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wlwloverwrites · 2 months ago

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Future Boyfriend

Pairing: 70s!Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: afab reader, reader is wearing a dress, sweat kink?, panty sniffing, squirting, brief handjob, cum play, nipple play, car sex (again) smut (18+) no minors

Summary: Logan, a man supposedly from the future, claims he is your boyfriend, so you ask him to prove it.

A/N: California’s heat wave in September is killing me. No one look at me. This fic just kept getting dirtier and dirtier.

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DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS

“So you’re from the future, huh?” You ask looking at the gruff man sitting in the driver’s seat.

“A little more complicated than that, Darlin, but you can say that,” the man reassures.

You hum sarcastically. Choosing to ignore the nickname he gives, which only makes him laugh under his breath. There’s a soft breeze that makes its way into the 1972 Buick Riviera and suddenly you’re hit with the smell of cigars. The smell, no doubt, coming from - “Wait, what’s your name again?”

It’s silent for a second, the only thing that fills your ears is the car’s roar when he hurrily pulls over under a shady tree on the side of the road.

“My name’s Logan,” he huffs playfully as he puts the car in park.

“Logan,” you feel yourself mimicking with a smile on your face.

He looks up at you with a sly smile, his sunglasses are now sitting on the dashboard, which gives you more of him to study.

Your eyes take in his sharp nose, soft eyes, and grown out facial hair before they drop to the three undone buttons on his collared shirt. The hair on his chest makes your fingers itch to undo the last few buttons and tug off his brown leather jacket. You’d be doing him a favor too.

The summer heat is criminal.

As if he read your mind, Logan tugs off his leather jacket, throwing it over his shoulder and to the back seat. You expect him to stop, but his thick fingers work to undo the rest of his buttons as he pulls off his shirt. His shirt falls on top of his leather jacket, leaving him in his low rise jeans held by a thick brown belt and white undershirt.

“So I’m just supposed to believe that you,” you point at Logan, then yourself. “And me end up together?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He asks raising his eyebrows.

The man is sex on legs. If anything you should be applauding your future-self for fucking and tying the man down.

“Kind of, yeah,” you lie.

“Liar.”

Before you could reply Logan readjusts himself in the driver’s seat. The sight of him widening his legs and throwing his arm over your shoulder has your mind thinking maybe the man isn’t crazy. Words are stuck in your throat when his lips dips to meet the sticky skin on your collarbone.

“Had you wrapped around my finger,” his breath is hot against the junction of your neck as he whispers against your skin.

His flirtatious tone makes you squirm on the leather seats and you find it’s getting harder to ignore the building heat between your thighs. The leather from the bench styles seats sticks to your skin. Your brightly patterned dress does little to separate you from the leather, instead it clings to you body where sweat forms on your skin.

“Prove it.”

Maybe Logan isn’t talking out of his ass or trying to use some lame pick up line. He could be telling the truth.

It’s only fair you give him a chance.

Connecting your lips, the kiss is messy which has you opening your legs and welcoming the left hand that’s gripping your thigh. The arm over your shoulder pushes you closer to him and your hands find his face. Pulling away, you cup his cheeks in your hands as you angle his head to the left. This time when you lips meet, you’re stifling a moan. The hand between your thigh expertly finds your clit over your cotton panties. He pays no mind at the sweat between your thighs, instead he rubs small circles that has you rolling your hips against his hand, begging for more.

“Just like that,” you praise.

His hand doesn’t even flinch.

“I know Darlin.”

He knows what you like.

“Cause you’re from the future?” You can barely spit out your words and whine when Logan pulls your panties to the side. Your brain only comprehends the way his fingers glide through your folds. He nods as he gathers your slick and uses it to rub your clit again.

“I know your body. Had years of practice.”

His words have you whimpering and hiding your face in his neck. The hands that were holding his face fall and greedily grab at his biceps. The muscles are firm in your hands and call for your teeth. Everything about the man makes your mouth water. The carnivorous ache in your teeth makes you feel silly, but you settle for moaning his name instead.

His fingers rub your clit and occasionally tease at your entrance where you’re dripping; however, despite your whines, Logan doesn’t give in. Squirming against his hand, unsure if you’re running to or from him, Logan keeps you in place causing your panties to scratch at your skin. Focusing on his fingers, you try your best to ignore the uncomfortable friction scratching your right inner thigh. Your eyes fall shut and suddenly your nose is hyperaware of the man’s scent. The smell of cheap cigars tickles your nose, but it’s the smell of his sweat that makes your head spin.

His scent makes you widen your legs. The shift allows for more friction on your sensitive skin, but you still choose to ignore it. Distracting yourself with his scent, you bury your nose in his neck and inhale; the way you breathe him in is animalistic. The loud sniff makes Logan laugh, making his fingers pick up their pace. You shift once one, this time a painful whine escapes your lips.

“W-What’s wrong?”

It isn’t his scared question that brings you back to reality, but the halt to his fingers. Your mouth falls shut and you open your eyes to see a very concerned Logan staring down at you.

Worried eyes jump all over your face and body, looking for your pain making your heart skip a beat. His free hand caresses the side of your face and tilts it to face him. He’s so concerned that your blood starts to feel hot.

Did his stare have to be this instense?

Shaking your head you reassure, “It’s nothing.”

Your attempt to comfort him is cut off by his lips. Expecting his teeth to clash with yours, your heads spins once more. Instead his kiss is soft and has you melting into the leather seat beneath you. Wet tongues taste each other, his tongue is romantic while yours is curious.

To him, your taste is comforting. His kiss is making up for lost time. Soft lips are desperate to commit every inch of your mouth to memory.

To you, his taste is addicting. You crave his entire being, his smell, touch, words, and lips. He reels you in with claws.

“Tell me, Darlin,” he begs as his lips travel down to your neck.

Shyly, your hands slip beneath the skirt of your dress and hook your underwear on your fingers and pull them off. Awkwardly you lift your hips to pull off the scratchy, grey material, but Logan is quick to take over.

“I was chafing,” you whisper, clearly embarrassed.

His body visibly relaxes before he shakes his head at the material in a disapproving manner. Meanwhile, his hand between your thighs searches for the irritated skin. Your sharp inhale tells him he’s found it before he gently kneads at your skin, a silent apology.

Careful not to irritate your skin more, Logan goes back to tug off your panties hugging at your thighs. His voice is taunting as he coos, “Don’t worry, I’ll take them off your hands.”

You nod at his words and expect him to toss your panties in the back seat the same way he did his shirt and jacket, but your jaw drops when he brings the cotton up to his nose. The sound of him breathing in the grey cotton fills the car and suddenly your bottom lip stings from the force of your teeth. You watch as his eyes roll back and you swear you see pink reach out and taste the wet cotton.

Pride builds in the bottom of your stomach as your body moves before you can stop it. You climb on his lap, thighs trapping the both of his, similar to the way your arms trap his neck. The steering wheel digs into the small of your back, but the bulge on Logan’s jeans brushing against your pussy does a great job in distracting you. Playfully, Logan jerks his hips upward, bouncing you on his lap, but you watch as his carefully stuffs the grey cotton into his back pocket.

“My future boyfriend is such a pervert,” you giggle.

“You like it,” he smirks as his hand finds its way between your thighs.

A gasp escapes your lips when two fingers shove themselves inside you, no longer playing the teasing game. Your pussy clenches, struggling to accommodate the thickness of his fingers. Logan wastes no time and ignores your pleads for a an extra second. His fingers, wet with your arousal, curl and hit the spongy spot inside you that has you cursing his name against his neck.

Your hips ride his hand, eager for more despite your whines. His fingers curl expertly and have you hiding your face in his neck. Sweat builds at your hairline, your spine, and the back of your neck, but you don’t care. The growing pleasure between your thighs captures your full attention and you pathetically cry Logan’s name, but he shushes you with his lips.

He whispers soft praises against your lips, letting you know it’s okay. The steering wheel digs into your back and the leather seats stick to your shines, holding you in place. With no where to escape, a loud gasp of Logan’s name is his only warning before your pussy gushes on his fingers and onto his jeans. Your heart races as the pressure in your lower tummy releases. Squeezing Logan’s fingers so tight it has him cursing as he watches your eyes roll back. He groans as a new, sweet scent, one only he can smell, fills his nostrils.

“Smell like my favorite candy.”

Your ears barely register Logan’s praises on how sweet you smell or the way he tucks the skirt of your dress so he can see the wet mess between your thighs and his jeans. Slipping his fingers out of your pussy, it’s not long after wet fingers find their way to your parted lips and push past your teeth.

“Come on. Taste it.”

His fingers press on your lips, egging you to lick them clean. His dark eyes meet yours and watch as your tongue peeks out and drools over his glistening fingers. Your subtle sweet taste lingers on your tongue and the way he’s looking at you is making you want to swallow down his fingers. Rather than feeding you his fingers, he smears your remaining juices on your lips. Your slick coats your lips like a cheap lip gloss, tricking your mind to rub your lips together.

