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all the reasons we're not in love

James potter x fem!reader ✩ 4.6k words

summary: You and James are best fucking friends—nothing more, nothing less. So why does everyone act like you're secretly in love, like it's some kind of undeniable fact?

cw: fluff, a pinch of angst, steamy makeout but no smut, best friends to lovers, idiots in love.

James gets up from the booth and leans down to ruffle your hair just because he knows it’ll annoy you. All sat around a too small booth in the back of the pub with a few chairs pulled up to accommodate the large group. It’s James' turn to buy a round, and you make a show of swatting his hand away as he goes, tracking his movements all the way to the bar. 

You have a second to take in the dingy lights and the rowdy regulars in the local before Lily scares you half to death, leaning into your field of view. Eyes alight with mischief and an impish smile on her lip.

“So…” she says, dragging out the vowel, “what's going on?”

“What's going on with what?” you laugh, confused but delighted by Lily after a few drinks. 

“You and James!” she practically squeals, shaking your arm with gleeful energy. “You’ve been giggling like schoolkids all night. He had his arm around you! Just admit it already—you like each other.”

You groan. “Lils, we always do that.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, clearly fed up with your refusal to see what she sees. And you? You’re fed up with everyone constantly implying that you and James must fancy each other. As if friendship isn’t enough.

“James and I are friends. That’s—”

“Best fucking friends,” James announces cheerfully, appearing out of nowhere and sliding your drink in front of you before placing the rest in the middle of the table.

“Exactly! Thank you,” you say, gesturing to him like he’s just proved your point.

Lily exhales sharply, throwing you a meaningful look before turning back to the group.

James sinks back into the booth beside you, draping an arm casually along the backrest behind your shoulders

“Try this,” he says, nudging his glass toward you. He’s been working his way through the list of ridiculous specialty mocktails on the menu and insists you sample every one. “It’s strawberry… something. You’ll like it.”

You take a sip. He’s right, obviously—it’s sweet and bright and tastes like summer. You smile up at him, pleased. “That’s really good. I’m getting one next round.”

He grins, radiant. “You can have that one, angel.”

You try to push the glass back, but he doesn’t let you. He’s about to insist again—mouth open, eyes soft—when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Why don’t you share your drinks like that with me, Moony?” Sirius whines from across the table, looking genuinely offended.

Remus sighs—meaning to sound exasperated, probably—but the fond look he gives his boyfriend tells a different story.

“We’ve been drinking the same thing all night, that’s why,” he replies, a smile starting to bloom on his lips. “And…” He glances your way with a teasing glint in his eye. “We’re not an old married couple like them.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mutters, barely above a breath, like it's a tragedy, “good thing they’re both fit.”

You let out a loud laugh. “We’re friends—”

“Best fucking friends.”

“—Not an old married couple. And honestly, you can’t say anything, Remus ‘Knitwear’ Lupin.”

“She’s not wrong,” James says with a quiet chuckle, sliding his hand to your back, fingers moving in lazy, absent-minded circles.

Remus only laughs, shaking his head, while Sirius looks scandalized—utterly betrayed on his boyfriend’s behalf.

“I like Rem’s knitwear, Trouble,” Sirius says, fixing you with a glare that would be more effective if his cheeks weren’t flushed from the drinks. “And I’d be very careful, or I’ll convince him to stop knitting your presents. Then all you’ll get are boring gift cards.” He nods solemnly, clearly impressed with his own threat.

You gasp dramatically, hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. “You wouldn’t.”

Sirius just giggles in response—giggles, which is never a good sign—so you turn to Remus, eyes wide, appealing.

“You wouldn’t let him, would you? You’ll still knit me things, Rem?”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head with a smile that promises yes, always.

That’s when you notice James—usually the loudest one at the table—has gone quiet. You turn toward him, curious, and catch the way he’s watching you. Soft eyes. That funny little smile he only wears when he thinks no one’s looking.

“You okay?” you ask, voice gentling with concern.

The question seems to pull him out of whatever haze he was in. His grin returns, bright and easy, like it never left.

“I’m great, angel.” He leans in, dropping his voice so only you can hear. “If Moony stopped knitting for you... I’d learn how to.”

You blink at him. “You? Knitting?”

He nods solemnly, one hand still warm against your back, and raises the other as if swearing an oath. “I’d do it for you. Even if it meant stabbing myself with the needles every five minutes. That’s how committed I am.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re so dramatic.”

You’re laughing, and your cheeks are warm, and James is still looking at you like you’ve hung the stars—but you brush it off like you always do.

Because this is what you and James do. Banter, teasing, little smiles no one else gets—your own language that you’ve been speaking fluently for years. It’s not new. It doesn’t mean anything.

He nudges your knee with his own, still grinning like he’s won something. Like your laugh is enough.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

But then Lily shoots you another look across the table, all smug eyebrows and that annoying “I told you so” glint in her eye, and it hits you again like it always does—this sudden awareness of how everyone else sees you. You and James. As if it’s already written somewhere, carved into the stars or tucked between the pages of your shared history.

