#so we got tight spaces... check

[akanemnon]

Just a regular day

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[luveline]

hotch sister idea-- convincing hotch to take you out to dinner with the whole team because you "want to properly meet his friends" (i'm a sucker for team dynamics) but then being shy and cute with spencer the entire time to the point that hotch notices and gets a tad protective...but ends with spencer getting her number or something

thank you for requesting 💌 —you attend a party with your older brother in a not so secret plight to see Dr. Reid. You fawn, Spencer flusters, and Hotch drinks a tad more than usual. fem, 2.3k

cw for mentions of past child abuse

The car is quiet besides the tread of the tires on asphalt. You click and unclick the clasp of your shoulder bag, checking for your purse, getting worried your purse isn’t in there, and checking again.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, you can ask me.”

You move your gaze to your brother. His quietness can make you nervous, a reflection of your father but with none of the cruelty. “I don’t want you to get mad at me if it’s stupid.”

“Well, I won’t. I promise.”

You know he won’t, but sometimes the fear remains. Even when you’re far from being a kid. “Do you remember when I got suspended for, um, disrespectful behaviour? My senior year?”

Aaron turns the wheel with care. “I do.”

“And we went for ice cream.”

“Yeah, honey, I remember.”

That’s the point you’re trying to make, maybe. That tenderness sewn into the middle of his sentence. If your dad knew you’d been suspended again he would’ve made you feel it. You remember the sinking sensation in your chest waiting for him to pick you up, having written the speech he’d give you in the car ride home in your head ten times over, the sting of his palm grazing your cheek before you’d even seen his hand. So you waited in a total violent panic, head rush, wondering if anything was worth anything, when Aaron arrived to pick you up.

How did you know? you’d asked.

I changed your emergency contact. I hope that’s okay.

“You asked me what I wanted and…”

What flavour did you want, honey? he’d asked. Honey, like he loved you, the only person in the whole world who’d bother asking. The only man who’d take you for ice cream at seventeen years old to cure a bad day.

“And you burst into tears,” Aaron says.

He’d sat down opposite you in his suit, torn from one of his trials, and you can’t remember anymore if he was an attorney or already in the FBI, but you can’t forget how he’d taken your wrists into his hands and asked you not to cry.

“When you took me home, Haley asked me if you’d upset me, and I didn’t know how to explain it so you said yes. And she shouted at you for a whole half hour.”

“Why are you thinking about this now?” he asks.

Maybe because college is over and you’re forced to move on. Aaron asked you to try hard and you have, but now you have your degree and you don’t know what to do with it, you’ll get a job, and then what?

“I’ve been thinking about… my love life.”

“Oh. And you have to talk about this with me?” he jokes.

“I don’t have anybody else.”

He tears his gaze from the windshield. “That’s not true.”

“But…”

He turns into the parking lot outside of Dan’s Fine Wine Bar and pulls into a tight space with ease. He hesitates before he flicks off the engine, turning to you with a smile. “You’ll always have me,” he says, “and we can talk about your love life. I want to. God knows you’ve heard enough about mine this last year.” You both grimace. “But if I have to listen one more time to you talking about Spencer–”

“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

“Honey.” He takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. “I’m not mad. But imagine your younger sibling comes to you one day to tell you they have feelings for your employee and try to find some sympathy for me!”

He clambers out of the car. You rush after him, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly smashing your door into the car next to you. The air outside is cold, and you didn’t bring a jacket even though Aaron told you to twice, so you can’t mention it aloud. “I don’t have feelings for him.”

“You have a crush. You’re too old for it.”

“I am not.”

He gestures for you to walk in front of him as he clicks the fob for the car and the doors lock automatically. “I don’t understand what this has to do with your suspension.”

You chew on your cheek. Neon from the wine bar mottles your skin as you pass under it and through the door, air quickly turned from cold to temperate, the smell of old rain replaced by carpeting and beer. When you lift your head to his gaze, he’s still waiting for your answer. “You told me things wouldn’t be that hard forever. I was just wondering when it’s safe to say you were right.”

He grins at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to give you a rough hug. “Right now. Be happy right now, honey.”

“There they are!” Penelope calls from a table near the back. Suddenly, Aaron’s entire team of work colleagues stand up where they’ve dominated a whole row of tables and booths alike to greet you. “Oh my gosh, I missed you!”

You met Derek a long long time ago, and JJ around the same time, but everybody else is basically new. College was busy and Aaron busier —there was hardly ever time to visit, and when you did it was to see him and Haley. Meeting his friends was somehow put off.

You’ve since been introduced to Emily and Spencer, so Aaron directs you to David Rossi first. That’s the main team done quickly. But then he has to introduce you to Anderson, Sweeney, Kelly, Cory, Davidson, etc. So many agents for one man’s birthday. Anyone would think Derek Morgan was a celebrity.

“Happy birthday!” you say, when you finally get a moment to speak.

Derek reaches over the table to hug you quickly. “Thank you, gorgeous. We’re thrilled you’re here.” He pulls back, elbowing Penelope lovingly. “Aren’t we, mama?”

Penelope squeals and jumps for you. “So thrilled!”

Aaron touches your back, as if to say, I’m here, before taking a seat opposite Rossi. You hear snippets of a conversation about whiskey and when, but you’re distracted, because suddenly Penelope’s forcing you to sit down in her vacated seat, smack bang between Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid.

Dr. Spencer Reid. “Hi,” you say quietly. Can’t help it. You remember how you’d reacted when you met him the week before last and wonder if it’s too late to pretend you’re cool —you’d gotten so worked up about him. He wrote a bunch of papers you had to read for your degree, some of the most sophisticated theory on elliptical math you’d ever read, and you’re supposed to act like he’s just a normal guy?

It doesn’t help that he’s model pretty. You’d never have thought of him as he is now over email, his huge brown eyes, pale skin, the flicking curl of his hair behind his ears. When he turns his head, he has indents on his nose from a pair of glasses you wish you’d seen. You clear your throat.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” Spencer asks.

“I’m gonna go get a drink now,” Aaron says. “What do you want?” he asks you.

“Um, anything. I don’t really wanna drink.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says with deliberateness.

You feel heat like a rash on your neck. He’s embarrassing you doing his dad routine.

“You look pretty,” Spencer says.

You hide your hands under your thighs. “You think so?”

“You look beautiful,” Penelope says from across the table.

“Didn’t inherit that Hotchner scowl,” Derek says with a grin, “I thought it came with the name.”

“I learned how to do it the day they signed the adoption certificate,” you nudge in, “I just keep it to myself. I think Aaron has it down.”

Everybody within hearing distance laughs at you, to your relief. To your left, Spencer’s shoe hits your heel.

“So weird to hear his real name,” Emily says, tipping her drink to the side, ice and sugar on the surface. “I thought for sure you’d have to call him Hotch too.”

You look around in surprise. “He can’t be that bad. Does he really frown so much?”

You’re told vehemently that your brother is a grump, which is something you were aware of, just not experienced in. Sure, he’s had his unhappy moments, no one can smile every second of the day, but if everyone is to be believed he’s the sternest man alive. Eventually things drift into storytelling. Aaron brings you your drink with a straw and a napkin wrapped around the base, and you find yourself listening to a graphic rehash of Derek’s first case with the BAU.

Spencer’s leg is a coal at your side.

Your self preservation runs out. “You don’t drink?” you ask, nodding to his glass bottle of coke.

“I– I never did. I never had the opportunity. I’ve never even been to a party.” He pauses. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“I didn’t go to parties either,” you say, overjoyed to find common ground so quickly.

“I mean, I was never invited, but highschool parties didn’t seem like my thing. And, you know, I was twelve.”

“You were twelve in highschool?”

He’s doing that thing you noticed the day you met, where his lips move before he’s ready to talk, his emotion clear. “You weren’t?” he asks, not quite smooth but enough to make you laugh suddenly.

“I wish! I could’ve been done with college years ago.” Your brows pinch together. “Wait, so did you go to college as a kid?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“What? No wonder you didn’t go to any parties, that must’ve been insane. When I was twelve I was still setting my Barbie’s up for dance parties. Aaron has a photo of me dressed up in mom’s old clothes.” You lean forward for a sip of your drink.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s a photo of me just like that when I was twelve, too.”

You laugh so hard you almost choke.

A cup comes down hard somewhere behind your turned head.

“You okay?” Emily asks.

She wears a smirk you don’t understand, a joke you’ve missed. You peer past her to look to Aaron for advice and find him rather sullen, hand curled tightly around his drink. You try to give him a signal to ask if he’s alright, but it’s to no avail.

“I’m fine, sorry, just a joke.” You turn back to Spencer. “That’s adorable.”

You’re breathless talking to him. He must notice, but Spencer doesn’t say a word.

If someone asked you why he caught your attention, you’re not sure you know the answer. He’s pretty, undeniably, and it’s fascinating that you used his theory while you were in school, but fascination isn’t endless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. No ones ever given such a clear sense of awe; he gets stuck on you, his eyes tracing your cheek and your nose and your lips. It’s noticeable, but it isn’t unwanted. You keep coming back to his smile as he talks, the flash of his teeth.

“I honestly didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Spencer says.

“He was keeping us apart for a reason,” you say insistently, “I just don’t know what that reason is yet. He must’ve known you were the Dr. Reid I’d been reading.”

“It makes it sound like you’re reading me,” Spencer laughs. “Like, my hands.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Do I want you to what?”

“To read your palm?”

“You know how?”

“No parties, remember?”

Spencer gives you his hand. He has nice hands, big but slim-fingered like a pianist’s, though if he plays isn’t something you know. You angle it flat careful, your thumbs to either side of his open palm. “What do you want to know?” you ask.

“What can you tell me?”

You hum gently. “You have your life line, your head line, your heart line– your love line.”

“What does that– that mean for me?”

You press your thumb to his mount Jupiter, a soft hill of his hand under one of his fingers where the heart line begins. “Your desire for love, and your capacity for it. See how deeply curved it is?” you ask, drawing along his heart line gently. “It means you’re warm, and loving. That you could have a great love.”

You look up, his hand held gently between yours. “But I could be really wrong. I haven’t done this in so long, I might just be making stuff up.”

You sound insecure to your own ears, cringing away from his hand, but Spencer ducks his head just a little to keep your gaze, and he smiles at you softly. “It’s okay. I like your reading, even if it’s wrong. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Aaron would buy me any book I asked for growing up, he…”

Your brother, sitting only a few seats away, can’t find it in himself to regret that particular generosity even if the sight of you holding Spencer’s hand isn’t one he wants to see. It’s odd. You’re fully grown up, and it’s not like Aaron thinks Spencer would ever hurt you purposefully, but it’s hard to see anyways. He can admit to feeling like a father watching his daughter finding a first love; he can’t keep you forever and he doesn’t want to, but it’s still hard to watch as you descend into giggles that border on dizziness.

“This is a good thing,” Rossi says. “You’ll never have to worry about her being out past curfew.”

Aaron laughs, it’s funny, and then he knocks back his drink.

[chiscaralight]

what's that sound?

includes: nsfw! continuation of my college athelete!choso linked here. vouyerism, oral sex(f receiving), somewhat bottom choso, p in v, unprotected sex, choso is a little pervy, he’s never eaten pussy before either, choso cums from hearing i love u then he gets a little emotional. he’s just a loser!!!!!

word count: roughly 3k

a/n: we r so back!!!!

choso has been at his best since he met you.

ever since you two got together, he's been much different. not just to you—to everyone! there’s a pep in his step when he walks, he’s a little more confident when he talks, and he’s even playing better on the field now! (totally not because he knows you’re in the bleachers and he’s trying to look extra cool just for you.)

and it pains him in more ways than one when he has to stay away from you for so long. with the new league about to hit its peak, coaches are adding in extra hours, school work is getting more and more tasking by the day, and only talking to you on the phone for a couple of minutes and texting the whole day is nowhere near enough for him. even though he’s the one that needs most of the space!

you’re so sweet about it too, assuring him you’d be fine and he has to prioritize his sports career. you still show up to the occasional practice to offer a quick kiss before you go home, and you leave him snacks in his book bag when you see it lying around. you’re honestly such a blessing, why is the world so against the two of you right now?

but a single ray of light shines down on Choso’s dim day when the head coach sends a text that they can have the day off since they played so well in the last game. he’s almost flying out of his class seat right then and there—his mind is going straight towards you.

he feels like shit as he makes his way out of the flower shop; bouquet in hand. it’s not much, but he hopes you find it sweet enough that you’ll forgive him for how long it’s been since he last saw you. he stood there, individually picking out the best blue hyacinths and white orchids from the bunch, all fresh and neatly wrapped as a sort of poetic apology. you might not even know what it means, but who cares? it’s the thought that counts.

and he feels even weirder driving to your doorstep after all the times he’s run there instead. he’s still nervous even after all the times you’ve held him, kissed him, fucked him. you’re just so perfect, who wouldn’t be near pissing themselves right now with you behind the door?

he’s carefully sliding the single key you gave him in, pushing inwards after he hears the soft click. fingers tightening around the paper holding the flowers together, he steps in. empty.

what the hell? you should be home right now. it’s Friday—your classes end early and your favorite podcast should be up by now. but you’re not here.

choso’s brows furrow. He peered into the kitchen and checked the downstairs bathroom, the backyard, and even under the stairwell. nothing.

agitation crawls up his neck as hears a muffled noise from upstairs. it's faint; almost impossible to hear, but he’s sure it’s you.

the staircase is barely creaking as he makes his way up insanely slow. his grip on the flowers are tight, almost inhumane as he’s prepared to use them as a weapon. his steps are quick once he reaches the top, deathly silent but still quick as he closes in on the cracked open door of your room. the noises are getting slightly louder, more frantic and they sound less like pain and more like moans. moans..?

choso’s heart cracks once and he stops dead in his tracks. there’s no way. he knows he’s been gone for a long time, but it hasn't been that long, right? fuck—you said you loved him, you said it so many times, you wouldn’t cheat on him so quick. you wouldn’t cheat on him at all. so why are you–

“f-fuck cho.. miss you s-so much..”

oh.

oh.

oh.

the blood flow in Choso’s legs finally picks up once again, and he’s noiselessly pushing himself against the wall right next to your doorpost. he’s craning his head so far to the side, but he can finally see it. he can finally see you. and holy shit, he might have just cum in his pants.

your legs are spread, bed facing the door as your fingers disappear into your cunt. your shirt–his shirt is pulled up right under your chin, leaving your cute tits out in the open as you harshly tug on one of your own nipples.

the view is stupidly mesmerizing, and choso catches himself just before he starts drooling at the sight of you. he’s not even paying attention to how hard he is, he’s completely entranced by every little action. the way your body is twitching, how your fingers are moving, how your eyes are pressed tightly shut as you cry out his name.

choso is genuinely about to lose it. he just wants to crawl over there and eat you whole, in more ways than one. but he’s practically glued to the spot; he’s even holding his breath just to not ruin the moment!

but he’s getting knocked out of his incomprehensible trance when you let out a particularly irritated groan.

it’s so annoying. you haven’t been able to cum once since your boyfriend has been scarce. it’s not like you tried anyway, you’d much rather have him pump your orgasms out of you like he seemed to love doing. but it’s been so long, and you’ve been so sexually frustrated that you had to turn back to playing with yourself like this.

it’s not that you couldn’t call him, you’re almost a hundred percent sure he’d run all the way to you if he was on the other side of the country. but you didn’t want to bother him too much. his schedule has been overflowing with activities and he’s probably so busy, you didn’t want to seem inconsiderate! so you’d settled on seeing him when you knew he was free.

but this is getting way too bad, and you’re sure you’d start losing sight in your left ear if you don’t get it out right now.

so against your better judgment, you’re using your free hand to reach over to your phone, banking on the fact that his voice will be enough to get you off. he doesn’t have to know, right? And plus, you can always tell him later when you feel less guilty.

it doesn’t take long for you to find his name surrounded by hearts in your contact list and you’re calling without a second thought. it takes a couple of seconds before the line actually starts to ring.

the loud noise from Choso’s back pocket startles him so much that he drops the flowers he’s forgotten he’s holding. he’s silently cursing himself amidst the noise of his phone singing out, and now he’s lost on what to do.

you speak first though, voice breathy and low as you call out his name. he bites down on his lower lip, slowly stepping into the entrance of your room. you bite back a laugh despite the obscenity of the whole thing. he looks like a kid who got caught with their chubby hand down the cookie jar, he’s just way too cute!

