, no benefits, no strings attached; just two people who enjoy each others company. So, before you knew it you had typed your phone number away in the chat. Nothing followed after a couple minutes, making your hands clammy from sweat. God, you hated phone calls and now you were nothing but a puddle of sweaty anxiety as you waited for him to call.

Then there it was, your phone buzzing from the incoming call. It was an unknown number, naturally and you only assumed it was Toby's. Although you hesitated to answer, feeling yourself chew on the bottom of you lip. Quickly, you answered and pressed your phone to your ear. It was quiet, an awkward silence looming over the two of you.

"Hey," he spoke, his voice a lot more huskier and deeper than you imagined it to be. Immediately, you felt shy and swallowed back the lump in your throat to respond.

"Hey," you replied, your nervousness evident in your tone of voice alone. You could hear a short, brief chuckle emerge from the other end and you sat up a little, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I don't think you sound gross," he started, causing a small fluster of red to emerge on your cheeks. You were thankful this wasn't FaceTime. "I l-ll-.. like your voice." He spoke in nothing but a hushed whisper, which yeah, made sense considering it was nearly 5 AM. Toby had opened up to you about his stutters before, so hearing him struggle with some words were nothing out of the ordinary for you. You were thankful he trusted you enough to open up about it really.

You chuckled, trying your best to remain quiet. "Thanks," you started, your heart beating a million beats per second.

Then that awkward silence again and you cringed, licking your lips wet before speaking again.

"Sorry, I'm so awkward," you let you a short chuckle, running a hand through your hair as you tried to act more casual. Toby chuckled again.

"It's okay, I get it," he reassured, his voice soothing and comforting. You palmed nervously at your duvet, not even too sure what to say. There was always so much to say over text and now he had you pinned, in the spotlight a little and you were choking.

"There's a lot I want to say-" you admitted sheepishly and Toby hummed in interest.

"Then say it."

You exhaled a shaky breath, licking your lips once again. As much as he had you pinned, you also had him. There were so many questions you wanted to ask, so many things you wanted to know and now seemed as good time as any. If he were to hang up, then that would answer a lot of your suspicions. "I just feel like I barely know you."

"Then what do you w-ww-.. wanna know?" he asked, his voice gentle and welcoming and frankly it put you on edge a little. You didn't want to interrogate the man but this was the closest you had been to actually knowing more about him in the whole damned year you knew him!

"Well, I'm assuming your name isn't just Toby."

He chuckled.

"I mean, it's Toby… but I do also have a l-llast name, yeah."

You swallowed, throat becoming unbearably dry.

"Well… what is it?" You asked, your anxiety bubbling at the base of your throat as if you were about to throw up.

"Toby Rogers." You could hear him smiling as he said it and you breathed out a sigh of relief which was loud enough for him to hear. "Why'd you wanna know?" And admittedly, you weren't sure. Maybe because it just felt more.. real? Honestly, you just felt better knowing than unknowing.

"I-I-.." you couldn't explain yourself. "Honestly, I don't know-" you admitted, chuckling dryly.

Toby Rogers. Toby Rogers. That name repeated itself in the back of your mind, each time you found yourself almost recognising it more and more. It was so familiar, like you had heard it before and yet you were unsure as to where. Toby's short scoff brought you back to the conversation at hand. You could hear that same tv in the background on his end. It wasn't loud but loud enough for you to make out screaming.

"Are you watching a horror film?" you asked, snorting out a little laugh at his nerdiness. Although, you received no response, no answer. The screaming just filling the end of the phone, you felt that uneasiness creep back into your very being. Then, after a second long silence, he spoke.

"Oh- hah.. sorry, yeah, I am, didn't think you could hear it."

You forced a smile, scratching absently at the back of your neck.

"So.. what are you wearing?" Your heart fell through to your ass and you froze, wide eyed in horror at his sudden question. It was unexpected and nervously you choked out a laugh.

"Uh-" you started and before you could even muster up any courage to speak, he was laughing; which only calmed you briefly.

"Haha! Oh god, I'm joking, I'm not a weirdo-" he chuckled, laughing a lot harder than he had recently done. You rolled your eyes, shit he wanted to play games? You were up for it, but first you needed to fan yourself for a moment. His laughter faded back into that silence as you glanced down at your body. Admittedly, you just wore some old over sized shirt that had acquired many holes over the years and your underwear. Wasn't particularly lingerie, but shit, it's not like you exactly planned to actually do something with this guy?

You snickered to yourself purely because the idea of.. being so intimate with him excited with you more than you'd ever know.

"I'm wearing just some old shirt, that's-.." you choked out a laugh. "That's really too big for me.. and just-.. just my underwear." Toby was silent on the other end, not expecting you to actually straight up answer his question. He let out a short chuckle and then another, not believing what you had said but by the serious tone in your voice, he dawned on him that you were being honest.

"Oh?" he finally croaked out, feeling something stir within him. It was this flutter of excitement, that began in the lower pits of his stomach and finally travelled to his cock. Now, he knew what dangerous game he were playing and he knew that if he accepted this invitation, it could bring him a great deal of trouble. Your voice was just so.. tempting and it lured him in just to taste more of your sweet words. Toby clenched his jaw a little, he was getting so riled up at just the thought of you alone. "You don't sleep naked?" there was a teasing hint in his tone of voice and you chuckled.

"Would you rather I did?" And it was there he melted. Fuck, he'd do anything. He'd tug on some fucking pants right now just to march over to your house and fuck you relentlessly. Your words resulted in him shuddering, his breath hot and heavy down the phone. Toby knew to choose his words carefully here because ultimately he knew he were playing with fire, it's just the only issue was; he was thinking more with his dick now than with his head. Toby scoffed out chuckle once again, his voice a lot more huskier than before.

"I mean.. I would-" he started, his mind a horny, jumbled mess as he tried to conjure up the right words. "Would make it easier for me to fuck you." Speaking those words made his skin prickle, it was so wrong and in that moment it felt so right. The tension in the air was palpable, his mouth feeling increasingly dry. His cock stirred and twitched beneath the fabric of his boxers, making him shift uncomfortably in bed. God, he wasn't gonna jack off tonight but fuck it, if you were gonna, he wasn't going to let you do it alone.

And you weren't any better than he was on the other end, your own clit aching for a simple touch. It made you shift also, in some sort of desperate attempt to feel some fabric against the sensitive nerves. The touch, however, not enough as you felt yourself slipping back into the softness of your pillow. His words almost made your head spin, your breath hitching in your throat as you tried to control your thoughts; which were riddled with nothing but filth. As much as you tried to deny it, you could feel the dampness seep through the thin layer of fabric between your legs, feeling so ridiculously turned on that a part of you questioned how long it had been since you hooked up with someone.

"God-.." you breathed helplessly down the phone, your words and breathless tone already giving Toby the thumbs up that he was headed in the right direction.

It was there he laughed a little, almost in disbelief. "Wait, are you touching yourself?"

You froze a little in his reply, dumbfounded. Should you be? Your body ached for it, so why not? Quickly, you pushed a hand down between your thighs and got to rolling your index and middle finger against your clit. You gasped at the touch, legs parting a little more as you rolled your head back into pillow beneath you. The touch brought an immediate warmth to the lower of your stomach, earning a soft, delicate whimper to escape from between the plumpness of your lips.

Those noises only stirred Toby into motion himself, palming himself through his boxers with a soft grunt here and there. His eyes closed briefly, imagining all those delicate sounds to be coming from the tip of his cock. Wanting to desperately to feel your lips wrapped around his shaft.

"I like those pretty, little sounds," he spoke softly, his voice just above a whisper as he soaked in each sound that flowed through the speaker of his phone. "What are you thinking about while you touch yourself?" he grunted, biting the bottom of his lips briefly as the mental image of you in bed reaching your orgasm to the thought of his cock alone making him almost tremble and whimper himself.

Your fingers, although with a slight tremble, continued to dance against your clit. Rolling it softly in an attempt to pace yourself, but you were hungry for an orgasm and not only that; you were fucking tired. It wasn't like you wanted this to be over, it's just you weren't sure how long you could hold out for. His words fed your actions more as your whines and whimpers continued to flood helplessly through the phone. "I'm think-.." you interrupted yourself with a moan, "I'm thinking about how good you'd feel."

Those words send a shiver of delight down his spine and Toby was feeling too hungry to withdraw himself any longer. So, his hand wrapped around the length of his shaft and slowly he pumped at it. Each motion of his hand sending soft waves of pleasure to course through his bloodstream, a concealed grunt and groan which passed through his clenched teeth. He wasn't exactly a vocal person - though he had to be for the whole idea of phone sex to really work. "Ffuck-" he breathlessly moaned, his cock an aching mess with pre-cum already coating the tip of it; adding only a fraction of lubrication.

Toby's own mind was equally full of sinful thoughts, the idea of running is tongue up between your slit to suckle softly on your clit, or the idea of cumming all over that pretty face of yours. Admittedly, being a fucking murderer meant he didn't get many blissful nights of burying his cock deep in someone; so the thoughts accompanied with those sounds of yours were enough to nearly already make him cum. Stifling a moan with a lip pressed firmly against his upper teeth, he groaned a deep guttural growl.

"I need to feel you-" and a part of you cringed at how desperate you sounded, like whiny slut. Toby didn't mind, why would he? You sounded like a fucking pornstar and he knew it wouldn't be long until he was seeing stars and coating his knuckles in his warm, white liquids.

"Fuck, keep talking," he grunted as his hips bucked into his hand, almost helplessly fucking the palm of his hand. He could only imagine how fucking good your pussy would feel wrapped around him, how wet he would make you, how good he could make you feel. His command did things to you, the way he spoke through gritted teeth and there was a tightness forming not just in your lower abdomen, but in your thighs as well. For a brief moment, your fingers moved from your clit to your dripping cunt, coating your fingers to coat your clit in your wetness. You were torn, wanting to feel something inside you and wanting to give your clit attention; you'd cum either way regardless.

