riddlesdove

[riddlesdove]

seeing men on their knees awakens something so primal within me. Like it’s borderline pathological

[riddlesdove]

Ghost who after he gets with you he CANNOT focus while sniping lol. Well, at least not fully anyways.

He spends so long eating u out in the sniper position, rutting against the bed while u moan and grip his hair. The next op back from leave, he gets into position like normal and is mortified to feel himself stiffen up at just the familiarity of the movements. Hes hard the entire mission and thinking of you, shamefully ruts into the ground every now and then just to try and quell the ache.

[riddlesdove]

when you’re short on rafe’s payment

You felt him deep inside, a rough, insistent push that had you gasping, your back arching off his bed. His hand, calloused and strong, gripped your hip, holding you steady as he found his rhythm. The air was thick with the smell of stale pot smoke and something else, something sharp and metallic – Rafe. It was always Rafe.

"Fuuuck, I thought you had the cash, huh?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, a low rumble in his chest. His movements were steady, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch of him. "Guess not. Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous, doll."

You bit your lip, tasting copper. Generous. Yeah, right. You’d come up short, again, a few hundred bucks shy for the coke stashed in that crumpled baggie on the nightstand. You’d tried to bluff, tried to charm, but Rafe Cameron didn’t do charm when it came to his money. Or his product. He just looked at you, that dangerous glint in his eyes, and you knew what was coming. You always knew.

"This is payment," he ground out, a harder thrust driving the point home. You let out a muffled groan, your fingers digging into the worn sheets beneath you. It was payment, alright. A fucked-up, unspoken transaction that left you breathless and aching in a way money never could.

His eyes, dark and intense even in the dim light filtering through the grimy curtains, met yours. "You wanted it, didn't you? The good shit?" He shifted, a slight pull that made you whimper before he slammed back into you. "This is how you fucking get it."

You closed your eyes, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of shame and a raw, undeniable current of something else you didn't want to name. His hips pumped, relentless, a silent declaration that this was the deal, the one you’d implicitly agreed to the moment you’d admitted you were short. He wasn't asking. He was taking what he was owed, in the only currency he was interested in right now.

[riddlesdove]

your mouth waters the second you see it—thick, veiny, perfect, lined with those pretty little bars that make your tongue tingle just thinking about them. you’ve developed an obsession, really, a needy little oral fixation that simon loves to exploit. and right now? he’s looming over you, gripping the back of your head with those rough hands, watching as you drool just anticipating the stretch.

“such a fuckin’ slut for it,” he growls, thumb pressing into your bottom lip. “can’t even wait, can you? already drippin’.”

you whine, nodding, because he’s right—your cunt is throbbing, your mouth is empty and wrong, and you need him to ruin you. so when he shoves himself past your lips without warning, you moan like the desperate thing you are, throat fluttering around him instantly.

the bars drag against your tongue, teasing, torturing, and you hollow your cheeks just to hear him groan. his grip tightens, forcing you to take him deeper, until your nose is buried in the coarse hair at his base and tears prick at your eyes. spit spills from your lips, messy and obscene, sliding down your chin and dripping onto your tits.

“fuck, that’s it,” he rasps, hips rolling, fucking into your throat like it’s his. “love how you choke on it, how you beg for it. gonna ruin this pretty little throat ‘til you can’t even speak.”

you hum, vibrating around him, because you love this—the stretch, the burn, the way he uses you so perfectly. your fingers dig into his thighs, nails biting, as your hips grind down against nothing, desperate for friction. you’re so wet it’s embarrassing, your clit throbbing with every brutal thrust.

and then—his boot presses between your legs, rough and unyielding, and you sob around his cock. “that’s it, grind on it,” he taunts, voice dark with amusement. “fuck yourself on my boot like the desperate bitch you are.”

you do, shamelessly, humping against the leather as he pounds into your throat, your moans gurgling around him. the pleasure coils tight, your orgasm building with every filthy sound of spit and skin, every clink of his bars against your teeth.