“were you watching me, cho?”

almost immediately he’s a stuttering mess of excuses and apologies. he swears he didn’t mean to, he just wanted to surprise you—he just got a little carried away!

and you can’t hide your smile as you shut him up, gesturing for him to come closer. you’re sitting up now, more covered than before as your shirt rolls down.

you pat the space beside you, signaling for him to come over. it feels like ages, almost eons when your bed finally dips from his weight, but he’s still so far away. it’s definitely an improvement from the first time he came over, but you need him much closer than he is.

you can see his body tense up as you shift closer. he’s still avoiding your eyes, finding the floor much more interesting than the face of yours he always says he can’t get enough of. your fingers are giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze as he apologizes once again. you’re not upset. nowhere near even—this might have been the best possible outcome. but if he’s all mopey like this, neither of you will get anywhere.

“y’know, i don’t mind you watching me.”

you can feel him physically cringe at your words, but you’re not done just yet.

“so, you can keep watching me, or…”

his eyes finally meet yours after what feels like an eternity, waiting for you to go on. there you go.

“or?”

“…you can help me.”

quite literally, you can see the gears turning in that silly little brain of his. but he’s choosing to forgo an actual response, pressing his lips against yours instead. you can’t help the moan you let flow out of you, and he’s grunting in response, arms closing around you hard so he can push you onto your back once more.

choso’s kisses are heavy and full of need, tongue dancing around yours as his fingers graze the exposed skin of your thighs. you feel so good under his rough palms, he can’t help but try to soften his touch. he doesn’t want to hurt you! after all, you’re his most prized possession. he has to take care of you in every way he can.

and you’re half expecting his fingers to replace yours as they were a couple of minutes ago, but he’s pulling back with a sharp huff. you’re lazily opening your eyes, gaze connecting with his again as you start to notice the tips of his ears are a burning red.

“can i... i want to taste you. please.

even with his eyes still trained on yours, his entire face is flushed. even after all these months, he’s still as nervous as ever.

you offer him a welcoming smile and nod. he’s clearing his throat as he moves away, making quick work of getting his shirt off before settling between your legs.

and he’s a little overwhelmed coming face to face with your pussy like this. he knows you’re watching him, and he’s watching your essence drip out and down your cunt as he thinks. he’s racking his brain, trying to think of the best way to approach this. but your hand guiding the back of his head closer towards your aching heat is all the encouragement he needs.

once his tongue comes in contact with your slick, his eyes fall shut. you gasp at the experimental licks he’s giving you, warmth of his tongue sending jolts all the way down into your toes as he groans at how sweet you taste.

he’s catching on with lightning speed, lightly dipping his tongue into your entrance between every couple of strokes from his tongue. his nose is bumping your clit just right, and you’re tugging at his hair quite harshly as he continues to suck at your hole.

it’s his tongue going deep into your cunt that has you arching off the bed, nails digging into his scalp as your thighs close around his ears. his strong hands are only wrapped around your thighs, locking you tight in place as he ravages his new favorite meal.

and the tip of his tongue is starting to invade your sensitive spots as he fucks it in and out of you, wiggling it around when he’s sure it’s as deep as he can go so you’re arching high off the bed. you’re desperately trying to push him away—you’re not sure you can handle all this! but choso is too far gone; he’ll apologize later. right now, he’s going to get a fill of this flavor he’s been missing out on for weeks.

but even with your pleas and cries, choso doesn’t stop. you’d think he’d gone deaf from how hard your thighs were pressing on his ears. truth is he can hear you loud and clear. he just wants to make sure he gets every single drop of your release down his throat.

he’s only had a sneaky taste of it after he helps you finish on his fingers. when you’re finally off the high and sleeping wrapped in his arms like a baby, he’ll bring his digit to his lips, childishly licking at them to get whatever remnants are on his fingers onto his tongue. but it won’t be long before pangs of guilt and shame cover him, and his hand will settle right by your side.

but now? there’s no way he’s about to give this up. he can feel it. the way you’re tightening around his tongue, how your moans are starting to crack just like they always do.

and he’s right because your thick release is hitting his throat in no time, flooding his mouth as he slurps up every last drop.

when he finally lets you free from his vice grip, you’re both panting and sweaty. his chin is entertained covered in your release. you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can hear how choso is fighting to get rid of his pants next.

it’s not long before Choso’s lips collide with yours in a much softer kiss. he’s been slightly… satiated. but his boner is getting more painful by the second, and he misses the way you envelop him so dearly.

he doesn’t break the kiss as he hooks his elbows under your knees. he’s pushing up, not stopping u til your calves are rested perfectly against his shoulders. he didn’t know you could bend like that. you didn’t know you couldn’t bend like that. but both of your trains of thought are broken when he finally pushes into you. a short string of curses falls from his lips when you clamp down around him just like you always do.

and regardless of how impatient he’s been all this time, choso never fails to fuck you properly. his thrusts are calculated and deep, each one making your entire body twitch under him.

you never fail to give him the praise he deserves either, telling him he’s doing so well they turn his harsh grunts into weak whines.

but he loses all composure when you call him ‘my good boy’. you can swear you hear him sob, but the noise gets drowned out fast by the sound of skin slapping as he picks up the speed of his hips

your eyes are crossing, fingers dipping into his shoulders when his pelvis starts to brush your overstimulated clit. he’s hitting everything so right, deep whispers of your name breezing through your head as he pounds into you.

you’re practically an inch away from getting fucked into a concussion but it’s the least of your worries right now. you’ve missed this—you’ve missed him. it’s the moments where he’s so raw with you, no masks of shame or fear covering how he truly feels that you love the most. this is the cost that you love.

but you’re still a human being, and one with limits. your orgasm is bubbling hard in the pits of your belly, so you’re tightening your own hold on him, mumbling about how you’re getting close. and you barely last another five seconds before a stupidly broken ‘i love you’ falls from your swollen lips.

those three words are sending choso over the edge so fast he can’t help the strangled noise that comes from his throat. those words are pumping energy throughout every vein of his body, and even through his orgasm, he doesn’t stop his movements. his face is digging into your neck as he rides out the rest of his high, tears dripping onto the skin of your collarbone.

you’re so confused when you recover, that you don’t know what to say! all you can do is shush him, dragging your fingers calmly through his messy strands as you try to calm him down. even through his fit, he’s still apologizing and it breaks your heart over and over. all you can do is press a sweet kiss against the side of his face and tell him how cute he looks with his face all wet like this. then he remembers.

he’s returning to your sides within seconds, setting the bouquet carefully in your arms before explaining what it’s supposed to be. they’ve already been out for quite some time though, so you’ll need to take them downstairs to place in a jar before they start to wilt too badly. but you’re in no state to walk like this.

so choso is scooping you up bridal style despite your protests and carrying you down the steps. he only puts you down to place you in front of the kitchen sink as he moves around to find a suitable container. it’s adorable you think, how proactive he is about this. but he’s done pretty quickly, and all you have to do is lean over the basin and push the jar onto the sill.

which you do with a gasp because he’s pressing onto your back, wrapping his arms around your waist. but that’s not what catches you off guard, it’s how hard he is. and with the way his hand is trailing down between your thighs, you know you don’t have long before you’ll be getting filled up again.

if you think you’ve missed him, you have no idea how much he’s missed you. and even with that, he’s so considerate! he knows how tired your legs must be, so he’s keeping you up with his vice-like grip as he fucks into you from behind right in front of the kitchen window. your brain's been turned to mush a long time ago, you don’t even care if your neighbors see you like this. all that’s on your mind is how bruised you’re going to be when choso finally lets up, and how much cum he can pump into you until he has to go for his next practice.

[obsesssedblerd]

“NOOOOOOO!!!” 

At the sound of Yuuji’s terrified scream, you and your boyfriend, Choso, quickly stand up. Before you two can even make it to the living room, you see the four year-old practically flying across the space so he can reach his brother. “Choso!” He cries hysterically, clinging onto him tight when Choso picks him up worriedly, checking him over and searching for any injuries. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I’m here. What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Choso asks soothingly, rubbing a hand up and down his back. 

“He said he’s gonna eat me!!” Yuuji sobs, burying his little face into Choso’s shoulder. 

You sigh disappointedly. You know what happened. At once, their uncle, Ryomen Sukuna, appears at the doorway, his face a little red from laughing. “Yuuji, c’mon, brat. I was just playing with…  Playing with you-” He’s unable to finish his sentence, because he bends over and continues laughing loudly.

You groan. “Really? The poor kid is terrified.” 

“Cho, please don’t let him eat me!!” 

Choso sighs as he strokes the boy’s pink hair, glaring angrily at his uncle. “He’s not gonna eat you, Yuuji. He’s just being a big jerk right now, I promise.” 

Ryomen flashes him a playful grin. “Am I?” 

“Shut up.” Choso snaps. 

“Or what?” Ryomen doesn’t stop. Riling up his nephew brought him so much joy. “Gonna finally fight me? Or are you just going to roll your eyes and walk away like a little b—” 

“Alright, that’s it.” 

In a flash, Choso safely places Yuuji in your arms, then rushes towards him. The two of them fall to the ground fighting, and you sigh as you adjust your hold on the sniffling child. “It’s okay, Yuuji,” you say as you wipe his tears, offering a small smile. “Wanna go get a snack? I went to the store and got your favorite.” 

He looks up at you with his huge brown eyes, tears clinging wetly to his lashes. “Really?” he asks. 

“Mhm.” In the background, Choso and Ryomen continue fighting. You roll your eyes when you hear something fall to the ground and shatter. You kiss Yuuji’s forehead. “Let’s head to the kitchen, then we can go outside and play.” 

“Yay!”

[fastandcarlos]

Helping Hand : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: what was supposed to be a nice dinner for the two of you is ended with fans waiting around. with your nerves growing, max is there to protect you

“There’s a slight problem,” Max whispered across to you as he rejoined you at your table. 

Nervous eyes looked to him as Max took a hold of your hand, unable to sit anywhere near as still as he saw before. “What’s that?” You asked, noticing how panicked he looked. 

“Before I tell you, I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” Max frantically told you, eyes darting everywhere as he tried to find the answer to the problem that he was facing. 

“Max, you’re worrying me,” you sighed. 

He took a deep breath as you squeezed his hand, encouraging his eyes to look across at you. “It turns out some fans have found out where we are and they’re hanging around outside the building.” 

“Shoot,” you muttered. 

Your heart began to quicken, fear racing through your body as you imagined the sights outside. Even just a couple of fans was enough to terrify you, the way they threw themselves at the two of you, particularly Max, and gave you little space. You tried your best to get away whenever possible, constantly worried about what might happen. 

Max could tell as your body tensed that you were panicked, his heart sinking with a feeling of guilt that he was the reason you were feeling this way. 

For him it was part of the job, he wouldn’t say that he was used to it, but he accepted it. You on the other hand, you hadn’t done anything to get all the attention, you couldn’t help who you had fallen in love with. 

“We might not have a choice but to try and race through them.” 

“We’ll do whatever needs to be done,” you weakly smiled, trying your best to assure Max that you were alright. 

“I’ll be there the whole time,” Max insisted, bringing his free hand to cup against the side of your face. “We don’t have to stop and chat, we can just head straight to the car and get home as quick as we can.” 

Your head nodded as Max briefed you on what his plan was, mapping out every stage to keep you safe. He’d had enough unexpected encounters to know exactly how to manage these things. 

“I’m sure we’ll be alright,” you whispered, picking up your bag as Max helped you to your feet. The grip that you had on him was tight as Max neared the door to the restaurant where you had headed for the evening. 

“Stay close,” Max instructed, “I’m right here.” 

As you neared the door with your hand intertwined in with Max’s, the volume quickly got louder, the lights getting brighter. It wasn’t the biggest crowd that you had ever seen, but even just a handful of fans were enough to sometimes do a lot of damage when you least expected it. 

Max’s eyes glanced back at you one final time before opening up the door, moving his hand out of yours and wrapping his arm around your frame instead to shield you. Your body flinched at the high-pitched shrieks that came from beside you as your eyes remained on the floor, making sure that your strides matched Max’s so that you could get to the car at the exact same time. 

You were unaware of Max’s protective eyes on you, refusing to look anywhere else. He weakly smiled at the fans who were trying to get a glimpse of him, focusing on getting you from A to B instead. The driver had the door open as he saw you coming, with Max hurrying you to get inside. 

“Watch your step,” Max told you once you were at the car, holding your hand as he made sure you were in. He rushed behind you and slammed the door shut, immediately watching you relax as the wave of noise quietened down, the fear coursing through your body subsiding at last. 

It took a moment for you to regain your composure as you sat back in your seat, watching Max sit beside you. His hand came down to rest on top of your thigh, squeezing against it gently. His eyes studied you closely, checking you over several times just to make sure that you were alright. 

“You good?” Max questioned as your eyes met his, offering you a warm smile. “I don’t want to tempt fate, but that wasn’t too bad for once.” 

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” you grinned, nudging against his side. “You’re like a man on a mission sometimes when it comes to getting me out of places like that.” Max proudly smiled as you spoke, it was a role that he took incredibly seriously and took pride in doing a good job of it too. 

However, your eyes soon rolled as Max flexed his bicep beside you. “When you’re as ripped as I am, protecting your girlfriend is the easiest job in the world.” 

“Do you hear yourself sometimes? I think I might’ve just got the ick.” 

“I gave you the ick?” 

“Only weirdos brag about how strong they are Max.” 

“After protecting you, I’ve been told I give you the ick and that I’m weird,” Max chuckled, “why do I bother looking after you sometimes? Next time I might just leave you to fend for yourself.” 

“If I was by myself, I’d probably be able to walk without a care in the world.” 

“That’s true,” he whispered, “I guess all of this does happen because of me.” 

“Well, I’m certainly not a world championship winning driver.” 

The car fell silent as your body shifted to glance out of the window as the car set off. Whilst you relaxed yourself again, the words you said played over and over in Max’s mind. It was all because of him that you needed to be protected, without him, you could live a normal life and go about your day without having to worry about someone shouting in your face or a camera going off and blinding you. 

As the journey continued, you could feel how tense Max was beside you, flickering your eyes back to look at him. “What are you thinking?” You asked, noticing the dark shade in his eyes as he stared down at the ground. 

“I just feel bad,” Max admitted as he looked up and across to you. “These things don’t happen to normal people, you never asked for any of this, to have to be shielded to keep yourself safe to simply be able to leave a restaurant in peace.” 

Your eyes narrowed as he spoke, his voice full of sincerity, a rare occasion for Max. You could see in his expression how concerned he was, wondering whether keeping up with his lifestyle was something you could truly see yourself doing. 