You began to mumble incoherent whimpers, praising him and uttering his name like sweet nothings; words dripping in poison that would intoxicate Toby more and more. Your grip on the phone began getting looser as you felt the warmth rush to your cheeks, your own hips rolling against your fingers in a desperate attempt to reach your orgasm.

"Toby- please make me cum, please-.." you cringed hearing yourself so squeezed your eyes shut. You could feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into your pillow, a rush of blood creeping across your face and almost making your head spin.

Your words were the tipping point for Toby, and with one final grunt and thrust, stringy ropes shot up and out across his knuckles. "Nng- Ffuck-" he slurred on his own words, the warmth of his own cum sending shockwaves and ripples up his abdomen.

While Toby rolled out the end of his orgasm with some slow thrusts, you hadn't yet reached that phase as you helplessly humped your own fingers, breasts bouncing with each roll out that your hips gave. You were a desperate, panting mess as you tried to quieten and muffle each moan that dared to escape from you. Despite feeling satisfied himself, he knew he couldn't be a dick and leave you hanging on the edge of your orgasm - hell, he could though. Your moans were just good to miss however and quickly his focus returned to you as he came floating back down from his own high.

"The thing's I'd do to-to-… to you-" he choked out, surpassing a tic almost painfully. "I'd love to make you scream," he uttered, his voice lusty with a hint of something else. You hadn't noticed it at the time, but there was a sense of darkness that lingered in the back of his throat. His words having more meaning than a simple mission to get you to orgasm. Your head spun as the muscles in your thighs tightened, your hips bucking violently against your fingers as you reached the height of your own release. There were stars, a soft, long drawn out groan escaping deep within you as your hips continued to buck; a little softly as you rode out the very last of your orgasm. Your fingers rolled your clit until it became nothing but a sensitive bud, sending little jolts as you gasped, feeling sweaty against the mattress of your bed. The sound was music to his hears as he listened, the phone pressed so hard against his ear that for any other person it would've hurt.

"Fuck-" you gasped softly after each pant, allowing your body the time and space to recover.

"I'd love to bash your pretty, little head in with one of my hatchets."

And you felt your once steaming hot body turn into a cold flush, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. Had he really said that? Or was it more background noise from the horror film he was watching? Toby chuckled, it's friendliness vanishing in thin air before you as his demeanour became cold; uninviting. Your brows furrowed, too speechless to form a coherent thought. Was it just.. a kink thing? Was he.. fuck, like roleplaying or something? You were grasping at any explanation before you.

"What." Was all you could muster up, a measly whisper.

"I enjoyed talking to yo-ou. I'll be honest, never done this b-bb-before with most girls, I wooould've let you live… but work is work, you'll understand. Oh," he scoffed. "No, you won't but I'll see ya around, yeah?" And Toby hung up. Leaving you in a state of confusion.

Toby Rogers. Toby Rogers. You repeated it over again, sitting up on your elbow, brows furrowing and staring out into the darkness of your room. Toby Rogers - that name was on the news just the other week, you could've sworn it. The news anchor mentioning something about.. him murdering his Dad.. being a mass criminal.. and how he was still missing after all those years.

And you just had phone sex with him.

sorry if this seems rushed, still trying to find my lingo when it comes to writing smut.

will be a bit mia for the next days, but asks are open (just may take a lil while for me to answer them.) i originally planned for this to be shorter, but i have this weird habit of where once i start writing, i legit cannot stop.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x reader smut #creepypasta fanfic #nsfwnsfw #sorry if he's ooc #toby erin rogers

704 notes · View notes

haikyu-mp4 · 3 months ago

Text

Period duty – Sakusa x reader wc 468 – f!reader

Sakusa worried a lot about your first period while in a relationship with him. He was never particularly naturally coddling, his hands were usually cold, and he was practically married to his routine. Things like this sometimes made him wonder if he could be a good boyfriend for you, but you sent him so many sad emojis that he promised to at least stop by your apartment on the way home.

He stood in line at the supermarket with a balanced mix of good and good for you. This meant chocolates, fruits, hot cocoa, and medical drinks. His heavy, nervous breaths dampened the mask on his face, and his eyes constantly ran over the stuff in his basket to try to think of anything he was missing.

“Kiiiiyoooooomiiiiiiiii!” you squealed happily and ran towards him at full speed, dressed up in his most comfortable hoodie and some sweatpants that were so old and torn you couldn’t remember where you got them from.

Sakusa looked up in surprise, holding his hands out so you wouldn’t reach him. “I haven’t showered yet!”

You snuck past his arms when he stopped fighting it, forcing your cheek against his chest in a squish. “I’m so happy you came.”

And Sakusa could almost cry. Was that really all it took to make you happy? “You haven’t even seen what I got you yet,” he mumbled, cheeks flushing at the endearing look in your eyes.

“You brought my boyfriend safely to my place. Thank you for your service.”

You grabbed the reusable grocery bag from him so he could finally take his shoes off and come inside.

“You even got fresh fruits!” he heard you screech from the kitchen. His pulse slowed to match yours as he finally settled into the air of your appreciation, figuring that he would at least do his best for as long as you’d let him.

After his shower, Sakusa spent minutes with his hands under the faucet, letting warm water wrinkle his skin until it turned red. He didn’t want to startle you with his cold hands.

Imagine his surprise when you easily cuddled up against him on the couch with two hot water bottles resting against your stomach. He pouted without even meaning to, awkwardly trying to adjust in a way he imagined might make you more comfortable.

Tilting your head up, your eyebrows were furrowed to mirror his concern. “Are you comfortable?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” he admitted.

“I’m not injured, babe. But craving cuddles, so get comfortable because we’re staying here the rest of the day.”

Sakusa mentally checked his calendar, but you quickly interrupted him by snuggling into his side and adjusting the hot water bottles before finally relaxing.

His schedule was cleared. Sakusa was on period duty.

masterlist

/tagging @cottonlemonade because she's great and encourages my writing a lot<3

663 notes · View notes

badathumanemotions · 13 days ago

Note

can you write a smut with spencer coming home from a long case and finds his girlfriend on his bed using a toy and they watch each other come

Btw, love your work!!!

Welcome Home

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI Masterlist CW: Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Guided Masturbation, Narratophilia, Cum Play. WC: 10,004 I finished the first part and realized I may have read your prompt wrong. I wrote the last part just in case that was more like what you asked for. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer had been away for close to three weeks. You weren’t counting days out loud or anything, but it was definitely starting to feel like a long one.

For the first two weeks, you tried to keep busy. Tried to fill the silence with books, music, and the occasional phone call from Spencer that was too short to make up for the time apart. The case must have been keeping him busy, because when he did call, it was late, rushed, and always ended too quickly. Enough to hear his voice, to hear a small laugh or a quick “I miss you,” but never enough to feel like he was really there.

By the time two weeks started getting closer to three, your patience was wearing thin. You weren’t mad at him, not even a little. But the apartment had started to feel a bit too quiet, your bed too cold, and every little thing you did reminded you of him. Even making coffee felt strange without the sound of him flipping through a book nearby or rambling about something only he understood.

So, you gave in.

You packed a small bag, grabbed your keys, and drove over to his place with no plan beyond just… being there. It was dumb, maybe, but you missed him. And if he couldn't be with you, then being surrounded by his things was the next best option.

His place looked exactly the same. Still neat but lived-in. Still his. With his favourite sweater draped over the back of a chair, the one he insisted wasn’t his favourite even though he wore it constantly. You toed off your shoes then wandered through the living room and headed straight for the bedroom.

The second you dropped your bag on the floor and sank into his bed, you felt it. The difference. Just being there, in his space, was enough to take the edge off. Not all the way, but enough to make you breathe a little easier.

You lay there for a while, curled on your side with one of his pillows hugged against your chest. The sheets were a little cool, but they smelled like him, which helped more than you wanted to admit. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into the quiet.

Eventually, your fingers drifted toward your phone. Not because you expected a call, but out of habit. The screen lit up with nothing new. No missed calls. No messages. Which wasn’t surprising. Spencer was many things, but good at texting was not one of them.

That wasn’t exactly news, but you’d underestimated just how bad it was until you tried to sext him once and got a reply that read like a line from a clinical anatomy textbook. You’d sent something halfway flirty, halfway filthy, and he’d answered with a sentence that included “manual stimulation of the mammary tissue.” After that, you didn’t bother trying again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to engage. He just wasn’t built for it. Phones weren’t his thing. Neither was texting and Spencer didn’t sext. He didn’t tease or banter in neat little bubbles of text. He barely knew what half the emojis meant.. If it didn’t involve punctuation and complete sentences, Spencer Reid was out.

You’d teased him about it once and he’d looked genuinely confused. “But you could just call me,” he’d said, as if the idea of crafting something deliberately suggestive with his thumbs was far more embarrassing than simply saying it out loud.

It never took much for things to get heated when Spencer was home. Neither of you ever lasted long once the door was shut. A look would turn into a kiss, and that kiss would turn into hands tugging and roaming, clothes barely making it out of the way. Spencer wasn’t shy behind closed doors, not with you. He liked to touch. Liked when you pulled his hair or dragged your nails down his back or said something filthy right against his ear.

He was never in a rush, not really. But there was this urgency sometimes, this quiet need in the way he touched you. Like he wanted to feel everything all at once. And you loved teasing him for it.

You could still picture the way his mouth would part when you straddled him without warning, pretending like you weren’t doing anything at all. The way he’d flush all the way down his neck when you said something too dirty too casually, and then do something even filthier in response. This bed had seen all of it. The teasing. The laughing. The slow, drawn-out kind of fucking that made your legs shake hours later.