“gonna come just from this, huh?” he laughs, cruel and sweet all at once. “gonna fucking drown me.”

you nod frantically, tears streaming, and when he finally lets you gasp for air, you scream his name as you shatter—clenching around nothing, your entire body shaking, his taste heavy on your tongue.

he just smirks, dragging his thumb through the mess on your face. “good girl.”

[riddlesdove]

bye why is this literally mattheodore

[riddlesdove]

i should be filled to the brim with cock rn because im cute and deserve it 🥺✨

[riddlesdove]

okay him using his strength to fuck her on him is the hottest thing

─ FLUSH OUT THIS FIRE FROM MY VEINS

BUCKY BARNES x F!READER

Summary: You're convinced that your feelings for your teammate and friend are one sided but when you're doused in a mysterious powder on a mission, it suddenly seems like that might not be the case after all.

Warnings: 18+. Sex pollen fic. Oral (fem receiving). Piv.

Word Count: 4K

A/N: A little re-write of an old fic :)

You felt feverish.

A savage burn flaring to life in the depth of your bones. It's in your blood, the branches of your lungs, rushing outwards to eat at every part of you like the spread of a wildfire before it settles hot and heavy in your gut.

It rips a gasp from your mouth as something wicked pierces through you, all primal need and desperate hunger, legs buckling like toothpicks at the cramp that swiftly follows and nearly sends you crashing to the ground if it wasn't for Bucky being right there.

"Woah, what the hell." He curses when he has to dive to catch you, the shadow of a frown creeping over his face when you practically swing from the cradle of his arms before you manage to regain your footing. "What's the matter with you?"

Beneath the harsh clip of his tone, you can hear it. His worry, his concern, packed tight around every word he grits past his teeth as you sway.

It's in his eyes, a streak of dark that bitters their natural warmth and narrows them to slits like that will help him peel back your layers until he can find the cause of your distress.

You want to tell him you're fine but you can't. You can't lie, not when his touch is on you.

Not when every nerve in your body is single mindedly attuned to this strange tingling stemming from his fingers sweeping up your back, circling around your arms and holding you firmly to his broad chest. He's too close but also somehow not enough, and it's all scrambling your brain, your eyes screwing shut because this is Bucky.

Because as much as you try to deny it and bury it way fucking deep down, your teammate is gorgeous and maybe the reason you were always joint at the hip isn't just the fact you're knitted together through blood soaked loyalty and trauma - but also the fact you're just that little bit in love with him.

And right now, every less than innocent thought you've ever had about the man is currently crashing against the wall of your skull and making the ache between your thighs pulse hotter.

If you don't move away, you could ruin everything.

Clawing feebly at his hands to release you, "It's the powder." You whimper. "It has to be. Probably one of those chemical weapons we were warned about."

That makes him go rigid.

Alarm subtly bursting across his face as his eyes rake over your body, no doubt measuring your symptoms against the ones he could remember from the files - the tremble in your legs when you escape his hold and stumble back over a gnarled root, your soft grunt of pain as your back hits a tree and you sink in a heap to the floor before he can reach out and snatch you back to his chest.

His brow furrows deeply, but then he's shaking his head. "They were just theories. Nothing was ever confirmed that they'd managed to actually create them."

"Does this look theoretical to you, James?" You growl. "It fucking hurts."

You curl in on yourself, fingers dragging through your hair and head hitting your knees as a fresh bloom of agony slashes through your belly and radiates out to the far reaches of the rest of your body.

There's silence. A beat, then two, then the vicious crunch of leaves under heavy boots. You glance up and Bucky is pacing, the tense set of his shoulders and furious tick in his jaw making you swallow hard as he mutters to himself before blue eyes snap to you.

"You absolute idiot." He hisses.

**

You were an idiot.

One with good intentions you could argue but definitely an idiot.

It had only happened because you'd both been distracted, because rather than paying attention like the seasoned heroes you supposedly are, you and Bucky had been bickering - like always.