“You don’t need to feel bad Max.” 

His head shook back across at you, “I do feel bad though, it’s because of me that this is why your life is like this.” 

“I know, but why do you think I live like this? Because it means that I get to be with you Max,” you smiled, taking a hold of his hand. 

A soft sigh came from Max as he shuffled closer towards you, allowing his head to rest down on top of yours. “I wish that I could be with you and not have to worry about your safety all the time.” 

The corners of your mouth turned up as Max allowed his feelings to pour out of him. “It would be nice, but that’s not the way it’s ended up. And I’m alright with that. Just as long as I have you.” 

“Really?” Max queried, “do you really never think about going back to how your life used to be?” 

“My life without you? You must be joking,” you scoffed, “despite all that, this is the happiest that I’ve ever been, and that’s all down to you.” 

Max hummed, finally believing in what you said to him. “Even though I can give you the ick sometimes?” 

“Even with the ick, you’re still the best.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[casssmalefantasy]

lucky number one - paige bueckers x oc!

s: you’ve been best friends with paige bueckers since you were ten. she just won a national championship, is about to be the number one pick in the draft, and is everything she’s ever dreamed of being. but tonight, she only wants to show you one thing—that she knows exactly who’s been there with her through it all.

w: smut (18+), sub!paige, alcohol, language, suggestive/explicit content, softdom reader, mutual pining, friends to lovers, years of built-up tension finally snapping, childhood best friends with so much history, lots of touching/flirting, emotional vulnerability, fluff + filth

word count: 6.9K (yeah it’s a long one)

author’s note: draft day! just wanna say so proud of paige and can’t wait to watch her in the wnba. go dallas wings 😋

you didn’t make it to the championship.

you tried—really tried—but life’s messy sometimes. your internship extended last-minute. your mom’s birthday landed on the same weekend. flights were outrageous, and honestly, you didn’t want to take away from paige’s moment by getting on a last minute flight, so instead, you sent her a four-minute long voice memo, followed by a bouquet of her favorite flowers and a text that read:

just win. then we’ll celebrate in new york like we always said we would.

and she did.

of course she did.

—

you were packing your suitcase when she called, her name popping up with that stupid contact photo of her from freshman year—smiling through a mouthful of froyo and barely holding her phone up.

“yo,” you answer, on speaker. “you alive?”

“barely,” her voice is a breathy groan. “new york. storrs. new york. hartford. back to new york tomorrow. i’m gonna combust.”

“damn,” you grin. “you really hate being famous, huh?”

“shut up,” she laughs, and you can practically hear her flopping into a hotel bed. “i miss you.”

your chest tightens. “you saw me like, two weeks ago.”

“too long,” she murmurs. “new york’s not gonna be the same until you’re in it.”

you roll your eyes, smile curling at your lips. “you always this flirty before the draft?”

“just with you,” she fires back, quick and easy.

you’ve known her since you were ten—rec league basketball, both of you too tall and too fast for your own good. you were paired up for dribbling drills and hated each other for half the season. but something shifted during a snow day makeup game, when she passed you the ball for the game-winner and tackled you in a sweaty hug before you could even react. been best friends ever since.

best friends who talked every night.
best friends who held hands under blankets.
best friends who almost kissed in the backseat of your mom’s car that one summer.
best friends who never talked about it.

until now. maybe.

—

you land in new york two days later.

paige demanded—her words, not yours—that you stay in her hotel suite. she’s not there yet, still in hartford for the uconn parade, but she left your name at the desk and made sure everything was set up.

paige buckets

paige: text me when you land. and when you get to the room. and when you lock the door. actually just facetime me. i miss your face.

you do. she answers with geno in the background yelling at someone about parking. azzi waves from the passenger seat.

“you safe?” she asks, eyes soft.

“yeah,” you say, smiling. “room’s huge. kinda lonely without you, though.”

she hums. “few more hours.”

you wander while you wait.

grab coffee. hit up a bookstore. text azzi to check up on paige, assuming she might be sleep in the car to answer. and get a long, sappy response back about how paige is good and how she’s lucky to have you.

it makes your throat tight. you don’t say it, but there was a time when you thought maybe it was azzi and paige. when their chemistry on the court bled off of it, when their inside jokes got too private, when you found yourself jealous and you hated that feeling.

but it was never like that. not really.

paige always made space for you. always answered. always showed up.

—

she shows up again, hours later.

hair tied back, hoodie slung low, tired eyes but a sleepy smile just for you. you let her in, and she drops her bag, instantly wrapping her arms around your waist.

“hi,” she mumbles into your neck.

“hey,” you whisper back.

neither of you moves for a while.

you talk that night. about the draft. the future. texas.

“i’ve never even been to dallas,” she admits.

“you’ll learn it,” you say. “you learn everything.”

she glances at you. “wish i knew what was gonna happen next.”

you don’t ask what she means. she doesn’t clarify.

—

draft day hits like a wave.

you wake up to a glam team at the door—hair, makeup, and paige’s stylist, brittany, ready with a pulled look just for you.

“she said to make sure you matched,” brittany smirks, holding up a sleek, black dress and chrome accessories. “like, matched matched.”

“she’s insane,” you mutter—but you still wear it.

when she sees you, her jaw goes slack.

“you look... wow,” she says, eyes dragging down and back up. “like, real pretty. dangerously pretty.”

you smirk. “you’re not so bad yourself, number one.”

she’s in an all-black suit, cut sharp and cropped at the waist, paired with an expensive top that leaves just enough skin. she looks like money and power and something you want under your hands.

“you look good,” you say.

“i know,” she teases—but her ears go pink.

at the draft, the lights are blinding.

paige looks calm, collected, nodding at people, shaking hands, posing for photos. but you know her. the way she tugs on her thumb ring. the slight bounce in her shoe. she’s nervous.

you squeeze her hand under the table.

“with the number one overall pick in the 2025 wnba draft... the dallas wings select... paige bueckers from the university of connecticut.”

you swear you don’t breathe until she stands.

the rest is a blur—hugs, cameras, the walk across the stage. you wipe a tear before anyone sees.

��

the after party is chaos.

paige changed into a fitted black crop top and slacks, her chain catching in the light. she’s laughing, flushed, dancing with teammates, drink in hand.

she hasn’t stopped touching you.

a hand at your waist. her fingers brushing your thigh. her mouth too close to your ear when she says, “you looked so good tonight. might be the reason i got drafted.”

“stop,” you laugh.

“i won’t,” she says.

later, she leans in, warm and tipsy.

“i want you,” she murmurs, lips barely grazing your jaw.

you freeze. “what?”

“you heard me.”

your heart trips. “paige—what do you mean?”

she grins, smug. “you know what i mean.”

—

she stumbles into the hotel room first, laughing as she kicks her shoes off, one hand still tangled in yours.

“you’re drunk,” you tease, shutting the door behind you.

“i’m happy,” she corrects, spinning around to face you. cheeks flushed. pupils blown. she looks fucking gorgeous.

“and loud,” you say, taking a step forward.

she doesn’t back away.

“and maybe a little needy.”

you raise an eyebrow. “needy, huh?”

she bites her lip. steps closer. the tension has been building all night—hell, for years—and now it’s finally about to snap.

“you looked so good tonight,” she murmurs. “like... fuck, you don’t even know.”

you smile, slow and dangerous, backing her toward the bed. “oh, i know.”

she lets out a breathy laugh as her knees hit the edge of the mattress. you push her back gently until she’s sitting, legs spread just a little, hands at her sides.

“take your top off,” you say, voice low.

her eyes go wide—but she listens. always listens to you. fingers slipping beneath the hem of her crop top, dragging it up over her head. her breath catches when you lean in and press a kiss just under her jaw.

“you’re so pretty,” you whisper.

“so are you,” she says quickly. like it bursts out of her. “like... fuck. i’ve wanted this forever.”

you kiss her before she can say anything else—deep, wet, messy. you climb into her lap, straddling her, grinding down just enough to make her whimper. her hands find your hips. you grab her wrists.

“uh uh,” you smirk. “you don’t get to be in control tonight.”

her whole body shivers.

“lay back.”

she obeys.

you kiss down her chest, slow, dragging your tongue between her breasts, mouthing at her skin until she’s squirming. her breath stutters when you suck a bruise into her ribcage. when you pull her pants down, she lifts her hips for you like she’s been waiting her whole life.

“fuck,” she whispers, eyes fluttering. “please...”

you raise an eyebrow. “please what?”

she swallows. “please touch me.”

you push her thighs apart and press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “use your words.”

“i want your mouth,” she says in one breath. “please. i need you.”

“i got you baby,” you murmur, grinning.

when you finally press your tongue to her pussy, she gasps—sharp and desperate. her hips buck up immediately, but you pin her down, arms hooked around her thighs, keeping her open for you.

“fuck—fuck, please—” she moans, eyes glassy, head thrown back.

you hum into her, tongue flicking fast over her clit, then slow again—just to hear her whine. she grabs a pillow, covers her mouth, like she’s trying to stay quiet. you pull off just long enough to look up at her.

“you better let me hear you.”

she whimpers. nods. “i will—i promise, just—don’t stop—”

“i don’t plan on it.”

you keep going until her thighs are shaking and she’s begging, voice hoarse, gasping your name like a prayer. when she comes, it’s loud and messy—her whole body trembling, fingers clutching the sheets, her face twisted in pleasure.

you crawl up her body, kissing her as she catches her breath. her lips are soft, slow against yours, like she’s thanking you without words.

“you okay?” you whisper against her mouth.

“that was so hot i think i blacked out.”

you laugh into her shoulder. “you’re so dramatic.”

she pulls you down beside her, still breathing hard. “i’m in love with you.”

you smile. “i know.”

“and you’re mine now, right?”

you kiss her again. “was always yours.”

[imgoodimhealthy]

if i was your boyfriend n.jm

pairings. jaemin x fem reader

genre. smut, r18+

tags. cheating involved (yn cheated), mention of mark as bf, semi public sex, fingering, pet names, degradation (whore, slut, etc.) slight dacryphilia, jaemin's a mean guy at the end, ass smacking, etc

request.

your relationship with mark has always felt like the purest thing in your life. you promised yourself to keep everything simple, no unnecessary worries, no doubts, because honestly, mark is the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. he treats you with kindness, always making you feel loved and secure. he’s thoughtful, caring, and everything you’ve ever wished for and more.

but lately, things have started to feel... different.

it wasn’t something you could easily point out at first, but the feeling lingered. it stuck to you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. especially after mark introduced you to jaemin, one of his old friends. you never really minded meeting his friends before, chenle, jisung, renjun. they were all kind and welcoming. but this time, something felt off.

something you couldn’t quite ignore.

you were at a small party in someone’s cramped apartment, probably another one of mark’s friends. music hummed through the room, and people were scattered across the space, chatting, laughing, drinking. the smell of alcohol and snacks mixed in the air. mark held your hand as he guided you through the crowd, stopping when he spotted someone.

“this is jaemin,” mark said, his voice light. “we’ve been friends since high school. he’s kinda been around since, well, forever.” he chuckled, moving to stand beside the guy.

your gaze flicked to jaemin, taking him in. he was undeniably good-looking, with sharp features and a smile that almost felt too perfect. he wore a simple white shirt, but it didn’t hide how well-built he was. his shoulders were broad, his posture relaxed but confident. the way he held himself made him seem effortlessly charismatic.

your stare broke when he smiled, a bright, radiant grin that felt like it could disarm anyone.

“hi, y/n, right?” he extended his hand toward you, voice smooth.

for a second, you didn’t move. you just looked at him, caught in something you didn’t understand. it wasn’t attraction — not exactly. more like... curiosity. or maybe a strange sense of unease.

mark didn’t notice the pause, just watching you with his usual gentle expression, assuming you were just shy around new people.

slowly, you reached out and shook jaemin’s hand, but the handshake lingered longer than necessary. the warmth of his palm pressed against yours, and his grip was firm but not too tight. his eyes stayed locked on yours, studying your face as if he were trying to read every thought running through your head. it made your stomach twist, and you looked away, pulling your hand back quickly.

mark cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “so, uh... i hope you guys get along,” he said, voice carrying a hint of awkwardness.

jaemin didn’t break eye contact right away. he glanced at you from head to toe, the look subtle but noticeable. like he was assessing you. or maybe... checking you out.

“of course, we will,” jaemin muttered, but there was something in his tone that made you tense. something mark didn’t catch — but you did. it wasn’t the words themselves, but the way he said them. like there was a hidden meaning buried beneath them. maybe you were overthinking it. or maybe you weren’t.

then, without another word, jaemin turned and walked away, slipping into the crowd to join his other friends.

mark squeezed your hand, offering a reassuring smile. “don’t worry, he’s a nice guy. he just got back from busan, so he’s probably tired. usually, he’s super loud and funny. you’ll get along with him, i’m sure.”

you tried to smile back, but it felt forced. because even after mark’s reassurance, the weird feeling in your chest didn’t fade. if anything, it grew stronger.

days passed by slowly, filled with gatherings and parties. being around mark and his friends didn’t feel as exhausting as before — maybe because something felt different now. maybe because you felt different.

jaemin sat at the same table as you, laughing and talking with the others. his eyes crinkled as he chuckled at a joke, nodding along. he seemed relaxed, leaning back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly tapping on the table.

but every now and then, you felt his gaze. the weight of it lingered, enough to make your skin prickle. and every time you turned to check, he was already looking away, acting like nothing happened. like he wasn’t watching you.

it felt like a silent game. a chase with no end.

you didn’t know why you were so caught up in it. maybe it was the excitement? the danger of getting caught? or maybe it was something else entirely — something about him that made it impossible to pull away.

"i'll smoke," jaemin suddenly said, standing up and patting a friend's shoulder before walking off.

you watched as he disappeared through the crowd. he smokes? since when?

without thinking, the words left your mouth. "i'll just go to the bathroom." you mumbled, already rising to your feet.

mark briefly glanced your way, brows slightly furrowed, but quickly turned back when someone called his name.

you pushed through the crowd, scanning faces, searching. you knew who you were looking for. and you hated yourself for it.

why were you like this? you already had mark — the best guy you could ask for. but no matter how hard you tried to stay still, your heart was already moving in another direction.

towards jaemin.

you found him outside, standing in the yard. he wasn’t smoking. instead, he was on a call, phone pressed to his ear. one hand rested in his pocket, the other lazily holding the phone.

he noticed you immediately. his eyes flicked towards the backdoor, catching your figure.

"yeah, i'll go later," he said into the phone before hanging up. he slipped the device into his pocket, then turned fully to face you.

he scanned the area briefly, making sure no one else was around.

"found your way again, huh?" he muttered, voice low as he looked at you, amusement lacing his words.

you shifted on your feet, rubbing your arm. "i was just... trying to get some air," you lied, though you were sure he could see right through you.

jaemin tilted his head slightly. "am i part of that air?" he asked, half-teasing, half-serious.

you bit your lip, heart thudding in your chest.

"it's cold out here. let's head inside," he said, already turning to leave, but you stepped forward, stopping him.

"can you drive me home?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them. you didn’t even know why you said it. maybe you wanted more time with him. maybe you just wanted him.

jaemin stilled, glancing back at you. "drive you home?" he repeated, eyes narrowing. "where’s your boyfriend?"

"he's drinking," you answered, scratching the back of your neck, feeling small under his gaze. the tension made your skin prickle, and you immediately regretted being this bold.

he stared at you for a moment, eyes unreadable. then he nodded. "alright."

he turned and walked towards the street, hands in his pockets, leading you to where his car was parked. you trailed behind him, your heart hammering louder with each step.

when he reached the car, he pulled the door open for you. but before you could step in, he spoke again.

