#enough stalling time to post

[billy-cockblock]

REV AU one shot: Chris finds out

Crawls out of my hole covered in blood and mold: I don't know why this was so hard to write, but the writer's block is hitting me hard. I could see several parts of this scene so clearly in my head, but my brain just really didn't want to put words to paper. Once my brain's better I'll probably come and edit this a bit, but I hope y'all enjoy it. It's definitely one or the favorite scenes I've come up with.

He quickly lifted heavy limbs, picking them up from the ground. Leon’s vision had gone dark, but his rapidly came into focus. 

He fumbled for the gun dropped when they went flying, foreign hands finding familiar purchase against the metal. Taking aim, he let off a volley of shots at the monsters encroaching on them. 

They were tougher than infected he’d faced before; the center body of the strange knife-whipping tentacles needing to be basically shredded before they died, and bullet holes slowly sealed over with black tendrils if it wasn’t killed completely. 

He felt like he was wasting ammo, but it just took so many bullets to drop the monsters. The larger one that’d flung them across the room and slammed Leon’s head into a desk was getting closer, lumbering steps slow. He tried to shoot its head like the rest of them, but the gun only clicked.

He swore under his breath and pulled Leon’s knife out; he hated close-quarters combat, but he didn’t have time to reload. Diving past flailing, dangerous limbs, he buried the knife in its main body. It grabbed and sliced at them, but he kept stabbing and cutting until it was too shredded to keep moving. He shoved it with more strength than he was used to, and it fell to the ground, dead.

Head still on a swivel, he made sure there were no more infected. The room looked clear, but there were a few desks and filing cabinets something could hide behind. 

While he checked the room over, Ethan took a breath. He felt bad for having to break his promise of not taking control, but Leon wasn’t waking up in time. He’d pull back once Leon woke up, but it felt like he’d gotten a concussion with how hard he’d gotten his head hit. He spread his mold, stitching closed the scratches and scrapes Leon’s body had accrued. Skin and muscle was easy to regenerate, then pull his network from, and it’d almost become second nature since he’d gotten permission from Leon. 

Nerves were a little harder. The mold naturally liked to cling to the nervous system, trying to take control and upload a person’s consciousness to the megamycete. It preferred to envelop or take over nerves, and that took more coaxing from Ethan to get it to untangle. 

That’s why he was hesitating trying to do something about the concussion. He’d done his best to take control of Leon’s motor functions without getting the mold too tangled with his brain, but he’d have to root even deeper if he wanted to heal it. He subconsciously felt along his connection from the megamycete to the brain-

He froze. Damaged cartilage, more mold present, fractured vertebrae, and frayed nerves. A lot of frayed nerves. 

He reached for the back of Leon’s neck, both with the body’s hand and his mold. The joints in the spine felt like they’d been misaligned before snapping back into place, nearly severing Leon’s entire spinal cord. His brain still sent and received continuous waves of signals to and from the body, impulses carried across the gap by Ethan’s mold network tangling with Leon’s nervous system. 

Ethan felt like he was going to be sick. Or, as sick as he could feel in the state he was in. He didn’t think Leon hit his head that badly, but he guessed his neck did snap in a weird angle when they hit that desk. 

After the horrific stories Leon had told him, a desk is what would have done him in?

He tried to pull the nerve fibers back together, but the mold that had taken their places was stubborn. It had locked itself firmly in place to keep the cord from coming detached and shutting down Leon’s body functions. He’s glad it obeyed when he tried to program it to protect Leon without his input, but he needed the mold to move if he wanted to heal it enough that he could remove it. He’d have to work to remove his network from his nerves anyway, so he might as well work on healing the concussion. He could practically hear the megamycete sing in joy as he spread to repair the battering Leon’s brain had taken-

“Close call, huh?” a familiar voice asked from behind them, making him tense up. 

“Y-yeah, no kidding,” he replied, trying his best to speak like Leon. He nearly enveloped the man’s brain to speed his healing; he needed Leon awake now. 

“I got worried when I saw one of them toss you, but I knew you’d have it handled,” Chris Redfield continued, none the wiser that he wasn’t talking to the real Leon. Ethan could hear him do that dumb slow pace he does while talking, where he wouldn’t look at him; dramatic asshole. Leon would’ve been dead if he didn’t have the mold. “You aren’t hurt too bad, though? Or infected?”

“No, I’ve had worse,” he replied, echoing what Leon said every time he’d close his wounds. He did his best to keep casual while hiding every inch of skin he could. His dark veins under Leon’s skin were visible even on his hands, and Ethan was sure his face was worse. 

“True, but this is my case,” Chris stopped his pacing and sighed. “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t lost control of E-003.” A bolt of white-hot anger flared through Ethan’s entire network, and he felt a tingle from Leon’s brain. “Someone got to her, and-“

“What did you call Rose?” a voice, distinctly not Leon’s, left his mouth. Ethan whirled around without thinking, face pinched in anger, before freezing, rage forgotten. 

He met Chris’s eyes for the first time in sixteen years, and it was like the horror and dread never left them since that day in Europe. 

Without breaking eye contact, Chris pulled his pistol from its holster but kept it trained on the ground. With his other hand, he clicked the radio on his shoulder.

“Redfield reporting,” his gravelly voice didn’t give anything away, but Ethan couldn’t let him finish. “Kennedy’s been-”

A pillar of mold extending from Leon’s arm slammed him in the shoulder and enveloped the radio. He rolled with the force and raised his gun. The bullets aimed straight for Leon’s head harmlessly embedded themselves in a thick, carapace-like shield formed on his other arm.

Ethan had to get them out of there. The door was behind Chris, but the windows behind them were busted. They were on the second floor, so climbing to the roof would be better.

With half a plan, he tried to form tendrils to drag them back while he kept guarding their front. The mold twisted up in the space the megamycete laid in and instead formed four long, spider-like legs from Leon’s back. 

Whatever, I can work with it, he thought, sending a tendril off his arm to pull Chris’s feet out from under him. He lifted them off the ground, pulling them back to the window. He found it with the limbs and hooked them outside the frame. He grew claws over Leon’s hands to scramble up the side, earning him a bullet to leg once his guard was dropped. He ignored Chris’s shouts as he climbed over the edge of the roof and jumped for another.

He strengthened his legs and used the spidery limbs to get him as far from Chris as he could. He wouldn’t let Leon get found out, he wouldn’t let him get killed, and he’d only stay until he knew Rose was safe. Now he just had to find a place to settle down enough to finish Leon’s healing.

A sudden stab of pain to his consciousness nearly sent him careening off a roof. He thought it might’ve been something from the megamycete trying to fight its way out before he heard him.

What the hell was that?! Leon mentally shouted; he was wrestling for control back to his body, and was doing a damn good job of it. You promised! And why did you attack Chris?!

Ethan pulled any mold back back from his skin and shoved control back so fast, Leon fell to his knees.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… he said on repeat. He felt Leon’s shoulders loose a little tension as he shakily stood to find cover behind an air conditioner. Once he’d gotten settled down, he laid a hand on his chest over where the megamycete rested.

“Hey,” he said, tapping his chest to get Ethan’s attention. “I feel like I missed something while I was out. Mind filling me in?”