You take a sip of the strawberry-whatever to stall, trying not to frown. Because the truth is, you know how this looks from the outside. All the little things he does, the way you lean into him without thinking, the endless inside jokes—it paints a picture. A certain type of story.

Because he’s James. And you’re... you.

And no matter how many times Sirius winks or Mary raises a knowing brow or Lily insists you're in love, you don’t think there’s a universe where you and James actually get together. Not really.

You’re best friends. That’s it.

And maybe there’s something sacred in that. Something worth protecting.

Besides—he doesn’t fancy you. Not like that. And you certainly don’t fancy him. No matter how charming he is. Or how warm his laugh makes you feel. Or how he always saves you the last piece of your favourite treats even when he pretends he won’t. Or how he’s looking at you now like he’d burn down the world just to keep you smiling.

No. You don’t fancy each other. That would be... messy. Complicated. The end of everything easy and good between you.

And James Potter may be a lot of things, but he’s not your ending.

He’s your always.

So you take another sip of the mocktail he gave you and bump his shoulder with your own, like nothing ever passed through your mind. He bumps you back, that lazy smirk still on his lips.

-

The pub starts to empty in waves, voices thinning out as people stumble toward coat racks and lingering goodbyes. You're nestled deeper into the booth than you realized, lulled by warmth and easy laughter and the comfort of being surrounded by your people.

Eventually, someone suggests calling it. Mary’s already halfway into her coat, Sirius is trying to coax Remus into stealing pint glasses for their flat –something about the collection– and Lily kisses you on the cheek with a meaningful look before grabbing Marlene’s arm and disappearing toward the door in a burst of cold air and laughter.

And James?

James is exactly where he’s been all night—at your side, elbow brushing yours every time he moves. When you pull your coat on, he reaches over without thinking and helps tug the hood into place for you.

“You ready?” he asks, and it’s easy, familiar.

“Yeah. Thanks for driving.” You smile, a little sleepy now that the buzz is fading.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else to make sure you get home.”

-

The drive is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. Music hums low through the speakers—something you’ve heard a million times over, something James mumbles along to under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening. He’s one of those annoyingly good drivers too. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely between the seats, fingers drumming to the beat.

You glance over once and catch him mid-yawn, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at the road.

“Wanna come in?” you hear yourself ask when he pulls up in front of your place, your voice softer than you expect. “Just for a bit? I might put on a film.”

James looks at you, searching your face for something. Whatever he finds, it makes him smile—gentler than before. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

You flick on the lights when you step inside, and it’s like muscle memory from there: shoes off, jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa, kettle filled. James leans against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. And he kind of does. There’s a mug he always uses in your cupboard. A hoodie of his in your laundry pile.

“What are we watching?” he asks, already padding into your living room, socked feet silent on the floorboards.

“Something easy,” you say. “Something we’ve seen before so I don’t actually have to pay attention.”

James shoots you a grin over his shoulder. “That for me or for you?”

You ignore the question, toss him the remote. “Dealer’s choice.”

You end up on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled somewhere in the middle because it’s late and it’s cold and this is what you do. It’s not new.

The movie starts playing, dim blue light casting soft shadows across his face. You watch it for a while—or try to—but your thoughts start running at a mile a minute instead.

You try to focus on the movie. Really, you do. But all you can hear is Lily’s voice echoing in your head: “Just admit it already—you like each other.”

It’s not just her. It’s everyone.

Sirius, with his loud, theatrical gasps every time James passes you a drink. Marlene muttering “just kiss already” under her breath like it’s an inside joke. Even Remus, who’s supposed to be the voice of reason, always quirking a brow when James tosses an arm around your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Which it is. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean anything.

But now? Now it’s stuck in your head. Every glance, every smile, every stupid joke he laughs too hard at—it’s all tinged with the weight of everyone else's expectations.

You lean your head back on the cushion and sigh.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” James asks, voice soft and scratchy with tiredness.

You glance at him. His eyes are still on the TV, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he already knows you’re spiraling.

You hesitate, then sit up a little. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze flicks to you instantly. “Course.”

“Do you ever get… tired of everyone thinking we’re in love?”

James lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “All the fucking time.”

You nod, almost relieved. “Right? It’s like—just because we’re close doesn’t mean we’re secretly pining.”

“Exactly!” James says, animated now, like he’s been waiting for someone to validate this. “Like, we literally watched Sirius throw himself at Rem for years and no one said shit, but I pass you a drink and suddenly it’s like—‘When’s the wedding, James?’”

You snort, finally smiling. “It’s exhausting.”

“Truly.”

Silence falls again, but it’s different now. 

“I just…” you start, voice quieter. “I wish there was a way to prove it, you know? That we don’t fancy each other. That this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you “—this is just friendship.”

James raises a brow, half-amused. “You want, like… a presentation?”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“Bullet points and everything?”

“‘All the reasons James Potter is categorically not in love with me.’”

“‘Exhibit A: the time I ate her last slice of pizza.’”

“‘Exhibit B: he never laughs at my best jokes.’”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Another beat passes. You look at each other.