"does he know?" his voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the cold night air like a knife.

you blinked, confused. "a-about?"

jaemin let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "about me driving you home. or are there... other things he should know about?" he raised a brow, watching your reaction closely.

your throat went dry, and you shook your head quickly. "no, i-i'll just tell him later," you stammered before slipping into the passenger seat, your face burning.

he shut the door gently and made his way to the driver’s side, slipping in and starting the engine. the car smelled faintly of something clean, but not overpowering. the dim lights of the dashboard cast a soft glow, illuminating his face as he tapped on his phone to pull up directions.

"where do you live?" he asked, voice low and steady.

"second ave," you whispered, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. you glanced around the car, trying to distract yourself. it was tidy — no sign of anyone else being in here. no perfume scent lingering. no stray hair ties or lip gloss.

just him.

the drive was quiet. the silence hung heavy between you, and with every passing second, guilt started to seep in. it clawed at your chest, making it hard to breathe.

you felt ashamed. you felt wrong.

you had a boyfriend. you loved mark. but here you were, sitting in jaemin's car, chasing after something you couldn’t even name.

this wasn’t who you thought you’d become. this wasn’t what you pictured for yourself.

but the truth was, it didn’t matter anymore.

because you were already here.

and that thrill, the endless chase, the lingering glances, the unspoken tension — you never thought it would lead to this. all those moments, all those excuses, you weren’t doing it just for the rush. you were doing it because you wanted something. something you couldn’t name, or maybe something you were too scared to admit.

guilt. longing. fear. excitement.

this wasn’t just a harmless game anymore.

you wanted him.

and that terrified you more than anything else.

you couldn't help but hold onto the wall, his one arm over your neck and the other hanging around your body. "you want this, don't you?" he breathes into your ear.

you felt disgusted, yet you couldn't stop feeling the dampness on your panties. you closed your eyes, praying that no one outside the room would hear anything.

you are in the middle of a party with other people, including mark, who is hanging around outside this room. and you're here.

he slammed his palm over your mouth while removing your shorts with his other hand, "be fucking quiet, whore." his voice deep, not bothering to drop them any farther as he dragged you to the couch and pushed you to sit there.

"let's be quick so your boyfriend doesn't suspect a thing, hm?" he smiled as he tugged strands of your hair, causing you to whirl around and collapse against the couch, your hands immediately seeking the armrest for support as you were pushed deeper into the mattress.

"be a good girl and keep your mouth shut, yeah?" he murmured beside your ears, pulling your panties down—smacking your ass with his enormous hands, making a sound that echoed throughout the room.

you attempted to bite your bottom lip to muffle the sound of your own cries, tears welling up in your eyes.

as he slides his hand down between your thighs, you can feel his other hand drawing you closer to the couch's mattress, causing your back to arch.

he gently caressed your folds, his fingers finding their way to your most sensitive spot. rubbing your clit.

"you're so wet.. what would your boyfriend think, letting his best friend fuck you?" he chuckled deeply.

"…in the same house too," he trailed off, his laughter deep and wide. as he inserted two fingers within you, you felt their depth and moaned in response. you closed your eyes and gasped for air. he started thrusting it while circling your clit with his thumb without even warning you.

as he licked the back of your ear, goosebumps and shivers ran down your spine.

you were confused about your emotions; was it lust? disgust and embarrassment?

you know you love mark so much, but fuck. you also love how jaemin's destroying you right now.

your ass arched slightly, and your thighs flinched as his fingers curled precisely. "you like that? what a fucking slut." jaemin asks as his other hand smacks your thigh.

whispering softly, he curls his knuckles together. "you felt… that?" he says, his voice filled with anticipation.

suddenly, he thrusts his fingers too deep, curling them as well.you tightly grip onto any support you can find, you bite your lip, and you close your eyes. "i'm... i'm cumming."

"fuck... cum for me." your mind goes blank and your eyes go white as he grunts and smoothly fingers you, massaging your clit with his thumb.

you clench onto his fingers as you orgasmed, earning a small groan from him, your body trembles. planting a gentle kiss on your neck, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you to grip onto nothing but air.

[f1girliefics]

Between The Lines

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Warning: SMUT +18!

Summary: After a storm grounds all flights from Barcelona, you and Carlos Sainz are forced to share the last available hotel room. 

You’ve always found Carlos Sainz infuriating, his cocky smirks, his competitive nature, his ability to get under your skin without even trying.

But when a storm traps you together in a single hotel room overnight, the barriers between you start to crumble. 

With the rain pounding against the windows, secrets slip between the cracks, and maybe, just maybe, the storm outside isn’t the only one you’ll have to weather.

The airport buzzes with frustration, voices rising above the sound of torrential rain hammering against the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Flights flicker across the departures board, each status changing to the same dreaded word, CANCELED.

You sigh, tugging your suitcase closer as you check your phone for alternatives. 

No trains, no rental cars available. You’re stuck in Barcelona for the night.

The groan of frustration beside you is one you recognize all too well.

Carlos Sainz.

You don’t even have to look to know he’s standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight with annoyance. Of course, out of all the people in this airport, it’s him, the man who’s spent the past few months making your life at Ferrari more complicated than it needs to be.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

Carlos turns at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes narrowing the moment they land on you. “Perfect,” he says dryly. “This night just keeps getting better.”

“Trust me, I feel the same way.”

The airline announces that passengers should seek accommodations until further notice, and that’s when the real problem begins. Hotels are booking up fast, and by the time you both reach the nearest one, there’s only one room left.

One bed.

You and Carlos exchange a look, equal parts disbelief and horror.

“Not happening,” you say at the same time.

The receptionist, unimpressed, simply raises a brow. “It’s this or the airport floor.”

Carlos mutters something in Spanish under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Then, reluctantly, he pulls out his card.

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, the tension in the air thickens. 

The room is smaller than you expected. The bed is the worst part of all.

Carlos tosses his bag onto the armchair and turns to you. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You raise a brow. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll wake up sore and useless for the next race.”

“Then what do you suggest?” His tone is sharp, but there’s something unreadable in his expression, something almost unsure.

You inhale. “We’re adults. We can share a bed without it being a big deal.”

Carlos scoffs, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he tugs off his jacket and collapses onto the mattress with a groan. 

You hesitate before doing the same, keeping as much distance as possible.

Outside, the storm rages on. Inside, the silence stretches.

At some point, sleep becomes impossible.

Carlos shifts beside you, exhaling sharply. “You’re tense,” he murmurs.

“You’re awake?”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Hard to sleep when you keep sighing every five seconds.”

You roll onto your side, facing him in the dim light. “This is the longest we’ve been in the same room without arguing.”

He hums in agreement, his gaze flickering over your face. “Maybe because there’s no one else to impress.”

That makes you pause. “Is that what you think this is? That I argue with you for show?”

Carlos is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t know how to act around you.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your throat tighten.

You shift closer, just a fraction. “Carlos…”

His eyes meet yours in the dark.

Something cracks open between you, something unspoken but heavy, pressing against your ribs. 

He’s so close now, his scent pulling you in.

And then, in the quiet space between thunderclaps, he lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face. It’s such a small gesture, but it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “The feeling is mutual.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “Maybe not in the way I thought.”

His fingers trail down, barely touching your cheek, lingering just long enough for you to know, this is different. This is real.

And before you can stop yourself, before you can talk yourself out of it, you close the distance.

The kiss is slow, testing, like neither of you quite believe this is happening. His lips are warm, careful, and then, when he realizes you’re not pulling away, more confident. He tastes like something dangerous, something impossible to forget.

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.

“Dios mío,” he whispers, a small laugh in his voice.

You smile. “What?”

“I think we’re going to have a problem.”

Outside, the storm still rages. But in here, in this bed, with his hands tangled in yours, you’ve never felt safer.

The air between you crackles, charged with something far heavier than just unresolved tension.

Carlos is still so close, his breath fanning over your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as if he’s trying to ground himself. 

But you can feel it, the way his fingers twitch against your skin, the way his chest rises and falls unevenly.

You don’t know who moves first. 

Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him. 

But the moment your lips meet again, it’s no longer hesitant, no longer careful. It’s needy. Starved. 

The dam has broken, and there’s no stopping it now.

Carlos groans low in his throat as he rolls you onto your back, his body pressing flush against yours. His weight is solid, and grounding, and yet it sets you on fire. 

His hands, rough and warm, skim down your sides, gripping at your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“Mierda,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with something primal. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

You barely have time to process his words before he kisses you again, deeper this time. 

His tongue sweeps against yours, demanding until you’re gasping into his mouth. There’s nothing slow about it now, just heat, friction, and the need to get closer.

Your hands slide under his shirt, feeling the tight muscle beneath as he shivers under your touch. 

And then, with a frustrated growl, he pulls back just long enough to take it off.

Your breath catches. 

He’s beautiful. Tan skin, a chest rising and falling with barely restrained need, dark eyes burning as they roam over you.

“Take this off,” he rasps, tugging at your shirt.

Your hands shake as you obey, and the second your bare skin is exposed, Carlos is on you again. 

His mouth trails down your jaw, and your throat, pausing only to nip at the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you whimper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound almost reverent as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You tug him down to you, nails digging into his back as you arch under him. “Then don’t waste time,” you whisper, breath hitching as his teeth scrape against your collarbone.

That seems to snap something inside him.

Carlos groans, his mouth claiming every inch of skin he can reach as his hands push down the waistband of your shorts, his fingers dragging over your thighs, igniting every nerve ending in their wake. His kisses turn desperate, messy, as if he’s afraid he’ll never get another chance.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes against your skin, his voice wrecked.

“I do,” you gasp, back arching when his fingers slip between your legs. “Carlos, please.”

That’s all it takes.

The rest of your clothes disappear in a blur of hurried hands and whispered curses. 

And when he finally presses against you, when he sinks into you in one slow, breathtaking movement, you both let out a loud moan.

The stretch, the heat, it’s overwhelming, perfect. 

Carlos stills for a moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath ragged.

“Dios mío,” he groans. “You feel-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. 

His lips crash into yours as he starts to move, slow at first, as if savouring every second. But then you shift your hips, meeting his thrust, and something inside him cracks.

His grip tightens, his movements turning desperate, almost wild. Every roll of his hips pulls a new sound from your lips, every deep thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Carlos is everywhere. 

His mouth on your skin, his hands roaming, his voice rough with pleasure as he murmurs your name like a prayer.

“Look at me,” he pants, his nose brushing against yours.

You force your eyes open, and the sight nearly undoes you, Carlos, completely undone, his lips parted, his brows furrowed in pleasure, his dark eyes drinking in every reaction you give him.

The coil in your stomach tightens, your nails digging into his back as you gasp, “Carlos-”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice softer now, his pace turning deliberate, focused. “Let go for me, cariño.”

And when you do, when the pleasure crashes over you like a wave, Carlos follows with a groan, his grip on you tight as he buries himself as deep as he can.

The only sound left in the room is your ragged breathing, the storm still raging outside, but inside this room, everything feels calm.

Carlos presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his side, and pulling you into his chest. 

His hand traces lazy circles over your back, grounding you, keeping you close.

After a moment, he chuckles breathlessly. “So… we’re definitely not sleeping now.”

You laugh, still dazed, as you bury your face in his neck. “Guess we’re making the most of this storm.”

Carlos grins, tilting your chin up for another kiss. “Damn right, we are.”

[kentosovertime]

𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔞 - (n.) the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life; spiritual conversion

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box✨ ☽ nanami is desperate to win back his ex wife ☽ cw: explicit content, alcohol, jealousy

“Where do you think you’re going?” He questions, annoyed as you stalk around your walk-in closet for an outfit. His shirt lays open, only half buttoned since he stripped his tie off at the door.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Ken.” You sigh as you cock your head to the side, sliding an earring in before doing the other. “I didn’t invite you over.” 

“We both know I’m over here every night.” He tries to remind you, following you as you grab a dress off the hanger. 

“We’re divorced.” You point out the obvious as you jump into a skin tight black dress, smoothing it out over your curves. You rotate in front of the mirror, checking yourself from all angles. You decide it's more than passable. You had worn this on one of your first dates with him, and from the look he’s giving you he’s remembering it well… and how it ended up on the floor by the end of that night. “And it’s just a date. Though I’d appreciate it if you were gone by the time I get home.” 

You know he’s upset by the insinuation of what you would be doing after this date. If you were being honest, you didn’t see it going that far with the coworker who asked you out, but you never know. And you love how it makes Ken squirm as he pictures your night time activities without him. 

As you turn he crowds your space, backing you into the closet door with his proximity. 

“I don’t appreciate your disregard of-” he starts, his voice a low, gravelly growl. 

“Disregard of what?” Your eyes flare with anger as you push him away from you. “How does it feel to be the afterthought for once, Ken?” 

It had taken divorcing him to open his eyes. By the time he was ready to fight for you, to put work and promotions aside, you were already too far gone for him to reach. And you had let him go… in every way but physically. It was always the one area the two of you never had any issues in, and if anything it was even better now with the taste of desperation he brought to the interactions.

But you need more than sex. That was why you were finally ripping off the band-aid. 

“You’re… you’re not.” He stumbles, thrown off. Normally you’d let him pin you to the nearest surface and fuck you senseless. 

“I wish I believed you.” You push past him, making your way to the rack of shoes, picking a strappy pair of heels. 

“How can I prove that to you if you won’t let me?” He asks with a hint of desperation. You admit it pulls at your heartstrings, but that’s what has kept him hanging around for so long. 

You’ve stopped asking him to prove it a long time ago and you don’t know if you can’t ever get back to where you were at the beginning of your marriage. But at the thought of him stopping fighting for you, a pit forms in your stomach. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You sigh and kick off your shoes, stumbling slightly from the alcohol bleeding through your system. The night had gone well. Well enough to have him ask you out to another date later this week… you however, were still on the fence. 

Why couldn’t you just move on? 

“Where’s lover boy?” You hear Ken’s voice slur from your living room. The lamp on the side table flicks on and he’s leaning there, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He swirls it absentmindedly before knocking the liquid back and staring at you. 

“I never said he was coming over, Ken.” You curse him silently, drunk again and it's because of you. The drinking had started after you presented him with the divorce papers. On the nights he came over like this it always ended with him having his way with you. “I told you not to be here when I got back.” 

You march into your apartment, setting your purse and the bouquet of roses on your kitchen island as you shed your jewelry, too lazy and fed up to make it to your bedroom. You knew what would happen if you unintentionally lured him into that space. 

“The hell are these?” He mutters, his body suddenly caging you against the counter. His large hands grasp around the flowers, lifting them with disgust evident on his handsome face. 

You snatch them out of his hands reflexively, setting them back on the counter until you can get a vase for them to live in on your dining room table. You turn, facing where he has you pinned anger written on your face. 

“Do you get off on-” Your angry words are cut off when his hands grasp your cheeks and pull you forward, laying a desperate kiss on your lips. When you try to push him away, his free hand snakes around your waist and hauls you close to him as kneads your hips in the way that makes you go boneless. 

“You want flowers?” He pulls away, taking deep breaths as he lays his forehead against yours. “I can do that.” 

“K-ken-” He doesn’t allow you to protest as he dives back in, fiery and slow to make you savor how he feels pressed against you. His tongue dances with yours and he swallows your needy whimpers, the kiss fueling a fire inside of you. 

“You want fancy dinners?” He pants, dipping down to lift you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I can give you that.” 