'We're wasting our time here.'

'Shut up, James.'

'Why do you never listen to me, doll? I already told you the facility is a dead end, they've already cleared everything out.'

'And I already told you there could still be something left or it might not be as abandoned as we think, now shut up.'

You'd been in the middle of whirling around to flick him in the forehead, the way you know he despises, when you'd heard it. The quiet little clink of metal rolling over the floor behind you, the sound sending ice slashing down your spine before you'd burst into motion.

You'd snatched at Bucky with frantic hands, ignoring his stunned look before you'd shoved him with all your might back through the doorway you'd both just entered through.

Surprise had been the only reason you'd been able to unbalance him enough that he'd hit the ground and when his eyes found yours again you witnessed every emotion that flared across his face - confusion, understanding, followed by unfiltered horror.

The widening of his eyes as the fear flooded through and turned his movements wild.

You'd smiled at him sadly, a look that only made him lunge harder to reach you before you'd forced the heavy, steel door shut - slamming your entire weight against it for good measure so he couldn't get in no matter how hard he slammed his metal fist against the surface of it and screamed.

There'd been a moment of stillness, your forehead resting against the door, the beginnings of an apology on your tongue.

Then the canister exploded.

And you were so fucking confused because there had been no searing heat, no force that burst you apart like confetti.

Instead, you were covered in ocean blue powder, the sweet scent of it shooting up your nose, clogging your throat and making you splutter and choke whilst you glanced down stunned.

It was everywhere.

Your hair looked like a cotton candy disaster and your lashes were caked, bright little particles fluttering around your face every time you blinked.

Bucky had been furious when you'd opened the door.

Meeting your meek offering of a soft "hey" with a look like you'd committed the ultimate betrayal, like he'd been ready to explode and chew you out for even thinking of sacrificing yourself for him.

His nostrils flared, the soft blue of his eyes drowned out to a near black with rage before he'd blinked and they'd clouded with confusion.

"Why do you look like a smurf?"

**

It had itched first.

Barely coming off despite both yours and Bucky's efforts to dust you off once you'd got deep enough in the jungle to be considered safe.

You could feel it with every step you had taken, like a chalky film coating your body, mixing with your sweat and making your fingers clench with the desire to claw at yourself until you bled.

Then you burned.

And you'd tried desperately to hide it.

But Bucky was so acutely observant that from the very first gnarled root that seemed to suddenly appear on the jungle floor with the sole intent of tripping you up, his eyes had remained unflinchingly trained on you.

He'd watched your legs grow weaker, stumbling over nothing whilst they struggled to hold your weight, watched as the sweat beaded on your skin when the powder became acid in your veins and your expression turned dazed and nervous.

He'd murmured your name, soft and low in his suspicion. "You okay there, doll?"

It was a far cry to the way his tone slices at you now, the fury leeching into his eyes when he shoves a rough hand through his dark hair and points accusingly at you.

"You knew." He growls. "You knew something wasn't right with that powder and you didn't say anything."

"Didn't want to slow us down."

He scoffs, incredulous. "How's that working out right now, genius?"

"Jesus christ, Bucky!" You spit, an explosive shock of pain racking through your form and snapping the last fraying nerve of your patience. "What do you want from me - an apology? Is that it? You want me to say sorry for trying to save your ass, for dragging you in there in the first place? Or maybe I should apologise that this weird powder trying to kill me is such an inconvenience for you. I am so goddamn sorry, there, are you happy now?"

Your voice cracks on a sob at the end, a pang of horror flooding through you when your vision blurs and salt spills down your cheeks. How embarrassing.

But it stops Bucky dead, the violence of his rage burning out in a blink to be replaced by frantic worry.

He's right in front of you in seconds, knees hitting the dirt harshly and you almost scold him for it, your concern for him beating back the sudden longing you feel to climb into his lap and press yourself in deep. But then his fingers are on you, sweeping back the hair plastered to your cheeks and gently snatching at your chin to force your eyes on his.