There’s a flicker in James’ eyes—just a spark of something you can’t name—and it hits you, sudden and sharp, how close you are. His knee is still pressed against yours. His fingers are brushing your ankle like it’s nothing. Like it always has been.

You lick your lips. Heart hammering. And then—

“…We should kiss.”

James blinks. “What?”

You’re not even sure where the words came from. They just—slipped out. But now that they’re here, they feel oddly right. Inevitable.

You swallow. “We should kiss. Just once. To prove there’s nothing there.”

He stares at you, stunned into silence.

You rush to explain. “I mean—everyone keeps saying there is. And maybe if we just… did it, and it was awkward or bad or whatever, we could tell them and they’d drop it. They’d finally stop acting like we’re in some secret relationship.”

James is still staring, mouth slightly open.

You flush, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s stupid, forget it—”

“I’ll do it,” he says suddenly.

Your breath catches. “You will?”

He nods, slowly, like he’s still catching up with himself. “Yeah. If it’ll prove a point.”

You try to ignore the way your pulse spikes. “Right. Okay.”

With the room still mostly shrouded in darkness, it's difficult to make out the features of his face clearly. He shifts closer to you whilst manoeuvring your legs to settle beside you properly. There's little time to recognise the shift in his gaze as it pins to your lips before he's grinning and speaking again.

“What happens when you fall in love with me because of this?”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Your ego’s fucking massive Potter, I’ll be fine.” you say, gently slapping his arm. “Not sure about you though.” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you, acting like you're the biggest nuisance in the world.

“Come on then.” you say, impatiently. James sighs, then nods, before he's raising a hand to cup your jaw. His touch is gentle, like he's holding something fragile, priceless. And then he's leaning in so slowly, allowing you the time to pull away in case you’d been joking.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as your hand drifts to rest on his knee. You don’t notice the faint hitch in his breath at your touch—it’s so subtle, it nearly slips past you. The kiss comes and goes in a heartbeat, a fleeting, chaste peck that barely brushes your lips. When his hand pulls away and he clears his throat, your eyes open. He doesn’t say a word.

Despite the fact you should feel happy that you felt nothing, there's a strange twisting feeling in your stomach. Like when you startle awake after dreaming that you're falling. Then it comes to you, that kiss wasn’t a real one it can’t prove anything. 

“That wasn’t a proper kiss, James.” you say while looking down at your hands, not wanting to face him.

“You’re right.” you look up to see his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and you're startled by the sudden fascination with his mouth. 

“You have to kiss me like you’d kiss someone you're in love with.”

James’ gaze drops to your lips and stays pinned there as he’s silent, thinking. 

“I can do that… I think.” 

“Come on then.” you joke as you take a deeper breath in.

James exhales, slow and steady, but you can see it—the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he’s restraining something. Like there’s a weight behind your words neither of you wants to name just yet.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quieter now, with none of that usual cocky lilt. It’s careful. Measured. He’s giving you one last out.

You nod. “It’s just a kiss.”

But it’s not. You both know that. It hasn’t been just a kiss since the moment you suggested it.

Still, you say it anyway, because it’s easier to pretend it’s simple.

James shifts closer, knees brushing yours again, the space between you shrinking by the second. His hand finds your jaw again—just like before—but this time his thumb lingers at your cheekbone, the pad of it brushing soft circles that make your heart lurch. There’s something almost reverent in his touch now, like he’s memorising every inch of you.

When he leans in this time, it’s slower. Like he’s moving through water. Like the world around you doesn’t matter anymore.

And when he finally kisses you, it’s nothing like the first time.

It’s not hesitant or performative or brief. It’s warm and aching and real.

James kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Like this isn’t about proving anything or making a point—it’s about you. About this.

His lips are soft and sure against yours, and when your hand slips up to grip the front of his jumper, he deepens the kiss with a low hum in the back of his throat, like he’s been holding that sound in for too long.

One of his hands slips down to your hip, shifting you closer, settling you on his lap. You go willingly, knees digging into the sofa at either side of his thighs as he tilts his head back to reach you better. Completely lost in each other, forgetting, you’re sure your lips will soon turn numb.

Your hands drift upward to settle around his neck and lightly tug the hair at the nape of his neck. James pulls you closer by the waist, chests flush and his mouth remains probing and searching on your own.

There’s the feeling of a smile in the kiss but you can’t tell who’s it is. You’ve fallen into a steady rhythm, easy and sweet, but when a noise is pulled from his throat you freeze, pulling away. 

Looking down at him your face sits somewhere between concern and confusion. James stares right back at you panting, but otherwise seemingly unaffected.

“Forgive a man for getting distracted, angel.” he defends, like it's all your fault. 

You know you should move away from him now. Really, you know. But there's a strange standoff happening where neither of you look away and neither of you move. Until you do. 

It's hard to tell who moves in first, but the other reciprocates and you’re kissing again. James kisses you like a man starved. It's feverish and intense. It's everything. 

You can’t help but grab hold of his hair, curls silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. It makes James shamelessly grind up against you. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down against him.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin. You flush at the idea that he can’t contain himself because of this. Because of you. 