You hungrily meet his lips this time and he walks you towards your bedroom, gently laying you on the mattress. You haul him down, sighing as his weight settles on top of you. He slides closer, using his legs to spread your knees open. 

“You’re not wearing this for anyone else again.” He growls low, ripping your dress down the middle so he can kiss and suck down your neck. He makes his way down your body, crooning at you as he makes his way to his destination. 

You gasp and fist his hair, keeping him close to your body. Your dress hangs from your body as your chest heaves when he kisses you through your panties. 

“Let me make you feel good.” He hums, lapping at your cloth covered sex. “Let me be yours.” 

“Ken- We can’t-” Your whimpers cut you off and you hear a loud ripping sound as Kento throws your ruined thong over his shoulder before spreading you open by your thighs. His fingers dig into his curves, as if holding himself back. 

“We can.” He insists, testing the waters with a slow lick up your center, pulling a gasp from you. “You can let yourself want this.” 

He doesn’t let you respond as he sucks down on your clit. Slowly he presses his fingers into you and builds you up steadily, letting you feel the attention he’s promising to give you if you take him back. Your back arches, pressing your center into him as you try to ride his face. He wraps his free arm around you, pinning your hips to the mattress so he can control the pace. 

You find yourself breaking down, showered with all this affection. You can see yourself giving in to his demands, see him loving you again. Any protests you have die as you come apart on fingers and tongue. Your body spasms, shaking as he works you through your high, bringing you down gently until you're boneless and satisfied. 

You feel the bed rustle as he stands, taking the image of your sated form as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, dropping it to the ground with his pants and boxers. The bed dips again as he kneels on the surface. His form dips, gathering you by your hips to haul you towards the edge of the bed. 

“P-please.” You plead needily, your will broken, needing him to fill the void left inside of you by his absence. 

The head of his cock trails through your center and gently presses past your entrance as he shushes your whimpers. No matter how many times you had been with him, you never quite got used to his size. It leaves you limp, panting as the burn subsides. He takes pity on you this time, easing you into it as he rocks his length back and forth, making you feel the slide of every inch an and out of you. 

“Say it, sweetheart.” He coos, taking a hand and forcing you to keep eye contact as his hips roll into you, clapping in a steady rhythm. 

“N-need…” Your eyes flutter, watering at the tightening feeling in your stomach. “Need you, Ken- Please stay-” 

He moans at your words, seemingly letting them sink into his alcohol riddled mind. He leans in, kissing you roughly as his hands clasp both of yours, holding you as his thrust turn hard while keeping the same slow pace. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart. Cum for me.” He slides your hands up above your head, holding them down with one hand as he expertly circles your clit just the way you like it. 

White explodes in your vision and your legs lace around his waist, pulling him deep while you clench around him. He burrows his face into your neck, biting into your skin with a groan as your climax triggers his. You whimper and hold him close, your walls in ruins, your heart craving the love that only he can give you. 

“Please stay.” You murmur again against his skin, like you won’t change your mind in the morning, like you won’t do this song and dance again. 

“I’ll never leave you.”

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @silversslut @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @rafzaha @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @katgalle @honeyyjems @tsukikoxo @adequate-superstar @thytourturedpoet [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

[dexteri0us]

i know i haven't been perfect, but give it some time; 'cause not a single day goes by where you don't cross my mind

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: fluff, injuries (burns and cuts), louis greene, and you know... dexter's dark passenger

summary: requested: "dexter being super protective of you and when he finds out someone hurt you he immediately starts hunting him to kill him"

w/c: 5.5k

a/n: spoiler alert? it made me sad that dexter didn't get to kill louis, so here we go.

Louis is taking me to the hospital. Don’t freak out. Lab mishap.

You pressed send and the text appeared in a blue bubble, under it, there was a Delivered sign that quickly turned into Read.

Which hospital?

Jackson Memorial.

I’m on my way.

You didn’t really like it when people fussed over you. It felt unnecessary and only brought you discomfort most of the time. But this time, you couldn’t deny the relief knowing Dexter would meet you at the hospital.

“Who are you texting?” Came the voice from the driver’s seat.

You cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “My boyfriend.”

“Dexter?” Louis asked with a feigned curiosity.

You couldn’t stand him anymore; he was such a fake asshole it was physically hurting you. And today was honestly the last straw.

You’d spent the better part of your morning setting up your experiment, testing your final samples. The data was supposed to solidify your findings and allow you to finish your thesis.

Everything was in place, your samples loaded into the centrifuge as you triple-checked everything. Everything. The protocol, the settings on the centrifuge, spinning the rotor with your hand, ensuring that it was balanced and the lid was closed tight.

Louis had been hovering all the fucking time. You had tried to ignore him, but you couldn’t exactly tell him to go fuck himself. The lab at your school was a shared space.

“You really think you’re going to finish today?” He’d mocked you. But that didn’t throw you off. You knew you were, because you were prepared.

But then you stepped away from the centrifuge for just five seconds to retrieve your laptop. When you returned, you put the laptop next to the machine and pressed the start button on the centrifuge, causing it to whir to life, the rotor spinning faster and faster. Then suddenly, a sharp, metallic clunk echoed in the room, followed by a horrific screech. The centrifuge rattled violently and the lid flew open. Glass shards and liquid shot out like shrapnel and you barely had time to shield your face with your arm.

The pain was instant. A jagged piece of glass sliced across your forearm, and a burning sensation spread where the liquid splashed onto your skin.

“Shit!” Louis exclaimed, rushing forward with exaggerated concern. “Are you okay?”

You just clutched your arm, blood seeping between your fingers. The burn on your forearm throbbed, angry red splotches already forming. Your vision suddenly became blurred with tears of pain and frustration combined, but you held them back. You were not going to cry in school.

The commotion drew others into the lab, including your supervisor. And of course, Louis was quick to throw you under the bus. And, okay, you weren't wearing your lab coat, but nobody really was if they did something as simple as loading samples into a centrifuge.

Your supervisor sent you to the nurse, telling Louis to escort you in case you got dizzy. The nurse bandaged your arm and sent you to a hospital for further treatment. Louis chimed in, playing the part of a kind and worried colleague, and driving you there himself.

“Yes; Dexter. He’s on his way, so you can just drop me off and head back to the lab.”

“Nonsense. I can't have anything else happen to you.”

Bullshit. He wouldn’t even blink if the shards had hit your carotid artery and you bled out right there. Who knows, maybe that had been his plan all along. Louis had it out for you and Dexter, his petty vendetta against you couldn't be more transparent.

“Louis, please.” You closed your eyes in exasperation, your eyes still burning from the tears that tried to push their way through. “I know that you messed with the centrifuge. I don’t have proof, so don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything. But at least have the decency to stop pretending that you’re innocent.”

You saw his jaw flex and his knuckles get white from how he clutched the steering wheel, but he didn’t say anything. Frankly, you were getting uncomfortable being alone with Louis in the car, but luckily, the hospital came into view.

You tried to convince Louis to go, but he wouldn’t budge. He knew you hated his presence, and he reveled in the feeling that he was making you uncomfortable. You also had a hunch he waited for Dexter so he could provoke him too. He was like a lurking predator, leaning against the far wall, as the nurse gave you a sympathetic smile, adjusting the bandage on your arm. The burn cream was cool against your skin, but the sting of the injury sent vibrations through your whole arm.

The door opened, and your muscles finally relaxed. Dexter stepped in, his focused gaze sweeping the room. His eyes landed on you first, taking in the bandage on your arm and the nurse’s careful work. Then, his gaze flicked towards Louis.

Louis straightened up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Dexter, hey! Don’t worry, YN’s alright. I made sure she got here safe.”

Dexter ignored him. If he hadn’t, he might have done something… nobody here needed to see. There was going to be time for that to do it right. Instead, he made his way straight to you.

“Hey,” you said with a tired smile.

His hand reached out to cup your head, his thumb brushing your temple and over the edge of your eyebrow in a soothing manner as his other hand hovered over your injured arm, as if to make sure it was still attached. His brows were furrowed, his shoulders and chest stiff as if he was holding his breath.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Getting burned by an oven hurts more.” You tried to lighten the mood, but humor wasn't exactly his way of coping.

“What’s he still doing here?”

“I think he wants to steal you away from me.”

“YN…”

“I don’t know, Dex. He’s a fucking vulture, you know that. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t.”

You weren't even joking anymore; it wouldn’t surprise you if Louis had done this to get Dexter’s attention. Or get back at you for having Dexter’s attention. Louis had probably been obsessed with him long before you started coming to the Miami Metro’s forensics lab to work on your thesis. Louis, as a graduate and now a lab tech at your university as well as a senior intern at Miami Metro, was supposed to be your guide, to help you acclimate.

You had known Louis from school, and ever since he’d started working at Miami Metro, his ego had been bursting through the roof, so you hadn’t been so psyched when you’d found out you’d have to share a working space, but hey, what could you do. At least, he was genuinely eager to assist, proudly showcasing his knowledge of the lab’s high-tech equipment and Miami Metro’s most famous cases. But his favorite thing to do was name-dropping Dexter. Louis had never said it in those words, but Dexter was like a god to him.

“He’s a genius. Everyone here knows it. Stick with me, and you might even learn enough to impress him.”

You’d fought the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m here to work on my thesis, Louis. Not to waste my time.”

Louis had always been too loud, too close and most importantly, too self-important for your liking, and you’d thought back then already, that his admiration for Dexter bordered with obsession.

And when you finally met the famous Dexter Morgan, you were surprised how underwhelming it was. You actually expected another loud and arrogant scientist, but he was the exact opposite.

One morning, while you were struggling with the calibration of a piece of equipment, a calm and monotone voice spoke behind you.

“You’re off by a millimeter.”

You jumped out of your skin, closing your eyes to regain composure before turning around and finding Dexter with his hands in his pockets, just standing there. You hadn’t met, but you knew what he looked like.

“Fuck, thanks. Were you trying to give me a heart attack to keep me from using it? Jesus Christ.” You were still shaking off the jumpscare you just received.

“Sorry.”

“You’re good. Dexter, right? The guy who specializes in puddles.”

“Blood spatter analyst,” he corrected with a nod, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the lack of reaction to your joke. You introduced yourself and shook his hand, before he left without another word.

To him, you were just another in a parade of visiting academics, someone he’d forget as soon as your project ended.

Well, apparently, you liked to talk, making it hard for him to ignore you. It's not like you were targeting him specifically, you were just a naturally friendly person.

Vince's attention wasn't exactly hard to earn, especially if you were a woman, but Dexter noticed how you laughed even with Angel. Not that Angel was a touch-me-not, but it was still surprising to see you navigate the station with such ease, like a newcomer staking a claim in unfamiliar territory. You didn't force yourself into conversations; you didn't even have to. You had your own gravity around you, and people were magnetized to it.

“If you need something, Louis is your liaison.” He tried to brush you off one time, gesturing vaguely towards the open lab door.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, undeterred. “But Louis is busy explaining to someone how he’s basically the second coming of Einstein, so I figured I’d ask the real expert.”

But you didn’t wait for him to respond, taking the hint and leaving him alone. For now anyway. It made the corner of Dexter’s mouth twitch, but he caught himself and got back to his work. He thought about it for a moment before deciding that it would be suspicious if he was the only one ignoring you.

Over the next few weeks, you made a habit of dropping by his desk. At first, he found your presence… perplexing. You asked too many questions – some of them genuinely insightful, others just… so absurd. You often hovered just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be intrusive. And your sense of humor seemed to exist solely to see how far you could push him before he reacted. And to create a bond with his sister.

You and Deb shared that bark, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The sarcasm often rang through the breakroom, and while he wasn’t one to eavesdrop, one time he heard a mention of his name.

“Does your brother ever smile?” you asked Deb, leaning against the counter.

“Well, you know, occasionally.”

“Yeah, what’s the occasion? Winning the lottery? Accidentally putting sugar in his coffee instead of salt?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. Why would I put salt in my coffee? But unlike him, Deb laughed.

“More like when someone's bleeding out somewhere. You don’t even wanna see that, it’s creepy as hell.”

“He’s fascinating actually,” you said when you stopped laughing, taking another sip of your coffee.

Fascinating. Most people called him odd, socially awkward, or at best, smart. His victims called him sick or a freak. But fascinating was new. And unsettling. He didn’t particularly like being noticed, but he found himself not minding your attention. Dexter realized that when he came in on Louis scolding you for talking him.

“He’s not your friend or your assistant, okay?” Louis snapped at you, his voice rising in frustration. “I am. So, stop bothering him and do some actual work.”

Before you could respond, Dexter stepped in, his voice firm. “Woah, Louis. Thanks, but I think I can handle myself.”

“I’m just saying, she’s supposed to focus on her thesis—”

“And she is. I also don’t mind helping her.” He turned to you then. “At least, when she ends up working here, she’ll already know the ropes.”

Dexter wasn’t serious, he didn’t even know if you ever wanted to work in forensics. But to Louis, the words felt like a slap. For months, he’d bent over backward to gain Dexter’s respect, but he’d never earned more than a dismissive glance. And you just waltzed in, cracked a couple of jokes, and suddenly, you were like Dexter's personal pet.

It was clear he didn’t like how Dexter responded to you. You noticed how his behavior changed, becoming petty even at your university lab. It was like he was waiting for you to make a mistake while his jokes grew meaner, more passive-aggressive

However, Louis was still essentially a random guy. He wasn't your superior, so you didn’t let him scare you off. If he wanted to report you to your school, you had Vince's backing, and now Dexter's too, you hoped. You believed you hadn't done anything wrong, you still got your work done, so there was no reason to feel guilty.

That meant that you never limited yout contact with Dexter, who also grew more responsive over the time. You figured out that most of his laughter stemmed in ridicule, with his brows furrowed and looking at you like you were an alien which made a smile grow on your face, so you decided to lean into it. Did it make you look dumb? Yes. Did it make Dexter laugh? Yes in capital letters.

Deb was the one who finally pointed out what you had been trying to make painfully obvious for weeks.

“Jesus Christ, Dexter,” she said incredulously, smiling at him as if asking are you serious? “Are you blind, or just stupid?”

He looked up from the folder, his expression blank. “What are you talking about?”

“YN. The girl from the lab. She’s been flirting with you nonstop, and you’ve been staring at her like she’s a new blood sample. Do you even know how to human?”

His whole face scrunched up, going over your past interactions in his head. “She hasn’t been flirting. She’s just… talkative.”

Deb rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something. “Oh my God. You’re hopeless. She’s into you, Dex. And honestly? I think she’s kind of awesome. She’s smart, funny, and she’s got this great thing where she acts like an airhead just to see your face do that confused frown thing. It’s hilarious.”

Dexter’s frown deepened. “She does that on purpose?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Seriously, ask her out before she gets bored and moves on to someone who actually knows how to crack a smile.”

Weeks passed, and to Deb’s disdain, Dexter completely ignored her amazing advice. But she wasn’t one to sit idly by and she had had enough.

One afternoon, as you were bent over a microscope in the lab, Deb stormed in with an unyielding grip on Dexter’s arm.

“Hey, YN!” she said, her voice unnaturally cheerful.

“Uh… hey, Deb. What’s going on?”

She didn’t waste any time, her hold on Dexter's arm tightening as she shoved him into the room.

“Dexter has something he wants to ask you,” she announced, crossing her arms and giving Dexter an expectant look.

Fiddling with the pen in your hand, your eyes darted warily to Dexter, not really sure what was going on. And from the looks of it, Dexter didn’t know either. He looked genuinely confused, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words, but nothing came out.