“My turn,” Logan groans before his lips kiss yours.

The kiss is filthy.

His tongue licks your lips clean, almost like a dog. It should gross you out, the way he’s licking you, as if he’s eating you from the source, but it doesn’t. He groans at your familiar taste as your blind, impatient hands reach to tug off the thick, brown belt trapping his cock.

“Taste so good,” Logan moans, his hands reaching down to help you when a frustrated whine falls past your lips.

The metal clinks and the sound of his zipper makes your ears perk up. Taking over, your fingers hook on his belt loops and tug off his jeans. Your eyes widen when they are immediately rewarded with the sight of dark, wiry hairs leading up to his thick and veiny cock instead of underwear.

“Fuck me,” the curse escapes you before you can even think. It’s quiet so Logan lets you think he didn’t catch it. His thighs flex, a silent beg for your touch and you’re quick to comply. Without wasting time, your hand wraps around his thick cock.

“You’re big,” you whisper. Not as a praise or compliment, but a fact.

Bigger than you expected.

“You can take it,” he nods like he’s talking from experience.

His cock is heavy in your hand and mind races with dirty thoughts. Before you can reply, his hand traps the hand wrapped around his cock. He squeezes your hand as he guides your hand up and down his cock. His thumb pushes yours to circle the tip of his cock. Despite him being the one that guided your hand, despite him expecting the pleasure, his hips shudder beneath you and your name falls past his lips. You watch, memorizing the way his eyes flutter shut.

This time you fist his cock without his help, slapping his hand away.

The head of his cock glisten with precome that makes your mouth water. Your face feels hot when your eyes watch Logan curse under his breath and leak onto your hand. Adjusting yourself on his lap, you decide to use both your hands. Your left hand grabs the base of his cock, while your right hand jerks the rest of his cock.

“You’re so leaky,” you giggle and then some more when his cock spits out onto your hand.

He scoffs at you, but moans your name when your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock. His come piles on your thumb and he groans when it presses against his lips. You smirk when you repeat his words, “Come on. Taste it.”

Shamelessly, Logan’s lips wrap around over your thumb. His tongue licks your thumb clean so when you pop your thumb out of his mouth, it glistens with his spit. His eyes lock with yours and the overwhelming feeling of needing to be full takes over.

Logan sees it in your eyes. There’s a cloudy and dazed look in your eyes when you grab the base of his cock and line him up to your entrance. His rough hands hold your hips as you sit on his cock, gasping at every inch. Logan’s stare where the both of you meet has you drooling on his cock. Despite your slick, he watches as you struggle to take his cock.

“Know you can do, Darlin, you used to do it all the time,” he praises.

Your hands reach out to his shoulders. You pout as you take another inch, “That’s future me though.”

Logan lets out a hearty laugh. His laugh makes your heart flutter. The flutter travels down to your pussy and suddenly the laugh is cut short when your walls squeeze around him. His nails dig into the meat of your hips as he tugs at your skin, encouraging you to ease the burn in your thighs and just sit on his lap.

Aching with need, you furrow your brows as you sink further on his cock. Crying out his name when he slides deeper into your cunt. The head of his cock brushing past the spongy spot inside you.

Drunken with pleasure, Logan’s fingers grip your hips and moans, “Knew I had to find you.”

The pressure in your lower stomach builds as your skin’s temperature begins to rise. Your walls squeeze around his cock, adjusting to the stretch. His cock wet with your slick makes it easier for you to take the last inch of his cock.

“I’m so full,” you whine, cloudy eyes stare up at Logan’s soft stare.

Taking a moment to adjust, your lips find his as your fingers bury themselves in his hair. Tugging at the dark roots and smiling against the beads of sweats that pile on the back of his neck.

The hands that were on your hips rise to the small of your back, pushing your body closer. Forcing you leaning onto his body, your clit rests on the wet, wiry hairs on his pelvis. The hairs tickling your clit every time he nudges your body closer.

His left hand cups the side of your face and groans into your mouth when you carefully lift your hips. Pulling away, a line of spit connect the both of you for a second before it falls onto your chin. With a shaky breath, you work your hips down and sit on his cock with a soft bounce.

“That’s it, Darlin,” he praises, his eyes falling to the plunging neckline of your dress.

His lips kiss down your neck, teeth tugging at the neckline of your dance. Your hands slip from his hair when he yanks your dress to expose your breasts. You gasp as his lips wrap around your nipple, while he rolls the other between his fingers.

“Fuck.”

Logan’s mouth is desperate as he mouths at your nipple, occasionally, groaning into your skin when you grind your hips against his. Holding his head to your chest you focus on bouncing yourself on his cock, setting an even pace while chasing your high.

Your slick drips down his length and he can feel it dripping down his balls. A creamy ring decorates the base of his cock that only gets creamier with each bounce.

“Missed you so much,” Logan groans out on your chest, his mouth pulling away, only to give the same treatment to your other nipple.

Your pussy spasms over his cock trying to commit every vein to memory. The ache in your hips and the pain building from the steering wheel digging into your back is ignored as you mumble Logan’s name like a mantra.

“I’m close.” You cry out, as a weak warning.

You smile when you feel him nod against your chest, his silent way of letting you know that he knows. The roll of your hips get messy and the way your leaking on his cock gives him more than enough to figure you’re close to coming on his cock. You just need that extra push and he’s more than willing to give you that.

“Come on, Darlin,” he hums, slipping a hand between the both of you. The toothy smile he gives you when his fingers find your puffy clit has you whining his name. His eyes drop to your chest again, watching as your tits bounce with every attempt of chasing your orgasm. His fingers are soaked with your sweet slick as he rubs even circles on your clit. Your jaw drops as your body tenses.

“That’s it, darlin. Let go.”

Your walls squeeze his cock as he fights the urge to come inside you. He smiles at your bunched up dress that does little to cover you. Your entire body glistens with sweat and the sweet smell of your pussy fills Logan’s nose. He’s memorized as he watches your head fall back, exposing your neck and feels your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock.

“Ah! Lo-”

Gasping for air, you try to warn him, you really do, but it’s too late. Trying to run away from his fingers and cock, your lift your hips, unintentionally causing his cock to hit that spongy spot inside you before it slaps against his stomach. The lingering feeling of his cock spreading you open has you squirting on his cock with a cry.

“Logan!”

Overstimulated, Logan’s fingers pet your clit softly, smiling when your tired body jerks on his lap. His abs underneath his tank top flex when he sees a wet mess between your thighs, no doubt adding to the puddle on the leather seats. Chasing his orgasm, Logan’s hand reaches down to fist his soaked cock.

“F-fuck,” he stutters as the lewd sounds of Logan fisting his cock fill your ears. His hips flex as moans slip out of his mouth.

Slowly, you become more aware of your surroundings and help Logan finish. Eager to both see and hear how Logan comes, your hand replaces his. Shaky fingers wrap around his cock as your work a tight grip up and down his cock.

“Gonna come for me?”

Your sweet tone makes him throw his head back. A smile creeping on his face when you give him a playful and loud kiss on his cheek.

“Come on, I’m your future girlfriend,” you tease as your flick your wrist and swipe your thumb over the tip of his leaky cock. “You know you want to.”

The giggly banter, the banter he missed so much, has him choking out your name and spilling onto your hand. Spurts of his come land on your dress, on his shirt, and onto your hand. You watch as Logan’s chest rises and falls with every deep breath. His flushed skin glistens with sweat, similar to yours.

The silence is comfortable for a couple minutes as the both of your fix on your clothes onto your sticky skin. Huffing out loud as the heat suddenly begins to hit you, you shift on Logan’s lap. Looking up at him only to find his eyes already looking at you. Suddenly shy, you lower your gaze and look out the car window.

“You’re the first person I looked for.”

His confession is quiet and has you pulling your attention from the swaying trees to the soft eyes staring at you.

“Why?” You ask just as soft. “Why didn’t you wait to meet me how you’re suppose to?”

A part of you wants to bring up the way his fingertips dug into your skin, holding you down as if he was scared you were going to disappear. Maybe bring up the way his kiss press onto your skin just a tad too harsh, desperate with love. You most definitely want to bring up the salty tears that slipped down his cheeks when his cried out your name as he came.

“Just wanted more time with you,” he admits, avoiding eye contact for the first time since he first convinced you to get in his car.

“What do you mean?” You ask with a nervous laugh.

In attempt to comfort you, or maybe it’s for his own comfort, Logan’s rough hands find yours, intertwining your fingers together. His throat feels like its closing, but he still manages to spit out his selfish words.

“I needed more time with you.”