When he pulls away, finished ravishing your neck, you come back down to earth, scrambling to remove yourself from his lap. His hair is messy, messier than usual, from your touch and his lips are red and kiss bitten. 

You look to the far corner before you speak, unable to look at him now. 

“... I guess we’ve proved we don’t fancy each other, then.” 

You’re a liar and you know you are.

-

It’s been two days since the kiss. Two long, excruciating days where you haven’t spoken to James once. Not a text. Not a call.

You’ve replayed that night over and over in your head, hoping it would start to blur around the edges, lose its sharpness. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s crystal clear—every touch, every sound, every look he gave you. And worst of all? You don’t even regret it.

You’re halfway through nursing a lukewarm coffee at the back corner of a café when Sirius slides into the seat across from you like he owns the place, all leather jacket and smug grin.

“Oi,” he says, tugging your cup toward himself and taking a sip without asking. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

You blink, startled. “Us?

As if summoned, Remus appears beside him, calm and neat in that way that makes you feel even more frazzled by comparison. “She’s definitely been avoiding James,” he says, not unkindly, as he slides into the seat beside Sirius.

Sirius throws an arm around Remus’ shoulders with dramatic flair. “And thus—by extension—the rest of us, tragically caught in the crossfire of whatever the hell is going on.”

You frown. “Nothing is going on.”

Sirius lets out a loud, derisive snort. “Right. Tell that to James, who has been moping around the flat like a Victorian widow.”

“I’m serious,” you say quickly.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “So are we.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on. He’s not moping.”

Sirius levels you with a look, all theatrics dropped. “He didn’t even yell at me for eating his last bag of crisps yesterday. He just sighed. Like—actual sadness sighing. Who even does that?”

Your heart sinks, but you try not to let it show. “He’s probably just… tired. He drove me home from the pub that night, maybe he’s still catching up on sleep.”

Sirius and Remus share a look.

Remus tilts his head. “That’s the night it started, you know.”

“I told you,” Sirius says, grinning now like he’s cracked a case. “Something happened in that car. Or after. Did you two fight?”

“No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Nothing happened.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“I’m not lying,” you lie.

Remus leans in, voice quieter now, more careful. “We’re not trying to corner you. Just… we’re worried. About both of you.”

You take a long sip of your coffee, trying to buy time, but it’s cold and bitter and doesn’t help at all. You stare into the cup like it holds the answers. It doesn’t.

Sirius softens, which is somehow worse. “Look, we’re not asking for details. Just—maybe talk to him?”

You sigh. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“Try the truth,” Remus offers gently.

The truth is a mess, though. The truth is a blur of lips and hands and breathless gasps. It’s James’ eyes on yours in the dark, his fingers brushing your cheek like he was afraid you’d vanish. It’s the way you didn’t sleep that night, couldn’t sleep, because your skin still remembered the shape of his touch.

And the worst part? The worst part is you know what you felt wasn’t one-sided.

Sirius glances at his watch. “If you don’t call him, I’m sending him to your flat.” He threatens, leaving no room for argument.

-

You don’t call him.

You want to—God, you want to. You’ve picked up your phone half a dozen times just to stare at his name, thumb hovering over the call button like it’s going to electrocute you. But every time, something stops you. Some awful cocktail of fear and guilt and what-if. What if it was a mistake? What if he regrets it? What if he doesn’t, and you’re the one who ruins everything?

So you don’t call. You sit with the silence and let it suffocate you.

It's nearly midnight when there's a knock at your door.

Your heart jumps into your throat. For a second, you think about ignoring it, pretending you’re asleep, but you already know who it is.

You open the door anyway.

James is standing there, hoodie thrown on as if he’d left in a rush, curls messy and damp like he’d just run his hands through them a thousand times on the way over. His eyes flick across your face like he’s checking to make sure you’re real. Like he didn’t quite believe you’d actually answer.

He looks tired.

You swallow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes, voice low.

There's a silence. Tense. Tight. It stretches between you like a rubber band pulled too far.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he says eventually, shifting on his feet. “Told myself you’d call. That I’d give you space.” He pauses. “But I waited. And waited. And you didn’t.”

Your chest aches.

“I know,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I just… I couldn’t.”

James steps past you without asking. You don’t stop him.

He makes his way into your flat like he always has- it’s muscle memory. Like he belongs here. And God, maybe he does.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he says suddenly, turning to face you. “I thought we were okay and then it’s like you disappeared. No texts. No calls. Like it didn’t mean anything.”

“It wasn't supposed to mean anything, James.” you snap.

He flinches, like you’ve slapped him. You immediately regret it.

“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You didn’t mean for it to mean anything,” he says, voice low. “But it did.”

You exhale shakily, crossing your arms like they can shield you from this. “We said it was just a kiss. To prove a point.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t work,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

You glance away, blinking too quickly. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It’s not fair that I kissed you and everything changed and you’re acting like it didn’t.”

You hate this. Hate how right he is. Hate how vulnerable he looks standing in your living room like he’s afraid to breathe too hard and scare you off.

Your voice is quiet. “I didn’t know what to say.”

He’s quiet a beat. Then:

“Say anything.”