Just thinking about it was enough to make your thighs press together. Enough to make your breath catch a little as your mind wandered to the feel of his hands on your skin, his voice low and desperate in your ear. He wasn’t here, but your body didn’t seem to care. It remembered everything.

You shifted on the mattress, the familiar weight of his sheets beneath you doing nothing to help the growing tension in your body. It was all too easy to imagine him here with you. The way his mouth would trail down your chest. The drag of his fingers between your legs, slow and purposeful. The way he’d murmur your name, just barely restrained.

Your hand drifted over your stomach, fingertips brushing lightly as you let the memory settle in deeper. You didn’t need much. The ache was already there, deep and insistent, made worse by the silence of the room and how much you wanted him. How badly you wished it were his hands instead of yours.

Your hand lingered, just above the hem of your shirt, fingers toying with the fabric before slipping beneath. The cotton felt too warm against your skin, too heavy with how flushed you’d started to feel. You sat up slowly, tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside without much thought, the cool air prickling against your chest.

Your bra came next. You reached behind you with practiced ease, unfastening the clasp and easing the straps down your shoulders. It joined the rest of your clothes on the floor, forgotten. The sudden exposure sent a fresh wave of heat through you, nipples tightening in the cool air as you lay back against the pillows.

You leaned back again, arching slightly as your hands skimmed over the curve of your waist. Your jeans felt too tight, too restricting. Every part of you wanted to stretch, to move, to be bare and wanting in the middle of his bed. You undid the button and dragged the denim down your legs, kicking them off until only your panties were left.

The sheets were cool beneath you again, but your skin was burning now, every shift of your body a reminder of just how badly you wanted more. You ran a hand down your stomach, slower this time, lingering at the edge of the waistband as your thighs shifted restlessly. You could feel yourself already growing slick, the ache between your legs deepening by the second.

With a soft sigh, your finger slid into your panties, the fabric already damp from the anticipation. You bit your lip as you touched yourself, the pad of your finger circling your clit with a gentle pressure that sent a shiver up your spine. The room was so quiet you could hear the soft sound of your breathing, the wetness of your arousal as you began to move more insistently.

You let your other hand drift up to your breasts, rolling a nipple between your thumb and forefinger as you closed your eyes and pictured Spencer’s face above you. You knew every expression that would be there. The way his eyes would be dark and intense, the way his mouth would be slightly parted as he watched you come apart for him.

Your fingers moved in slow, lazy circles, each stroke light enough to tease without giving you what you really needed. You let your legs fall open wider, shifting your hips just enough to chase the sensation. There was no rush. Just the soft pulse of arousal building low and steady, the kind that made your skin feel too tight and your breath come a little uneven. Every brush of your fingertips sent another flicker of warmth through you, the ache between your thighs deepening with each pass.

Your other hand stayed at your chest, thumb brushing lightly over your nipple, dragging out each sensation like you had all the time in the world. The more you let yourself sink into it, the easier it became to picture him. The weight of his stare. The way he’d kneel at the edge of the bed and pull your legs wider with those long, nimble fingers like he was settling in to study you.

Your body was warm and electric, nerves tingling, pulse fluttering low in your belly. Every stroke sent a little ripple of heat through you, your thighs twitching just enough to make you want more. Not faster, not yet. Just more.

Your fingers drifted lower, sliding through the slick heat gathered between your thighs. The touch made you shiver, breath catching as you pressed in deeper, teasing yourself at the entrance. It was easy to slip two fingers inside, your pussy already wet and open, welcoming the movement. You sighed, hips tilting just a little, chasing the sensation.

“Spencer…” you moaned again, barely aware of the sound, lost to the rush of pleasure building low in your belly. His name left your lips like instinct, like prayer, hips giving a soft twitch against your hand as your fingers curled inside yourself. You were soaked, aching, breathless, the room hot with the smell of your arousal and the slow, wet sounds filling the quiet.

Your free hand stayed at your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple again, hard and sensitive under your touch. The sensation made you gasp, hips lifting a little off the sheets, thighs falling wider apart as your hand moved in slow, steady circles inside your panties. The fabric clung to you, damp and dark at the centre, barely covering anything at all. You didn’t care. You didn’t think. You just needed.

And then your eyes opened.

He was standing in the doorway, still and silent, like he wasn’t even sure if he was really seeing you. His chest rose and fell too quickly beneath his shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair wild like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His tie was gone. The top buttons of his shirt were undone. His mouth was parted, pink and flushed, and his eyes looked darker than you’d ever seen them.

He wasn’t moving. Couldn’t. Just stood there watching.

His gaze dragged over every inch of you. The way your legs were spread open across his sheets, only in your panties. The soft swell of your breasts, nipples tight and peaked from the air and your own touch. The faint sheen of sweat on your skin. Your hand, slick with arousal, working between your legs. The way your hips kept rolling up to meet each slow thrust of your fingers. The sound of it, wet and obscene and completely unashamed.

His throat bobbed. You watched him try to swallow, watched the flush crawl up the side of his neck as his eyes snapped back up to your face. Your lips were parted. Your breathing shallow. You hadn’t stopped. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that.

You should have been embarrassed, but all you felt was heat.

“Keep going,” he said. His voice came out rough, like it hurt to speak. “Please… keep going.”

You saw the way his hand gripped the doorframe like he needed the support. Like his knees might give out from just standing there. He looked strung out. Tense. Like every second he watched you like this was testing him. Like he’d come apart if he so much as blinked.

And you wanted him to. God, you wanted to watch him break for you. But for now, he was still across the room, barely holding himself together while you lay in his bed with your fingers buried deep and your body aching for more.

So you didn’t stop. You moaned again, louder this time, not bothering to hide the slick sounds filling the space between you. Not bothering to slow down. His name sat heavy on your tongue, ready to fall again.

Slowly, deliberately, you pushed your panties to the side, giving him a clear view of your wet, swollen pussy. The fabric was damp from your arousal, clinging to your skin, leaving you bare and open. The action was more than just an invitation; it was a challenge. You wanted him to see how much he affected you, even when he wasn’t touching you. You wanted him to feel it, too.

Your hand resumed its work, your fingers sinking back into your pussy with a wet sound that seemed to echo through the room. Spencer’s eyes dropped to your hand, watching with a rapt focus that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You knew he was imagining himself in your place, his own hand buried between your thighs, his thumb brushing your clit in that way that made you shiver.

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, his eyes locked on the way your fingers disappeared into your pussy over and over again, slick and shining in the low light of the room. His jaw was tight. His breathing uneven. You could practically see the tension rolling off him, his entire body wound up like he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.

Then his hand dropped.

It moved without hesitation, pressing against the strain in his trousers. You saw the way his fingers curled around himself through the fabric, dragging slow, heavy pressure along the length of his cock. His eyelids fluttered, his throat bobbed with a swallow, but he didn’t look away. He kept watching you, his gaze locked on your fingers, on your spread thighs, on the way you arched and whimpered with every stroke.

The heat in his eyes made your skin feel hotter than ever. His grip on the doorframe tightened, knuckles paling, but the other hand moved with growing insistence. You could see how hard he was, even through the layers. How much he wanted this. Wanted you.

You moaned again, slow and breathy, and his jaw dropped just slightly like it knocked the wind out of him.

Then he gave in.

He unfastened his trousers, his fingers working with a shaky kind of urgency, and shoved them just far enough down to free himself. His cock sprang forward, flushed and thick, already leaking at the tip. You felt your pussy clench around your fingers at the sight, slick gathering even more from the sheer hunger in the room.

Spencer wrapped a hand around himself, groaning at the contact. He didn’t ease into it. He couldn’t. His strokes were firm from the start, fist sliding along his length as he watched you pleasure yourself in his bed. His eyes darkened, and he let out a sound that was half-growl, half-moan, low in his throat and ragged.

Your pussy clenched around your fingers at the sight.

He wasn’t trying to be subtle. Wasn’t trying to hold back anymore. His eyes stayed locked on your hand as it worked between your thighs, his own matching the rhythm, fisting his cock in steady, hungry strokes. You could see the way his chest rose and fell, the way his hips gave a tiny thrust into his palm. Every part of him looked strung out and desperate. Every part of him looked like he was imagining it was your hand wrapped around him instead.

“Slower,” Spencer rasped, voice barely there but full of tension. His hand never stopped stroking his cock, but his eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded. “I want to see everything.”

Your fingers obeyed before your mind even caught up, easing out of your pussy and dragging back through your slick folds with a more deliberate pace. Spencer’s gaze followed the movement like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Good,” he said, his voice fraying at the edges. “Now circle your clit. Just your middle finger.”

You did, and the sharp pull of pleasure made your hips jerk. He saw it. Smirked, just barely. His thumb dragged over the head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum, stroking a little slower as he watched.

“Keep your legs open. I want to see how wet you are.”

You shifted, thighs falling further apart, giving him everything. Your pussy glistened in the low light, your fingers slipping through your slick with ease. The sound alone was obscene, but the way his chest rose faster, the way his hand sped up again, made it even filthier.

“Tease around it. Don’t go back in yet.” His voice dropped lower. “Make yourself ache.”

You let your fingers drift lower, gliding through the slick mess between your thighs without slipping back inside, just spreading yourself enough to show the wetness gathering. Spencer’s hand tightened around his cock, and he exhaled hard through his nose like he was trying not to groan.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he muttered, half to himself. “Touch your breasts. Just one hand.”

You obeyed, your other hand gliding up your body to cup one breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. It was already sensitive, already aching from being out in the cool air and under his gaze. You rolled it between your fingers and moaned, the sound curling through the room like smoke.

“Harder,” he said. “You know how you like it.”

You pinched gently, then harder, your back arching into the sensation. Spencer’s rhythm stuttered. He looked like he wanted to come closer, like staying where he was was its own kind of torment.