No pressure tags: @eupheme @mrsimpurity @joelsgoldrush @djarins-riduur @superhoeva @d1stalker @moonlight-prose @ozarkthedog @sunsburns @inkedells i love yall !!! Each and every single one of you are so talented and have individually inspired me to write for Logan! So thank you :)

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Read my other Logan fic here

#char: logan howlett #type: smut #xmen days of future past #xmen smut #xmen dofp #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x you smut #dofp logan howlett #dofp logan #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut

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slytherinslut0 · 1 month ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

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yawnderu · 11 months ago

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bimbo!reader has a girl cat that's absolutely in love with Simon.

“‘S your mama bein' mean to you?” He coos to the big white cat laid on his stomach, getting a few loud purrs in return as his hand runs up and down her fur.

“I'm just trying to put her collar on, Si.” You whine, attempting to grab the cat only for her to cuddle closer to Simon, kneading his chest. He gave you a small smile, leaning down to plant kisses all over her head.

“Gimme the collar, angel.” He reaches out for it and examines it for a few seconds, amusement dancing in his brown eyes. It's pink, decorated by strawberry charms over the length of it and a big, darker pink bow at the end. It absolutely looks like something you'd enjoy— like something Ms. Whiskers would enjoy.

He plants a kiss on your nose before putting the collar on the cat with ease, the birman putting no resistance at all. She was such an obedient girl before meeting Simon, yet just like you, she's been getting spoiled well. She meows as you pet her, pretty acrylics that he paid for running up and down her fur, making her purr louder on his chest.

Bimbo!Reader Masterlist

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incognit0slut · 2 months ago

Text

Doctor Reid

PART 2 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Established Relationship Your boyfriend finally agrees to indulge in your fantasy by playing a very different kind of doctor, but on his own terms.

Content: (18+) 4k, roleplay, lingerie, finger sucking, nipple play, fingering, female oral, edging, soft!dom as per usual and him being what you guys like to call ‘a little shit’ a/n: season 12 Spencer can stay between my thighs all day every day. also, i have no knowledge on any medical terms this is just ✨vibes✨

10:34 AM

The box was heavier than you’d expected. It had been weeks since you’d ordered it—weeks of wondering if this would even get here without some awkward explanation. You’d agonized over every little detail, scrolling through pages of different costumes, wondering which stethoscope looked the most real.

And now it was finally here.

You didn’t waste a second. Your fingers worked quickly, ripping through the tape and cardboard until the contents spilled out. A crisp, folded white coat with perfectly pressed lapels and a stethoscope. And it was a real one, with cool metal tubing that felt heavy and authentic in your hand. Everything looked even better than you’d imagined.

You barely took the time to fold back the box flaps before hurrying to the next room, where your boyfriend sat comfortably on the couch, idly thumbing through a book.

“Spencer!” Your voice practically sang in excitement. “It’s here!”

He glanced up and lowered his book. "What's here?"

You grinned, bouncing on your toes as you closed the distance between you. "The doctor is officially in," you declared, holding up the white coat like a trophy, the stethoscope dangling from your other hand.

You watched as realization dawned across his face as he blinked a few times, processing the items in your hands, before letting out a soft, amused huff.

"Wow," he said slowly. "You really went all out."

"Of course I did,” you affirmed, grinning from ear to ear as you held the coat up to his chest, sizing him up as though he were already playing the part. “And it’s perfect.”

He leaned back into the couch, trying to put some distance between him and your infectious enthusiasm. “You know I’m not much of an actor.”

“Baby,” you drawled out, emphasizing the pet name with that affectionate tone you knew worked like a charm on him. It was the same sweet voice you used when you wanted something, the kind that could coax just about anything from him. “You’re not trying to win the Oscars, it’s sex. I promise you’ll like it.”

He shook his head like he was the most put-upon boyfriend in the world, letting out a mock sigh of exasperation, though the faint smile playing at the corners of his lips betrayed him. He closed his book and set it aside.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said at last, dragging the word out as though it physically pained him to say it. “If we do this on my own terms.”

“Your own terms? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see. And,” he reached out, pinching the collar of the coat between his fingers. “I’m not wearing that.”

You pouted. “What, you don’t want to look like a real doctor?”

“I think I can pull it off without the costume.” He flashed you a smile. “I’m technically still a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Your multiple doctorates don’t exactly qualify you for this, Doctor Reid.”

“I thought having six degrees would be enough for anything.”

“Too bad none of them is needed now,” you shot back, poking a finger at his chest playfully. “The role I’m thinking of requires a different kind of expertise. More…” You paused, pretending to mull it over, “Hands-on. Less theoretical.”

The laugh he let out was short and incredulous, his eyebrows raising as if he couldn’t believe your persistence. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

You sighed dramatically. “Babyyyy.”

“You know, one of these days that tone isn’t going to work on me.”

“Oh, please, you love it,” you taunted, leaning in closer. “And don’t act like you’re not curious about this.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the pros and cons, debating just how far he’d let you push him. And then there it was, that spark in his eyes. Faint but undeniable—the one that told you he was already half convinced, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Alright, fine,” he finally conceded. “I’ll play along.”

The grin you wore was at least a mile wide as you shoved the stethoscope into his hand.

1:52 PM

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Spencer looked up from his stack of papers, and as soon as he saw you standing there, dressed in nothing but lacy lingerie that clung to every curve, his mouth fell open. He blinked, trying to process the sight. Because yes, while you looked incredibly sexy, he was still baffled.

“Since when does a patient wear... that?"

You stepped closer, letting his eyes follow your every move as you shrugged with a hint of feigned innocence in your smile. "Well, I thought I'd save you some time, you know? Make it easier for your examination."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his desk. "I'm not so sure this is standard procedure. I think you might be bending the rules here."

"Maybe. But I'm sure Doctor Reid can make a special exception, right?“

You shifted slightly, arching your back just enough to draw his attention. His eyes dropped to your chest, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the sheer, barely-there fabric of your lingerie. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, but it broke through anyway. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Of course,” he finally replied. “I think I can be persuaded.”

With that, he leaned forward, sweeping his documents to the side in one smooth motion, before patting the now-cleared space on the desk in front of him.

“Take a seat, Miss,” he said, his voice turning low and authoritative that lit a spark of excitement inside you. “Let’s get started.”

You bit your bottom lip, fighting back a grin as the cool wood of the desk pressed against the backs of your thighs. You watched Spencer stand up and slip between your legs, his hands finding your knees and spreading them just enough to close the distance until the heat of his body was flushed against yours.

“So, tell me,” he started, his voice lowering as he fell into the role. “What seems to be the problem today?”

A flutter of nerves danced in your stomach, and suddenly you were very aware of what was happening. You’d initiated this—had begged for it, even—but it was something entirely different now that Spencer was towering over you. The confidence you’d felt earlier wavered for just a moment as his palms ran slowly up your thighs.

“I, uh,” your voice faltering slightly as his hands continued their slow journey. “I… I haven’t been feeling well.”

His fingers brushed lightly against the frills of your lingerie, teasing the lace between his fingers as he maintained eye contact. “Any symptoms I should know about? Dizziness? Shortness of breath?”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb traced small circles over the fabric. “All of the above.”

“I see.” His eyes flickered down to your lips. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

Slowly, you parted your lips, and the moment you did, Spencer’s hand came up to your chin. He tilted your head back gently, exposing the graceful line of your throat.

“I’m going to run a few tests now.” He paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “It might feel intense, but I need you to stay relaxed and follow my instructions. Can you do that, Miss?”

You nodded as best as you could, mouth still open, and he gave you a small, approving smile.

“Stick your tongue out for me, just a little bit.”

You followed his instructions, extending your tongue just far enough to meet his touch. His eyes gleamed with focus as he brought his thumb to your mouth, pressing it lightly against your tongue.

“Hm,” he hummed, his eyes still fixed on your mouth like he was about to make a serious diagnosis. “I think I might be starting to see the problem here. But I need to check one more thing. Can you close your mouth around my finger?”

You complied, your lips wrapping around his thumb, feeling the rough pad of it pressing down on your tongue.

“Good,” he sighed, the approval in his voice like a reward in itself. “Now try giving it a gentle suck.”

You could feel the tension rising in you. Your cheeks hollowed as you did what he asked, and you couldn’t help but think back to the hesitation in his voice earlier, the way he’d claimed he wasn’t sure about this, that he wasn’t good at playing roles. You would’ve laughed if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

But you were an obedient patient, after all. You started sucking lightly, feeling the weight of his thumb resting against your tongue. There was something undeniably arousing about how he watched you, eyes heavy with focus, and that steady weight of his finger as he pretended to assess your reaction.

The first rush of arousal made itself known between your legs. You gradually increased the pressure, and before you knew it, you were bobbing your head. But just as you fell into a steady rhythm, his hand tightened on your chin to stop you.

“Just as I suspected,” he murmured after a moment, pulling his thumb away slightly to speak. “You’re suffering from an acute sensitivity.”

You swallowed, eyes wide as you played along, trying to keep your composure despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Is… is that serious?”

“I’ll need to do a further examination to understand the extent of your condition,” he mused, his eyes flickering between your face and your body as if assessing you before he straightened up slightly. “Let’s check your vitals now.”