You hesitate. Your throat feels too tight. But then you force yourself to look at him, to see him.

“I love you,” you say. “And I don’t care if it’s wrong, I just do.”

James exhales, a slow, shaky breath like he’s been waiting for this—like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, firmer now. “I love you and I’ve been trying not to. Because I thought it would ruin everything.”

He steps forward, hands gentle as they come to rest at your waist. “I’ve always loved you, I think.”

It breaks something open in your chest. This is real. This is terrifying. This is everything.

“But what if we mess it up?” you ask, voice trembling.

James gives you a soft, crooked smile—the one that’s always undone you. “Then we mess it up. Together.”

You laugh, a watery, disbelieving thing, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in.

And when he kisses you this time, it’s not tentative or desperate. It’s steady. Sure. Like he knows you’re his.

Like he always has.

masterlist <3

[waywardxrhea]

Casual - Spencer Reid

for the CM friends with benefits challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins <3

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

You thought that your sexcapades with Spencer Reid had meant more to him like they did to you, but after a couple of run ins with his BAU teammates you learn that he really meant 'no attachments.'

word count: just over 5k

content: smut (this is sinful whoops) MINORS DNI - 18+ ONLY: oral (fem receiving), public (ish) sexual acts, unprotected PIV, established FWB situation, drinking (just to the point of being tipsy, consent is still given), language, anxiety, angst.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

now playing: casual by chappell roan

“You finally made it!” your friend Maddie exclaimed gleefully as you walked into the latest bar that she had decided your small group of friends should try out that evening. 

Maddie’s girlfriend Celeste elbowed you gently in the ribs before teasingly asking, “Were you hooking up with Mr. FBI agent again?”

“That’d be, what? The fourth time this month?” Adrianna asked, a slight slur already in her words. She threw an arm around your shoulders and winked exaggeratedly before adding, “And it’s only the fifteenth! Get it girl!” 

“Ha ha, very funny, let’s all gang up on the girl with the best sex life here,” you joked, forcing a smile onto your lips despite the pang of hurt that shot through your gut at the comments. You grabbed a drink menu off the bar’s counter before heading back to your group’s claimed table for the evening, telling your friends, “I actually picked up an extra shift which is why I’m late and Doctor FBI agent is out of state on a case.”

“Awe, she knows when he’s out on a case, how sweet!” Celeste teased before winking and taking a sip of her brightly colored drink. 

“You three are impossible!” you said with a roll of your eyes as you stood up from your spot once more to escape the conversation and order your drink at the bar - a raspberry frozen margarita with sugar rim. Luckily when you got back to the table with your drink, the conversation had turned to Maddie discussing the latest drama at her job, so you sat back and relaxed as you sipped on your first drink of the night. 

“I can’t believe we finished all that paperwork in time to actually go out tonight,” Derek Morgan said as he stretched his arms, stepping out of his car and into the crisp evening air as he once more met up with the other BAU members at a bar the group gravitated toward when they had time to celebrate wins on cases. 

“Realistically it would have been nearly impossible for us to not get our work done in a timely manner. We got back from the case at ten AM and were all well rested after the flight, so our brains were all in ideal condition to finish the paperwork on time, even accounting for some delays in productivity due to jet lag,” Spencer Reid rambled off as they all walked into the bar, offering a small smile as some of his teammates rolled their eyes playfully in response. 

“Well all I know is that I’m getting a bottle of wine to celebrate wrapping that case,” Emily Prentiss commented as she dug through her purse. 

“What about you, pretty boy? Planning on drinking tonight?” Derek asked as he gently shoulder checked the younger man. 

“Just water,” Spencer replied. “Did you know that during long plane rides you can easily get dehydrated? The humidity within the cabin is usually around ten to twenty percent which is lower than the usual thirty to sixty percent that our bodies are used to. The lower level of humidity causes water to be drawn out of the body and the thirst reflex is diminished so you drink less water while at the same time losing more. I’m surprised that as a team we aren’t more dehydrated overall.”

The conversation was dropped as the team got their drinks ordered and then settled into a round booth at the back of the bar. As Spencer took a sip from his water, his eyes scanned the bar’s patrons to see if there were any people they may have to watch out for as the night goes on and more drinks are consumed. The water he was sipping on suddenly went down the wrong pipe though as he spotted a familiar face at the table adjacent to the team’s. It was you hanging out with a few friends, seeming to have not noticed his arrival. He wasn’t too surprised about that though because judging by the glasses on the table you were at least one and a half margaritas in and you already weren’t the most observant person when you were distracted anyway. 

“Everything okay, Spence?” JJ asked while she patted Spencer’s back. 

Derek’s eyes tracked where Spencer’s had landed and he smirked as he announced to the table, “Pretty boy just saw the girl he bangs on his couch.” 

There was a quiet cacophony of responses to Derek’s comment the moment it fell from his lips. “Remind me to not sit on your couch ever again,” Emily Prentiss commented with a quiet laugh. “Ooh Spence, how serious is this thing?” JJ asked in a sly tone. “I’m glad you found someone, kid,” David Rossi said with a nod and a toast of his glass. “As long as it isn’t going to affect you at work,” their unit chief Aaron Hotchner commented sternly. “Spencer’s dating someone? Why did Derek know this and I didn’t?” Penelope Garcia asked with wide eyes. 