"Hey– hey, don't cry, I'm sorry, okay?" He breathes, eyes darting over your face before he swallows hard. "You're gonna be fine, sweetheart, just tell me how I can help– tell me what you need."

His words curl warm in your chest, dripping down like syrup and gathering low in your belly as your thighs clench.

When you gaze at him, drinking in the thick girlish lashes, the shadow of stubble that frames the full pout of rosebud lips, your fingers begin exploring before you realise you've even lifted your hand. Palming the rough scratch of his jaw and pressing tentatively against the swell of his bottom lip whilst your teeth sink down on your own.

You shake your head despite yourself. "You don't know what you're asking."

There's no ignoring the way his throat bobs, the hitch in his breath as he watches you watch the slide of your fingers over his mouth. Pupils expanding and petal pink tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin as he wets his lips.

"Tell me."

**

It's so much.

Overwhelming and not enough in the way that leaves you torn between shoving him away and yanking him closer to beg for more. Each stroke of his tongue is molten, desperate and messy as he seeks to soothe the ache ravaging your body.

He hauls you to your feet, buries you into the rough bark of the tree beneath the relentless press his hips, fingers digging in your jaw and fisting your hair and when he pulls sharp it spills a ragged moan from your lips to his as the spark of pain shoots straight to your needy cunt.

You can feel his grin, that brief flash of cockiness that is so Bucky that you're almost tempted to give him shit for it. You don't.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, suck the plump flesh of his lip into your mouth and score it with your teeth whilst you rock shamelessly against him. There's a lewd pop when you release it, swollen and slick, that makes you both shudder.

"Please,” you rasp, “I need you."

He chokes, a low growl rumbling from his chest, his grip on you tightening, and then it's gone just as suddenly when his hands move down. Palming at your breasts whilst his mouth works its way down your jaw with soft kisses and stinging nips of his teeth.

"I've got you." He murmurs. "Gonna make you feel good, doll, make all that pain go away, I promise."

There's a sweetness to the way he says it. Mixing with the heat, the lust. You hear it, the thing he always tries to hide, tries to run away from - the simple fact that Bucky Barnes cares. Deeply.

Enough to give you himself to save your life despite the fact he sees you as nothing more than a teammate, a friend maybe at most.

And beneath all the wild hunger and aching need, the truth of what this is makes your heart hurt.

But you can't focus on that right now, your unrequited feelings have to wait because the effects of the powder are changing again. The flames morphing to feel like knives beneath your skin, jagged and piercing, and forced harder through your system now Bucky's touch has ignited your need.

You'd crumble if he pulled away. His name is already on the tip of your tongue ready to burst forth and beg him for more, more of his fingers, more of his mouth. More of him.

And it's like he can sense it, that chaotic desperation sweeping through your chest. Because suddenly his hand has slid inside your pants, peeling away the drenched fabric of your underwear and then, oh. Bucky slides a knuckle through the soaked folds of your cunt and your mind goes in a tail spin, your body jolting like a livewire in his arms.

"Fuck." He groans. "You're so wet."

He sinks his fingers inside you, curls them nice and deep so he can stroke that part of you that threatens to make you sob, your nails biting deep into the leather of his jacket with the iron grip you have on his shoulders.

He rubs at the aching peak of your clit and pinches your nipple, his mouth lapping the sweat from your throat whilst you cry out when you flood his hand. Every spark of pleasure he drags from you is a balm, the knives beneath your skin turning blunt, coated in cotton wool.

There's still a fire in your veins but it's twisting, morphing into something you're desperate to chase rather than run from and it's like you can't get there quick enough.

"Oh my god–"

He knows. You don't know how, but he understands immediately, like he already knows your body far better than you do.

He pulls back to look at you, drags his lips away from the seal they've placed upon your neck so near black eyes can stare directly into yours.

"Do you need more, baby? Just tell me and I'll give you it. I'll give you anything you want."