He reached behind you, fingers brushing your lower back as he grabbed the stethoscope that had been sitting on the desk all day, the one you’d practically begged him to use. His expression turned serious, as though he were truly diagnosing you, and he leaned in close, pressing the flat side of the stethoscope against the pulse point on your neck.

“Deep breaths,” he instructed softly. You inhaled sharply, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest as the cool metal made contact with your skin. “Your heart rate is definitely elevated.”

He moved the stethoscope lower, brushing it along your collarbone, before pressing it just above your heart. You felt the thump, thump, thump of your pulse echo through the metal.

“Definitely fast,” he noted. “We might need to find out what’s causing such a reaction.”

And before you could respond, without warning, he moved the stethoscope lower, pressing the cold metal against your nipple. You let out a soft, involuntary moan as the sensation caught you off guard.

“Ah,” he muttered, tilting his head as if he were genuinely analyzing your response, his thumb grazing the lace-covered peak around the stethoscope. “I think we’ve found one of the pressure points.”

You watched as his fingers trailed up to the edge of your lingerie, dragging his knuckles along the lace before he tugged the fabric down, letting your breast spill free. Without a word, he pressed the stethoscope directly against your bare nipple. The sudden contact made you jolt, your back arching as a quiet whimper slipped from your lips, and your nipple hardened instantly under the cold metal.

“Heightened sensitivity to stimuli.” He moved the stethoscope in small circles. “Very, very responsive.”

His eyes flickered down as he used his free hand to tug down the other side of your lingerie, exposing your other breast. You tried to keep your cool, tried to pretend like his touch wasn’t turning you inside out, but it was getting harder by the second. And God, he knew it. The way he played with your other nipple, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger like he had all the time in the world, was enough to make your thoughts scatter.

You tried so hard to keep your composure, but then he gently pinched and tugged on your sensitive nub, and a soft, breathy whine escaped your lips before you could stop it. With a satisfied grin, he pulled away.

You blinked, momentarily dazed. “What—?” you breathed out. “Why did you stop?”

“Medical procedure,” he said simply, his tone so casual it almost made you forget the heat of his touch moments earlier. “It’s important to give the patient time to stabilize.”

You shot him a bewildered, almost exasperated look that said are you serious right now? But he just smiled that slow, self-assured smile of his. He was clearly enjoying this far too much.

“We’re doing this my way, remember?”

You huffed in mock annoyance. “Really? That’s how we’re playing this?”

He brushed his lips on your shoulder. “That’s how we’re playing."

5:22 PM

“Doctor Reid?”

Spencer glanced up from where he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He raised an eyebrow, casually stirring a hefty amount of sugar, the spoon clinking softly against the mug. “Hmm?”

The coolness of the counter pressed against your back as you watched him. “I think it’s getting worse.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just let his gaze rake over you, taking note of the way the thin fabric of your lingerie clung to your skin.

“Worse, how?” he finally asked, setting his mug down.

“It’s… spreading.”

“Spreading?” He mused. “Where, exactly?”

“Everywhere.” Your fingers nervously toyed with the hem of your lingerie, lifting it just enough to show a glimpse of bare skin beneath. “I really need your help, Doctor.”

His eyes immediately zeroed in on the sliver of skin you revealed. You watched as the realization flashed across his face. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was fighting back a satisfied smirk, and you knew then that he’d taken the bait—he had to confirm just how bare you really were.

“Come here,” he ordered softly. He stepped back from the counter just enough to make space. “If it’s spreading, I have to conduct a full-body assessment.”

You slowly made your way to him with shaky legs.

“Up,” he instructed, giving the counter a gentle pat before letting his hands settle on your hips. “Sit.”

The cool marble touched the backs of your thighs as you hoisted yourself up. Then, without warning, Spencer’s hands were on your legs. He grabbed your calves, and before you could even catch your breath, he maneuvered your knees apart, placing the palms of your feet flat onto the countertop.

His eyes dropped between your legs, and the sight of you completely bare, your pussy lips glistening under the dim light, confirmed what he’d suspected. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he took in every detail, the way you were flushed, open, and dripping.

“Is there a reason,” he began slowly, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft, detached tone. “Why you’re not wearing anything underneath?”

“I… I thought it might make the examination easier.”

He smiled. “How considerate.”

Then with painstaking slowness, Spencer used both thumbs to part your folds, spreading you open completely to his gaze. It was almost clinical, the way he did it, as if he were studying you like some fascinating experiment. And it was working. You could feel the heat of embarrassment rushing in your veins. God, he had you spread open like this in your kitchen counter, and all you could think was how absolutely shameless this was.

He took his time, of course. Because why wouldn’t he? Spencer Reid didn’t rush experiments. No, he would spend all the time in the world analyzing, learning, committing every detail to memory. And right now, that focus was on you. He dragged his fingertips through your arousal, spreading it leisurely over your folds like he was testing its consistency, as if that slick heat was something he could measure and quantify.

And all you could do was hold your breath.

“I have to say,” he started again, his voice low and taunting as his fingers slid back and forth slowly, grazing just over your entrance without actually dipping inside. “You’re overly lubricated. Are you always like this?”

You exhaled a long breath, trying to steady the rapid rhythm of your heart. “Y-Yes.”

Spencer's smile deepened, his gaze never leaving your face as he pressed just a bit harder, testing your reaction. “Interesting. Do you get this wet from just a little touch, or does it have to be… more?”

“J-Just a little,” you admitted, hips instinctively shifting toward his fingers.

“Mmm,” he hummed approvingly, and finally—finally—he let his finger slide just inside your entrance, only to stop right there, buried to the first knuckle. He didn’t move any further. “Is that all it takes? Or do you need more to truly feel the effects?”

“I...” You let out a whimper when his finger twitched inside you. "M-More."

“And how much more, exactly? One finger? Two?”

“Two,” you gasped, every coherent thought slipping away under his touch. “Two… Doctor.”

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips, and without another word, he obliged, slipping a second finger inside you. The stretch made you bite back a moan as you felt every inch of him dragging against your inner walls. You couldn’t help the way your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers, pulling him deeper as your slick arousal coated every thrust.

“You’re even more responsive than I thought,” he noted, adjusting his angle to brush against that sensitive spot inside you. “Your partner must enjoy this… a lot.”

He was playing his role all too well. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as his speed picked up. "He... He does," you breathed out. "He—he loves it."

Spencer hummed thoughtfully. "Good," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "Because this is a very special condition that requires a great deal of attention. And I'm sure that you need all the attention you can get, don't you?"

“Yes,” you sighed, nodding frantically as the pleasure built in steady waves. “I… I need it.”

"I thought so. Patients with your symptoms typically respond very well to intensive treatment."

With that, his fingers began to thrust deeper, faster, harder. The sensation of his long fingers stretching you had you moaning as you felt every drag, every inch while he continued to work you open. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more intense, he pressed a thumb firmly against your clit.

“Oh, fuck.”

He circled your swollen nub in slow, delicious patterns, and your body clenched around his fingers. This was it. You could feel it. The way your pulse pounded in your ears, the heat pooling deep in your core, every sensation building higher and higher. You could feel that sweet, sweet edge approaching, so close you could practically taste it—

And then he stopped.

Everything. Stopped.

“Spencer!”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t rush to soothe the ache in your body. He simply slid his fingers out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“Open your mouth.”

You parted your lips, and he slipped his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself. The mix of your own slick and the heat of his skin made you moan softly, your tongue swirling around his fingers

“You see, you can be very responsive,” he commented in a low, measured tone. “But I think we should take a break, rushing the treatment would only compromise the results.”

He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like he wasn’t purposefully doing this to drive you insane. You wanted to laugh, and you did. But it was a defeated, breathless sort of laugh around his fingers, because you knew the man settled between your thighs still held all the power over you.

08:56 PM

“Babe?”

He laughed softly, not even glancing up from the book he was reading. “No more Doctor?”

You ignored the amusement in his voice as you walked up to the bed where he lay sprawled out, so casually composed, flipping another page like he hadn’t spent the entire day driving you mad. You reached the edge of the mattress, shadow casting over him, and his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours.

“I wanna cum.”

Spencer’s smile widened, the kind that made your stomach flip with both excitement and irritation, and he placed the book down beside him. His hand reached out lazily to brush your thigh.

“Yeah?” he drawled, tilting his head to the side. “Does my sweet girl want to be taken care of?”

You nodded eagerly. “Please.”

“Well, I do like it when you ask nicely,” he muttered, one hand sliding up to grip your waist. “And you’ve been very patient all day.”

“I have.”

“I think you deserve it.”

“I do.”

He let out an amused laugh. “Alright, lay down on the bed.”

You didn’t hesitate. You quickly shifted, lying back against the pillows. Spencer’s hands were on you immediately, gripping your thighs and dragging you toward the edge of the mattress. The room spun for a moment when he settled onto his knees. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, his fingers squeezing your calf as he pressed a soft, teasing kiss against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Comfortable?”