“Uh…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Deb groaned. “He wants to take you out. On a date. There. It’s done. The cat’s out of the bag.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A warmth surged through you, a small flicker of happiness bubbling up, but then you saw the horrified look on Dexter’s face, and it fizzled just as quickly. You turned back to Deb.

“Wow, Debra. I didn’t know you moonlighted as a matchmaker.”

“I don’t. But someone has to get the ball rolling.”

“And the first step is holding someone hostage?”

“Hosta– are you fucking kidding me?” She turned to her brother, jabbing a finger into his ribs, making him flinch. “Dexter, tell her!”

But before he could say a word, you got up from your chair and headed for the door.

“I appreciate the effort, Deb, but can we discuss this later? I need to bring these to Louis before he has a meltdown.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him,” Deb said as she watched you leave.

“I’d rather not,” you quipped with a smirk, closing the door behind you.

But maybe Deb had a point.

Maybe he should ask you out.

It had been a while since he’d had a girlfriend, and perhaps it was time to change that. Saying no to you outright might be suspicious, and blending in was a cornerstone of his life. Besides, you weren’t so bad. Being around you wasn’t unpleasant. It made sense.

That's actually what he said when he finally asked you out: it makes sense. No fumbling over words or overly rehearsed lines. And you actually liked his reasoning. It was honest in its own way and you appreciated the lack of pretense.

That was one thing you’d learned about Dexter during your time at Miami Metro: he liked a logical approach, unlike most people who responded to emotion, whose actions were driven by feelings. He felt things, sure, just not in the same way, and he rarely expressed them outwardly.

It wasn’t like you were absolutely positive that it could turn into something meaningful or that a relationship with Dexter would last, but his way of interacting with the world was so unconventional that you simply felt drawn to it.

Dexter never really offered grand romantic gestures or gush over your presence in his life. But he noticed things you liked and made small accommodations for them. He listened with the intent to understand. And while he wasn’t exactly overflowing with emotion, you saw the quiet ways he cared.

You’d once mentioned in passing how receiving gifts made you uncomfortable, the pressure to perform gratitude leaving you uneasy. So when you joked that a specific brand of coffee was your lifeblood, he didn’t hand it to you wrapped in a bow. Instead, the next week, it simply appeared in the breakroom.

He wasn’t selfish about it, like most people were when they insisted on seeing your reaction. No, he just wanted to make you happy. And with that, he scored a double.

However, ever since you started going on dates, for the lack of a better word, because neither of you ever labeled it that way, he started second-guessing himself. He became more careful, often overthinking and calculating his answers. You suspected that Deb might have been partly to blame. She was too blunt sometimes, too quick to get into his head. But you made sure to let him know that he was more likely to scare you off by saying nothing rather than saying the wrong thing.

“You’re more confident about that than I am.”

You'd told him that he was the living embodiment of having a wall up. And not any wall. It was as if someone else had built it for him, and he was struggling to climb over it.

“You’re not even bad at climbing. You’re just trying to figure out where to put your hands.”

It was a strange way for your to put it, but you managed to create a whole think tank in his head which often left him with a dull ache between his eyes. He found himself admiring your honesty, the way you refused to put on a mask just to please the people around you or conform to societal expectations.

It’s not like you outright spilled your deepest, darkest secrets, but you gave him glimpses. You hinted at your own traumas that had shaped you, so matter-of-fact and so human.

It stirred something within him. For days, he debated whether to share his own scars, until he finally did, one night during a quiet walk along the beach. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his chest when he told you about his mother, the blood, the screams everything. Well, almost everything. He expected recoil, but it never came. You didn’t judge, it didn’t scare you away; you just looked at him with the same attentiveness, maybe a joke on your tongue about how that explained his line of work, because that's how you coped. And somehow, knowing he knew that made it easier for him to breathe.

And that night was also the night he kissed you for the first time. He didn’t plan for it. He just simply looked at you and the moonlight twinkling in your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a different kind of urge. One he didn’t have to fight or wait to satisfy it. He let himself feel.

Later that evening, you also invited him to spend the night at your place.

He’d be lying if he said that he regretted a single second spent with you. Yeah, you never seemed to stop talking, never seemed to stop moving.

“It’s like you’re daring your neurons to keep up,” he’d said to you one day.

“Well, I need to keep my synaptic connections in shape, right?”

But still, you made the chaos seem… manageable. You were a walking paradox, bringing a strange sense of order to his life, a balance. He started to think that this was his final and definitive chance at happiness. And he wasn’t going to screw it up. Nobody was going to take you away from him. Nobody, and it was in his control.

Before you could discuss it further, the nurse came back with a new bandage.

“Your boyfriend, I presume?” she asked with a warm smile, glancing between the two of you. But Dexter barely looked at her, his focus was entirely on you.

“Was it him?” He tilted his head toward Louis, his voice low enough that only you could hear, but you saw the nurse make her way to you to apply the bandage.

“Not here,” you murmured, darting a glance toward Louis, who was still lingering near the door.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension, spoke up. “She’s going to be fine. The burn isn’t deep, and the cuts didn’t hit anything major. Could’ve been worse. You might’ve earned yourself a Nobel Prize for dedication to science, though.”

She smiled, and you saw Dexter’s lips twitch into a grimace that was supposed to look like a smile.

“What chemicals?” he asked.

“Phenol and chloroform mix,” you replied, and the nurse followed up.

“Not ideal for skin, but we got to it quickly. Keep the bandage clean and dry, and she’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks,” Dexter said shortly. Then, turning back to you, he added, “I’ll be right back.”

“Dex…” you began, knowing very well where his mind had taken him. And honestly, a part of you didn’t even want to stop him, because you wanted Louis to leave you alone.

“I said I'll be right back,” he repeated, his voice stern.

Dexter straightened to his full height and walked toward Louis, a predator closing in on its prey.

“So? How is she?” Louis asked as soon as Dexter approached him.

“How do you think, Louis? I suggest you stop fucking around or I’ll make your life really difficult.”

“What?” Louis laughed with faux confusion. “I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, and I think you’ve done enough. You can leave now. And if I find out you had anything to do with this, anything at all, you’ll wish it was you sitting on that hospital bed. Do you understand?”

“Geez, Dexter, are you –”

Dexter took a step closer without raising suspicion from other people.

“I’m serious, Louis. Do you understand?”

Louis nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Louis turned on his heel, but before making his exit, he turned to Dexter one more time. “Well… Catch you at work.”

Dexter ground his teeth, closing his eyes as he tried to suppress his need to protect you from Louis right then and there. He’d started seeing crimson the moment you texted him about Louis taking you to the hospital. Now, it was spilling everywhere, the red taking over his body, causing it to shake and ring in his ears. He wanted to fucking kill him. Louis had been trying to provoke him for quite some time, but he just crossed a line. Nobody will ever hurt you without consequences.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice brought him back to the present, your hand lightly brushing over his back as you tried to comfort him, ground him.

“No. I think I’ll kill him.”

You snorted. “Okay, drama queen,” you said, and hooked your arm around his, making your way out of the hospital.

Dexter hadn’t said a word during the drive, not a single one.

He’d even turned on his marching music, which he rarely did when you were with him. That was a signal in itself. He was thinking. Hard.

Once you reached his apartment, he tossed his keys onto the counter with an unusual force, and without a word, he headed straight for the first aid kit.

“Dex, I just got it bandaged. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. I want to see for myself.”

You weren’t entirely sure if this had something to do with the whole I don’t trust nurses thing or just general paranoia, but you decided not to argue.

“I know this isn’t your fault, but you should’ve worn your coat,” he said, his voice almost shaking as he held back from lashing out.

“I know.”

Dexter gestured for you to sit on the couch, taking a seat himself on the low table in front of you. He gently reached for your hand and began unwrapping the bandage.

“Tell me what happened.”

You described the incident in detail, including your suspicions that Louis might have been involved. Dexter gave you that Kubrick stare as his jaw tightened at the mention of Louis’ name.

When he uncovered the burn ringed by shallow cuts, he muttered a quiet Jesus.

“Once it starts blistering, you can’t scratch it, okay? It could get infected.”

“Yes, doctor,” you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s what the nurse said.”

It made his head twitch as he gave you a look. But he didn’t comment, instead gently placing your hand in his lap as he prepared a fresh bandage.

“Do you have any other samples left?” he asked, and it warmed your heart knowing that he cared about your lab work, too.

“Yeah, I should have some stored at the station,” you said. “Unless Louis decided to get rid of them too.”

“I’ll head back and check on them for you.”

“Well, I’m coming too. I need to get back to the lab, it’s not like I’m incapable of running the experiment again.”

That was a hard no. He didn't even have to think about it.

He didn’t like the idea of you being back at the lab, not when Louis was going to be there. But he also knew he couldn’t keep you away from the lab for long, so he needed to do this fast. He convinced you to stay at his place until the next day, at least. After all, you did feel tired from the burning pain and the pills that started to kick in. As Dexter stood to leave, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before kissing you on the lips, anchoring himself to you before heading back to work. And to take care of Louis once and for all.

It was easy. Louis was obsessed with serial killers, but he still lacked the skillset Dexter’s usual victims challenged him with. Now, he was going to give him the full-time experience.

He broke into his apartment and waited until Louis got home. A sharp prick to the neck and strapping him to a chair. Not his usual routine, but this wasn’t really to satisfy his urges. This was to protect you.

Once he was all tied up, Dexter broke a capsule of smelling salt under his nose and Louis' eyes shot open. Dexter wasn’t going to waste much time here, but he brought something to make it more enjoyable for himself.

“Wakey-wakey,” Dexter’s voice broke through the fog of Louis’s confusion.

He blinked, before he started thrashing against the rope. “What the hell?!” he shouted, panic rising in his voice. “What is this?!”

Dexter stepped closer to him, a faint curl of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. In his right hand, he held a bunch of vials filled with liquid.

“Do you know what chemical burn feels like, Louis?”

“What?” he asked, confused at first, but then it dawned on him. “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t do anything! I was just looking out for her. A-Accidents happen! Labs are dangerous places if you’re not careful, you know that!” Louis rambled, making Dexter watch him with an amused smile.

“Accidents don’t usually involve sabotage,” Dexter said evenly.

“Sabotage? Jesus, Dexter, you're blowing this way out of proportion. You're doing all this for some chick? Does her pussy feel that good?"

Dexter lurched forward, his fist connecting with Louis's face before he could react, the chair creaking against the floor as it moved with Dexter's strength. He leaned down to Louis’ eye-level, pointing a finger at his face. Louis squeezed his eyes shut, his bloody face scrunching in fear.

“Don't push it, Louis,” he said through his teeth. Dexter was quick to recover, his calm mask slipping back into place. “Let's talk about the fact that accidents always seem to happen when you’re around.”

Louis coughed, spitting blood onto the plastic-covered floor.

“You’ve got a pretty vivid imagination.”

Dexter’s lips twitched. He rose to his full height and backed away just to put down one of the vials and take a piece of cloth instead. He poured the chemical on it as he talked.

“It’s called pattern recognition,” he said, coming around the chair to stand behind Louis. “You should be familiar with that by now.” And with that, he stuffed the wet rug into his mouth. Louis twitched and thrashed, but Dexter was stronger. He made sure the cloth didn’t fall out, that Louis got the exact taste of what you’d gone through.

“How is it, Louis? You have my full attention now! The only time I’m willing to listen to your bullshit!”

He tortured him some more, before pulling the cloth out. As soon as Louis’ mouth was free, he started coughing. Then, Dexter poured some of the prepared solution on his glove.

“Did I get the concentration right, or was it too strong?” Dexter asked, rubbing his covered fingers together, the rubber shining under the kitchen light. Louis’ breathing quickened.

“Please. I won’t go near her again. I swear!” Louis cried out.

Dexter leaned in close again, his face inches from Louis’.

“You’re right. You won’t.”

And without further explanation, he pressed the gloved hand against Louis’ arm, holding it there long enough for the sting to start. Before Louis’ scream got too loud, Dexter stuffed his mouth with the rug again as he writhed in pain, the burning sensation spreading.

“That’s just a fraction of what she felt. And you’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood tonight. Otherwise, I would pour it right into your fucking eyes, your mouth, I would cut your skin open and fill it up before stitching it back together.” Dexter put his still wet hand on a different part of Louis’ arm, watching him squirm. “I would make you fucking drown in it.”

Dexter stepped back, watching Louis’ chest rise and fall with his heavy breathing, some tears sliding down his cheeks, mixing with his blood. Dexter closed his eyes, bathing in that satisfactory feeling as he breathed in, the smell of chemicals and sweat and fear tickling his nostrils. He made his way to the counter where his knives were splayed out, taking the sharpest one and making his way behind Louis again.

“Goodnight, Louis.”

And with that, he sliced his neck, blood spilling onto the plastic underneath the chair.

When he came home that night, he found you still on his couch. Safe and sound. Your bandaged arm rested on the book you were reading, and when you looked at him, you greeted him with that casual smile of yours.

It was so genuine, so automatic. Like it had been waiting just for him. He couldn’t let himself be the reason you’d ever lose it, couldn’t let his or anyone else's world dim yours.

Without saying a word, he approached you, pinched your chin between his fingers and tilted your head to kiss that smile, because he knew it would only make you grin wider, and that’s what he wanted. He was making a silent promise, to you and to himself, to keep it safe, because seeing you light up like that, illuminating his dark world was everything he needed. And he wanted it to last.

[covenofagatha]

I went to a new doctor today for the first time... And the (very hot) doctor said "good girl" under her breath when I followed her instructions during part of the physical exam and I nearly died. Is that anything? Doctor!Agatha? Also not sure if I can ever show my face at that doctor's office again.

Good luck the next time you go lol

Hands-on care

You and your boyfriend want to have a baby so you go see Doctor Agatha Harkness at her fertility clinic

Word count: 2500

Warnings: sex, fingering, oral, Agatha is very unethical, cheating, degradation, praise

The decision to have a baby with your boyfriend Matthew was a decision that you made on sort of an impulse. 

You’ve been dating for three years now, after he begged you to go out with him for all of college, and you’ve always wanted a baby. 

You two had talked about it, going back and forth about what that would look like, if you would get married, if you two look to buy a house instead of your one bedroom apartment. 

Matt kept saying the fact that you both couldn’t decide on the little things like that, then it meant you weren’t ready for a baby. So you had put off further discussion about it until one night, you got really drunk. 

Four shots of vodka and no food had you on a different planet, and you had apparently told Matt that you wanted him to put a baby in you that night. 

He didn’t, because you were hammered, but it opened up the door to a heavy conversation the next day and you both decided that you wanted to start trying. 

The Harkness Fertility Clinic seemed like the obvious choice of where to check your fertility and get options, just to make sure nothing was wrong. Everyone in town knew Doctor Agatha Harkness and her extraordinary work when it came to all things pregnancy.

So you booked an appointment and here you are now, staring into space while fiddling with the edge of the hospital gown that the nurse practitioner gave you to put on while you wait for the doctor. 

“You alright?” Matt asks quietly, his brows crinkled. You told him that you would be fine if he didn’t want to come, in case there was bad news, but he insisted. 

You nod and drop the gown. “Just a bit nervous,” you say and he reaches over to squeeze your hand. 

And then there’s a knock on the door and Doctor Harkness walks in, wearing blood-red scrubs and her dark hair tied into a neat bun. 

You didn’t realize how attractive she would be. 

“Hello, how are we today?” She picks up the clipboard from the table next to you and scans it. “It looks like you’re here for a standard fertility check. That will be quick and easy and we’ll have those results in no time.”