It hits you low in the gut. His eagerness to please when you've always known him to be so stubborn, the boldness of his hunger and his want streaked across blazing eyes and swollen lips - the erratic mess of his hair where your hands have raked through.

You must nod because his easy smile shifts wicked and he's on his knees before you can blink, yanking off your boots and dragging your pants down your legs before he presses them apart.

He sucks in a breath and looks up at you for just a moment, a brief slash of awe in his gaze as his fingers trail over your bare thighs, his hands squeezing the globes of your ass.

Then he winks and he's shoving his face between your legs, his tongue sweeping through the slick mess of your cunt before you can properly brace yourself. Your back hits the tree with a sharp knock and you squeak, the noise swiftly dissolving to a broken moan when he hitches your leg over his shoulder and buries his mouth deeper.

It's feral the way he eats at you, laps hungrily at your arousal like he's starved for it before he seals his mouth to your throbbing clit and sucks. You almost buckle when he presses his fingers back into you, when he crooks them just right and grazes his teeth lightly over your clit until you're practically soaking his face.

It feels like your entire body is clenching. Your muscles aching and stomach drawing tight, hips grinding against his mouth whilst you fingers catch at his hair to press him closer until he groans into your flesh.

He must be able to feel it, the way you're winding up like a tightly coiled spring, all of that volatile energy gathering in your centre just waiting to burst you wide open.

"That's it, sweetheart." He urges, voice rasping. "Cum for me."

You choke when it slams into you. His name a strangled cry in your throat as the pleasure climbs high and hot until it crests violently. Blacked out vision and static in your ears, enough fire in your blood to set the world around you ablaze.

And Bucky doesn't stop until you're gasping, until you're boneless and trembling beneath his hand that is buried in your thigh, holding you up. Still encouraging you to rock against his face until every sensation but pleasure is stripped from you and there's an endless stream of tears sliding down your cheeks.

When he eventually pulls back, your cheeks flame.

He's a mess, hair in disarray and the lower half of his face coated in you. He wears an expression you've never seen before, something dazed and proud, soaked in longing.

It makes you reach for him, makes you give in to the quivering muscles of your legs so you can sink down into his lap and drag his mouth to yours.

His hands come to cup your cheeks, thumbs sweeping the curve of your jaw whilst his lips glide bruisingly sweet over yours. "Good girl." He murmurs tenderly, the deep edge of it making you shiver. "How do you feel?"

"Better." You sigh softly, weakened by relief. "Thank you."

His mouth quirks slightly. Eyes turning endlessly warm, drifting down to where his thumb is pressing against the swell of your lip, rubbing at the spit slick shine. "My pleasure."

The air grows charged when he glances back up at you. It bloats with something intense, less wild than before but more gripping, something that makes your heartbeat break out in a gallop when he breathes your name and swallows hard.

There is panic in your chest suddenly. Dread for what has him looking at you so nervously, what he might say, nausea over what you must say first because without the pain clouding your thoughts the realisation of what you've done is very quickly setting in and god, what the hell are you supposed to do?

Do you apologise and attempt to act professional about it?

Do you pretend that it never happened at all?

You don't know if you're capable of doing either, not right now. Not when you're so in love with him and feeling like you've been cracked open by the softness of him after giving you the best orgasm of your life.

“Bucky, I–” You begin hesitantly, but before you can utter another word, you're gasping. Your stomach seizing up tight and sore from the brutal force of another, much worse, cramp.

His arms close around you when you drop your face into his neck, nosing at his throat in an attempt to douse the heat searing at your insides with the comfort of his scent.

"Hey." He soothes a hand over the back of your head, sweeps his fingers over your neck and down your sides to massage the muscles that have gone rigid with agony. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay."

"It hurts– I can't–” You whimper, frustrated tears threatening to spill over your lashline if you close your eyes against the pain. “I'm so sorry, Bucky, I need more."

"I know, baby, let me help– fuck."