[zvahlne]

big laurance alternates au post!!

hi welcome to my laurance alternates au post i'm just gonna drop everything on y'all tehee:)) i will share it with somewhat of a narrative but it's not going to be fully fleshed out fic or art atm i apologize... i hope you can enjoy it even if it's unpolished!! with alternates ending tmrw i just really wanted to yap about him before it's over!!! alternates spoilers ahead btw, go watch if you haven't... now say hi to my laurance !!

i have a couple other doodles and writing snippets i will share when relevant in the post!

the au picks up just after the events of episode 4. the group is making their way through the street when aphmau's walkie-talkie starts popping static. they all look around frantically, but instead of any alternates, they notice someone poking out from the rubble... and then notice it's laurance! (or looks like him...)

That was when Aphmau spotted a familiar face in the rubble. She couldn't believe it. Covered in debris, he was... "Laurance?" Aphmau gasped softly. Then it tore out of her - "LAURANCE!" "Aphmau, careful!" Aphmau ignored Travis, rushing to the rubble. "He might still be alive! We have to help him!" "He might be an Alternate!"

aphmau immediately starts digging him out - she can't lose anyone else, not now. travis and katelyn are hesitant, but eventually katelyn starts helping too (extremely ineffectively; she's pretty weak by this point. this is what convinced travis to start digging laurance out, too.)

"Please be alive, please be alive, please, please, please," Aphmau pleaded, voice thick with unshed tears so she could focus her energy on digging Laurance out from the rubble. "Please be Laurance," Travis groaned in response. Aphmau started with a "Travis!..." but ended with a "...Please, be Laurance..."

the first thing laurance sees when his eyes flutter open is aphmau's face - and the first thing he realizes is that he has absolutely no idea where he is. the first thing he feels is pain, all over. something is wrong with him, and he can tell it immediately.

before anyone can ask HIM anything, he asks if aphmau's alright, even while bleeding from the head.

the group then asks him the question we have all been asking him for years - "Where have you been, Laurance???"

his answer? anticlimactic. "I... I don't know?"

travis immediately finds that suspicious, and starts grilling him, standing defensively in front of katelyn, but aphmau tells him to stop. aphmau suggests that he must have hit his head, and katelyn mumbles an agreement. travis momentarily shuts it, but he's not happy about it. aphmau also suggests laurance must have seen the tv broadcast and was looking for her. laurance squints, trying to remember anything through the haze, and...

"Aphmau!" Suddenly, he was grabbing her arms, his eyes wild. Aphmau gasped and the entire group tensed. "I was! I was looking for you!" Travis stepped forward quickly. "LET GO OF--!" Laurance quickly loosed his hands. "TRAVIS, WAIT! Laurance..." she said, and Laurance couldn't remember ever seeing her look so anguished. Not that he could remember much of anything. A gritty determination settled on her brows - "How do I know it's really you?" "I..." "Tell me something only Laurance would know!" she demanded, and Laurance was instantly convinced he ought to... but he couldn't remember anything. His face twisted in horror, a deep dread settling in him in a place he couldn't name. "Aphmau, I..." Suddenly, it came to him, warm like an early autumn day. He was young, and Aphmau was younger, and they were at the park... He was jealous, because he saw her with Garroth... Unable to stop himself from smiling lopsidedly at the memory, he told her, "In high school, I asked you to go in a photo booth with me, and I kissed you on the third flash." "Laurance!" Aphmau cheered, launching herself into hugging him. He tried not to wince too much.

aphmau then checks him for injuries (he winced), asking him where it hurts (his answer is 'everywhere'). katelyn snarks, "Your head's bleeding, let's start with that." she's also leaning on travis and she looks like shit. laurance is immediately concerned, but when he tries to ask her if she's okay, she just reminds him that he's the one bleeding.

travis steps forward and patches up laurance, katelyn lends him a hairtie, and they get moving!

laurance tries to play it cool, but he knows something is wrong with him. things come back to him slowly - when the first emergency broadcast came on, he was with cadenza, babysitting caleb... it interrupted his cartoons, and scared him... then... something in the basement...? how did he get in the street? what happened to cadenza and caleb???

unfortunately with that we've finished one of the most developed segments... but more DOES happen after that!!! if people are interested i will post more!!! points of interest: where are cadenza (there's a very cool answer to this imo!!) and caleb??? wtf happened in the basement??? and laurance's #1 question ofc:

and ummm... here's a playlist you can check out!

which could mean anything

[eternalscribbles]

@raggedytiger so I had a uhm. An idea. And originally it was meant to be sweet and all but I don't control the definitions of names so-

[pattonvirglsanders]

This is only exciting to, like, max 20 people but I DONE DID A THING!

Thanks to @seraphimankh for allowing me to do this, as well as writing the dang thing. I’m extremely nervous to actually put this out into the world but I CANT BACK OUT NOW ✨✨

[coquelicoq]

adsfkj i have dusted off the cql folder on my computer for the first time since 2021 and i just found a bunch of fic snippets so short i can't even tell what they were supposed to be about. except this one in which i apparently had the lan sect invent hash functions, all so that there could be a dramatic reveal that jiang cheng had never removed wei wuxian from the yunmeng jiang sect records??

Wei Wuxian sighed and slumped back on his heels. It wasn't that he was incapable of being patient, he just didn't want to. Here was an array that could tell a sect if a prospective initiate was currently on another sect's rolls, without actually giving any sect access to the records of another sect. How was it doing that? The applications for this technology were potentially enormous. Wei Wuxian couldn't wait to get his grubby little hands all over the design.

there's also a more extended passage from a different "wei wuxian finds out he's still a member of ymj" concept (feat. jin ling!) which includes the paragraph

"He can't join the Lan sect!" Jin Ling was exclaiming. "He's already in a sect, technically, and you can only be on the official roster for one sect at a time. I should know, my elders have only been hounding me about it since before I could even say the words 'conflict of interest.'"

but the rest of them are just single sentence one-offs like

'Hey‚' Wei Wuxian protests weakly. 'It’s not my fault. I’ve been dead for quite some time.'

and

After customer service‚ there isn’t much an unearthly shriek can do to phase a person.

and then there's this sentence fragment:

The leader of the Jiang Sect‚ who looks like a Sect Leader‚ is dressed like a Sect Leader‚ and‚ most importantly‚ is not stuck in a hole like an idiot‚ therefore behaving with the dignity of a Sect Leader‚

dying to know where i was going with this. and who was the narrator? whoever it is, they are definitely comparing someone unfavorably to jiang cheng. some idiot has fallen in a hole and jiang cheng comes along and the narrator is like now that's what i'm talking about. maybe the narrator is the idiot in question? maybe wei wuxian is the idiot. but then i don't know why i would have been leaning on the sect leader thing since wei wuxian is not a sect leader. 2021 was a long time ago apparently because i have no memory of this.

[sentientstump]

if you're wondering where my entire brain has been before tc returned

[shantechni]

Trying and failing to make an analysis post about the oddest point my brain decided to latch onto when it's low on inspiration and an adequate level of comprehensive writing skills.