You nodded, and just as the breath left your lungs, his fingers brushed against the slick, wet folds of your pussy. He traced the outline of your lips gently, gathering the moisture that had been building all day.

“Poor baby,” he cooed sympathetically, his breath ghosting over your wetness. And just when you thought you couldn’t take another moment of teasing, he pressed his tongue flat against you and licked a long strip from your entrance to your clit.

A desperate whine escaped your lips. “Please…”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. He licked another long, languid strip to your clit, swirling his tongue around it before flattening it again, dragging slowly just to savor the way you trembled beneath him. One of his hands gripped your thigh firmly, keeping your leg steady over his shoulder, while the other slid underneath, lifting your hips closer to his mouth.

And when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit again, pulling it into his mouth with a gentle suck, a choked moan tore from your throat.

“Spencer,” you whimpered. “Oh god…”

The vibration of his low groan reverberated through you. His fingers gripped your thighs tightly, holding you open and pinned beneath him. You weren’t sure what was more overwhelming. The sensation of his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit or the wet, obscene sounds of him slurping against your soaked folds. Either way, it was driving you wild, pushing you closer and closer to that edge where everything blurred and all you could do was feel.

And then his tongue shifted, dipping lower to probe your entrance. He pushed inside, exploring, seeking, like he was determined to reach every possible inch of you. And damn it, it felt like he could. Each thrust and twist of his tongue sent a surge of delicious heat through your body, and you couldn’t help the way your thighs trembled against his shoulders, squeezing him tighter.

You could barely breathe as the tension coiled tighter, so fucking tight you thought you might snap. And he knew it—he could feel it, the way your walls clenched around his tongue, the way your thighs trembled against his shoulders. And still, he didn’t let up, thrusting his tongue into you deeper, faster, while his nose rubbed insistently against your clit.

He kept going, over and over, tasting you like you were the only thing that could satisfy his hunger. It was too much and yet not enough, and soon you couldn’t stop the desperate chant of his name spilling from your lips. You weren’t even sure what you were pleading for anymore—more? mercy?—all you knew was that you on the brink of falling apart.

One last stroke was enough to shatter you completely.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you came, but with the way he was working you over, you didn’t stand a chance. The moment you felt yourself tip over, everything broke—your body tensed, your back arched sharply off the bed, and a loud moan tore from your lips. It was like your body had a mind of its own, hips grinding desperately against his mouth as if seeking every last bit of friction you could steal.

And when you finally came down, you were a breathless, panting mess. Spencer gave your clit one final, teasing suck, before he pulled back. He crawled up your body, hands sliding up your sides to push your lingerie higher. Gentle, warm kisses tickled your stomach as he threw you a smug look that only he could pull off.

“How was that,” he murmured, pausing to kiss just beneath your ribs. “For your little fantasy?”

Mind-blowing. Intense. Better than I imagined.

“Well,” you managed to say, fingers tangling into his hair. “If that’s how you plan on treating me, Doctor, I might just have to get sick more often.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin, and he nipped gently at your side.

“I think it’s best for you to do a regular check-up, then,” he teased, letting his lips ghost over your skin as he crawled further up, settling his body over yours. “Doctor’s orders.”

You couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that escaped your lips as you pulled him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his mouth.

You’d be more than happy to comply.

#kinktober 2024 #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction

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thinkinonsense · 2 months ago

Text

ON YOUR COLLAR

old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: smut, logan has a bit of a pain kink, slightly jealous/possesive reader

masterlist

every time –without fail– you manage to leave a lipstick print on the collar of logan's white button down as he heads out the door for work. painted in all shades of pinks, reds, and brown; logan couldn't escape your lips even if he tried.

"can't have any of those customers thinking that a handsome man like you is single." you tell him, before pressing the white material to your lips.

logan never would've picture you being the more possessive one in the relationship but he sure enjoyed it. he can't stare at the lipstick stain for too long while working or else he will get unbearably hard and have to relieve himself in the back of the limo once everyone's gone.

"they don't want an old man like me." logan jokes as you place an extra kiss mark on his pulse point.

"good." you whisper into his ear, pushing him down on the bed. "because you're my old man. not theirs."

logan had to go soon but he couldn't resist your touch. fingers popping open buttons and snaking their way down his toned stomach. your eyes were darker than usual; clouded with lust. logan wasn't one to be take orders in bed but there was something about your dominating attitude that made his pants tighter.

"you're mine. isn't that right, baby?" you smile up at him.

"y-you already know that answer." logan huffs, not wanting to cave.

"c'mon, lo..." the sound of your giggles also cause a moan to slip from his lips. "entertain me."

your hand slips under his black trousers. logan sucks in sharp breath, letting his head fall back against the silk sheets. you free him from the tight restraints of his pants, slowly stroking him. in a rush of need, he chases after your lips.

"i'm waiting..."

logan always gave into your antics. sometimes it took him longer to come around but he would never leave you hanging.

your lips press kisses to his throat and down his chest. the lower your head went, the closer logan was to telling you exactly what you wanted to hear.

"i-i'm yours, honey." he stutters, hips thrusting softly for your touch.

you smile up at him, placing a kiss on the head before sitting up to straddle him and lifting up your dress. carefully, sliding him through your slit a couple time and letting the tip bump your clit.

"c'mon, sweets." logan whines, thrusting his hips up until he's able to slip inside. "gotta leave soon."

"s-shit, can feel you everywhere, lo." you purr, grabbing his left hand and placing it on your lower tummy. "especially, right here."

logan could cum from just feeling the bulge of himself inside of you. the urge became even harder when you started swirling your hips, bouncing lightly at first. not nearly going fast enough for his liking. too busy leaving a trail of red kisses behind; marking your territory.

answering his prayers, you finally pick up the pace.

"fuck," he curses under his breath as your teeth sink into his shoulder. you can feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.

"when were you gonna tell me that you gotta thing for pain, baby?" you ask, pulling back to tease him.

not even hesitating, logan wraps a fist in your hair, pulling it just the way you liked. you gasp at the action and he can feel you clench down on him, sucking him in deliciously. your nails dig into his bicep, leaving behind small crescent-moon shapes.

"hush," logan hisses, gaining back control.

the closer you teetered towards the edge, the more willingly you complied with him. you didn't have much of a choice as he repeatedly hit the sweet spot inside of you.

"c-close." you whimper.

logan nods, bringing his thumb up to your lips for you to suck on before lowering it to rub your button. it didn't take long for your orgasm to wash over your body, trigger logan's release as well.

within seconds, you collapse onto his chest, panting and sore. logan holds you closer as he checks the time.

"i gotta go, sweetheart." he says, carefully slipping out of you and rolling you over.

"wish you could stay." you pout as he covers you.

"i do too, but ill be back tonight."

you watch him get redressed, happy with your lips on his collar still. always with him.

"get some rest, you'll need it later." he smirks, walking out the door and listening to your heartbeat increase with excitement.

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mysindividual · 3 months ago

Text

Unknowingly, his | Aaron Hotchner

requested

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: You never fail to make Hotch smile, even in hard times. One late night, when reader comes to his office to do some paperwork with him, he cannot help but catch himself staring at you and wondering if Hayley had the right to be jealous of you

cw: hints of jealous reader, mentions of jealous haley, divorce talk, cheating talk, mutual pinning my beloved <33

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story!

It was 7 in the morning when you entered your dull office with an emphatic unambiguous ugh. You tossed your briefcase and jacket onto the leather couch to your right, closed the door behind you with your heel, walked over to the table and turned on the light. You did a good job rearranging everything last night, but the files you were supposed to audit for the day had already been put on your desk. Though, you needn’t to rush as the team had already gotten a new case when 20 minutes prior you received a call. At least you had already been prepared to come down to your office, all dressed up. The phone call came through just as you were to about to cross your doorstep.

Moaning, you picked up the phone, dialed the number and patiently held for a response. You despised this. After a month, the team had a day off and you weren't expected to have a heavy workload today (also, you could never take a day off when the rest of the team did), so the most noticeably awful thing to do on a day like this for you was to call them back in.

You played with a tangled cord of your telephone when a hoarse voice spoke, "Hotchner” on the other end of the call.

Great, you wondered, was he already awake or did you wake him up. You could name a handful of different better ways of doing so.

"Uh, hi, Hotch." You noticed it was slightly too sweet how you said it. It might have been your way to make the news more appealing, or maybe, his early morning voice made you melt. You could never be certain which is the one.

Before he spoke your name, he cleared his throat and you believed you heard a light peck against his lips and someone’s chuckle.

The butterflies in your stomach died in an instant. Another great thing you had to do this morning.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything,” you said with a wry smile, rolling your eyes, “but I’m afraid I don’t have good news.”

Silence.

It made you glance at the handset you were holding to your ear.