He inhales sharply when you roll your hips over the thick of his clothed cock, your body shifting and rocking, searching, until he's pressed hard against you, the wetness between your thighs smearing over his jeans.

"I need you inside me, please." You beg, teeth scraping his throat, heart lodged somewhere in your own when he grasps your thighs with a curse and ruts up into you.

"Shit, okay." He hisses. "Come here."

**

You can't catch your breath, the sharp burn of it stuck inside your chest makes you light headed with every push and pull of his thick length inside you, stretching you open. His pants are shoved down around his thighs, his skin glistening in your slick as you clench and burst warm and wet around him.

You're beyond words, mouth dropped open and back arching, half delirious with need and pleasure as your friend fucks your brains out in the middle of the jungle whilst there's a jet probably only minutes out from the safehouse you're both supposed to be at, and you can't even bring yourself to care.

Instead, your hands are clawing at his jacket, a desperate whine building your throat, ‘closer, Bucky, please– I need you closer’, and he goes without a fight. Hauls you up until you're crushed tight against chest and hitches your thighs higher over his hips whilst his fever-hot mouth latches over your clothed nipple.

"Jesus christ." He groans into your skin. "You feel so fucking good."

You cry for him when he drops a hand to your clit, torturously slow strokes timed with each deliberate roll of his hips. There's blood roaring in your ears, the obscene slap of skin against skin loud in the otherwise silence as Bucky drowns out the effect of the powder with every climax he rings out of you.

"Oh fuck." You gasp as you press your face to the heated skin of his neck. There's molten heat beginning to ooze through you, thighs shaking and pleasure swirling low in your belly when he uses all that enhanced strength to move you over him exactly how we wants.

"Look at me." He urges, a gruff rumble through his chest as he throbs inside you. He grips the back of your neck and squeezes, shoves his brow against the side of your face to nudge his nose at your cheek as his voice hinges on a rough plea. "Look at me, baby, please, let me see you."

You can't deny him, not when he's coaxing you from your hiding place in his neck with the soft drag of his lips over your shoulder and the deep, honey-slow rock of his hips. And god, you just know you're a mess when you peel back, pupils blown wide and hair plastered to your tear soaked face.

You feel chafed raw, an exposed nerve being plucked like a guitar string and maybe you'd be embarrassed and eager to hide as much as possible if Bucky wasn't looking at you like you've somehow slammed through the hard shell of him and cracked him open.

It brings that feeling back again.

The one that leaves the air swelling warm and sweet and electric when your eyes lock with his. Tentative fingers drift over the swell of your cheek, his thumb drifting to press into the pillow of your lower lip and it feels like you're choking. Words rushing to the tip of your tongue that you desperately try to swallow before they burst free and change everything.

Only just as you think you've managed, Bucky changes everything for you.

It shudders out of him, his admission a choked gasp as the pleasure builds and your movements turn frantic. "I love you."

It takes you both by surprise, your mouth dropping open and his eyes blinking wide.

You're rendered incapable of responding because you're suddenly shaking apart with the hot burst of a climax, the intensity of it all dragging him along with you as he makes a wrecked noise low in his throat and spills deep.

When he trembles against you, you can see it past heavy lidded eyes.

The bloom of fear snaking through the pleasure.

That part of him that tells him to draw back, to throw his walls up, because he doesn't know how to handle the possibility that he's ruined one of the few good things he has in his life. It ripples across his expression, fearful and nervous, and it's your turn now to soothe him.

So you do.

You comb your fingers through his dishevelled hair, mold yourself against him and kiss him until he moans and goes soft and slack in your arms. The whole time, pressing the truth of your feelings into him like a promise, an oath that brands you both.

I've got you.

I love you too.

[riddlesdove]

Having a primal kink is so embarrassing. Like wdym I wanna play tag sexual style? Insane.