But he didn’t move. Not yet. He just kept watching, cock in his fist, voice raw as he told you, “Now slide your fingers back in. Slow. I want to watch you fuck yourself.”

His voice cut through the haze again, low and firm. “Slow down.”

Your breath caught. You stilled your hand instinctively, eyes flicking back up to him.

“Not like that,” he said, still standing at the edge of the room. “I want you to tease yourself. Keep your fingers on your clit. Just enough pressure to make it feel good, but not enough to come.”

You whimpered softly at the instruction, hips twitching with frustration as you adjusted your hand, circling just the way he told you. Spencer’s eyes stayed locked between your legs, dark and unblinking. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling under the fabric of his shirt, and you could see the tension in his arms as he stroked himself again.

Then, with his other hand still pressed flat to the doorframe, Spencer’s fingers went to the buttons of his shirt.

You didn’t look away for even a second.

Each one came undone with steady, practiced movements, the fabric parting to reveal the flushed skin beneath. His chest rose and fell with rough, uneven breaths, and you saw how tight his stomach was, how his whole body looked like it was straining to stay still. He slipped the shirt from his shoulders and dropped it onto the floor without care.

He groaned under his breath as he shoved his trousers the rest of the way down. His boxers followed, and his cock, hard and flushed, bobbed with every movement. His hand wrapped around himself with a slow stroke, his breath catching.

But he didn’t move toward you. Not yet.

He turned to the dresser instead, opened the drawer, and pulled out something small and silver. The little bullet vibrator. The one he’d used on you before, when he wanted your orgasm fast and messy and pulled right out of you while you begged for more.

He walked over slowly, the muscles in his thighs flexing with every step, still stroking himself. When he reached the bed, he didn’t lean down to kiss you or press his fingers to your clit. He just held out the toy.

“Take it,” he said. “And don’t stop touching yourself.”

You took it with trembling fingers. He was so close now, the heat of him radiating over your bare skin, but he didn’t touch you. He stepped back, kept stroking his cock while he watched you.

“Use the toy,” he said, nodding to the vibrator still resting in your hand. “Not your fingers. I want you to feel how much worse it is when you’re already this sensitive.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his voice thick in your chest. You brought the vibrator up, thumbing the switch until it buzzed to life in your hand, the sound small but charged. You expected him to tell you to bring it lower, to press it right where you ached, but instead he said, “Start up here. Your nipples first. Let it drag over them.”

Your thighs flexed at the order, breath catching, but you obeyed. You brought the toy to your chest, letting it hover first, then slowly brushing the tip over one nipple, then the other. The vibration sent a jolt straight through you, your back arching off the mattress just slightly.

“Good,” he said, voice rougher now. “Slower. Let it tease.”

You rolled it in gentle circles, the vibrations stinging and sweet, each pass making your nipples tighten more. You whimpered, hips shifting without meaning to, the ache between your legs now slick and pulsing.

“Hold it there,” he instructed, eyes fixed on your chest, hand still pumping his cock with slow, steady pressure. “Keep it still. Just for a second.”

You did, gasping when the vibrations concentrated right over the sensitive peak. It was maddening, too much and not enough, your whole body tight with want.

He groaned low in his throat, like he could feel it too. “Fuck, look at you. You’re already shaking and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Now,” he rasped, “put it against your clit. Right where you need it. No pressure yet. Let it hover.”

You did as he said. The moment the toy touched you, your hips bucked. A strangled moan escaped your lips. Spencer’s cock twitched in his fist, and he hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “Keep going. Just like that. I want to see what you look like when you come without me.”

You bit down on your lip, focusing on the vibration against your clit, the way it sent waves of pleasure shooting through you. Your hand remained steady, just barely touching, letting the toy do its work.

You kept the vibrator where he told you to, the steady thrum against your clit already making your legs tremble. Every muscle in your body felt strung tight. You wanted to press down, to chase the rhythm your body was begging for, but his voice cut through the haze.

“Don’t move it yet,” he said, firmer now. “Let it pulse right there. Let it drive you crazy.”

It was working. Your chest was rising and falling too fast, breath catching in your throat every time the toy buzzed just right. You whimpered, your free hand clawing at the sheets like it might ground you, like you could hold yourself still even as your hips twitched uncontrollably.

Spencer’s eyes never left you. His fist moved in slow, practiced strokes, dragging over the length of his cock with a tight grip, veins standing out along his forearm. He looked ruined already, flushed and wide-eyed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip like he could keep himself from giving in if he just stayed quiet.

“Now add more pressure,” he ordered, voice rough and strained. “Just a little. Tease it.”

You did as he said, gasping the moment the pressure shifted. It was sharper now, more direct, and your whole body jerked in response. Your thighs trembled, your slick soaking the inside of your panties, and Spencer let out a guttural moan that seemed to punch straight through you.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned. “Look at you. You’re dripping, aren’t you? All of this just from my voice.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely think. Your head dropped back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut until you heard him again.

“Eyes on me,” he said. “I want you to watch me while you do it.”

You forced your gaze open, locked it on him. He was stroking himself faster now, his chest heaving as he watched your hand work the toy against your clit, your body twitching with every pass. You knew what he saw. Your legs spread wide, your nipples still hard, your pussy glistening under the soft light of the room, each shaky breath giving away how close you were.

“Circle it now,” he said. “Slow. You’re not allowed to cum yet.”

You whimpered, but obeyed, rolling your hips just slightly to chase the motion without speeding up. It was unbearable. Perfect. You felt like you could shatter from the tension, and still he watched, voice like gravel as he added, “You’re doing so fucking good. But you’ll wait. You’ll come when I say.”

His cock was flushed and slick in his hand, his pace just shy of frantic now, like holding back was costing him everything.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Not even if it gets too much. I want you on the edge for me.”

And you were. Right there. Teetering, straining, your entire body coiled tight and begging for release.

Spencer’s breathing was ragged now, matching yours in its uneven rhythm. He looked feral like this, hand working over his cock with a tightness that made your thighs press together before you remembered they needed to stay open for him. Needed to stay obedient, just like he told you.

“Good girl,” he rasped, the words catching in his throat. “Now take your fingers. Slide them back in.”

Your hand trembled where it held the toy, the vibrations still rolling over your clit in slow, torturous circles. You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because you already felt so close, so ruined. The idea of adding more made your muscles tense in anticipation.

“Do it,” he said, voice dark with need. “I want you to feel it. I want to watch your fingers sink into that wet little pussy while you keep that vibrator right where it is.”

A shudder ran through you as you obeyed. You pulled your hand from the sheets, your fingers slick and shaking, and brought them back down between your thighs. The moment you pushed them in, your body clenched tight, a whimper slipping from your lips that made Spencer’s cock jerk in his hand.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned. “Just like that. Let me see it. Get them nice and deep.”

You gasped as your fingers filled you again, your walls sensitive now after all the teasing, the vibrator still pulsing against your clit. It was overwhelming. Hot and slick and obscene, your knuckles pressing to your folds as you tried to fuck yourself without speeding up.

“Don’t rush it,” he said, eyes glued to where your fingers disappeared into you. “Go slow. Feel every inch. You know how to touch yourself. Show me how bad you want to come.”

Your hips rocked despite yourself, a low moan spilling from your throat as your fingers dragged out and back in again, the vibrator keeping your clit aching with every tiny movement. You could hear it now. The wet, needy sounds of your body wrapped around your fingers, and the low, broken curses falling from Spencer’s lips as he watched you fall apart.

“Keep going,” he said, nearly panting. “Fuck yourself while I watch. Don’t stop until I say.”

He looked wrecked. Standing at the foot of the bed as his fist slid over the thick length of his cock. The tip was flushed dark and wet, leaking with every pass of his hand. His eyes never left your body, never blinked, locked onto the place where your fingers moved in and out of your dripping pussy, the vibrator still buzzing against your clit.

Every soft whimper you let out, every slick sound echoing between your thighs, made his grip tighten. Made his jaw clench like he was barely keeping himself under control. His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, gathering the precum and dragging it down the shaft as he let out a rough groan from deep in his chest.

His other hand braced on the edge of the bed, knuckles white where he gripped the frame. He leaned forward slightly, like the sight of you had stolen the strength from his legs. The muscles in his stomach flexed every time you moaned, his hips twitching forward into his own touch like he couldn’t help himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to your face and then back down again, greedy and hungry. “You’re so fucking wet. I can hear it from here.”

The rhythm of his strokes got rougher, more erratic. He was fighting it, you could see it in the way his thighs trembled, in the hard tension running through his shoulders. He didn’t want to come yet. He wanted to drag it out. Watch you get closer. Watch you unravel for him.

“Keep going,” he said, voice hoarse and shaking. “Don’t you fucking stop. I need to see you cum like this.”

His hand worked faster now, breath catching with every twist of his wrist, every glide of his palm. He looked like he was in pain, like the pleasure was almost too much to bear while he stood there watching, unable to touch you the way he wanted to.

“Savour it,” he growled. “Because when I finally get my hands on you, I’m not stopping until you can’t take any more.”

Your fingers worked faster, slick and messy, the toy still pressed tight to your clit. Every movement sent a jolt through your belly, the muscles in your thighs trembling under the effort of holding yourself together. You were soaked, the sound of it obscene in the quiet of the room, mixing with the low, broken noises pouring from your throat.

Spencer's breath came in harsh bursts, his hand moving fast and sloppy over his cock, the tip flushed a deep red now. His eyes never left the spot between your legs. You could feel the heat of his gaze, how much he wanted it, how close he was to losing it just from watching you come undone.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hand tightening again. “I can see you fluttering around your fingers. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak. Your mouth hung open, every nerve on fire.

“Good,” he said, his voice breaking into a rough growl. “Now rub your clit harder. Just a little more. I want you to come with your fingers still buried inside. I want to see what you look like when you fall apart for me.”