It’s hard to breathe with her blue eyes burning through you, but you manage to smile. “Okay, great, we just want to make sure that we won’t have any problems or anything.” Can she tell how hot your cheeks feel? 

She smiles back at you. Hasn’t even looked at Matt yet. “Well, we’re here to make that happen for you.” She launches into an explanation of how the test will happen, something with a speculum, but you are too busy staring at her to fully listen. “Do you have any questions?”

It takes you a moment to realize she’s done talking. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Thank you,” you stammer and she smirks knowingly.

“Thank you,” Matt says again, causing Agatha to look at him for the first time. Her lips curl and she turns to him with a rather unpleasant look.

“Husband? Why don’t you wait outside while we do this.” It’s not a question, and he blinks at her. He glances at you, like he’s expecting you to tell him to stay, but all you do is shrug. Better to let Agatha do her thing however she wants.

He sighs and kisses your forehead. "I'll be right out there," he vows and you give him a tight smile.

She moves close to you, perches on the side of the recliner you’re sitting on and reaches her hand toward you. You instinctively flinch but relax when all she does is tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. It’s incredibly gentle.

Agatha then trails her hand down the side of your face and grabs your chin, perhaps a little roughly. You let out a gasp that she seems to enjoy too much, and she strokes a finger over your lips. It’s all you can do to not take her thumb into your mouth and suck, and judging by the delighted look on her face, she sees how hard you’re restraining.

It’s so inappropriate. It’s so hot.

“I’ll put a baby in you,” she whispers. Your heart skips a beat. You know she just means fertility-wise you’ll have a baby, but the way she says it makes you wish she was capable of that. “Lie back.” She taps your shoulder and moves to situate herself on a chair by your legs. You spread them hesitantly and put them in the stirrups, knowing your underwear is already wet, just from being this close to her.

The chair rolls to the end of the cot so she's in between your legs now. You turn red again when her eyes drop to you, and she gets a look at what you’re sure is now soaked-through white cotton. Your stomach flutters when she bites her lip, and she meets your gaze with heavy lids.

“Oh, darling,” she says quietly, and you feel her hands moving up your inner thighs and a finger traces up your slit. You can hear the mocking tone in her voice but your hips buck ever so slightly. “I don’t think I’ll need to lube up the speculum with how wet you are.” It’s so wrong and she says it so casually and you didn’t think it was possible to get wetter. But you do, and you know she can tell.

“I’m sorry–” you try to stutter, the humiliation only making the fire inside your stomach grow.

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I’m flattered, really,” she purrs. You wonder if this happens to her a lot; you definitely wouldn’t be surprised. But surely she wouldn’t still be in business if she flirted with all the patients.

She takes hold of your underwear and drags the pair down your legs, helping your feet out of the stirrups one at a time so she can slip them off. She chuckles and you blush harder than you ever have.

Fuck.

How are you going to survive this?

“Alright, are you ready?” You feel her press the cold speculum against your entrance and you hiss.

“Yes,” you squeak. Back to business. She is a doctor, she is Agatha Harkness. She is a tease, but that is all. You need to calm down.

She eases an inch of the speculum in and you grimace. The stretch burns. It would seem that you are not wet enough.

Agatha holds it still to give you time to adjust. “Relax. You need to relax,” she tells you.

“Easier said than done,” you joke with another wince. And then you feel her finger swipe your clit and you clench around the speculum with a spasm. Just a coincidence? 

“Is your husband not doing anything for you at all? Is his dick really that small? I think I might have to stretch you out first,” she remarks like she’s talking about the weather. You’re not exactly sure what she means but your stomach twists. The speculum is removed and placed on the table next to you. She pulls her gloves off.

“He’s not my husband,” is the only thing you have the effort to correct when she slides her middle finger into you. You let out a shaky breath. Agatha bites her lip, eyes dark.

She slowly thrusts into you, her thumb rubbing your clit every once in a while. You don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this good and she’s barely doing anything. She pushes another finger in and you moan loudly.

“Better quiet down so he doesn’t hear. Not like he’d know what these sounds are,” she muses, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. You’re so close, just from her moving her two fingers inside you slowly.

“Please.” It’s all you can say.

You whine pathetically when her fingers pull out and she sits back, hair mussed, a crazed look on her face. She sucks her finger into her mouth, she moans softly, and you almost cum right there at the sight. 

“You’re so deliciously perfect,” she tells you, and grins while you clench around nothing at the praise.

“Please,” you beg again. “I’m so close, I need you.”

“What do you need?” 

You've never been one to voice your thoughts, especially in bed, but Agatha has a way of pulling it out of you. “Please, I need you so badly. Please make me cum. I need you.” You realize maybe being vocal wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you to do every once in a while, if it’s going to lead to her leaning down and dragging her tongue up your slit, flicking it against your clit. You gasp and your hands tangle themselves in the loose hair from her bun immediately to keep her there.

You can feel her chuckle against you and the echoes only increase your pleasure. Two fingers enter you again, but this time, she curls them fast, and the palm of her hand hits your clit with every thrust. She mouths at your inner thigh before biting and sucking. Marking you. You throb at the thought of the red marks that will litter your legs.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan.

You won’t be able to be naked in front of Matt for a long time.

“God, you’re such a perfect little slut, dripping all over this chair for me,” Agatha comments. “I bet you were wet the moment I walked in. Wanting me to taste you. Wanting me to fuck you like the whore you are.”

You should feel ashamed of how nothing she said was wrong, but you couldn't care less. Part of you is wondering if this is standard protocol for all the women who have trouble with the speculum, or if it’s just you. 

“Dr. Harkness,” you moan and gently tug on her hair. You shouldn’t really be concerned with professionality at this point, what with her head buried between your legs and her fingers inside you and everything, but the title and the hair pull seem to have quite the effect on her. She groans into you and then the real fucking begins.

Her fingers thrust ruthlessly inside you and her tongue thrashes against your clit and you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Dr. Harkness, fuck, please, need more, need you,” you babble, feeling yourself steadily approaching the edge. 

She pauses for a moment to fit a third finger inside you. The stretch is a little uncomfortable and she gives you a second to adjust, and then she’s back to it.

You come with a moan and it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had by far. From the look on her face when she sits back, finally done fucking you through your climax, she knows it.

Her lips glisten with your wetness, but she makes no move to clean them.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re cumming all over my exam chair,” she says, and it takes all of your energy to not laugh at the absurdity of the statement. What did you just do? “Do you think you’re ready for the speculum?”

You’ve completely forgotten why you’re here, but you nod, and she is gentle when she pushes the cold metal in you for a second time. You’re a little sensitive from your orgasm, but it slides in much easier this time. Your walls flutter around it and you almost moan.

"Good girl," she says in a deep voice.

Before you can tell yourself how wrong it is, you hope that next time she uses a strap-on. Next time? No, there can’t be a next time. You know she would make it feel really good though. She fucked you better with her fingers than Matt has in his entire life, so imagine what she could do with a toy cock.

But Agatha meets your eyes and winks and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing.

She tuts with a hint of a smirk, and you flush red again. You know this won’t be the last time the two of you do this, and there isn’t a single part of you that’s upset about it. 

The rest of the check runs quickly and smoothly, and she goes outside to tell Matt he can come back in. 

You’re worried he can smell the stench of sex in the air or that he will notice the slight sheen around Agatha’s mouth and her mussed-up hair, but if he does, there’s no indication.

Figures.

“Your uterus is extraordinary, perfectly shaped for a baby,” Agatha says, voice dripping with sweet venom, pointing to the pictures to show you what she means. “There should be no problems, but you might want to come in here regularly just in case.” Her hand falls to your upper thigh and squeezes. She watches you bite your lip with a smirk.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you agree, and Matt hums. “Thank you so much for your help, it was so great meeting you. 

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine,” Agatha says smugly, dragging her hand slowly against her mouth, breathing your scent in. You choke on nothing. 

Matt turns toward you, the happiness evident on his face. “We’re going to have a baby!” He exclaims and you wish you felt just a little bit guilty about what you just did. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll let you get dressed and then I’ll see you next time. Have a wonderful day.” Agatha gives you one last wink and leaves. You and Matt quickly pack your things and you change back into your normal clothes, leaving the gown that smells like sex on the chair. There’s going to need to be some serious sanitation of this room.

Matt is clearly ecstatic about the good news, but you’re honestly dreading the thought of having sex with him after that. Plus you have those marks on your thighs. You inwardly curse Agatha and you make a mental note to try and get some concealer or something to hide it. You’re not sure how well you’ll be able to put off sleeping with your boyfriend, especially not now. 

As you’re walking towards the sliding front doors of the building, you hear your name called. It’s Dr. Harkness, standing on the stairwell that overlooks the lobby. Her bun is fixed now, not a hair out of place, and the wetness around her chin has been wiped off. But there’s no denying the dark look in her eyes.

She gives you a wave. “We’ll have that baby in you in no time.” 

You have no doubt. 

[princesitangelita]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ after swearing up and down that you can’t make a sale, jim lets you answer his phone to give it a try. his elaborate plan to prove himself right goes south as soon as the man on the other line buys a heaping amount of paper in exchange for your phone number..

warnings: flirty banter, teasing, fluff, mild humor, slight tension (?), jim being a little jealous (a lot, actually), close proximity

a/n: first jim prompt :,) feel free to send in req’s!

wc: 1.1k

“..but why? why do you think it’s impossible for me to sell paper?” jim was leaning over the counter of the receptionist desk, both of your faces not far from one another’s. “because you answer the phone like this!” he taunted your high pitched ‘customer service’ voice, your cheeks heating as you giggled quietly. “i do not sound like that!” jim smiled when you accidentally snorted, your eyes widening in embarrassment. phyllis looked over at you two, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “there’s a reason you didn’t get the sales position, ditzy.”

you gasped, slapping his arm playfully. “that’s a low blow, halpert!” shaking your head, you opened up the spreadsheet michael had forwarded to you, “and by the way, my insane typing skills got me this position. i get to sit and look pretty all day..” jim nodded, eyes flittering down to the soft curve of your lips. “yeah, that you do.” his voice dropped down a few octaves, the sound paired up with his words made butterflies flutter in your tummy. the girls were so going to be hearing about this later.

you met his eyes for a brief moment, both of you clearing your throats awkwardly at the sudden energy shift. “seriously though, how hard could it be?” just as you asked him, his phone began ringing. “wanna find out?” you were up on your feet, basically buzzing with excitement as you followed jim over to his desk. the last thing jim expected you to do was bend over the hardwood his phone was rested on, his distressed glare finding the cameraman. dwight was eyeing you with pinched eyebrows, wondering what the hell you two were up to now.

for his own sake, jim didn’t dare glance down at your backside in that tight pencil skirt of yours, instead he took his seat, pushing himself all the way in under his desk before motioning for you to answer the damned thing. flashing an innocent smile at dwight, he rolled his eyes as you put the receiver to your ear. “jim halpert speaking!” jim closed his eyes, holding in a laugh as he muted the call. “you have to say your name, not mine..” the realization dawned on you, a little ‘oh, that’s right!’ leaving your lips before he unmuted you.

chirping your name into the phone, the man on the other side of the line sounded confused as he carried on. “hello, is this dunder mifflin? the paper company.” you hummed, drawing a few stares from oscar and stanley. “hi there, my name is jonathan and i was tasked with choosing the best paper for my office, and i came across this number. if you don’t mind, i just had a few questions.” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “of course, i’d be happy to provide you with answers!” jim leaned in, listening closely to the call.

“why should i choose dunder mifflin as my business’s official paper supplier?” it was a simple question, but it still had you wracking your brain for what you should say. “uhm.. well! here at dunder mifflin, we have the best sales representatives always just one phone call away! we will keep your office and/or work space stocked with only the highest quality of paper, card stock, and many more! all at an amazing price as well, and you didn’t hear this from me.. but if you buy in bulk, you get major steals.” jim was flabbergasted. maybe he should be a receptionist instead. this was your desk now.

“wow! that sounds amazing. you really checked all of my boxes.” he laughed, a hint of flirting evident in his tone. “yeah? well i usually do.” jim looked at the side of your face, his gaze burning hot. “i bet.. look, this might come across as really weird, but gosh your voice is so pretty, it’s a nice change from the usual montone robots answering these phones.” you chuckled, the sound making jim want to snatch the thing out of your hand. dwight noticed this, a smug look taking over his features.

michael had his head poking out of his door, the entire office now listening in on your conversation. “put it on speaker!” erin whispered, everyone agreeing in unison. jim sighed, already not liking where this was going. “oh trust me, i know,” you spoke, “but would you be interested in hearing any of my offers?” you motioned for jim to pull up the package deals sheet on his computer. “please, enlighten me.” you gasped, raising your eyebrows at the man next to you. jim was quick to cover the scowl on his face, a fake smile gracing his lips as he pulled up december’s spreadsheet.

“okayyy! so starting off with the most expensive package, for five hundred dollars a month, you get a weekly delivery on your paper, and this includes an unlimited card stock supply that i can personally guarantee will arrive on time, all the time—”

“i’ll take it.” you blinked, dwight’s grin dropping from his face.

“r-really?! you don’t want to hear about my other packages?” jonathan, the man on the other line let out a disapproving hum. “no, i’ve heard quite enough, i’d love to make a deal with you though.” everyone exchanged looks, you and jim meeting each other’s eyes for the first time during this entire ordeal. “okay, may i please get your information?” you took the phone off of speaker, everyone, including michael, groaning in frustration. “i wanted to hear the deal!” kevin shook his head. angela made a face, turning around in her seat as she resumed watching cat videos on youtube.

you were quiet for a few moments, your eyes widening as jonathan stated his offer. “..so what you’re telling me is; in exchange for purchasing the five hundred dollar package, you want my phone number?” the office went into an uproar, dwight shooting out of his seat. “what is this? a phone sex hotline?!” jim couldn’t stand to listen to another second of this, his index finger reaching out and pressing the ‘end call’ button. you yelped, dropping the phone on his desk. “jim, what the hell?! i totally had that in the bag!” you stood up, a series of shouts sounding around the office.

“transfer him to my phone right now!” meredith shouted, jim wasting no time in giving her the number. “alright, ditzy, you could sell paper.” he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, clearing his throat as he made eye contact with one of the cameras in the corner. you may be lacking a bit in the logical department, but you were an expert when it came to reading jim, and right now? he looked nothing short of jealous. you leaned down next to his ear. “well i’m glad we could settle that, halpert.” jim swallowed thickly, your perfume diminishing all of his senses.

[daisymbin]

hellaur can i request 35. "you have no idea how much i want you right now." with cheol pls <3 luv ur writings

I think this might be my first suggestive cheol request???? omg thank u <3

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

suggestive prompt #35: "you have no idea how much I want you right now."

the silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional sound of your hand fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. seungcheol was unusually quiet, his fingers tight on the steering wheel, knuckles almost white. you glanced at him for the fifth time, your unease growing with every passing second.

“are you okay?” you finally asked, voice softer than usual.

his jaw clenched. he didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.

“cheol,” you tried again, leaning slightly toward him, “you’ve barely said a word since we left. did i do something?”

his lips parted, but the words didn’t come. instead, he exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel tighter.

“you didn’t do anything.” his voice was low, strained, like he was holding something back.

you frowned, watching the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes refused to meet yours.

“then what is it?” you pressed, heart thumping a little faster. “you’re acting weird.”

his fingers flexed against the leather, and he finally turned to glance at you, just for a moment. there was something in his gaze—something heavy, dark, and unspoken. it sent a shiver down your spine.