[riddlesdove]

me if being obsessed with older men was illegal

[riddlesdove]

roommate!simon riley realizing you've been stealing his clothes

simon didn't notice his clothes had slowly been disappearing from his closet. he was always gone on missions, and it wasn't like they didn't find their way back into his drawers at the end of the day.

there would be instances where he was looking for a particular hoodie that had disappeared without a trace, only to find it hanging in his closet the next day.

naturally, he was puzzled by this, but as long as everything returned to him, he didn't mind. he figured you had something to do with it, and to him, you were a harmless little bird. what harm was it to let you steal a shirt or a hoodie from time to time? especially if you needed something big and warm.

until he realised the harm it could cause when he found you in the kitchen with nothing, but his black shirt, 'riley' written across the back in big, white letters.

it was dangerous.

simon hadn't ever saw you in that light, hadn't ever imagined having any sort of claim on you other than being your roommate.

but now?

now you had his name over you.

now he wanted to see you with his last name after your first.

and he'd start making that happen by bending you over the kitchen counter, buried deep in your pussy after he pulled aside your lacy thong.

you'd gasp at the unexpectedness of his actions and keen to the feeling of his hands all over your body, his thick cock pounding your cunt. "fuckin' temptress." his gruff voice muttered into your neck, trailing sloppy kisses over your skin.

he'd knock every breath out of your lungs, make you delirious to where you didn't even question it when he muttered about giving you a ring and putting a baby inside you while rubbing your tummy, feeling where the tip of his cock nudged your stomach.

simon riley knows what he wants, and when he does, he doesn't stop at anything until he gets it.

[riddlesdove]

✨ details

[riddlesdove]

The House Always Wins -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

Your fork clinks against the edge of the plate as you laugh—head thrown back, relaxed, entirely at home in his living room. It’s your weekly ritual, and you love it. Dinner at Spencer’s.

Sometimes you fuck.

Sometimes you don’t.

But either way, it’s your favorite night of the week.

Tonight’s dinner was pasta—your best attempt yet—and Spencer raved about it even though you forgot the basil. You’re curled up on his couch now, both of you warm and full, legs tangled lazily. Your head rests against his chest, and his fingers are gently toying with the bracelet on your wrist—slowly rolling the beads between his fingers as he speaks.

“Poker is essentially probability,” he’s explaining, eyes fixed somewhere above your head. “There’s the mechanics of betting, of course, but the psychological aspect—bluffing, reading, reaction time—is where it really becomes a game of people more than numbers.”

You smile. “So you're telling me I’d be better at poker than you?”

He snorts. “Statistically unlikely.”

“Ah, but I’m hot. People get distracted.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not a valid statistical advantage.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work,” you hum, shifting your body a little. He keeps playing with the bracelet like it grounds him, his touch light and casual. Comforting.

Your other hand has been slowly inching across his stomach for the past several minutes. Inch by inch, over his Henley, fingers brushing barely-there circles, until you’re right over the waistband of his sweats. Your palm gently presses lower—just slightly. Just enough to graze the unmistakable shape of his growing hard-on.

He falters mid-sentence. You look up at him, your head still on his chest, lips curled into a barely-there smirk. “Something wrong, Doctor?”

He clears his throat, eyes flicking away. “You’re… you’re distracting.”

You raise an eyebrow, continuing your slow exploration. “I thought you were immune to distraction.”

“Not from you.”

Your fingers dip below the waistband, teasing along the ridge of him through his boxers. He inhales sharply.

“You were saying?” you ask sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

He glares—flustered, aroused, absolutely at your mercy.

“I was saying that poker is—fuck—about control,” he breathes as you wrap your fingers around him, slowly stroking through the thin fabric.

Your hand cups him properly now, palming him through the soft fabric, and he hisses between his teeth. His cock is already half-hard—hot and thick and twitching beneath your touch. You slide your palm up the length of him, teasingly slow.

His eyes cut to yours—dark, hungry, frustrated and fond all at once. “I thought you wanted to learn poker.”

You tug at the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down just enough to free him, thick and flushed and already dripping at the tip.