Spencer didn’t respond immediately, suddenly overwhelmed by the barrage of comments, so Derek took a moment to dig the hole even deeper by adding, “He made me swear not to tell baby girl.” He got a mischievous look on his face as he continued, “But one time when I was at his place getting his go bag while he was busy in the shooting range, I found a bra in his dresser. It took some time but I finally got an answer out of him and it turns out this has been going on for a few months now.”

“Spencer Reid!” Penelope scolded while leaning over and playfully swatting at his hand. “How could you not tell me? You know I would have run a background check on her to make sure everything checked out!”

“Everyone slow down!” Spencer said, putting his hands up which caused the noise at the table to die down. “She quite literally ran into me at a coffee shop a few months back but I didn’t tell anyone because, well…we aren’t together. It’s just a casual thing.”

“Just casual? Is she okay with that?” JJ asked, quirking an eyebrow up in question. 

“She hasn’t said anything against it,” Spencer replied. He glanced over at you laughing with your friends one more time before shaking his head and asking, “Can we change the subject?”

“Whatever you want, player,” Derek said with a chuckle before the conversation moved on to whatever the latest sports news was, prompted by Derek’s reaction to something happening on one of the many TVs hanging around the room. 

Later that night after you had your fair share of appetizers and drinks, your friends were all starting to head home for the evening. “Thank you for coming, we need to do this again soon!” Celeste told you with a fake stern look before she giggled and leaned over into Maddie’s side. 

“We do!” you agreed as you grabbed your glass to finish off the last bit of your drink. “Get home safe!”

“You too!” Maddie said as she attempted to steady Celeste. “You’re calling a cab right?”

“Of course,” you told her with a nod, raising your glass in a toast as the pair headed off toward the door, following Adrianna outside. 

After finishing off your drink, you stood up, trying to balance as well as you could as you grabbed your clutch off of the table and went to the bar to pay off your tab. You weren’t completely drunk, but you were definitely tipsy and you were naturally clumsy, so nights like this were always an interesting time, especially when you were in heels. When you got to the bar to pay though, you were surprised to be informed that your tab was already paid for. “Who did that?” you asked the bartender, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. Adrianna was just about finished with but still in law school and Celeste was a teacher so you could never ask them to pay for your drinks. Maddie was a paralegal and made a good salary but still, you made enough on your own to pay for your drinks, so who…? 

Your question was answered though when you felt a familiar pair of hands glide along your waist and land on your hips. You turned your head the slightest bit and an immediate heat flooded your body as you whispered, “Spencer… Hi. I thought I heard your voice earlier. When did you get back?” Your emotions were conflicted at his sudden appearance because you had overheard him talking with his group of friends earlier and it had honestly upset you, but now that he was practically wrapped around you, your mind flooded with memories of his hands on your body in the most intimate way…

“Just got back this morning. The team met up here to celebrate and I was surprised to see you here,” he replied. His voice lowered and his lips grazed the shell of your ear as he mumbled, “You look irresistible in that dress by the way.”

“I…Thank you,” you breathed, feeling your heart rate increase as his hands massaged your hips. “And thanks for paying for my drinks, you didn’t have to…”

“But I wanted to,” he told you, gently nipping at your ear lobe which made your cunt clench around nothing in desperation for more of his touch. Truth be told, it had been a week since you and Spencer last hooked up and you hated to admit that you had gotten dependent on his touch lately. 

Your impure thoughts were interrupted by a low whistle piercing the air, and your head snapped in the direction it came from, to see two people you recognized from pictures in Spencer’s apartment. They must be from the BAU as well. You made eye contact with the perky looking blonde woman and offered a smile as the man beside her asked, “Pretty boy, why don’t you introduce us to your friend here?” 

“Oh, I-I thought everyone had left,” Spencer said, instantly making space between the two of you. You looked at Spencer’s panicked expression that quickly changed into something more neutral as he introduced you by name and then said to you, “These are two other members of the BAU. Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia.”

“It’s nice to meet you two,” you told them, a smile on your face as you raised your hand in greeting. “Penelope, you’re the tech girl right?” you asked after a few moments of going through your memories of what little Spencer had told you about his job. 

“That’s me! Resident tech genius because boy genius here refuses to get to know technology!” she replied chipperly. 

“Oh trust me, I know,” you said with a giggle, leaning into Spencer’s side as you remembered the last time you two had gotten lonely at the odd hours of night and wanted to video chat each other to get off. Spencer struggled to get the video call to work and it had ended up being muted for a few minutes before you finally got him to unmute himself so you could hear everything his surprisingly filthy mouth had to say to you. 

“Well it’s nice to finally meet the girl who is getting pretty boy out of his shell,” Derek said, flashing you an award winning smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m glad you all are keeping him safe out there in the field,” you replied. 

“All in a day’s work,” Derek said with a chuckle. He checked his watch before exaggeratedly yawning and telling Penelope, “Well baby girl, I think we should get going. Don’t want to hold these two up any longer than we already have. You two have a good one.”