Your hand obeyed before your brain could catch up. You pushed the vibrator harder against yourself, let it buzz against the swollen, aching bud. The vibrations cracked something inside you. Your body went tight, hips jerking helplessly as the orgasm took hold.

You sobbed his name, your back arching off the mattress as the pleasure hit. Your pussy clenched hard around your fingers, slick dripping down your hand as you shook through the waves. You couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop trembling. Your whole body writhed under it, the release sharp and overwhelming and all-consuming.

Spencer groaned like he felt it too. His fist jerked harder, his knuckles flexing, his face twisting in open need.

His strokes were fast now, almost desperate, and his eyes kept dropping from your face to where your fingers were still moving, coated in your slick. You could see how badly he was holding on, how close he was.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke again, thick with strain.

“Can I cum on you?”

It wasn’t just a question. It was a plea. His chest was tight, voice fraying at the edges, like he needed this as much as he needed air.

“I want to see you messy,” he went on, his fist working harder, his hips stuttering forward. “I want to mark you. Want you dripping with it while you’re still shaking from cumming for me.”

He moved closer, only a step, enough for the tension to spike again. His knuckles brushed your leg as he gripped the bedframe harder with his free hand. The muscles in his arm were tense, shaking with restraint. His cock was flushed, heavy in his grip, glistening from the pressure he’d kept building.

“Say yes,” he rasped. “Please. Let me cover you. Let me see what you look like with my cum all over your tits, your thighs—fuck—your pussy.”

His words got rougher the closer he got, his voice lower, ruined.

“Say yes before I lose it.”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to get the word out between the pulse of the vibrator and your own fingers still working inside you. “I want it, Spencer. Cum on me.”

He groaned like the sound of your voice shattered something in him. His grip on his cock tightened, the veins along his arm standing out as he pumped himself faster, no longer holding back. His eyes dragged over you, wild with heat, watching the way your thighs trembled, how your hand kept moving, your pussy soaked and fluttering around your fingers.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he panted. “Don’t stop. I want to see you like this when I lose it.”

You felt it building, sharp and overwhelming. The pressure in your stomach twisted tight, the vibrations almost too much now, the drag of your fingers just enough to push you right to the edge once more. Spencer could see it too. The way your hips rolled uncontrollably, the way your moans got higher, tighter, choked off by how close you were.

“Gonna cum for me again?” he asked, voice trembling as he fought against his own orgasm. “Right here, like this? Show me.”

You nodded, mouth falling open, and then everything inside you snapped.

You came hard, body convulsing, the toy slipping from your fingers as your back arched and your pussy clenched down around your fingers. The sound you made was broken, needy, shameless. Spencer groaned at the sight of it, his eyes fixed on the way you pulsed around your hand, dripping wet and swollen.

That was it. That was what did it.

His breath caught, hips jerking forward as he growled, “Fuck—yes—take it—”

Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach and thighs, warm against your skin, splattering high enough that some streaked on your breasts. Spencer’s head dropped forward, chest heaving, his hand still stroking as the last of it spilled from him. His mouth hung open, a soft, wrecked sound breaking from him as he came down from it, eyes still locked on your glistening, shaking body.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, chest heaving, hand slowly releasing his softening cock, gaze drinking you in like he needed to commit this moment to memory.

Spencer’s breathing slowly evened out, though the air between you still felt thick with heat. He let out a soft, shaky exhale as he reached for the tissues on the nightstand, careful not to look away from you for too long. You watched him, your own limbs heavy, skin buzzing in the aftermath. There was something raw in his face now, stripped of restraint. Just him. Just Spencer.

He wiped between your thighs with slow, unhurried strokes, then pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. Another to your hip. One near your navel, where the heat of him still lingered faintly on your skin. You watched him in silence, something warm swelling in your chest at the way his brow furrowed slightly with concentration, as if this moment was sacred. His touch was tender, barely more than a sweep across your skin, but it made you shiver. Not from arousal this time, but from the careful attention. The way he handled you like you mattered, like he needed to do this with his own hands.

You reached out, curling your fingers in his hair. He leaned into your touch and looked up at you, something soft and wrecked in his eyes.

You pulled him up beside you and he went willingly, crawling into the bed, gathering you against his chest like he didn’t want to risk even a second without touching you. His arms locked around your back. His lips found your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, every inch of bare skin he could reach. Like he had to make up for every kiss he hadn’t been able to give while he was away.

“I missed you,” he said, quiet and rough. “You don’t even know how much.”

You let your hand rest over his ribs, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. “I think I do,” you said, just as soft.

You tucked your face into his neck, and he held you tighter.

His thumb stroked along your spine in slow, absent passes. The rhythm of it matched the calm beginning to settle in your chest, like your bodies were trying to sync again after the chaos. He was quiet for a while, just breathing you in, his mouth still pressing kisses wherever it could reach without moving too much.

Then, without lifting his head, he murmured, “I talked a big game earlier… about not stopping once I had you.”

You didn’t say anything, just let your fingers slide lightly along his side, waiting.

He shifted, just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. “And I meant it. I want to give you everything. All of it. But right now…” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “Right now I just want this. I want to hold you. I want to feel your heartbeat against mine.”

You nodded against his neck, the ache in your body settling into something deeper, something gentler.

“I thought I’d come back and tear into you,” he said softly, almost sheepish. “Thought I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. But the second I touched you, all I could think was… just be here. Don’t rush this. Stay close.”

You pulled him in tighter, burying your face against his skin.

“This is what I needed,” he added. “You. Safe. Warm. With me.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. You just let him hold you, let his arms stay wrapped around you as your bodies melted into the quiet, and let the calm come in where the hunger had once been.

It had been a few weeks since that night in his apartment, the one that had left you both wrung out and tangled together in the kind of quiet that only came after missing someone that deeply.

Spencer left two weeks ago for a case, one of those longer stretches where the days blurred and his absence settled in like background noise. You’d gotten used to falling asleep without the sound of him rustling around your apartment, used to eating dinner on your own, used to missing him without really thinking about it.

You were curled on the couch, your phone facedown on the armrest, when it buzzed with a text. You reached for it lazily, expecting nothing special, then saw his name. The message was short.

Case is wrapping up. Should be home tonight.

That was all it took. Your chest tightened in the best way. You reread it twice, grinning without meaning to, already imagining him walking through the door, worn out from the road but still managing to look at you like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

And then the idea struck.

You stood and walked to your room, already thinking ahead. The last time he came home to you like this, you hadn’t planned it. It had just happened. But this time, you could make it intentional. You could give him something to remember.

You pulled out an overnight bag and started gathering what you needed. Grabbing a couple surprises, slipping them into the side pocket. Your hand hovered over your lingerie drawer. You took your time choosing, settling on something you knew would catch his attention, then folded it neatly and tucked it in.

By the time you zipped the bag closed, your pulse had picked up. There was still time before he’d be back, but you already felt keyed up with anticipation. This time, you weren’t going to wait for him to walk in on it by accident. This time, you wanted to make sure he saw everything.

You left your apartment with the bag slung over your shoulder, nerves settling into something low and charged beneath your skin. The city passed by in a blur through the car window, familiar streets lit in the soft glow of early evening.

A few candles on the dresser cast a warm glow across the space. You turned the covers down halfway, smoothing the sheets with deliberate care. The room didn’t need much. Just enough softness to frame the sight you were about to become.

You unzipped the bag and pulled out what you’d brought with you. Your vibrator, and a silicone dildo that you had imagined using with his eyes on you. You placed them within reach on the nightstand, barely glancing at it before you stepped out of your clothes.

Your clothes came off in pieces, slow and considered, until you stood in just the lingerie you’d chosen. It fit like it had been waiting for this moment. You ran your hands down your sides, adjusting the fabric, brushing invisible creases away. The air felt cooler now, your skin bare in places he hadn’t touched in weeks.

You settled back into the pillows, stretching out across the bed until you found the right balance between ease and intent. One arm tucked behind your head, the other resting lightly over your stomach. The lingerie hugged your body in all the right places, but you weren’t fussing with it now. The toys were in place, the lights were low, and everything was ready.

You knew he’d be back soon, close enough now that the thought of him stepping through the front door made your pulse stir. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly. Just a deep, simmering anticipation.

You reached for the vibrator, your hand steady, your body already keyed up from waiting. You weren’t in a rush. This wasn’t about chasing anything fast or frantic. It was about soft build-up, slow warmth, your body responding to your own touch while your thoughts stayed tangled in him.

The first touch was light, just a brush down your thigh, enough to make your breath catch. You let the toy drift inward, teasing, not quite pressing where you wanted it most. You could feel your body start to react, hips shifting slightly, a faint spark catching low in your stomach. You kept your legs parted, relaxed, the cool air kissing the inside of your thighs while the vibrator traced slow, idle patterns.

You settled deeper into the pillows, letting your body respond in slow, careful waves, your mind painting every detail of what would come next. The sound of the front door. The moment his voice would fill the apartment. The look on his face when he saw you like this.

You let the tip of the vibrator glide over the lace between your thighs, just enough pressure to make you twitch. Your breath caught, hips tilting up into the motion, the buildup slow and deliberate. The waiting had done half the work already. You were warm, ready, your body answering every small shift like it had been starved for this.

You pressed the toy against yourself properly now, the vibration sinking through the fabric, catching right where you needed it. Your legs parted wider, your free hand gripping the sheets as you exhaled slowly, steadily, trying not to give in too fast. Not yet. You wanted him to walk in and see you undone but not finished. Caught mid-thought. Mid-movement. Waiting for him to finish what you started.

The pressure built with each pass, your hips chasing it now, a soft moan slipping from your lips before you could swallow it back. It was the kind of sound he loved, the one that made his eyes darken and his mouth fall open just slightly. You could almost hear him, feel the weight of his gaze from across the room.