“I am learning,” you say innocently, brushing your lips against his inner thigh. “I’m learning that you’re incredibly easy to distract.”

He groans softly when you wrap your hand around him—slow strokes, base to tip, slick with his own arousal. “Fuck—”

“Call,” you whisper, dragging your tongue up the length of him, “or fold.”

Spencer’s head tips back against the couch cushion, his hips rocking up into your touch.

“I fold,” he breathes. “I fucking fold.”

And just like that, you take him into your mouth.

Slow at first, building your rhythm like it’s part of the game—lips slick, jaw loose, hand wrapped tight at the base to keep him right on the edge. Spencer is wrecked in minutes, fingers twisted in the blanket, whispering curses into the air like he forgot you were Hotch’s daughter and not just the girl who’s been driving him insane every night this week.

“You’re gonna—” he warns, but you don’t let up.

You hum low around him instead.

His whole body jerks, and then he’s gone—coming hard down your throat, a sharp gasp cutting through the silence. You swallow every drop, pulling back slowly with a satisfied sigh.

Spencer slumps, totally boneless, head lolling against the couch.

You crawl back up his chest, straddling his hips now, heart pounding. He reaches up, cupping your cheek like he’s forgotten every reason he ever gave himself to keep this casual.

“You win,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You smile. “That was only the first round.”

a/n: slut for Spencer Reid <3

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[riddlesdove]

Cockwarming with Simon Riley (NSFW)

age gap ( legal), cocksleeve,

You’re settled on his lap, snug and full, your soaked cunt wrapped tight around his cock. He’s buried deep inside you, unmoving, thick and warm, and you’re just... there—grinding lightly, kissing lazily, melting into each other.

His hands roam your body like he owns it—because he does. They squeeze your ass, trail along your hips, knead your thighs, cup your tits like he’s memorizing every inch. Sometimes, his fingers curl around your jaw, caressing your cheek tenderly, other times they wrap around your neck just tight enough to make your breath hitch. He knows what you need.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, grounding yourself as you keep him close. Lips pressed together, swollen from hours of kissing, mouths parting only to gasp or groan between the heat.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice ragged, hands sliding up to your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you’re whimpering. “So fuckin’ perfect like this. Just sittin’ on my cock, made for me.”

And God, you are. You feel like you were built for this—for him. You’d stay like this forever if he let you.

“You’re my good girl,” he breathes against your skin, kissing along your jaw, down to your throat. “My sweet little fucktoy.”

He sucks bruises into your neck, deliberately out in the open—he wants people to see. Wants them to know you’re his. The idea of you marked and full of him makes his cock throb inside you.

“Always so ready, aren’t you?” he growls, lips brushing your ear now. “My eager little thing. My favorite fuckin’ girl.

[riddlesdove]

i’m like if an angel fell from heaven and got insanely fucked up from the impact

[riddlesdove]

🖤 Tom Marvolo Riddle — commission for @wrengaunt 🖤

I’ve been itching to paint Tom for ages—and yes, Michael Bublé’s “Sway” was on an endless loop the whole time. Cheers for letting me have a go at him, mate. 🫂 Christmas has come early.

[riddlesdove]

Its something about them smoking

[riddlesdove]

“say thank you, baby.” simon murmured against your mouth. trailing lazy kisses and licks down your sweat slicked skin.

“you gotta be grateful,” he murmurs softly, his thick cock pummeled into you. fucking against the spongy spot inside of you that made your clit throb.

your mind was muddled, hazy and cock-drunk as the wet sound of him fucking you fills the room. “thank you,” you gasp out. eyes rolling back.

“for what, baby?”

a sharp snap of his hips has the air knocking out of your lungs. “for-for fucking me-for your cock-”

a dark chuckle leaves simon’s lips, rumbling against you and making your nipples tighten as he slowly rocks into you. one hand cradling your head and the other spreading your thighs open for him. “such a good girl. got such good manners, baby.”

NSFW LINK 🌽— inspo