“Thanks Derek,” Spencer mumbled as he watched the pair walk off and out the door. You watched as Spencer’s eyes did another sweep of the bar before his attention was back on you, turning you toward him and pulling you into his front, his hands snaking their way around to your ass and giving a light squeeze as he returned to kissing your ear and neck. 

Your hopeful thoughts from the conversation with Derek and Penelope were instantly abandoned and replaced instead by flashes of your intimate moments with Spencer over the last few months. Your hands drifted upward with one resting on his shoulder and the other lacing into his cropped hair as you let out a quiet moan in Spencer’s ear before asking, “Take me home?”

“God yes,” Spencer whispered, pulling away and turning you around so you were in front of him. To anyone watching it would look like he was simply helping you keep your balance as the alcohol in your system continued to impair your coordination, but only you knew the real reason for the closeness. So as you walked the block to the parking lot, you occasionally let your ass rub against the growing problem in Spencer’s slacks which earned low groans and a squeeze of your hips as you two made your way to Spencer’s car which was tucked away at the back of the lot away from other cars. 

When you got there, Spencer pinned you against the side of his car and his lips were on yours in an instant. After a few seconds, he pulled away for a moment and between panting breaths he asked, “Is this okay? You’ve been drinking, I didn’t want to-”

“You aren’t taking advantage of me,” you promised before he could complete his sentence. “I only had two margaritas and a shot and a ton of food. If you want to breathalyze me, agent, go ahead, but I promise you I’m all here and I’ve missed your hands on me.” As you said this, you carefully hooked one leg around Spencer’s waist and pulled your hips closer together with a smirk gracing your lips. 

“I trust you,” he whispered before your lips crashed together again. You once more laced one hand into his curls and used the other to pull him closer as your tongues began lapping into each other’s mouth, desperation and pure need guiding your actions. Shocks of pleasure began flowing down to your core and you felt light headed as Spencer rutted his hips into yours, seemingly desperate for any sort of friction. The moment that his hard cock brushed against your cunt you let out another moan that was swallowed by Spencer’s mouth before he was moving one of his hands from the grip he had on your ass.

Within seconds you heard the tell-tale sign of the car doors unlocking and Spencer was opening the door for you to get in. Rather than going over to his side to quickly drive to one of your apartments though, he instead pulled at the levers at the base of the passenger seat and began scooting the seat backward and flat, sending you into a near laying position and dizzying your senses. “Spencer, what-?” you asked as you regained your composure after a few moments. 

“I can’t wait,” was his reply before he began tucking himself into the now more open floorboard and pulling your panties down your legs. 

“What about- What if we’re caught-? Your job-!” you managed to get out in clipped sentences. 

“No cameras, no cars near us, it’s fine,” he replied quickly. “I just need to taste you,” he added, his voice almost dark with desire which had your cunt clenching around nothing again as your own desire overtook your anxiety about getting caught.

He hooked your legs over his shoulders and pulled your hips close to his face before you felt the flat of his tongue on you, going from your entrance to your clit before he stopped there and began focusing on your most sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a sinful noise as one hand gravitated toward his hair to hold him close as he began sucking on your clit, not wanting to let go of the feeling. 

After a few breathtaking moments, Spencer pulled away slightly and mumbled, “You’re so wet, fuck…” The vibrations of his voice on your core made a high pitched cry escape your lips and he chuckled before asking, “You like that?”

“God yes,” you replied breathlessly as your chest heaved as the pleasure began to build already in the pit of your stomach. “I missed you,” you found yourself confessing as your hips bucked up to meet his tongue as he returned to his assault of your dripping cunt. Spencer’s only response was to shift and add two fingers to the mix which caused you to cry out his name as he hooked them skillfully, hitting the spot he knew could make you fall apart within seconds if he got it just right. “Oh fuck, right there- Spencer, I- shit…” 

“Come on baby,” he mumbled against you as his long fingers began stroking his target within you, causing the tight coiling feeling in your abdomen to increase more and more. 

It all became too much when Spencer began kitten licking at your clit at the same time and the coil snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing over your body as your orgasm ripped through you. A loud moan slipped past your lips as your grip on his hair tightened and Spencer pulled his fingers out quickly before beginning to lap at your cunt like a man starved, holding down your erratically bucking hips as you slowly began coming down from your high. Overstimulation took over after a few moments and you gently pushed Spencer’s head away as you panted, trying to catch your breath. Spencer obliged, pulling away and wiping his face with the back of his hand before sucking the remnants of you from his fingers as he chuckled. 

You joined in on his laughter after a few seconds and the question that had been on your mind all night slipped past your lips, “Is it casual now?” Knowing it was a loaded question though, you panicked and quickly pulled Spencer up and into a kiss before he could answer. For good measure, you made sure to keep him preoccupied by teasing him as he drove you back to your apartment where he made sure to thoroughly make up for his week away on the case. 