You dragged the vibrator along your slit, over the soaked lace, letting it linger before circling back. Your thighs tensed, body already begging for more, but you stayed in control, caught in the delicious edge of it all. He’d be here any minute. You didn’t want to come. Not yet. Just wanted to be soft and aching and ready when the door finally opened.

You eased the vibrator to the side, nudging the lace out of the way, dragging the pulsing head along bare skin now. The difference made your hips jolt, a soft gasp slipping free as you settled into the feeling. Everything was slick and warm, your body open and wanting, but you kept the rhythm gentle. Just enough to stay simmering, to keep the tension inside you.

You reached for the dildo next, fingers curling around it with a practiced ease. The room was quiet except for the subtle shift of fabric against skin, the soft inhale you let out as you brought it between your thighs. You weren’t rushing. There was still time before Spencer would walk through that door, and you wanted to be perfectly wound up by the time he did.

You ran it along yourself first, slow and deliberate, teasing the edge of what you wanted. Your hips shifted slightly, instinctive, chasing just a little more pressure. The lingerie still clung to your frame, the fabric brushing your skin in time with your movements, but you didn’t bother taking it off. Not yet.

Your breathing deepened as you eased the tip inside, just barely. Your other hand settled low on your stomach, grounding you as you pressed in further. The stretch was familiar, but satisfying in a way that made you pause and close your eyes.

It wasn’t just about the toy. It was about the idea of him walking in, seeing you like this, already slick and breathless, already playing out the fantasy you knew had been on both your minds. Every movement now was a prelude, a promise, an invitation waiting to be answered.

You eased the dildo in deeper, your grip steady as you shifted your hips to find the right angle. The slow drag of it made your breath catch, your thighs tensing slightly around your hand. You gave yourself a moment to adjust, then started to move.

A steady rhythm, deliberate and unhurried, built with each stroke. You settled into it easily, your body already warm from anticipation, already attuned to the feeling. Each glide left you just a little more open, a little more aware of how sensitive you'd become in the quiet stretch of waiting.

The sheets rustled softly beneath you as you moved, the toy working deeper with each thrust, slick and satisfying. Your free hand drifted up your side, fingers brushing the edge of the lingerie. You didn’t need to imagine how he’d look at you. You already knew. That thought alone made you sink the dildo in a little harder, your pace quickening just enough to chase the way your body tightened in response.

Each glide of the silicone was met with a wet, sticky sound that filled the quiet room, soft but unmistakable. You were already soaked, your arousal slicking the toy with ease, making every movement smoother, wetter, louder. The steady rhythm only deepened it, every thrust drawing out another soft squelch as your body clenched and welcomed it again.

Your thighs twitched, slickness spreading with every push, the sensation messier now, more indulgent. It coated your fingers where they met the base, warm and dripping, making it harder to keep your grip steady. The sound of it was obscene, echoing faintly off the walls, and you didn’t try to muffle it.

You shifted to the middle of the bed, knees wide as you positioned yourself over the dildo. One hand reached down to hold it steady, fingers curling around the base to keep it angled just right. With your other hand braced lightly on your thigh, you began to lower yourself, the tip parting you with an easy slide through wet heat.

You took your time, sinking down inch by inch until you were filled completely, the stretch sending a slow shiver up your spine. Your grip tightened slightly as you began to move, hips rolling in a steady rhythm, working yourself along the length. Each motion dragged against every sensitive spot, slick sounds rising with every pass, getting lost in the pleasure.

Which was exactly how he found you.

Spencer had unlocked the front door quietly, not expecting to walk into anything more than the usual end-of-case quiet. But as he stepped down the hall, something caught his ear. A sound, low and wet, repeating. Then a faint moan, breathy and strained.

He paused just outside the bedroom, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he pushed the door open and froze.

You didn’t see him at first. You were too wrapped up in the slow grind of your hips, the stretch and fullness of the toy buried inside you, the slick, obscene sounds rising each time your body met the mattress. Your head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. Every line of you was flushed and glowing, lit soft in the low light.

Spencer’s breath left him all at once.

You looked like a dream. No, like something from his most private thoughts, the ones he’d tried to keep buried on the road but had crept back in every night. You, spread out, riding a toy like you couldn’t wait another second. Like you’d been craving him too hard to hold out.

His eyes swept over you slowly, reverently. The glint of the toy disappearing inside you. The wet glisten between your thighs. The way your body moved with purpose, with need. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

And it was just for him.

Your body shifted again, a subtle roll of your hips that dragged a gasp from your throat, and that’s when your eyes flicked open.

You blinked once, then stilled, your gaze landing on him where he stood frozen in the doorway. A slow smile curved across your lips, lazy and knowing.

“Hi,” you murmured, voice husky.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like his thoughts were catching up to his eyes. His bag dropped from his shoulder with a dull thud against the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked thunderstruck.

His eyes moved over you slowly, drinking in every detail. The way your thighs tensed and flexed as you sank down again. The slick sight of the dildo pushing into you, glistening with the proof of how badly you'd needed this. The soft bounce of your breasts with every movement, swaying gently each time your hips rocked.

You could see the moment it hit him. Not just what you were doing, but why. The recognition in his expression wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there—in the slack of his jaw, the dark pull of his gaze, the way he seemed caught somewhere between stunned and turned on.

He didn’t speak again. Just stood at the edge of the room, eyes fixed on you, hand already working open the front of his pants. You stayed in motion, lifting and sinking with steady purpose, the soft, unmistakable sounds of your arousal filling the quiet. The toy moved easily inside you, slick from the way your body had welcomed it in.

Spencer’s hand wrapped around his cock, hard and aching. He stepped closer, drawn in by the sight of you riding the toy with such unhurried focus. Reaching out, he touched the base where the toy disappeared into you, his fingers slipping through the wetness that had gathered there. He brought it to his length, slicking himself with it before stroking slowly, his gaze never leaving you.

You met his eyes as you sank down again, a quiet gasp leaving your lips. He was watching everything. Every shift of your hips, every tremble of your thighs, every bounce of your breasts with the motion.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word rough and low. “You’re so wet.”

Your lips curled, hips tilting again just to draw out another sound from him.

“You like watching me ride it?” you asked, voice husky. “Been thinking about this while you were gone?”

He nodded, eyes still fixed on you. “Every night. I’d close my eyes and see this. You, like this. Touching yourself just for me.”

You rolled your hips a little faster, letting the heat climb.

“Yeah?” you breathed. “Bet you were so desperate you came fast. Couldn’t even make it last.”

His hand tightened at the base of his cock, the pace of his strokes faltering just a little. “Didn’t care. Didn’t need long. Just wanted to come to the thought of you.”

You moaned, the sound honest and loud, your pace quickening in response.

“Keep going,” he groaned. “Let me hear how good it feels.”

Your hand drifted up slowly, fingers grazing the curve of your breast through the thin lace of your bra. His eyes followed the motion, dark and hungry. With a quiet hum, you reached behind you, arching slightly as you unhooked the clasp. The straps slipped down your arms one by one, the bra tossed aside without ceremony.

Spencer’s breath caught. His hand moved again, slower now, savouring it. The thick length of his cock slid through his fist with a slick sound, his palm glistening from the wetness he’d gathered from your pussy. He spread it along his shaft, stroking with a firmer grip.

“God, I love your tits,” he muttered, voice thick, nearly reverent but still rough around the edges. “Could stare at them all night.”

You smirked, thumbing over one nipple and then the other, feeling the way they hardened under your touch. “Then don’t look away.”

He didn’t. Not for a second. His fist began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, dragging slick over the length of him. He spread the wetness from the base upward, twisting a little at the head, breath catching like the sight of you alone was enough to undo him.

His groan was low and rough, hips rocking into his fist as he stared at you like you were a fantasy made real. You gave him a show worth staring at. The slow drag of your fingers down your stomach. The way your thighs tensed again as you sank down, deeper this time, holding yourself there just long enough to feel the full stretch of it before you began to move again.

You shifted on your knees, repositioning just enough to sink down again. The toy filled you with a now-familiar stretch, thick and unrelenting, and you let it stay seated inside you for a moment, adjusting to the way it pressed so perfectly against your walls. A moan slipped out before you could hold it back.

Spencer’s eyes dropped to the toy buried inside you. “So wet,” he rasped. “You’re dripping all over it.”

You rolled your hips slowly, easing into a rhythm that matched the pace of his strokes. “Been like this all day,” you murmured. “Wanted to wait for you.”

His hand stuttered briefly. “Fuck. You’ve been aching like this just thinking about me?”

You nodded, breath catching as you circled your hips again. “Missed the way you look at me when I cum. Missed the way you sound when you get close.”

He groaned, the sound deep and raw. His other hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles whitening, like he needed the grounding to keep from crossing the room.

You slipped one hand between your thighs, fingers gliding over your clit with ease. You were soaked, messy and hot and swollen, the pleasure blooming sharper with each pass. You gasped, the sound unfiltered.

Spencer’s pace sped up again, wrist working faster now, his cock hard and flushed in his grip. “Touch yourself,” he said, almost a whisper. “Just like that. Show me.”

You kept your eyes on him as your fingers worked faster, circling, pressing, teasing. Your other hand cupped a breast again, giving it a soft squeeze just to watch his jaw tighten.

“Bet you’re leaking already,” you said with a soft, dirty smile. “Bet your cock’s so sensitive it hurts.”

He grunted, nodding, not even trying to speak through the way his breath hitched. His strokes were fast now, desperate, hips rocking forward into his fist as if imagining it was your mouth, your body.

The rhythm between you wasn’t perfect, wasn’t practiced, but it was in sync enough to make your stomach twist in anticipation. You moaned again, louder, eyes fluttering shut for a second before dragging them open to watch him fall apart.