[izzy-b-hands]

Gonna go on a reblog spree instead of making a stupid vent post abt the current frustrations (I am gonna talk abt them in the tags on this one tho so if you don't wanna see it, just keep scrolling.) Just a heads up and apology in advance for the mass of random posts that'll be all over the dash from me shortly.

[buttercupart]

@scientistredacted @valmun

level 99 cataclysmic nostalgia event dropping in 3, 2, 1

[3gremlins]

my cousin wants us to go to north carolina for the winter holidays (she lives near there) and it was one of those "i'm pretty sure NC has anti trans/queer bills *checks* yep yep they do" moments

then i had to write my polite HARD PASS email and remind my family that *i'm* trans which i think half of them still don't really believe (despite me changing my name, doing hrt and getting top surgery in the last 2 years) so that was fun :c like no thanks, i don't want to go through the stress of travel just to visit one of those trash states that don't think i'm a person (additionally to the safety issues, i just don't want to give them any of my queer dollars) my family's liberalish but i think they just don't understand/fully grasp some stuff with it and i also don't post a ton on the social medias they're on about it so there's that too

[havinganormalone]

I'm glad Biden is dropping out, but it's impossible to quell my rage over the fact that they didn't even host fucking primaries so that they aren't even PRETENDING to care about democratically choosing a president. Some old fucks choose their successor and we get to decide between the two of them, but that's far from a democratic election.

[kelpiemomma]

Someone: horses aren't born mean

Maevus:

[particularlypyral]

Pinned Post

Ok so im a little thrown off bc my browser switched to dark mode halfway through typing that incredibly short title, but here goes nothing! A little bit about me!

Name: You can call me Pyral! But if we're being honest I'm a fan of nicknames so if you have ideas youre welcome to try it out.

Tell us about yourself: I'm a 24 year old boy (after much debate I've decided to stick with that) with a laundry list of kinks that I'll get to later ( feels rude to start off with that) who loves Baseball, Godzilla, Legos, Video games, DnD, and Dropout, which is a fairly new obsession as far as things go. I love music and can play the guitar well enough to learn songs but too poorly to want to perform them.

There's probably several more heavy interests I could get into but thats a pretty good starting point I think. And yes, I'm aware that this is a fairly stereotypical list of things for a kinky 24 year old bisexual nerd to be into, but I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

I'm polyamorous, and am currently in a committed long term relationship with a wonderful partner!

Ok. Now that we know each other a little bit we can get to the good stuff. This is a fetish/ kink blog, and I'm here to post about/explore/brag about all the things that interest me in that realm. What things are they? Well, Find out under the cut.

To those of you interested enough to be here, welcome, please don't mind the clutter. This blog is mainly to explore my interests in ageplay, abdl, diapers, and other kinks I don't want/ am too embarrassed to talk about on my main blog @subby-siren. If you know me from that blog no you dont.

HOWEVER! Those are not the only things I'm into. Some other favorites include: Bondage, chastity, orgasm denial, edging, petplay, gags ( more of an accoutrement but man does it get me), training, sensory deprivation, bondage again but more intense this time, and probably some light humiliation. Honestly, there isn't much I wouldn't be willing to try at least once. Those things that I wouldn't try once are listed below!

Hard limits include scat, messing, vomit, gore, and permanent bodily harm.

So! you've made it to the end of this post. I hope it was interesting enough that you'll stick around. I love making friends, and really the main reason I made this blog is to try and get more comfortable with a side of me that I deny more often than not. I think talking to like minded people would be helpful! But on another, more realistic note. Its hot as fuck and I want to compile a database. for personal use. Anyway! Good luck out there. See you space cowboys.

[blueberrykefir]

Save a Horse, Ride a...

Joel Miller x f!reader 18+

Summary: You need to learn to ride a horse. Joel Miller is your grumpy instructor. Joel teaches you more than just the basics... One lesson you'll never forget.

Content Warning: Smut, MDI! Joel Miller basically talks you through it. No horses were harmed OR involved in the making of this. Vaginal Fingering. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praising, lots of it. Use of nickname, Cowgirl. Rough manhandling. Post outbreak.

Word Count: 5k

You were finally settling into Jackson. Earning your keep, proving yourself useful. Short patrols. Food runs. Assisting on the perimeter. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something.

But lately it hadn’t felt like enough. You could do more. Longer patrols, further routes, the kind of assignments that actually made a difference.

There was just one problem. In order to do that, you had to learn to ride a horse.

Which brought you here, grumbling under your breath as you headed for the stables to meet some guy named Jonathan who was supposed to show you the ropes. 

What you weren’t expecting was him.

Joel Miller stood at the front end of the barn, leaning against the wooden fence with sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with dirt, and a glare like he’d rather be anywhere else. Your footsteps faltered.

At a community event, you tried to introduce yourself once. All polite smiles and an outstretched hand. He looked at you head to toe like you were nothing more than a bug under his boot, muttered something gruff and walked off.

The memory still made your jaw clench. 

You didn’t mean to gasp, but you did. Just a little. You hoped he didn’t hear.

He did.

He looked up. Slowly. Dark eyes sharp, like he was weighing how much patience he had to spare today—and the answer was definitely none. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, too fast. “No, I just—thought I was meeting Jonathan.”

His stormy eyes flicked up, pinning you in place like you were an inconvenience. “Yeah, well. Johnny dislocated his shoulder.” He said with a tone dry as dust. “Guess that makes me your lucky replacement.”

Nerves prickled beneath your skin. You shoved your hands into your back pockets, feigning nonchalance. 

You swallowed hard, pulse doing way too much for this early in the morning. “Great,” you said, voice a little too chipper to be sincere. “Looking forward to it.”

He gave you a once-over, unimpressed. “Don’t get all excited at once.”

You could barely hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. So much for hoping he was just having a bad day when you met. Nope. This was just him. Rude, gruff, and annoyingly handsome. 

But you didn’t survive all this time, due to your lack of persistence. So you try to make conversation.

“So… I didn't know you taught lessons.” You rocked back n’ forth on your heels.

“I don’t.” He pushed off the fence, walking past you without a glance. “Let's go.” 

Well. That was short-lived.

You trailed behind him, glancing around at the empty stalls. Hooks lined the walls, holding faded ropes and well loved saddles. “Where are the horses?”

That's when he stopped and turned his head. Slowly. Like you’d just asked if horses came in blue.

“Horses?” His mouth twitched, just barely. “We’re not doing horses today.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then… What are we doing?”

He nodded towards the far end of the stables, where a beat-up wooden barrel sat with a brown leather saddle strapped to it. You blinked at it, then back at him.

“Really?” 

“You’re gonna learn how to stay on before I waste a real animal's time.” His answer was flat, final.

You glared at him, “I wouldn’t be a waste of time.”

He raised a brow, not even trying to hide the way his gaze dragged over you, cool and assessing. “Then go on, Cowgirl. Let’s see what we're workin’ with.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already walking off towards the barrel, not bothering to check if you were following.

Clenching your fists, you rolled your eyes and muttered a curse. You trailed after him, boots crunching on the packed dirt and hay.

The air inside the barn was warm and smelled of leather and horses and something faintly masculine. Sun, sweat, and sawdust. 

Golden rays spilled through the slats of the barn walls, bathing everything in a warm light, dust in the air catching it like glitter. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful. 