Oh, how you have ruined his day before it even began.

“I figured. Call the rest of the team. I’ll meet you there in 20.” And with that, he ended the call. You could already detect a sudden shift in his tone, could already see a familiar frown appearing on his face.

──────────────────────

It was late at night when you knocked at Aaron's office door. Most of the agents on the sixth floor of the building were already out. Aaron could hear your heels clicking against the floor, echoing in the space before you even entered the bullpen.

"Hey."

A frown was settled on his face as he sat in a large chair behind his desk, his red tie slightly askew on his white-collar shirt, his rolled-up sleeves revealing his bare forearm. You couldn't help but notice that his hair, too, was more disheveled than normal. You tilted your head. If you had the chance, you would stare at him like that for eternity.

When Hotch regarded you with a fleeting gaze and a quick 'come in' in response before resuming to his paperwork and forms, you entered his office with a gentle exhale.

There was no need for questions or instructions as you silently retrieved the documents from your side of the table once you had sat across him.

That was the schedule you used to follow regularly.

Every time a case ended, both of you had to come together and complete the paperwork. At times, you’d spend extra time working together into the late night until you both were barely able to keep your eyes open, whilst other times it didn't take as long. Even though some might argue that it was not the perfect scenario - staying up late with your boss - those times when you had to be silent and be in close proximity to him were calming and almost sufficient to fuel your bizarre attraction that began the moment you first laid eyes on him. It was constantly shifting, influenced by mood changes from both of you. You were never afraid to express your strong opinion even if it didn’t parallel his, never afraid to speak for yourself, but you were also the one that spent most time with him, knew him better than the rest of the team, even had the most in common. The team referred to you as Hotch’s soft spot (not to his knowing, of course). In spite of being one of the youngest members of the team, if another member messed something up, they’d hide behind you, ask you to talk some sense into Hotch. To him, you could never do wrong. He was always a little bit blind to your faults. And you, obviously, weren’t oblivious to that. Not that you took advantage of it, or to be quite frank never a serious one. You could notice how one look, one ‘Hotch?’, one ‘please?’ could make him easily change his mind no matter who stood on the other end of the topic. You still remember when Penelope first started working with the team, and the first time she saw you two together - you saw a ‘?!?’ above her head. She asked if you were the wife.

And then, on the other side, there was a wife. Hotch was married, and you knew his little family - Haley and their son, so you never thought about breaking that boundary. As such, you were very adept at playing the game of hot and cold when it came to Hotch. Even if he weren’t someone’s husband, there was still a bit of an age gap between the two of you, and let’s not forget Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism. He was your boss after all, and in all your mind, you just firmly believed Aaron would never allow himself such a thing.

While you filled out the forms, you noticed something quite different tonight. Hotch had complete trust in you, he was aware of where your loyalties laid. You'd been on the same team for a few years in a row now, during which he would occasionally sign certain documents prior to you completing them. However, tonight was different. Tonight, he appeared unenthusiastic about returning home early to maximize the limited time his job allowed him to spend with his family.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired, feigning ignorance of his eyebrows raising towards you.

He shook it off, replied with a stock ‘Nothing’.

Neither of you seemed to stop whatever you were writing down.

“We’ve spent way too much time together. If you think I wouldn’t notice,” you eyed him. “You are wrong, boss.”

Aaron’s eyes finally really met yours for the very first time tonight. He leaned back in his seat comfortably, arms resting on armrests. “Are you a profiler now?”

“I might be one,” you mused, leaning back in your seat, crossing your legs as you put your pen aside. “Perhaps I have picked up a few skills working with the best.”

He surveyed you, a smile playing in the corner of his lips.

Aaron Hotchner - the profiler - never misses anything.

“In any case, I believed we had agreed not to profile each other,” he spoke gently.

You expressed gratitude to God for that. Would he, then, realize the extent of a crush you had for him in those little moments and mood changes? Was he just as unaware of that as any other man even though Aaron Hotchner was not just any man? You, in rare cases of boredom, would wonder what he really thought of you. Did he think it was just your personality - being all flirty and smiley, with everyone?

“I’m not profiling you, Hotch.” You reassured him. “It’s just… Would you not ask me if I were fine if you’d noticed?”

“Yes, I would.”

“And you’d want me to tell the truth?”

He nodded slightly in response.

Your eyebrows snapped together. “Then?”

As soon as the thought of Haley came back into his mind, his expression fell serious, his smile faltered.

He couldn't believe that Haley could possibly be jealous of any of his colleagues. After being together for years, he believed she would have had more insight, would known him better than that. For months now, that had not been the case. They practically turned into strangers who occasionally had to share the same bed. Even though he didn't realize it then, after the final confrontation and some calm reflection, everything became clear. Although the very thought of losing Haley was unknown… painful.

That morning when y/n called him, the moment Haley was waking him up in bed with her kisses, he called out your name. They both got carried away in the heat of the moment, not realizing that the call was indeed coming at his work number.

He recalled the way she gazed at him then - disappointed more than anything else - she shook her head and pushed him aside, getting up from the bed and putting on her robe. After the call had ended, he wanted to explain to Haley but what she said to him petrified him.

“It's always work, and it's always her, and you always go running like a dog whenever she calls you!”

He was upset, offended. However, he was fully aware that Haley was determined to find a way to bring their relationship to an end, regardless of his actions, whether positive or negative.

Aaron remembered then the call to the home telephone which he had picked, but was welcomed with silence before that someone hang up on him. And then Haley's mobile rang. He knew. He knew then, in that shared gaze with Haley. But regardless of all that, Aaron wanted one more chance, at least for their son Jack, who needed a united family more than anything else.

“Haley and I are getting divorced.” He spoke, not realising you had been back to signing the documents whilst he was busy in his thoughts.

“What?”

That took you by a surprise. You would have never guessed it. Yes, you shared glances with the rest of the team while working on the last case, noticing how something bothered Hotch, how slightly distracted he was. You could have notice how quiet he was on your way back home in the jet, not engaging in a conversation with anyone, with you. Yes, you all have guessed he had an argument with Haley having to leave for work again when he’d finally had a day off, but divorce… No one believed the two of them would ever divorce.

“I’m so sorry, Hotch.”

“For a while it has been… different. I guess there’s nothing I could do about that now, nothing to change the situation we have gotten into.” He spoke as if though he hadn’t heard you, his dark eyes distant in a dim lighting. “I tried.”

You didn’t want to pry. You needed not to know what happened - their reason, whatever it might have been, was sufficient. You didn't believe it was Haley's fault, nor his fault. You could understand both of them. It was indeed a rather challenging one. Only a handful of individuals could understand the job you have chosen to do, sometimes it made you wonder if you’d ever find anyone that would.

Unless it was someone doing the same job, the chances were relatively small. Reid could give his statistics on this one, you’d remind yourself to ask.

“I know, Hotch.” You reached out instinctively, your hand over his, slightly squeezing. He did not move or flinch, his eyes shifting to where the contact was. The hand under your palm was warm, simultaneously rough and soft. His wedding ring was reverberating a tiny bit of coldness against your skin. “And I know you. I know you would never just quit. You don’t deserve this. And I’m really so so sorry.”

“I’m not ideal. Haley has every right. I’m more gone than present, more a boss than a husband.” He sighed, pondering. “My own marriage’s been in trouble and needed saving, but I wasn’t able to admit it and help myself, help us. I wonder how I still keep this job.”

“Don’t take it too hard on yourself, ok? It’s never just one side, but it does get better. I promise. At least that much I know of. If there’s anything I can do…”

“You are here. Listening.”

You once again felt noticed as his intense yet somehow gentlest of gaze met yours. You loved that about Aaron, the ways he could make you feel in just seconds - you could be all platonically giggly and flirty with him in one, but in the next moment when he would regard you with that look in his eyes, one word, one smile - the world would stop, you could only hear your heart beating, his presence only existing. And it scared you.

It should have been just a banal crush.

You withdrew your hand from his at the thought, clearing your throat to cover a moment that was… profound, finding sudden interest in the documents again. “I can complete this by the end of night, you can-“

“No.” He cut you off, sighing as the documents on his desk filled his sight again. “It’s fine. I don’t have anywhere to be in particular tonight. I have to finish this by morning…”

His brows raised once his eyes met yours again before he added, whispering. “And I could use some company.”

Or preferably, he could use your company.

“Ah, Strauss… The woman knows how to keep her employees in dislike of her.” You stated, averting your gaze from his eyes, taking another file from atop of others. “You should give her some tips.”

A soft chuckle escaped his throat, breaking the silent grimness that spread in the room.

“Since this is gonna be one hell of a night...” You put your hands on the armrests, ready to stand up. It was an attempt to run, reflect, calm down. “Anything you want me to get you?”

“Actually, I’m about to get some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Well, if we must finish all this work…” You nodded, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we have to.”

“Ok.” He said in a soft-spoken manner, rising to his feet, and then pointed his finger at you in a manner similar to scolding a child. “But don’t doze off on me again. I’ll be right back.”