“Don’t stop,” he panted. “Fuck, don’t stop. I want to see you cum.”

Your fingers didn’t slow. If anything, the sound of his voice only made your hand move faster, circling tighter, dipping just enough to gather more slick before dragging back up. The angle of your hips shifted again, grinding down into the toy as your body started to shake with the strain of holding yourself steady.

“Spencer,” you gasped, more breath than voice, “keep going. I want you to cum with me.”

His response was a broken sound, low and desperate, his hand stroking hard and fast now. He was flushed to his chest, thighs tense, tip gleaming with wetness that made each pass of his hand obscenely slick. His fingers tightened, twisting just enough to make him grunt, like the pleasure was almost too much.

“Fuck,” he rasped, “you’re so fucking hot like this. I can’t—”

“You can,” you whispered. “You will. I’m so close. Don’t you want to see it?”

His head tipped back for a moment, lips parted, a string of curses tumbling out under his breath. But his eyes snapped forward again as you let your knees widen, giving him an even clearer view of the toy disappearing inside you. Your fingers never left your clit, working yourself over the edge with no shame, no pause, just raw need.

You moaned again, higher now, shaking with it. Your muscles pulled tight, thighs trembling as the wave crested. “Spencer—”

That was all it took.

He came with a harsh, breathless groan, cock jerking in his fist as he spilled over his hand and wrist, his body shuddering with every pulse. He didn’t look away once. He watched your mouth fall open, your back arch, the way your hand never stopped moving as you chased and caught your orgasm.

You were still gasping, thighs twitching, chest flushed and heaving, when you finally slowed. Spencer leaned against the doorway like it was the only thing keeping him upright, his hand falling away from his now-softening cock, breath coming rough and uneven.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick with the afterglow, with the heat of everything you’d just done without ever touching each other.

Your smile was slow, almost lazy. “Welcome home.”

#criminal minds #masterlist #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #mgg #mgg smut #request #ask box #spencer reid #narratophilia

308 notes · View notes

thewitchblue · 4 months ago

Note

Could you write something about looking into Jason’s wallet and seeing a picture of his lover there?

"Found it!"

Dick said, holding the wallet victoriously. The duo went on a scavenger hunt for Jason's wallet after he lost it. Dick has the hidden talent of being about to find anything.

Jason, to his horror, watched your photo leave his wallet as Dick held it up high. He really did not want to talk about you to his brother, especially this brother. He'd even tolerate stalker Tim finding out before Dick.

"Who's this?"

Dick asked innocently as he looked at your picture. Jason knew he should have put the picture in a more secure part of his wallet, but he didn't want to risk scratching or crinkling it. Now, he will be hounded until Dick and you meet.

The picture wasn't an anniversary, date, or even a birthday party, but it was special to him. It felt intimate to him, and it felt like a slice of life he didn't know he needed.

You often tease that it's the only picture you have of him smiling, but that's not true. You have hundreds of pictures with you both, but he's a lot more picky with the pictures he keeps.

This picture is his favourite because it was taken without either of your knowledge. It was raw, not staged. Artemis took the picture after sneaking into the house. She originally wanted to use it as blackmail to extort money out of him, but you idiots were too in love to notice or really even care if you got leaked to the others, so she simply left and sent the picture to the group chat with a vomiting emoji.

He can see the unfiltered adoration on your face and the lovesick grin you gave him. It felt special to him, and it continued to feel special every time he saw it.

You both were breaking away from a kiss. Your hand cradled his face gently, and his arms seemed to be drawing you in by your waist. You were mimicking his Red Hood suit with a leather jacket, black cargo pants, and a Red Hood shirt that you modified to have a hood. He remembers calling you a copycat with a huge smile.

"That is none of your goddamn business."

Jason said as he took both his wallet and his picture back. Dick gave him a grin that made him know he was in trouble. Dick was going to find out one way or another. Jason rolled his eyes. Dick said smoothly,

"I'll hunt them down."

Jason shook his head. Good luck finding you. You live like a ghost. He doubts even he could find anything about you.

"Good luck finding them. There is nothing on file for them anywhere."

He cursed under his breath when he heard your special knocking pattern. Dick practically ran to the door, but Jason was faster. He managed to hit Dick over the head with a frying pan like a cartoon character.

"Are you okay, sugar bear?"

Not really. Jason was wrestling with his brother now, but he called out,

"I'm fine, munchkin. Taking care of business."

You knew what that meant and started to walk away. Until Dick was thrown through the wall and nearly knocked you down. You eyed the grinning man as Jason groaned. Dick always gets what he wants in the end, no matter what.

"You must be the lover."

Dick said as he stood up and brushed off the drywall on him. You went to stand by Jason with a frown. Jason swings an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him in a protective way. He really doesn't trust Dick with you.

You gave him a cheek kiss and asked,

"What's wrong, sugar bear? Is he dangerous?"

How do you not know the Wayne family? Well, you don't live in Gotham. You live in a neighbouring city, but it's not a long drive, so you always drive to see your sugar bear.

"You have no idea. I don't know what he's going to do with this knowledge."

You kissed him quickly and cuddled into his side. He always makes you feel protected and safe. You will be protected from Dick until Jason's dying breath.

"I'll keep it a secret if I know more."

Dick said confidently. He's a man of his word, and so were you.

"What questions?"

You assume the basic, "how did you meet," but instead you got,

"Why do you have a ring?"

You look at your hand with a fond smile. It wasn't anything fancy; simply a silver banded ring with a small emerald in the middle. You smiled,

"It's my promise ring. Jason has a matching one."

Jason hesitated before pulling out the necklace that held his ring. He didn't want it to break or for any villain to find out about you. He keeps it tucked away safely as a necklace and under his Red Hood gear.

Dick looked offended. How has he never noticed? He was surprised and hurt by the lack of trust. He thought Jason would at least tell him about you.

"When did you start dating?"

You smiled up at Jason. You were happily tucked under his arm and into his side. It gave you confidence.

"It will be our second anniversary in two days."

Jason answered. He's always on top of romantic gestures and dates. He went all out the last anniversary. He brought you to all your favourite spots before ending on a cliffside watching the sunset and cuddling on the blanket he insisted on bringing despite being on a motorcycle and how impractical it was to bring along. He had to fold it at least four times to fit it in his pocket so it didn't get caught in the wheels.

Dick didn't like that answer. Two whole years without ever revealing you to the family. That hurt his big brother ego. He should know everything.

It's none of their business, in Jason's opinion. His love life shouldn't matter to his family. What's the big deal? It's not like he's married.

"How did you meet?"

Your smile turned into a mischievous grin as Jason groaned. It was so awful to him. He felt horrible.

"I accidentally sneaked up on him at an old bookstore, and he judo flipped me in surprise."

You laughed, but Jason's grip on you tightened slightly. He'll never forgive himself for hurting you, even if it was an ice breaker that led to your relationship.

Dick looked at Jason with disapproving eyes and Jason felt the exact same way. He felt terrible for judo flipping you.

"No need to be sad, sugar bear. It led to us."

You took his hand that was resting on your hip and kissed it gently. You lightly squeezed it to reassure that everything is okay.

Dick smiled at the happy couple. Sure, it was unfortunate the way you met, but the love was clearly there, and he was happy that his little brother could finally find peace and love.

#gn reader #x reader #jason todd x reader #batfam x reader

803 notes · View notes

alinathinkstoomuch · 3 months ago

Note

hiiii I want to join the masses and thank you for bringing fake fiancé Hotch into our lives!

I had a random thought about them that you can completely ignore and delete but what if a case brought Hotch to his fake fiancée's work? 👀

She's trying to be professional (and failing) and Hotch is just trying to solve crimes without falling fast for his fake fiancée while also ignoring Rossi is being a brat about it all

CRAVING CLARITY - FAKE FIANCÉ

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (part of my fake!fiancee series, but can be read as a standalone) warnings | an: first of all thank you bestie!! hope i did your request justice 💓 fluff, shameless flirting, slight self-doubt from reader which aaron scoops up real quick, rossi being rossi. word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You were elbow-deep in samples – literally and figuratively – drowning in endless deadlines with no lifeline in sight. Honestly, it felt like you were the only person in the entire company actually capable of meeting them. Carrying the whole operation on your back? Exhausting. Somewhere between fabric swatches and frantic emails, you had completely zoned out.

And you seemed to only snap back to reality when Bella, your assistant, waved her hands wildly in front of your face.

“Earth to you,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Did you hear a single word I just said, or should I start over with even bigger hand gestures.”

You blinked at her, still half-lost in the chaos of your to-do list. “Uh… something about me being a visionary genius who deserves an all-expenses-paid spa retreat?”

Bella rolled her eyes, plucking a stray patch of fabric from your desk. “Close, but no. I said there’s someone here to see you. Actually, two someones – both with FBI badges.”

You froze. “What? FBI?”

Oh no.

Had Hotch finally had enough? Had he officially put you on the infamous FBI watchlist? Decided that your emoji usage was a national security risk? Because honestly, you barely sent him that many – just the occasional heart, a well-placed sparkly star, maybe a winky face or two. And it’s not like he ever responded in kind. Not even once. Which, frankly, was an injustice.

And still, despite all your undeniable charm and very reasonable flirting, he had yet to ask you out. That, in itself, was a crime.

Which was exactly why you were going to make him wait. Just a minute. Or five. Just long enough to figure out what the hell he was doing here – and why flashing FBI badges was necessary in your perfectly peaceful, extremely fashionable workspace.

You smoothed down your outfit, tilting your head as you turned to Bella. “Did they say what it was about?” you asked, already moving toward the mirror, because if you were about to face Aaron Hotchner and whatever Bureau-level drama he had brought with him, you were at least going to look flawless doing it.