Until Joel slapped the top of the saddle with a sharp thwack. “Alright. Hop on.”

You scoffed, then shot him an exaggerated smile, “Are you always this charming, or just with me?” 

"Only you." He leaned one arm on a post, that mouth twitching again, "Now stop stalling.”

“I'm not stalling,” You mumbled under your breath, clearly stalling. You eyed the saddle just now realizing how high the barrel sat. “You put this together?”

Joel crossed his arms, the material of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. “Been sittin’ like that for months.”

You squinted at it. “You realize horses are taller than this, right?” 

He shrugged, lazy. “Then consider this a warm up.”

You stepped closer to the barrel with more confidence than you actually felt. “I’ve climbed fences taller than this.” 

“Then this should be easy.” Joel tilted his head, just enough to unnerve you. His eyes taking you in from boots to brow, like he was waiting to see you fail.  

It should have been easy. But when you reached for the saddle horn and tried to hoist yourself up, your boot slipped against some loose hay, and you stumbled back with a muttered curse.

Behind you, Joel didn’t laugh. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.

“Don’t” You warned, pointing a finger at him without looking back. 

“Didn’t say a word, Cowgirl.”

“You were thinking it.”

That damn nickname again. It made your cheeks burn hotter than the sun outside.

It was discouraging to say the least. There was not much you couldn't do. So having a wooden barrel be your demise was frustrating.

You squared your shoulders, let out a sharp breath and tried again, this time determined to prove him wrong. This time you braced your foot against the barrel’s edge, gripping the saddle horn with both hands.

With a grunt that was more pride than grace, you hauled yourself up, swinging a leg over with questionable coordination.

The barrel wobbled beneath you as you stuck your landing. Sort of.

You exhaled through your nose, victorious. “See? Told you I could do it.” You looked over your shoulder at Joel.

Stepping away from the post, he gave you a slow look, annoyingly unreadable, “Well, let's hope any horse you ride doesn't mind someone climbin’ all over ‘em like that.” 

Irritation flared up in your chest, “I'm up. That's all that matters.”

“Sure.” He stepped closer, boots crunching dirt and scattered hay. “Now let's see if you can stay up.”

And then, without warning, his hands were on you. One at the small of your back, the other nudging your shoulder blade with practiced pressure. You inhaled sharply, a gasp slipped out before you could stop it.

“Back straight.” His rough hands adjusted your posture, burning through your shirt like he’d branded you, “Good, just like that.”

His hands stayed exactly where they were, firm. Steady. Hot. You were too aware of every inch of contact, your heart thudding like it wanted to climb right into his palms. 

“Shoulders back. Don’t slouch.” 

You swallowed hard, feeling stubborn, “I wasn’t slouching.”

“You were.” He said simply, breath ghosting close to your ear. “But that's alright. We’ll break the habit.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat curling in your stomach. You tighten every muscle to keep your spine straight, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of correcting you again. But then he shoved, just enough to tilt your balance.

You gasped, grabbing the saddle horn to steady yourself.

Joel clicked his tongue. “Keep your balance, Cowgirl. If you fall, I ain’t catchin’ you.”

Then his hands moved to yours, guiding your grip on the reins. Rough hands against softer skin. Calloused, capable fingers curling around yours. 

You shouldn’t have wondered how those hands might feel somewhere else. But you did. 

“Now grab the pommel tighter–Jesus, not that tight.” He gritted out. “I feel bad for whatever poor fella your seein’.”

You loosened your grip, cheeks blushed from the insult. “No ones complained, yet.”

That made something flicker in his eyes. His gaze dropped to where your hands wrapped around the horn of the saddle. His next breath came slow. Measured. Like he was biting down on whatever response nearly escaped.

“Sit straighter.” He said at last, voice rougher now. “You’re leanin’ like you're about to fall asleep up there.”

You blinked, “Well maybe if–”

“Leg’s snug,” He cut in, voice rough, “Right now you’d bounce clean off the second that horse moved.”

Then you felt him behind you again. His breath tickled your neck just before his hands slid down, fingers settling at the tops of your thighs.“Keep ‘em like this–”  He pulled your knees inward, guiding them against the barrel. “Yeah, just like that. Feel the pressure of the saddle?”

You nodded, barely breathing, feeling more than just the saddle. You felt him. Felt the way his voice, gravel thick with heat, settled beneath your skin.

“I asked you a question.” His tone was dark and impatient.

“Yes.” You nodded, throat dry, “I feel it.”

He adjusted your legs a little further, pressing them in just enough, thumbs brushing the inside of your knees, “Good, right there.”

You turned to face him. The height of the barrel leveled your gaze with his. Up close you could see it all. The silver dusting his beard, the rough lines of his face, and the tightness in his jaw. Like he was holding back more than just words.

Joel stepped in front of you now, closer than necessary. You tensed when his hands settled on your hips. His fingers pressed into the curve of your body, firm and unbothered by boundaries.

“You’re leanin’ too far forward.” He said, like it was a fact. 

No warning. No gentleness. He pushed, not hard, but unyielding. His strong grip coaxed your torso into place. The rough handling, controlled and confident, sparked heat low in your belly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound.

“Atta girl,” he said, voice low and approving. “Right there. You feel that?” 

“Yes,” You whispered, barely trusting yourself to speak. With Joel this close, there was nowhere to look but at him. You noticed the small things, like the soft dip at the center of his lip. Or the way his lower lip is just a little fuller. 

“Good.” He murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Now stop starin’ at me like that.”

“I’m not.” You shot back, too quick, too breathy. 

“Yeah?” He stared at you like he could read every thought you didn’t want to have. A smirk tugged at his lips, “Could’ve fooled me.” 

Heat climbed up your neck like a guilty confession. “What’s next?” You asked, desperate for a subject that wasn’t him. 

Then he stepped back, arms crossed like nothing happened. Like you weren't threatening to melt, from a single touch. He sized you up like a piece of wood. His eyebrows furrowed as he analyzed your form. 

You stiffened under the scrutiny, spine already straight, legs tight around the barrel. His brow furrowed like something still wasn’t right. 

Noticing his scowl you said, “Alright, Cowboy.” You tacked on the nickname with just enough venom to cover the nerves. “What's wrong with my form now?”

“You’re tense." He said, flatly, "That’s not gonna work for ridin’... or much else.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way ‘much else’ stuck to your chest like a splinter. “Of course I am.” 

Slowly, Joel approached, like a predator closing in on its prey. His hands returned to your hips like they belonged there. There was nothing hesitant about the way he touched you. Those hands knew what they were doing. 

Rough and confident, his calloused fingers dug into the softness of your sides, molding your body the way he wanted. Every touch seemed to have a purpose, but it also felt like he was pushing you further, into something much more than a simple lesson.

“Right here.” He guided your hips into the saddle, fingers burning through your denim. “Gotta move with the horse, not against it.” 

Your body trembled slightly, as his palms pushed you into the seat, each press of his hands like a command, a reminder that he was in control.

“Kinda hard to move with the horse when this one doesn’t move at all.” Your breathless voice betrayed you.

“Wanna get thrown on your ass? ‘Cause if you can’t sit on a barrel, don't expect to survive a buckin’ saddle.”