You put your hands up in defiance.

When he passed next to you, you followed him with your gaze out of the office. His perfume barely reached up your nostrils and you slumped in your seat, eyes closed, your breath shuddering.

That was close.

And about that… It wouldn’t be your first time. The team was amazed by your ability to fall asleep literally anywhere - desk, bench, floor, cinema, waiting rooms - you name it.

The first time Aaron found about this talent of yours was after the case. You went to check out of the hotel with the rest of the team, and while waiting for others in the lobby seated on a bar stool with your arms crossed, you fell asleep. He was quite taken aback, or rather impressed as well as everyone else, to see you dozing off while seated. On your way home, the team occasionally made jokes about it, but what stood out to you the most was that Hotch was also very engaged in them.

“Thank you.” He said once he returned to his office and put your cup of coffee before you.

You locked eyes with him, offering a small smile. “You are always very welcome.”

Taking a break from work, you took a sip. Just how you liked it. How attentive. Not that it was surprising. “And I suppose I should thank you.”

He lifted the cup in his hand to his lips but halted before taking a sip, his tongue gliding over his lips. You stared, hypnotized. “I’m sorry? Thank me for what exactly?”

“Yeah, you know…” Nervous, you offered him a report you’d just finished hoping he didn’t catch that. He reached forward to take it. “For indirectly acknowledging that seeing my name on your phone on a day off is not the most pleasant thing. I suppose I am bad news.”

“It’s a rather heavy subject, you know.” He replied in a professional tone, his eyes glued on the paper.

“Well, we’ve got all night.” You joked, throwing your hands in the air.

His eyes softened upon meeting yours once again. “I didn’t say that, and no, you aren’t.”

You lifted your brow at him. And then, there was that crooked grin on your face, teasing him to admit.

He observed you for a moment. “Sometimes, yes.” He succumbed to your will once again, before signing the report, concealing his own smile from you.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #i might turn this one into a slow burn series #like just some chapters here and there #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #unknowingly series

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pedgito · 5 months ago

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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

summary | General Marcus Acacius has one thing Emperor Geta doesn't, you.

author's note | @pr0ximamidnight is FULLY responsible for this. she had an idea, i flip-flopped and threw out another one, and here we are. paige thank you for being a constant source of inspiration in my life and pea brain, ily. and thank you for beta'ing.

content warning | 18+ smut, DDDNE, dubcon - power imbalance and forced cuckolding | additional warnings: reader is a servant (but also participates in s*x work), established situationship with the general, marcus is a soft but guilt-riddled man, geta is literally just a gremlin asshole with an ego and you know what? i'm okay with that, heavy degradation, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, fingering, f voyeurism/exhibitionism. extra note: please heed the tags and proceed with caution. do not read if this icks you out, that simple. also we can just say this is au to avoid the bs. i just wanted to write a fic with both of my blorbos <3

word count —2.7k

There was something special about being bedded by a General, one so illustrious and generous as Acacius, but an Emperor, that was a wholly different experience.

He knew you belonged to General Acacius, in a sense. One of his loyal servants who had sailed across the sea with him to the palace of the Emperor brothers who ruled here—Caracalla, a slimy and disgusting man, alongside his brother Geta, who wasn’t much better. He was smarter, though—albeit not by much, but his choices were calculated, vengeful, planned.

He had his eyes set on you from the moment you entered his home, alongside General Acacius in your unsuspecting and flimsy garb, a white and pristine material to match that of your General, detailed with gold specks and a tie at your waist that kept you modest.

“Serve them, appease them,” General Acacius had told you, “they are tempered men, do not upset them.” He’d meant it as a warning; watch yourself.

Acacius was a caring leader, for the most part. You stayed out of politics and war, dutiful to him and his needs wherever and whenever he needed you—and if that meant buried in his sheets when you were away with him on one of his many triumphs around Rome, that was his business and your secret to keep. The gold necklace that hung around your neck was a gift from him, a thank you for all of your hard work, but a silent reminder that you were his. None of the other men touched you, like a brand on your body that had them running in the other direction.

But, not Emperor Geta.

He tips your chin up with his finger, your body shaking nervously under his touch as he uses his other hand to spread your legs apart at your knees, stripped out of his cloak and down to his tunic, but even that was hanging on by a thread.

He’d commanded you to strip down in front of him, your clothes pooled somewhere on the floor near his bed.

You’ve been in plenty of situations like this before, sex with men you didn’t care for. If it meant sustenance and another day of breathing, you didn’t care. You did what you had to. But this, it felt off. There was a constant snarl to his face, his gold crown displaced beside your head as his finger trace and followed until he was gripping the underside of your chin in his palm and pushing up, fingering the necklace with a smug, salacious grin.

“He’s got you collared,” Geta breathes, “like a dog, doesn’t he?”

Don’t speak, he’ll hear the quiver in your voice.

“Answer me,” His voice booms, “does he fuck you in secret?”

You blink, watching his lips pull back in a thin line and his gaze—it was frightening.

You nod despite yourself, not prepared to see what would happen if you had lied.

The thing with Geta was he also disguised his intentions behind momentary kindness.

A kind smile as you offered him a full goblet of wine or refilled his plate, as you trailed alongside him holding another gaudy offering to appease the other ego-driven men who pursued this place—General Acacius knew he was losing you to him and there wasn’t a thing he could say or do without risking your life in the process.

His face softens for a brief moment, feeling the hard swallow from your throat as it strains, eyes droning into the bedpost above your head as his fingers flex, debating on whether he should rip the jewelry from your neck or leave it be.

Eventually, he decides for the latter.

“Show me,” Geta commands, “how you please him.”

He loosens his grip on your chin and allows his hand to fall, watching as you rise up slightly on your elbows, breasts shaking with the movement and you can catch the way his jaw clenches, salivating at the sight. You pull at the tie on his skirt, finding that he was already bare underneath, his hard and aching cock springing from underneath as you pushed it away.

His confidence wasn’t a cover, you could confirm. He was large, not nearly as much as General Acacius but given the amount of situations you’ve caught yourself in, staring up or down at men who just needed a quick taste of you and the pleasure you had to offer, he was quite enough.

The tip, red and dripping already, he palms himself. A chuckle escapes his chest as he flings the rest of the fabric to the floor, his hand cupping around his balls and rolling them between his fingers before he’s gripping his shaft and then your own hand, allowing a few strokes before he intructs you to do as he’s asked.

You squeeze, apply an ample amount of pressure as you pull at his shaft, watching as he slowly canted his own hips into your palm, his hand gripping into your scalp to keep you upright, hair tangled around his fingers as he breathes out roughly through his nose.

“Always know a whore when I see one,” He denotes and you have to fight the urge to bark back, “do you suck cock like one too?”

If anything, it was a silent order.

You push up onto your palm, feeling the strength of his grip as he yanks your head back, forcing your eyes to lock with his as he uses the other hand to guide his cock head to your lips, sneering as he spreads the glistening precome over your lips before pressing further. You open your mouth to him, allowing the heavy weight of his cock to split your lips apart, giving you very little time to adjust before he’s eagerly thrusting into your mouth, using your hand to cover the rest of his cock you couldn’t fit, feeling more shameful than you should about how you weren’t as bothered by him as you should be.

He wasn’t some strange man pandering you with a pile of coins on the street or around the dark corner of the palace—he was power. An emperor with little remorse.

You can hear him chuckling darkly above, his eyes wild as you suck at his cock, spit pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin.

“Messy bitch,” He mutters, picking up the pace considerably as he began to fuck into your mouth, the tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat forcing a garbled gag around him, “—are you of the thankful sort or are you ungrateful?”

He pulls you back suddenly, leaving you to gasp out in desperation at the sudden relief, looking up at him with watery eyes, swallowing against your sensitive gag reflex.

“Thank—thankful, sir.” You confirm with a weak nod.

“No sir,” He counters, “Emperor. Let me hear you speak it.”

“Thankful,” You affirm, “I’m thankful, Emperor.”

“Good,” His thumb traces your bottom lip, mixing with the spit and slick of him that was covering your mouth, “so you’ll take my cum and say thank you, won’t you?”

You nod obediently, feeling him loosen the grip on your hair slightly as he fisted himself, using the copious amount of spit as lubricant. You watch as his abdomen flexes under the guise of his impending orgasm, how jerky his movements become as his teeth dig into his bottom lip, a muffled curse slipping beyond his lips before he’s pressing his cock to your lips without warning and expecting, knowing that his obedient little whore would be willing and waiting. His cum pools in your tongue, salty and warm as he jerks himself a few final times before he pulls away, watching carefully as you swallow down the taste of him. It was then that he finally allowed you a break, releasing his grip on your scalp as you fell back.

“What a harlot you are,” Geta comments, but seemingly pleased as he leans back on his calves and pulls you upright, awaiting until you’re sitting less rigidly before he drags a hand across your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and watching as it pebbled underneath his touch, “might I suggest an audience?”