“it’s nothing,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the road, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

“cheol,” you said firmly this time, refusing to let it go, “talk to me. you’re scaring me.”

his laugh was dry, almost bitter. “scaring you? that’s the last thing i want to do.”

“then what’s wrong?” you demanded, frustration creeping into your tone. “you’re not yourself. just tell me.”

his grip on the wheel loosened slightly, and he pulled the car over to the side of the road, the sudden motion making your stomach flip. he shifted into park and leaned back against his seat, running a hand through his hair.

the tension in the small space was suffocating.

“cheol?” your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

he finally turned to face you fully, his dark eyes locking onto yours. the intensity in them made your breath hitch.

“you really don’t know, do you?” he said, voice rough and low, like he was struggling to keep himself together.

your brows furrowed. “know what?”

he let out a humorless chuckle, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “you have no idea how much i want you right now.”

the words hit you like a freight train, stealing the air from your lungs. you stared at him, heart pounding so hard it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.

“w-what?” you stammered, the heat rising to your cheeks, tainting them pink.

his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering for just a second before meeting your eyes again. “you heard me.”

you couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. the way he was looking at you: like he was barely holding himself back; it sent a rush of heat through your entire body.

“cheol…” you whispered, voice barely audible.

he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours where your hands rested on your lap. the touch was so light, yet it set your skin on fire.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl now. “sitting there, looking at me like that, asking me what’s wrong… you’re driving me insane.”

you swallowed hard, your lips parting, but no words came out. the car felt too small, too hot, the air thick with unspoken tension.

“say something,” he pleaded, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin. his touch was gentle, but his eyes, his eyes were anything but. they were full of want, of restraint barely hanging by a thread.

“i…” you started, but the words got caught in your throat. you leaned into his touch without meaning to, your body betraying you.

“do you have any idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself when you’re this close?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours now. his breath was warm against your lips, and you could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, your heart racing as his words sank in.

“then don’t,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the weight of what you’d just said hung in the air between you, thick and electric.

“don’t tempt me,” he warned, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the heat in it.

you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze head on. “what if i want to?”

the last thread of his restraint snapped. his lips hovered over yours for the briefest moment before he closed the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, all the tension from earlier erupting into a wildfire.

when he pulled back, both of you were breathless, his forehead still pressed to yours. his thumb traced lazy circles on your cheek, his eyes dark and searching.

“we’re not doing this here,” he said, his voice steady but laced with need.

“then where?” you whispered, your heart still pounding.

his lips curved into a small, dangerous smirk. “you’ll see.”

and with that, he started the car again, the tension between you far from resolved, but the promise of what was to come hanging heavy in the air.

[milla-frenchy]

Out of the QZ

1k5 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: you act like a brat with Joel. He puts you in place Warnings: 18+ mdni. spanking, fingering, size kink, degradation, oral (m), ball sucking, rough sex, piv. No age specified

a/n:  Fic inspired by this post (I was supposed to work on my wips, damn) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing, love you 💕🫶 @arcanefox207 for the famous gif 😍❤️ and @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

“I'm fuckin’ sick of your damn mood. What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Yeah? Well stop talking to me. Do what you usually do, grumble. It'll be better for everyone,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Joel looked at you, nostrils flaring. You had been getting on his nerves since this morning. He had looked at you questioningly at first, not used to those mood swings from you. He gave you some space, but as the day progressed it had been harder for him to keep his cool. In the afternoon, his patience was melting like snow in the sun, and several warning glances from him didn’t change it. You kept huffing every time he opened his mouth. 

You were finally approaching the place where you were going to spend the night, before reaching Lincoln the next day. Backpacks filled with aluminum spools for Bill's fence, and medicine for Frank. It was the first time you left the QZ in months and Joel was nervous. And you... you were in an inexplicably bad mood. And now his anger was rising fully.

“Go check behind the house. I'll check the side.”

“Can't you just do it yourself, mister I-do-everything-better-than-everyone-else?”

“Now that’s enough!” he growled, grabbing your wrist sharply and pulling you into the small house.

“Sit,” he said, after he slammed the door behind you, hands on his hips and a dark look on his face.

“I'm not a damn dog, Joel. Who do you think you are?”

He grabbed your arm and before you realized it he sat on the bed, and lay you over his lap.

“I'm tired of your bullshit,” he said, before crushing his hand on your pants-covered ass.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you whined. He had spanked you hard, hand flat, and it hurt like hell. You couldn't believe it.

“You're done?” he asked, jaw clenched.

You still couldn't help yourself, couldn’t stop. Now really pissed off at being held like that, and punished.

“That's all you got, Miller?”

His forearm pressed against your back just before he spanked you a second time, making you cry out this time.

“Shut up. We didn't check the perimeter because of your fuckin’ attitude,” he barked while holding you on his knees.

“Oh, that’s great, Joel. Use your strength if that’s the only way you know how to deal with me.”

“You're actin’ like a brat, I treat you like one, that's what I'm doin’. You're done?”

“Fuck… you….” you answered as calmly as you were able to.

His hand landed a third time, in the exact same spot.

“Fuck,” you gasped, unable to stop your thighs from squeezing against each together.

“What the… you’re turned on?!”

“No!! No, of course not!”

He spanked you again and this time you couldn’t hold back a moan from escaping your lips. When you felt his cock pressing against you, you stopped breathing for a second.

“Joel…,” you didn’t know if you were still pissed or aroused. Probably both.

You didn't even know what was going on with you. Your bad mood had been consuming you all day, without any reason. You were just pissed and couldn’t keep it to yourself. 

And nothing had ever happened between Joel and you so far. You trusted each other when you were out of the QZ, you saw each other more or less regularly inside its walls, but nothing more.

When he pulled your pants down your thighs, you stopped moving, totally disconcerted by his gesture.

“Joel, what the fuck?”

“Told you to shut up,” he said in a low voice, his hand caressing your burning ass. You tried to pull away, without much conviction. His fist was tight on your jacket, holding you in place.

You stopped struggling when he reached your pussy and glided his hand along your folds.

“We shouldn’t…”

“You’ve been on my nerves all day, now shut the fuck up.”

His middle finger slid between your drooling folds. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked. That’s what was itching you all day? You needed to be spanked like the damn brat that you’ve been?”

“I… I just…” your words got stuck in your throat as he started to finger fuck you, before quickly adding a second one. His cock was pressing against you, and it seemed fucking big.

“Shit, you’re drippin’.”

“Oh fuck, yes!” you whined, when he brushed your clit. Way too perfectly. As if the apocalypse had never dampened his ease at fingering a cunt. And maybe it never had. Maybe he fucked every month or every week or more in the QZ, what did you know about it, anyway?

He pulled his fingers out and you whimpered.

“You really thought I’d let you come?” he scoffed. “Now you’re gonna do as I say and kneel. Got it?” he asked, brows furrowed, after getting up. You fell on your knees, your pants still at mid-thighs.

“You’re gonna suck my cock,” he said, undoing his belt then unzipping, “at least I won’t hear you grawl or whine, for some time.”

He pulled his cock out and having felt it against you earlier didn’t make you less surprised. It was massive, with a reddish tip, twitching and flowing with precum.

“Yeah, I know, it’s big. Now suck it.”

His cock in one hand, he placed the other on the back of your neck, forcing you closer. You rounded your lips as best you could, taking his tip in your mouth. The precum invaded your throat, flowing slowly. You sucked his tip, trying to get used to its width. You didn't have much choice, with his hands holding you like a fuck doll. He didn't try to push himself further, but he was holding you in place. 

“Much better for my nerves when your mouth’s full.”

You felt his gaze lowered towards you and you looked up. His jaw was clenched, tense. He raised his eyebrows as if to say that you shouldn’t have messed with him.

You kept sucking him until he pulled back and took his massive balls in his hand. “Suck,” he growled. “They’ve been tense all day, because of your attitude.”

Tongue flat, you licked each of them, sucking their delicate skin, covered in some slightly gray hairs, mixed with your saliva that had flowed down his shaft when you blew him off.

“That’s it, actin’ like a good girl now, finally…” He was jerking off slowly, his impressive length just above your nose.

“I should paint your face, but I wanna feel that greedy cunt around me. Get on the bed, undressed. On your back. Wanna see your face when I’m gonna be balls deep in your pussy.”

You took off your clothes and lay down, thinking he would undress too. But he stayed fully dressed, coat on, and he was even hotter like this.

He didn’t wait, didn’t try to give you time. As soon as he settled between your thighs he thrust in one go, his hand around your neck. “Oh, fuck!” you cried when he bottomed out. He used you, growling about how tight you were, thrusting hard, keeping the same pace until your moans filled the room. Pulling out, he growled, “Don’t you dare. You don’t deserve to come so quickly.” He manhandled you on all fours and climbed on the bed, kneeling behind you, holding onto your hips before thrusting in again. He took all he needed, finally releasing the pressure of the day, using your pussy like he would use his fist.

“You’re gonna lose that goddamn attitude, now?” he asked, panting in your ear.

“Yes, yes! Fuck, let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, Joel. Please, let me come.”

“Come then… fuckin’ brat.”

You hastily slid your hand down to your pussy, twirling your clit under your finger. It took only a few seconds for you to pulse on his shaft, a dumb grin on your face. When you stopped shaking, you felt him close to coming too, but he didn't pull out.

“Joel, we shouldn’t…”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m about to come,” he groaned, his hand tightening around the back of your neck and pulling you sharply towards him.

“We shouldn't keep going, pull out, pull out, please!”

“If you ever act like that again, next time I won’t pull out. Got it?” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “And if it sticks, you’ll be the one who’ll have to deal with a damn kid. And I kinda like the idea, right now. We clear?”

“Yes, yes!”

He pulled out at the last moment, growling, his cum covering the inside of your thighs, and then finally released you. He let his weight collapse on top of you, both of you lying on the bed, catching your breath.

“You should have told me sooner that taking a cock was all you needed to calm down,” he grunted.

He stood up, and tucked his cock in his pants.

“Now, get dressed, and go check behind the house. I’ll check the side. Let’s hope your moans didn’t attract a shit ton of infected. Jesus.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

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@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

[m4rv3l-girl]

Happens to the Best of Us - Part 4

Bucky x Y/N

Y/N took the test. Who’s gonna check it?

Note: I feel bad for the last part…kinda. (@mayafatimakhan)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Warnings: Possible pregnancy.

Time slowed as you and Bucky stood frozen, eyes locked on the small, plastic test lying on the counter between you.

The soft glow of the bathroom light highlighted his steady gaze, filled with unwavering support and gentle reassurance. For all his calm, though, you could feel the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly as they held yours, the weight of your collective hopes and fears pressing down on both of you.

Seconds stretched into eternity, each one pulsing with a nervous anticipation that filled the small space around you. You swallowed hard, barely daring to breathe. There was a strong chance that Bucky Barnes got you pregnant …

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, loud and unsteady, almost drowning out the soft click of the timer on your phone counting down to the result.

Bucky squeezed your hand gently, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. “You good, sweetheart?”

You gave him a shaky smile, nodding even as you felt your knees weaken. “Just…a little nervous.” Your laugh was tight, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s eyes softened, and he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Whatever happens, I’m right here, Doll. We’ll figure it out together.”

The warmth of his words wrapped around you, settling your anxious heart, if only just. You let out a slow breath, resting your head briefly against his shoulder, savoring the moment. As much as this was terrifying, it was also exciting, a moment you’d both dreamed of, even if it had seemed so far away not so long ago.

“You know we can’t just stare at it all night, Kitten?” he asked, his voice soft but steady, his expression a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“I know.”

“Want me to check?”

“No. Yes... Maybe…” You took a deep, calming breath, closing your eyes briefly before looking at him with a determined nod. “Yes. Go ahead.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, Bucky picked up the test, his face unreadable as he stared at the small screen.

The silence was thick, each heartbeat feeling like a lifetime, and you watched his face with bated breath, trying to glean anything from his expression. His brows knit together, and he tilted his head, squinting at the tiny symbols.

A long moment passed before he finally spoke, his voice hesitant and slightly confused. “Uh…I don’t know what this means, Doll…”

Your heart stuttered, and you blinked, feeling your breath hitch. “What? Am I knocked up or not?”

Bucky held the test closer to his face, his lips pressing into a thin line as he scrutinized it. “I don’t know! What does two blue stripes mean?” His bewildered expression was enough to break through your anxiety, a giggle escaping your lips despite yourself.

“Bucky, that means…that I’m pregnant.” The words left you breathlessly, the enormity of them hanging in the air between you.

Bucky’s eyes widened, the dawning realization transforming his face from confusion to awe. “You’re…we…we’re having a baby?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, his blue eyes shining as he looked at you, a flicker of joy lighting up his face.

You nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you laughed, the sound giddy and full of wonder. “Yes, Bucky. We’re having a baby.”

Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in the warmth of his embrace and he was bouncing excitedly on his heels.

You felt him bury his face in your hair, his breath hitching against you as he held you tight, like he never wanted to let go. The two of you stood there, locked together in this perfect, fragile moment, neither of you daring to move.

Bucky pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face as he looked at you, his gaze filled with so much love it made your heart ache. His eyes shimmered, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re really pregnant? I put a baby in you..?” he whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it more real.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he brushed them away gently, his thumb lingering on your skin. “Yeah, Bucky. Guess you really do have strong swimmers...”

A quiet, joy-filled laugh bubbled up from him, and he pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around you with a fierce protectiveness that felt like a promise. You could feel the gentle, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, grounding you, reminding you that this was real.

After a moment, Bucky’s hand drifted down, resting on your stomach with a reverence that brought a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. “Hey there, little one,” he murmured softly, his voice a low, awestruck whisper. “It’s your dad.”

The words settled over you like a soft blanket, the reality of it sinking in. He was already looking at you with such pride, as if you’d done something extraordinary just by being here with him, by letting this miracle happen.

“Are you…happy?” you asked, voice thick with emotion, feeling the weight of his hand against your stomach, grounding you in this new, incredible reality.

Bucky’s answer was immediate. “Happy? I’m fucking- oh, Sorry. Small ears. I’m elated, Doll. I didn’t think I’d ever get to have something like this. Like you. I thought…” His voice trailed off, his expression tender, a vulnerability there that made your heart swell. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to get a family.”

You reached up, cupping his face and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, pouring every unspoken word into the touch. “You deserve this, Bucky. You deserve every bit of happiness.”

He smiled against your lips, his gaze warm and overflowing with affection. “Guess we’re gonna be parents, huh?”

A bubble of laughter burst from you, and he joined in, the sound filling the bathroom, echoing in the tiny space and making it feel larger, warmer, like it held all the love in the world. He pulled you close again, resting his forehead against yours, both of you breathing in the joy of the moment.

After a few minutes, Bucky pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to a playful grin. “So…when can we go shopping?”

You blinked, laughing softly at the eagerness in his voice. “Already thinking about shopping? I haven’t even had a chance to process this.”

He shrugged, looking a little sheepish but still grinning. “Well, we gotta be prepared, right? Besides…” He placed a hand over your stomach again, his eyes shining with adoration. “I want our little one to have everything.”

Your heart melted at the words, and you leaned into him, feeling a deep, grounding sense of love and security. “Alright, but only if you promise we can take things slow. I think we have plenty of time.”

He grinned, a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen in ages. “Deal, Doll. But I’m not waiting too long—I’m already imagining them in a little Captain America onesie.” He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes, smiling as you let yourself get lost in his joy.

…………………………….………………………………………………..…………….………..

Part 5 is out now, lovelies!