The words come out, fast and sharp, before you can stop them. “Maybe I don’t mind getting thrown around a little.”

That made him stop. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped dangerously, “You say that like you know what it means.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” You snapped.

He leaned in just enough, like he was whispering a secret. “I know you can’t stop starin’ at my mouth when I talk.”

A breath passed between you. 

His voice was deliberate, like he had you all figured out. “Know you get all flustered when I so much as touch your back. Or adjust your hips." 

“And I hear those sweet little sounds you make," he added, voice dipped in sin, "every time I get close.”

His eyes were dark… dangerous, like he was daring you to deny.

You returned his stare with defiance, even as heat stirred low in your belly, traitorous and slow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Joel.” 

“I don’t have to,” he said, the smirk returning. “You’re doin’ a real good job of that yourself.” 

“Maybe I am,” Your eyes flicked down to his hands still gripping your hips, a little too tightly for a man claiming innocence. His thumbs pressed in just enough to remind you they were still there. “But you’re the one still touching me.”

His thumbs dragged just a little higher, right at the curve where denim met skin. Instruction was long gone. This was something else.

Joel’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Do you want me to stop?”

You tilted your head, heard pounding against your ribcage, “I was just waiting to see what else you could teach me.”

With a low growl, he dragged you forward on the barrel just an inch, just enough to send heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched and you held back a whimper.

“You’re already breathin’ heavy–” His hands tightened on your hips, possessive. “–And I ain’t even touched you proper yet.” 

He stepped closer, the air between you taut like a pulled thread. “Think you’re ready for this lesson?” 

“I learn fast,” You breathed out, voice tight with anticipation.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then slow and wicked, a carnal smile curled into place, dangerous like a drawn weapon. He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your lips. If you moved even an inch, you’d taste him.

Without thinking, you tilted your chin to close the space, but he pulled back just enough, the barest retreat. 

“So impatient,” He tsked, “A good rider learns control.” 

“I'm not a good rider yet though, am I?”

“No, I guess you're not,” His voice was rough with unspent desire. “But we’ll fix that.” 

“How?” The words came out so soft, they were barely audible.

Your hands tighten on the pommel like a lifeline, trembling with the effort not to close the distance yourself.

Then finally, he gave in. 

With a growl, his lips came down on yours. Hot. Sharp. Like a punishment. 

He dominated the kiss, with the same rough authority he used adjusting your posture. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was primal.

You whimpered, arching into him as he deepened it. You open your mouth for his tongue. He licks at your lips, before sliding it into his mouth to meet yours.

His hands gripped your hips again like they were his to guide. “There we go,” His voice growled low against your lips, wrecked and approving. “That’s it. Move with it.”

And you did. You couldn’t help it. You moved with him before you even realized, rolling your hips forward and backward with a slow grind. Your heart begins to beat between your thighs quickly becoming an incessant throbbing, that becomes more and more intense with every movement.

“Good girl.” He whispers against your lips.

The words, thick with praise, felt like heat, poured straight into your veins. 

You shuddered, body rolling under his guidance, shamefully eager to please. Not because you wanted to get the saddle right anymore. No, it was because he was the one telling you how.

“Just like that.” His thumbs dug in, guiding another rough grind against the saddle.  “Now we're gettin’ somewhere.” 

The friction of your denim against the old saddle, sent waves of pleasure low in your belly. Your fingers tighten on the saddle horn, clinging on to something solid as everything else threatened to unravel.

Then his calloused hands left your hips, sliding up your waist, his thumbs barely brushing the underside of your breasts. Your hips struggled to keep moving in their absence. You were too focused on the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the feel of him.

He pulled back, lips swollen, “Did I say stop?” He snapped, “You keep going, till I say so. You understand?”

You nodded your head, frantic. But he wasn’t having that.

“Use your words, Cowgirl,” He warned. “Say it.” 

“Yes,” You breathed out. “I understand.”

You don’t know what you craved more. The need for release or the praise you’d get for earning it. 

Either way, you obeyed, riding harder, hips snapping forward. You were chasing the rhythm he carved into you. You let out a soft moan as friction met the saddle just right. A slow burn sparked low and deep.

“Knew you’d be a fast learner.” He growled, satisfied. "Look at you, movin’ just like I want.”

One palm slid up your spine, igniting every nerve on its path up. His fingers threaded into the back of your hair. He tugged your head back, firm and commanding, exposing your throat. 

“You gonna take what I give you?” His grip tightened.

“Yes.” You cried out, the word somewhere between a plea and a promise.

Joel’s fingers pulled your hair. 

The sharp edge of pain only made the pleasure coil tighter and deeper.

His mouth was hot on your neck now, velvety tongue painting your skin. His teeth scraped just enough to make your hips stutter, movements slowing.

“Keep going,” he demanded against your throat, showing you no sympathy.

You headed his command and ground your hips down. His other hand came up rough and demanding, gripping your jaw forcing you to face him. It was clear who was in control.

Your lips crashed together again, unforgiving. It was all raw hunger and heat.

Desperation spilled into the kiss, mess and unrestrained, like you both had been starving for years and just now found something worth sinking your teeth into.

He pulled your lower lip between his and gave it a little tug. He released your jaw, sliding his hand down your throat, fingers dragging possessively along your skin, claiming every inch.

Joel’s touch didn’t stop.

It drifted lower, over your collarbones, across the line of your chest, fingers grazing over the softest parts of you with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

Your nipples ached, hard and sensitive, straining through the material of your shirt.

You arched your back. Chest brushing his, aching for more. The space between you felt unbearable, like your skin was screaming for contact. He could feel it. You knew he could feel it.

He chuckled low against your throat, the sound dark and indulgent. “That desperate, huh Cowgirl?”

There was no room left for shame.

Especially when his thumb grazed over your nipple and your whole body jolted like you’d been struck. He hadn’t even undressed you. Not a single piece of clothing had been removed… yet you were still unraveling for him. 

You became a panting mess, as he thumbed and pinched your nipple, like you were his to toy with. Your thighs tightened around the saddle with every spark of pleasure.

“You want more?” he asked.

You should've said no. Should've reminded him this was supposed to be a riding lesson. Or that you were outside and anyone could walk by. But his thumb was still teasing circles over your nipple, and you couldn't focus on anything other than his hands.

"Yes," You breathed out.

Joel's eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the brown. “Then use your words.”

For someone who barely uttered a word to you before, he sure has a lot to say now. 

“I want more,” It took great effort to speak. The throbbing between your legs was becoming painful. "I want you to touch me like you mean it."

A low sound left his throat, half-grow, half-moan. "You sure?" With tortuous speed, his palm slid down, hot and heavy, landing at the top of your jeans. His fingers slipped just barely under the denim. "'Cause once I start, I ain't gonna stop 'till your beggin'."

Your breath shuddered as your hips rocked slowly. "Then don't stop."

A sound of approval left his throat. Half-growl, half-moan. His mouth was on yours again. The kiss turned messy fast. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.

One of his hands slid down between your thighs, pressing against the seam of your jeans, right where the ache had started building. His palm ground slow and hard between your thighs.

You gasped into his mouth, grinding on his hand, hips moving like he showed you.