Bella shrugged, her eyes following you. “Something about needing access to records for a client we work with. No clue, honestly, sounds way above my pay grade.” She leaned against your desk, arms crossed. “They asked to speak to whoever’s in charge, and, well… that would be you.”

You sighed, fluffing your hair a little as you checked your reflection. And it was absolutely because your hair needed fluffing at this exact moment and not because a certain moody, absurdly handsome FBI agent was waiting for you.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you muttered, making your way toward the lobby. As you turned the corner, it didn’t take long to spot them – Aaron Hotchner and his very good friend, and someone you’d quickly taken a liking to, David Rossi. It was slightly comical to see how out of place the two of them looked.

Would a splash of colour really kill them both?

You took a step closer, amusement curling at the edges of your lips. “So this is a thing now, huh?”

Hotch cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he watched you approach. “A thing?” he echoed, his voice sounding just as dry as you remembered.

Rossi, of course, wasted no time as he nudged him with a smirk. “Yeah, Aaron. You know – showing up at each other’s workplaces unannounced.”

You beamed, gesturing toward him. “See? Dave gets it.” You gave the two agents a once over, taking in their perfectly pressed suits and matching we-are-here-on-official-business expressions. You sighed dramatically, placing a hand on your hip. “Though, I do have one complaint… I don’t see any cookies.”

“Ah, yes. The cookies,” Rossi mused, turning to Hotch. “You should’ve seen him, going wild, breaking each one apart like they were evidence, searching for your number.” He gave you an approving nod. “Nice touch, by the way.”

Hotch exhaled very deliberately, eyes shooting daggers at Rossi. You, on the other hand, just giggled. He was ridiculously cute when he was flustered, all stiff posture and barely contained why do I put up with these people energy.

“Thank you, Dave.” Your tone was all honey-sweet innocence, like you hadn’t just turned Hotch’s mild embarrassment into your own personal entertainment. “Now, as much as I’d love to believe you’re here because the FBI finally approved a budget increase for uniforms, I have a feeling that’s not the reason.”

Rossi chuckled which caused Hotch to finally cut in before things finally spiralled completely out of control. “Sorry to barge in like this. We’re here about a case.”

“How tragic.” Your hand made its way over to your heart. “And here I thought this was a romantic gesture.”

Hotch barely reacted – barely – but you didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, the subtle shift of his jaw.

“We need access to client records from a company your firm collaborates with,” he explained, voice clipped, like if he just kept talking the entire conversation would magically reset itself. “Their CFO isn’t cooperating, and we believe you can help us expedite the process.”

“Mm,” you hummed, rocking back on your heels. “I can expedite a lot of things.”

That got him.

The barest shift of his mouth. The way his throat bobbed ever so slightly before he spoke. “The records,” he clarified, tone just a little tighter.

“You know…you’re awfully demanding for a man who still hasn’t taken me to dinner.”

“I didn’t realise dinner was a prerequisite for cooperation.”

You glanced briefly at Rossi, a silent Can you believe this guy? before turning back to Hotch. “Oh, Agent Hotchner,” you chided, sighing again as if he was the most exhausting man on the planet. “If you wanted my help, you could have just asked nicely.”

“I am asking nicely.”

You pursed your lips. “Are you? Because I think you could be a little nicer.”

Silence.

“You poor man,” Rossi chuckled, shaking his head. “This is hilarious.”

Hotch turned to Rossi who was still grinning like this was the highlight of his week – maybe even the entire month. “Are you done?”

“Not even close.”

“He really should be nicer to me, don’t you think?” You glanced at Rossi, like you were seeking expert legal counsel.

“Absolutely,” Rossi said without hesitation. “Common courtesy. Maybe some flowers. A little charm, even.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose like he was deeply reconsidering every life choice that had led him here. “I cannot believe I brought him with me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, holding up your hands in surrender. “I suppose I could be persuaded to help. Purely out of the kindness of my heart, of course.”

Turning slightly, you motioned for Bella – who was definitely eavesdropping from just out of view – to come over. She sauntered in like she hadn’t just been shamelessly listening in.

“Bells, be a dear and show these two lovely gentlemen to the records they’re requesting.”

Before she could respond, Rossi held up a hand. “It’s alright,” he interrupted, cutting Hotch off before he could protest. “I’ll go, it’s not a two-man job.” Then, sparing you a knowing glance, he clapped Hotch on the shoulder. “You two can chat.”

You arched a brow, watching as Rossi motioned for Bella to lead the way.

And just like that, it was just the two of you.

You gaze flicked back to Hotch, your focus settling on him with an ease that almost annoyed you. Because, truly, how did this man manage to hold your attention so effortlessly? He wasn’t doing anything – just standing there, arms crossed, rocking that same old serious, mysterious expression. And yet, he might as well have had a gravitational pull.

They had to be teaching witchcraft at the FBI Academy. And maybe you should enrol, if only to figure out how to make him give you even an inch of the attention you kept throwing his way.

“Tell me, Aaron Hotch Hotchner, am I wasting my time here?” you asked, mirroring his stance as you crossed your arms.

His brow lifted, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond before pressing on.

“Because, at this point, I’ve done everything short of throwing my clothes off to get you to ask me out, and yet the only time you seem to come and see me is… well, today. And only because you need something.”

There. It was out.

You hadn’t planned to take the conversation in this direction, hadn’t expected to lay your cards out so plainly. But you were a woman who had suffered one too many heartbreaks, and at this point, you just needed clarity.

Because if this – whatever this was – was just some game to him, then you needed to walk away before you let yourself hope for something that would never happen.

Hotch didn’t react right away. He just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was weighing his response with the same precision he used to profile criminals.

That did not help your nerves.

“Well?” you prompted, your voice a touch softer, more hesitant. “Because if this is just some game to you –”

“It’s not a game.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling against your arms. “Then what is it?”

“You’re not wasting your time,” he assured you. “I just… can’t always give you as much of it as I want to.”

You let out small, breathy laugh. “God, you really have a way of making a woman work for it, don’t you?”

His lips parted, but before he could say anything, you kept going. “Because, see, this? This is the kind of thing a girl needs clarity on.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “If I like a man, I don’t not tell him. I bake, I flirt, I –” You huffed. “I wear my best heels and make sure my hair looks good when I know I might see him.”

His gaze flickered downward for a second before he brought it back up to your face.

“I work a lot,” he said finally. “And if I asked you to dinner, I’d want to be able to actually be there, not just physically, but completely. I wouldn’t want to have to leave halfway through because of a phone call. You deserve a date where I can give you my undivided attention.”

Oh.

Of all the things you had expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. For the first time, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t shutting you down. He wasn’t brushing you off. He was telling you, plain and simple, that he wanted this – but he wanted to do it right.

And damn it, if that didn’t make you like him even more.

“Right… well, I’m busy too, you know. It’s not like I can just drop everything on a day that works for you or whatever.”

His smile was small but undeniable this time, and God help you, it was unfairly charming. “I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s why I’d ask in advance.”

You let a breath out, swirling a finger in the air at him. “Unbelievable. I am supposed to be the one making you flustered.”

“You do.”

You groaned, pressing your hands over your face in defeat. “Aaron Hotch Hotchner, I’m going to need you to vacate this building immediately.”

“I don’t think that’s how FBI jurisdiction works.”

You dropped your hands. “I don’t care how FBI jurisdiction works. You are menace, and I need you gone before you say something else that makes me –” You gestured vaguely in the air again, trying to find the right words. “– like you even more.”

His brow lifted and you hated that he looked so pleased with himself. “That would be a problem?”

“Yes!” you blurted before catching yourself. “Because my feelings for you need to be contained, okay? Like a jug that must not overflow. Not until I get that stupid date. I cannot like you more than I do now. It is against my nature, Aaron Hotch Hotchner.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh, don’t smile at me,” you lectured. “You know I’m right!”

“I don’t think emotions work like that.”

“Well, mine do,” you argued. “I have a system, Hotchner. A process which you are disrupting.”

He took a step closer. Too close. Instinctively, you took one back, because absolutely not. He could not be this close to you right now, not when you were in such a delicate (feral) state.

“And what exactly is this system?” he asked, his voice maddeningly calm.

You scoffed, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s very simple. I flirt. You ignore me. I get bored. I move on. That was the plan. But now? Now you’re smiling at me and talking about dates in advance, and frankly, I find it very disruptive to my workflow.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t want to throw off your workflow,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly.

You gasped, pointing at him with pure betrayal. “There! That! That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What?” He feigned innocence and you wanted to shove him straight out the damn door and call security on him.

“You know what,” you accused. “You’re flirting.”

“I thought that was part of your system.”

“Oh my God.” You threw your hands up. “I take it back. You are not allowed to be good at this.”

He nodded, as if this was a very serious discussion. “Ah. So, to be clear, you want me to ignore your advances?”

You stared at him, eyes narrowed. And then, without thinking, you stepped forward, grabbed him by the lapels of his stupid FBI suit, and let out a long, dramatic groan into his chest. “Aaron,” you muttered into the fabric, “I hate you.”

His body was still for a second. Then, to your absolute horror, you felt his chest rumble with something dangerously close to a chuckle.

You yanked yourself back so fast you nearly tripped, eyes wide with betrayal. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.” His tone would agree, but his face did not.

“Oh, my God.” You shoved at his chest, half out of indignation, half just to do something with your hands. “You’re enjoying this.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it.

Which meant he absolutely was.

Before you could formulate a proper rebuttal, a voice cut in from behind you.

“Well, it’s a good thing we went to get these,” Rossi said, strolling in beside Bella. “Otherwise, God knows what these two would get up to in the back room.”

You took a very large, very obvious step back. “Please, Dave. We’re professionals.”

Rossi smirked. “Oh, sure. That’s definitely what me and Bella have just walked in on.”

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #mine🌟

586 notes · View notes