You have no time to respond before he’s fetching for one of his other many servants, a name you’ve never heard before being thrown across the room and you scramble for the covers, desperate for some protection to your state of undress. Geta allows it, but he doesn’t hide the smirk or laugh that escapes him, his eyes creasing in amusement.

The servant peaks around the door dutifully, wide eyes dropping on you before quickly averting to the Emperor.

“Fetch the General for me, would you?” He asks, “I’ve been meaning to show him a proper good time.”

The servant nods meekly before departing and when Geta looks at you—he sees it.

“What?” He remarks like a child, “Don’t fear for your modesty now—“

The footsteps grow closer, heavy and slow as they thump, thump, thump against the floor, matching the quick beat of your heart.

“Emperor Geta—“ His voice brings you to tears, looking away in fear that he would judge, seethe, leave you to be eaten alive by the Emperor on your own and finally rid himself of you.

“General,” He boasts, still stark naked but using your legs as a makeshift cover over his cock, despite how bare you were, “won’t you join us?”

When you do look at him, he’s stoic. Fearful just as much as you. In fact, you’ve never seen him this worried. Not even in the depths of war.

“Are you asking, Emperor?” He counters, “Or ordering?”

Geta answers with a wave of his hand toward your naked body and Acacius pushes down the sigh that wants to escape through his nose, closing the door shut behind him.

“She’s quite the woman, you must know,” He comments and General Acacius' nose flares at the words, lifting himself slowly onto the bed to sit near you, still a distance away. If you reached out, you could touch him, “beautiful, obedient—the perfect whore, really.”

“Emperor, forgive me,” Acacius argues, “but I am not sure what you want from me in this situation.”

“She’s yours, is she not?” He asks, flinging the necklace up lazily before it hits your chest again and Acacius eyes immediately draw to the jewelry. “This reeks of you.”

“It was a gift, for her diligent and loyal work.”

Because as much as you had served General Acacius in many ways, you were still tending to everything else without complaint and with a good attitude. In another life, if things could be different, you might have him as your own. But, that wasn’t possible.

“Do you fuck her?”

Geta knows the answer—all of you do.

“That is none—“

“As she is under my rule—it is my business,” He snaps, “Do you fuck her, General? Is she a good fuck?”

Lord above, put me out of this misery, you think.

Acacius offers nothing but silence.

Geta nods with finality, “Fair—you can watch and tell me if her moans sound the same while my cock is inside of her.”

And Geta catches the way your hand in his sheets inch closer toward Acacius out of instinct, wanting his touch just as bad.

He furrows his brow and nods toward the General.

“Prepare her for me,” He orders, “touch her.”

Your eyes flick up toward him, a silent and pleading echo of Marcus behind your eyes. Serve him, appease him.

He closes his eyes and breathes a deep sign, his fingers trailing down your stomach until they can hover over your cunt, his middle and ring finger placed and at the ready. You nod, mouth instantly falling open at his touch.

The Emperor smirks, watching Acacius dexterous fingers work over your clit and your chest rise and fall in quick succession, his hand fisting his own cock lazily.

“I can see why you’ve taken such a liking to her,” Geta notes, speaking as if you weren’t in the room, as if he wasn’t fisting his cock at the entrance of you cunt, “I owe you, for bringing her to me—and leaving her with me.”

You can see the way Acacius' face twitches in anger, but his eyes never leave yours when they open again, using him as a solace in this complicated time. You grab for his wrist when you feel yourself growing near, breathing out a shaky moan.

“There, stop.” Geta orders and Acacius' hand drags away slowly, fingers drifting along the edge of your jaw with a fondness that was reserved for you alone.

You smile sadly.

I’m sorry, you convey silently.

In this world, Acacius knew you had no choice in the matter. It was survival and had you been born into a wealthier family, a better life, maybe you would be at the other end of this situation.

“Look at me,” He commands you, pulling your face away from Acacius grip and forcing your eyes on him as he presses inside of you slow, hand gripped at the base of his cock as he split you open, his face pinched as you squeezed him, cunt sucking him in greedily.

You bite at your cheek, trying to stifle the involuntary moans from the stretch of Emperor Geta’s cock. You could deny and say that it didn’t feel good, but that would be a lie. Your selfish body was betraying you and you didn’t want to give the Emperor the satisfaction, not yet.

Acacius shakes his head minutely, a subtle movement you barely catch. Don’t defy him.

“Tell her,” Geta says through heavy breaths, his hips snapping into you steadily, your thighs being pressed tight to your body with his grip on the back of them, “keeping silent will do her no good.”

“Dove,” He comforts you, “let go.”

“You’ve named her!” Geta exclaims in amusement and genuine disbelief, “You’ve named your whore? Pathetic.”

“She was never a whore,” Acacius snaps through gritted teeth, “she is loyal—good, and she does not deserve this. She would give you anything you asked if you did it with kindness.”

“I’m right here!” You shout, fed up with the unjust tension, your voice riddled with the building pleasure in your groin, the feeling of Geta’s thumb ghosting over your clit.

“Grab her face and look at her,” Geta orders roughly, his chest flushed from exertion, “and be sorrowful that it isn’t you making her fall apart—seeing as this is the last time you will ever be allowed to see her.”

You sob out, both from the crest of your orgasm and the hate behind his words, eyes locked on your General for the brief interim that you fall apart, pulsing tightly around the Emperor’s cock until he comes with grunt, slipping out of you just in enough time that has seed doesn’t spill into you. The last thing he needed was a bastard son.

“You will learn to respect me,” He snarls, grabbing for his clothes haphazardly and retrying them around his waist.

You shake with a silent cry, hand still latched around the General’s wrist, too afraid to let him go.

“You have five minutes,” Geta bites, “say your goodbyes and leave my sight, both of you.”

The moment his footsteps finally descend and you feel the momentary relief, he deflates.

“Marcus, I never meant—“

He shushes you quickly, pushing the stray hair from your face as you lean up, reaching for him and he tucks you into his chest.

“You are safer here,” He promises, “I cannot protect you like I once could, and you’re smart—I know you are. Geta is a temperamental but immature man. Get in his head, manipulate him. Live.”

“Where are you going?” You ask with a somber tone.

“Away,” He replies simply, not willing to elaborate.

It tugs at your heart deeply, feeling the material of a blanket being slide up over your naked body.

“Fight,” It’s one of the last words he says to you, pressing a kiss against your forehead before he reaches your lips, and it lingers for a while, but not nearly as long as you wish, “if not for me, but for you.”

And you would, even if it killed you.

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reiderwriter · 5 months ago

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💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong.

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot.

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him.

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.”

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there.

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-”

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.”

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him.

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.”

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight.

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell.

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation.

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at.

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0.

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type.

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2.

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged.

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground.

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group.

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you.

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?”

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.”

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions.

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended.

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you.

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship.

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him.

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well.

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours.

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind.

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.”

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.”

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who.

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit.

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning.

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was.

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance.

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything.

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table.

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up.

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.”

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table.

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight.

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up.

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in.

Probably to remove you from the room.

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around.

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.”

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you.

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you.

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher.

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room.

“What? How is this my fault?”

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.”

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it.

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?”

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward.

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops.

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you.

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet.

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced.

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.”

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath.

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear.

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth.

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting.

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds.

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go.

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more.

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered.

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further.

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you.

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again.

“Reid, Y/N,�� Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other.

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan.

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened.

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you.

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave.

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you.

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office.

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands.

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him.

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you.

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood.

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on.

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other.

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise.

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad.

You'd given him the cold shoulder but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't.

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation.

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space.

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry.

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you.

“That's my seat.”

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder.

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.”

“But that is my seat-”

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument. Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been.

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly.

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs.

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight.

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face.

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep.

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything.

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement.

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner.

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed.

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane.

“You're being slow today.”

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone.

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass.

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.”

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him.

Two could play at that game.

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you.

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder.

He didn't wither.

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass.

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.”

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition.

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace.

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there.

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye.

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.”

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear.

“That was my gun.”

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid.

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself.

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie.

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples.

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him.

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong?

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk.

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you.

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer.

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer.

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case.

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in.

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels..

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang.

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves.

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait.

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore.

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide.

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss.

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question.

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again.

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall.

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.”

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.”

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees.

“What? Sp-”

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat.

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly.

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat.

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth.

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him.

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you.

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave.

“Open,” he demanded.

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom.

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you.

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.”

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you.

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard.

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?”

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock.

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him.

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in.

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts.

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex.

You screamed your pleasure.

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours.

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you.

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder.

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way.

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy.

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore.

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another.

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still.

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.”

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you.

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion.

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough.

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least.

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling.

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.”

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body.

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?”

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to.

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