"That's it." He muttered. "All worked up and we barely started."

A needy whimper left your lips, from the friction. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache he’d built inside of you. You needed more. You needed him.

But Joel… Joel was in no rush.

His hand dragged up and teased the edge of your underwear, warm fingers curling at the edge.

He didn’t move lower. Not yet. He just watched you from under dark lashes, expression wild. Hungry.

“Joel.” You said his name like it hurt. Like just needing him was its own kind of agony. 

“Shhh,” he hushed, almost tender. His fingers slipped past that threshold, dipping into your underwear, slow and steady like he had all the time in the goddamn world. “You’re okay. I got you.”

You were soaked, aching with want. Completely wrecked and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. The sound he made when he realized it was dark, filthy, and far too pleased. The rough noise of approval sent a wave of heat pulsing through your core.

“Christ. So fuckin’ wet.” 

The pads of his fingers circled your clit. Soft at first, coaxing. You shuddered, every nerve sparked under his touch, hips twitching without permission.

You let go of the pommel and tried to muffle your desperate cries, but the hand in your hair was quick to grab your wrist. 

“No.” He growled. “Let me hear how pretty you sound when you ride my fingers.” 

A needy whimper was all you could muster in response.

As if rewarding you, his fingers sank into your slick heat. One, then two. You clenched around him, hips bucking at the sudden stretch. Your whole body bowed forward, forehead dropping to the saddle as a ragged moan slipped from your lips.

“Ngh–” You cried out pathetically, as his fingers thrust deep inside of you. His thumb found your clit with cruel precision, brushing in slow, maddening circles. The only thing you could do was helplessly ride his fingers closer to euphoria. 

“Doin’ so good for me,” He grunted into your ear. His voice went straight to your core. The praise, the authority, the way he said it like it was a fact. "Such a good girl."

You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut, shamelessly rubbing against him.

“Let me hear you.” Joel’s teeth nipped at your earlobe.

“Joel.” You moaned, hips rolling with reckless need. “Feels so good–”

You were a sinful sight. Temptation itself, perched on that rusted saddle. Joel’s restraint was hanging by a thread, evident in the way his fingers bit into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself or lose it entirely.

Suddenly, you slumped forward with a gasp, hips stuttering to a halt. Overwhelmed by the way his fingers curled just right, nudging that spot deep inside of you it sent a shiver ripping through you, all the way down to your toes. The only thing keeping you upright was your white-knuckled grip on the horn.

“What, that's all you got, Cowgirl?” 

Your body wasn't listening to you anymore. It only listened to him. Your body rocked fast now, chasing that edge with wild bucking desperation.

But as you got close, too close, your form faltered. Your thighs trembled. Ankles slipped against the rusted stirrups. 

In response, he removed his fingers completely and he halted your movements. You cried as your body clenched on nothing, pleasure dwindling away. “Ah–uh uh.” His tone was firm, unrelenting, “Fix your form.” 

Of course he still wanted you to have proper form, even like this. The bastard was going to drag it out of you, keep you right at the edge, just to make you learn.

You do your best to obey, but oh god, it's so difficult.

You whined, hips twitching, “It's too-” Your head fell forward, “feels too–too good–” You tried to move against his restraint, but his hands were unyielding in letting you chase any friction he didn’t warrant. 

Not until you earned it. 

“What was that?” He chuckled darkly. "Thought you learned fast."

"I-I can't." An exasperated sound came low from your throat.

"You can." His voice was low and coaxing. “Back straight, legs tight.”

The words struck something deep… Need, pride, maybe both. You wanted to give him what he asked for. To hear the way his voice dropped when you got it right.

With frustrated tears hot in your eyes, you forced your trembling thighs to steady, dragging strength from somewhere deep in your core.

Slowly, you realigned your spine, shoulders pulling back hips grinding into position exactly like he taught you.

“There she is.” He murmured, approval slipping into his tone, rich and hot. “Knew you had it in you.”

As if rewarding you, he slipped his two fingers back inside, thrusting in and out, stretching you wide. Your body moved right this time. Controlled and powerful.

There's a hitch in your breath when you shift forwards, your clit hitting his calloused thumb with every thrust. You cried as his fingers hit just right, again and again.

“Look at you, so pretty riding my fingers.” He let the praise land heavy, voice warm like the Wyoming sun.

Your head was thrown back, mouth parted in a silent moan, shamelessly riding his fingers. He watched you, full of hunger you know he is fighting. 

“Oh god,” You whisper, lashes fluttering. His fingers are the finest torture you’ve ever experienced. Mercilessly working to get you higher and higher with every deliberate curl.

“You gonna come for me?” His fingers move furiously, forearm brushing against your breasts at this angle. It was all happening too fast. 

“Yes. Yes, Joel–” A string of broken, desperate sounds spilled from your lips. Words lost. You were teetering right on the edge, trembling with it.

“Go ahead,” His words went directly to your core and your body headed his command before your mind could catch up.

Joels name left your lips, over and over, like a chant as your orgasm slammed into you, stealing every bit of oxygen from your lungs. Every inch of you shook as you unraveled. There was no way your form was holding. Not anymore. 

“That’s it, squeezin’ my fingers so tight–” He cooed in your ear. “Fuck, look at you...”

Your body locked up for a beat and your vision blurred. You were helpless against the wave of pleasure he’d drawn from you with nothing but his touch.

But Joel doesn’t let up. He’s relentless. His fingers move faster, intensifying the feeling. 

It's too much. Too overwhelming.Your chest heaved up and down in a frantic rhythm, lungs barely keeping pace with the fire burning through your body. You buck in the seat, trying to ease off his fingers. 

“Just like that,” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, chest heaving as much as yours. “That's how you ride.” 

Your body shook with aftershocks, thighs quivering. You were stunned, reeling at just how hard you came for him.

"Did so good for me."

You didn’t even realize it was his arm keeping you from collapsing entirely. Strong and steady, wrapped around your waist. Your fingers clutched at his forearm, nails digging into the sun-kissed skin, marking the moment. 

Neither of you moved. The barn fell quiet, save for your uneven breaths mingling together. Birdsong drifted lazily through the dusty slats of the old barn. Nature's calm, a cruel contrast to the wildfire that just tore through you.

Every muscle in your body buzzed. Your legs were jelly, trembling and utterly useless.

The saddle suddenly felt miles too high. The thought of climbing down made your stomach dip. But you couldn’t sit atop the rusted saddle forever.

You released his arm to get off, and he went to help but you shook your head. Pride was a stubborn thing.

“I-I got it.” You muttered, trying to swing one leg over.

Joel didn't move, at first. Just watched with one eyebrow raised. Arms folded.

Balance wavered. Your legs felt like water, and your foot slipped.

And in the space between one breath and the next, his hands caught your waist.

“Easy now,” he murmured, “I got you.”

Before you could argue, he lifted you off the saddle, like you were nothing. Your boneless limbs curled instinctively towards him. 

Your boots met the hay covered ground and you were hauled fully into him, one arm bracing behind your back. You gasped and planted your hands against his chest, realizing this was the first time you intentionally put your hands on him, the whole lesson.

“I said I got it.”  You protested weakly. 

“Can’t have my best student fallin’ off the horse.” 

“I’m your only student.” You tried to scoff, but your voice was sleep-soft. “And it's a barrel.”

Meaning to push away, you shifted. But then you felt him. Hard and hot pressed up against your stomach through the rough denim of his jeans. Your breath hitched. He’d been holding himself back this whole time.

Instinct had your hand moving before you could stop it. But Joel caught your wrist in a tight burning grip. 

“We'll save that for that next lesson."

You pulled your lip between your teeth. "You think I'm ready for the horse now?"

Joel's eyes raked down your body and his lips curled slow and dangerous. "I think your ready for a hell of a lot more than that, Cowgirl."

God help you. You could not wait for the next lesson.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

A HELLO AND A KISS

pairing: aaron hotchner x lawyer!reader summary: aaron hotchner survives serial killers and endless paperwork—but apparently not you breezing past him without a hello, based on this request. (im so sorry, i got carried away and did not include the part of r meeting the team!!! pls dont hate me) warnings | an: jealous hotch, protective hotch, simp hotch, hotch is just down bad for his girl, one bj joke word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You hadn’t come home last night.

Aaron had simply received a brief text: Don’t wait up. A case fell into my lap last minute. It wasn’t unusual—not in your line of work, and certainly not in his. You’d both sent that message before, more times than either of you could count. It came with the territory.

You and Aaron had always kept your professional lives separate. A clean, white, necessary line in the sand. It helped keep the bloodstained parts from crossing over and kept your dinner conversations from becoming post-mortems or courtroom recaps. After all, it was easier not to talk about the men Aaron arrested when you were the one prosecuting them.

He didn’t put it together right away.

But all five of his senses were attuned to you. Honestly? his sixth sense was you. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there—he could feel you, hear you, even smell you before he ever caught a glimpse.  It didn’t take much. Sometimes, it was just the sound of heels—your heels—that gave you away.

It was that click-clack rhythm that he had grown accustomed to over the months, filtering through early mornings when you forgot your keys, then your case notes, then your coffee. It trailed after you in the hallway, embedded in every corner where you’d left pieces of yourself scattered around his home.

And now, that same sound echoed from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of the courtroom door swinging shut.

“Can’t believe he’s actually trying to weasel out of this,” Prentiss muttered under her breath, just as you swept past their row.

The unsub’s public defender had filed a not-guilty plea days earlier—citing supposed evidence mishandling, mistaken identity, even floating some half-baked theory about a setup. It was desperate. Flimsy. But just credible enough to stall the trial, to buy time he didn’t deserve.

You didn’t look Aaron’s way. Didn’t slow your pace. You gave no reaction at all, just glided by, slipping into the prosecution’s chair like it was your usual seat at the office.

“New face,” Prentiss noted, leaning toward Hotch. “She wasn’t at the prelims was she?”

Hotch finally cleared his throat. “No.”

He meant to say more—something neutral, something about new counsel, something properly professional, something more him—but the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs. Especially when the most him thing in the world was standing right there, only meters away from a man he’d gladly kill with his bare hands if he so much as looked at you the wrong way.

Though, truthfully, he knew you’d get to him quicker with words, with strategy, with that cool, calculated tone that could cut deeper than any punch Hotch could throw.

You still hadn’t looked at him. Fully locked into that little world of yours, where the second you stepped into a courtroom, you grew fins and dermal denticles, transforming into a shark in couture and four-inch heels.

It stung. Just a little. But he knew why you were doing it. He just couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to sit in a room and watch you give someone like that—worst of the worst—your full, undivided attention.

He’d only had the pleasure (and slight terror) of watching you in court twice before—neither case connected to the BAU and already, he was starting to sweat. Just a little. Maybe.

Aaron clamped his jaw tight, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the effort must’ve been visible because he caught Rossi huffing a laugh under his breath.

Of course Rossi knew. Rossi was the only one who’d actually met you off-duty. And the last thing Hotch needed was Rossi even hinting at the tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning fact that you wore Aaron’s old college t-shirt to bed, or that just a few hours ago, he’d been ogling your bare legs as you stumbled out of the shower, mumbling at him to go back to sleep.

Because as soon as Prentiss or Morgan—who already looked half-asleep in his seat—caught wind of it, it wouldn’t be a murder trial they were interested in anymore. No, it would turn into entertainment, something far more exciting than sitting at their desks, pretending to work through paperwork they never submitted on time anyway.

He shifted in his seat. No engagement was the best engagement, he figured.

Instead, he forced his eyes off you and onto the defendant, who was fiddling with his tie like that would suddenly make him more credible. Like anyone in the room would forget what he’d done just because he shaved and tucked in his damn shirt.

But the second you stood, rising slowly from your chair, Aaron’s gaze snapped right back to you, so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Still, you didn’t look his way. Of course you didn’t. You were here to do a job. And right now, that job was dismantling a man with nothing but your voice.

He swallowed hard.

Yeah. He was definitely sweating now.

By the time the trial hit the halfway mark, he could tell your energy had changed—or was about to—with the unsub being called to the stand.

Hotch sat stiffly, watching you shuffle your notes with little effort. Morgan had finally roused enough to start paying attention, and Prentiss was scribbling away in the margins of her legal pad—none of which, Hotch would bet good money, had anything to do with the actual trial.

You stood once more, brushing that stubborn piece of hair away from your face—the one that always seemed to fall whenever you were reading something from above. He wished he could push it away for you, wished he could pull you out of this courtroom entirely, shield you from every ugly, broken thing the world could throw at you.

But then your voice cut through the room, reminding him that this was your job.

"Alright," you began, voice crisp but bored, like you were already three steps ahead. That’s what anyone else might think. But Aaron knew you were ahead five.

"Let’s go back to March 5th," you said, pausing just for a second. "You said you didn’t know Jessica Harlan."

"I didn’t," Tanner snapped back, so fast it almost made Hotch smile.

That kind of panic was never a good sign—and he knew it was one of your favourite tells. The second someone cracked like that, it was like flipping a switch, like flashing a green light across the battlefield. Go get him.

"Right," you hummed, nodding like you were humouring a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. "Right."

Another pause.

You were good at that—giving the poor soul on the receiving end (victim, really) of your arguing capabilities enough time to think. To second-guess themselves. Hotch had picked up on it early on, and when he’d once asked you about it, you gave him a dry, matter-of-fact answer: it gave people enough time to realise how stupid they sounded.

"And yet, a witness places your car parked across the street from her apartment two nights in a row. Same make, same model, same license plate."

Tanner shifted in the witness chair, but you didn’t rush him. You stood there, cool and composed, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

“I –”

"Parked there?" you cut in, tilting your head like you were offering him an easy out. The trap was already set.

You reached for the remote, clicking the TV monitor on.

"Okay, that’s completely understandable," you considered with a polite nod toward the jury. "Though I’m not quite sure what your explanation is for getting out of the vehicle on the second night and standing in front of Jessica Harlan’s apartment for—" you glanced down at your watch, "—thirty-seven minutes."

You glanced back up, eyebrows raised just enough to look curious but not confrontational. Just a lawyer looking for answers.

Tanner opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his hands like maybe they’d have a better explanation than he did.

Aaron recognised the footage immediately, thanks to Garcia’s handiwork. The screen showed Tanner stepping out of his car, glancing around, and then just…standing there. Across the street from Jessica’s apartment building.

Doing absolutely nothing.

For thirty-seven minutes.

The same number of stab wounds Jessica and every other victim had endured.

You didn’t even glance at the screen. Your focus stayed fixed on Tanner like a blade against his throat.

“Maybe you were just out getting some fresh air. Though I’m not sure stalking is generally recommended for cardio.”

"Objection, Your Honour—" the defence attorney barked, already on his feet.

You raised a hand, before the judge even had time to respond. “Withdrawn.”

"I wasn’t watching her,” Tanner argued, drawing the attention back to himself.

"No?” you echoed, cocking your head to the side. “Then what were you doing, Mr Tanner? Practicing your standing endurance?"

He huffed out a weak laugh with no real humour behind it. It was the kind that people made when they realised they were cornered and didn’t have the tools to dig their way out.

“I just... needed some air,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

"I get it, I do," you agreed in faux sweetness. "We all need fresh air. Though it’s odd, don’t you think?"

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica Harlan was stabbed thirty-seven times…" You took a step closer to Tanner, and Aaron had to physically stop himself from moving. Remind himself that you knew exactly what you were doing. That this was all part of the strategy. Even if, deep down, he wanted nothing more than to stand between you and every monster you faced.

"Which," you continued, "happens to be the exact number of minutes you spent outside her apartment."

Tanner swallowed, but that didn’t seem to faze you.

"Just like you spent thirty-seven minutes outside Eliza Horne’s place of work," you listed off, each word tightening the noose around Tanner’s neck. "Thirty-seven minutes outside the gym where Marissa Cole trained. Thirty-seven minutes at the café Danielle Ruiz visited every Thursday—”

Aaron felt Prentiss lean in beside him. “She’s good.”

He didn’t look away from you long enough to answer.

Good didn’t even begin to cover it.

You were extraordinary. And somehow—somehow—you were his.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, what twist of fate had put you in his path, but he would be grateful for it for the rest of his life.

Grateful that you had let him in.

Grateful that he got to see you whole.

Whether it was in a courtroom, where you left your smile and affection at the door to tear the truth out of some of the worst people, or in the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed—the way you teased him for how he pronounced pecan—he had seen it all. And he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

A nudge from Rossi pulled Aaron out of what felt like a permanent trance—the one you had managed to put him in with no effort whatsoever.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Got you reminiscing about your prosecutor days?"

Aaron let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. "I think if I’d stayed," he said, glancing back toward you, "she would’ve put me to shame."

"Would’ve been one hell of a show,” Rossi murmured. “Don’t let her get away.”

Aaron’s mouth tipped into the barest hint of a smile. He wasn’t planning on it. Hell would have to freeze over before he let even the smallest possibility of that happen.

His eyes found you again—right where they belonged—just as you finished with Tanner.

The day wound down eventually, and Aaron doubted the trial would drag on much longer, not after what you’d done to Tanner and his defence team. There wasn’t much left of them by the time you were finished.

He lingered just outside the courtroom, waiting. He’d managed to come up with a half-convincing excuse to stay behind, though neither Morgan nor Prentiss seemed to question it. They were too busy arguing over whether they could convince Penelope to hack into your trial schedule just so they could sit in on another one.

Not that Aaron could blame them.

The courthouse entrance doors swung open again, and you finally stepped through, files tucked under your arm, eyes fixed on your phone as you breezed past.

You didn’t even glance his way.

Again.

Aaron blinked. Really?

"So I don't even get a hello?" he asked, stepping lightly into your path with a raised brow. “Twice in one day. Must be losing my edge.”

You looked up, startled for half a second before your entire face lit up at the sight of him.

"I’m so sorry!" you blurted, already smiling. "You know how much I hate it when things fall into my lap last minute. I've been running around all day just trying to catch up—”

"No, no," he interjected, keeping his face painfully neutral, though the corners of his mouth twitched, just a little. "It’s fine. I’m obviously not that memorable."

"And I thought I was the needy one." You shook your head, still laughing under your breath as you tucked your phone away and shifted your files into one arm.

“Come here,” you cooed, hooking two fingers into the front of Aaron’s jacket, tugging him down.

He went willingly—no surprise there.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek first, soft and easy, before leaning in for a slower one on his lips. The kind that made him forget you were still technically in public.

"Better?" you asked, pulling back just enough to see the answer written all over his face.

"Only a little," he murmured, and before you could so much as blink, he reached out and took the files and your briefcase from your arms like it was second nature, like he’d been carrying your things for years.

“You carrying my stuff now, too?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to earn my next hello.”

You laughed, the sound unwinding every knot in Aaron’s chest, loosening him in ways only you ever could.

“Keep this up and you’ll have my mouth doing a lot more than just saying hello.”

Yeah.

He was completely gone.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

LOGAN HOWLETT is the kind of guy that likes to fuck up into you during cowgirl. lend me your ears, so I can tell you how

[18+ fem!reader]

sorry I lied, I didn’t get him out my system. one more

The gentle, inconsistent rocks from your straddled position is far from what he needs – the slow motion of your hips winding over his cock, not nearly enough to satiate his current heaping want. 

He’s held himself back for as long as he can, only spurring you along with his hands on your hips, his grip helping you with the irregular circles. He wanted to give you your time to shine, to let you give him something, but it was clear you were starting to reach your end. Though not in the way he wanted, your bent knees by his sides mere minutes away from giving in. 

You looked quite spectacular from his laid position, a true sight. Your palms flat to his stomach, your tits caught between your upper arms – squeezing them together in that way he always likes. And those faces you make, boy does he love those. The ones filled with nothing but unadulterated bliss: knitted brows, soft eyes, bitten lips – all of it, all so perfect. 

As much as he loves the lewd view and looking up at you while you attempt to ride him, he can’t help but notice that eager twitch in his cock, the one saying that he needed more. And when his gaze leaves your breasts and meets your face, he can see that same glimmer of desperation in your eyes, just like the one in his dick.

And so, when you nod, agreeing to the silent, optic communication – he takes the hint, moving his hands up to your mid back to bring you down to him. Your chest pressed to his, the patch of hair skimming at your skin. 

You support your weight on your forearms beside his head, using all strength to keep yourself propped up, stability buckling as he begins to wind up into you. His knees bending at your sides as a way to further aid his fucking, keeping sturdy while he makes up for what you’ve both been missing.

He keeps his hands on you, large fingers pawing and digging into your hips – holding you there, just there to fuck into you from underneath. The sticky,  incessant, slapping noise of him rutting in your cunt told you all you needed to know. He was desperate. 

And with your face buried into the crook of his neck, you only push him further into the pits of that ever growing lust-filled desperation – the choked-out, strained moans and whines beside his ear that match his thrusts, only drive the eager force further and further.

But when you reach your end, worn out and can take no more, you’d both be sure to recuperate – sat by his side against the headboard, head resting on his shoulder, an unlit cigar waiting patiently between his lips. Your hatred of the smell, stalling his smoke break, while prolonging your post-coitial cuddle.

safe to say I might be out my writers block