A few weeks had passed and you were out with your girls again to celebrate Adrianna finally graduating law school. It had been a long and arduous journey for her, but she made it! So before she had to buckle down once more to study for the bar exam, the four of you went out to a nice, new Italian restaurant that had opened only a couple of weeks prior. The restaurant had great reviews, and most importantly to Adiranna, an excellent wine list. So the four of you celebrated with delicious pasta, only one glass of wine for you, and began on dessert - a tiramisu that smelled heavenly. 

As the dessert was being brought out by what seemed like half the kitchen staff who were all warmly congratulating Adrianna, your eyes drifted past them when you heard a distinct nickname being called out teasingly from across the restaurant. Pretty boy. You made eye contact with the man in question and like an instinct your heart rate began to increase and heat began to pool down into your core. It was a Pavlovian response at this point, as Spencer had explained to you the first time you brought up the fact that you would get turned on at the mere sight of him, even if it was in no way sexual. You averted your eyes a moment later and bit your lip as you shifted in your seat, thighs rubbing together to try and alleviate some of the tension building in your core. 

“You okay?” Maddie’s voice asked, breaking through the flashes of when Spencer dragged five orgasms out of you that night after the bar. 

“Just a headache, red wine doesn’t really agree with me,” you told in a half-truth. Red wine really wasn’t your forte, but it was what Adrianna wanted so that’s what you had been sipping on slowly throughout the meal. “I think I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a Motrin, I’ll be back. Maybe the lights will be a bit less harsh in there.”

“Maybe so. I’ll make sure to save you some tiramisu,” Maddie said as you stood up and began making your way across the restaurant to where you noticed the restrooms were earlier. You weren’t really going to the restroom to take some medicine or get away from what really wasn’t even that harsh of lighting in the dining area. There was some part of you that hoped that even from across the restaurant Spencer could tell that you needed him and would get the message to meet you in there. 

Of course as you passed the table Spencer was at, it was filled with the rest of the BAU members, most of whose attention was on the man animatedly talking about the wine and pasta selections. You thought you had gone unnoticed until you heard a low wolf whistle before the comment, “Go and get some loving, pretty boy.”

“Shut it!” you heard the distinct voice of Penelope snap as you kept your head down and made your way to your destination. 

Right as your hand reached up to push the restroom door open, you looked back to see if Spencer had followed you like you hoped, and to your body’s joy he did. Glancing at his lips as he wet them with his tongue, you felt the dampness in your underwear growing as your breathing began to pick up its pace along with your heart. “Hey,” you said simply. 

“Did you want to-?” was all Spencer asked before you nodded vigorously which earned you his lips as he gently pushed you into the single person restroom before locking the door. Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, one diving into the low v-cut of your dress and beginning to massage your breast, thumb flicking over your already hard nipple as you moaned into his mouth. “If I knew you would have been here I may have dressed a bit nicer,” Spencer commented as he moved from kissing your lips to your neck, your hands desperately roaming his frame as he explored yours. 

“You always look amazing,” you told him earnestly as he hiked you up onto the sink’s counter space and pulled the strap of your dress down your shoulder so he would have better access to your chest. “Oh, God, Spencer…” you whispered as he took your sensitive bud into his mouth and began sucking. It wasn’t long before he moved on from the nipple to the surrounding skin and started to bite and suck which you desperately hoped would leave a mark. You loved it when he marked you because it made things feel more permanent, even if just for a few days.

Before you knew it, your legs were being nudged apart and Spencer’s fingers were teasing your entrance as he asked, “Are you ready?”

“Please,” you begged. The sound was breathy and high-pitched, but you didn’t care much about how desperate you sounded because you knew the sounds you made drove Spencer crazy. 

“Turn around,” he said in a low voice as he helped you jump off of the counter. You didn’t even get the opportunity to tease Spencer or spread his own arousal over his head before you were being bent over the counter with your panties pushed aside as he quickly shoved into your throbbing core. Your moan was muffled as Spencer’s large hand came around and covered your mouth and he gritted out, “We don’t have long.”

You whimpered into Spencer’s hand as he pounded into you from behind, your exposed breast occasionally grazing against the cold countertop causing the most delicious mix of pleasure to course through your body. He always felt so big from behind and tonight was no exception, but the rate and rhythm that he was going at had the coil in your core building quickly. “Spencer, oh, fuck! I-”

“I’m close too,” was Spencer’s grunted out response as the grip he had on your hip tightened as his thrusts began to get sloppy. You don’t know if it was because of the prospect of getting caught, or what, but after a few more thrusts, Spencer was already losing it, whispering, “Baby, I- Shit, shit, shit! I’m coming, fuck-” 

You felt his hot release filling you up and you let out a moan in response, so close to your own peak, but instead of continuing his ministrations like he normally would, Spencer pulled out and began cleaning himself up. You stood there speechless for a moment, still bent over the counter with your heart racing and chest heaving as you recovered from your almost orgasm. Spencer had never left you hanging like that. Maybe to edge you to try and get your body to do what it still hadn’t managed to, but never to deny you an orgasm. 

Spencer approached you from behind once more and recovered your core with your underwear before beginning to straighten up your dress to help you look presentable. He turned you around and placed a gentle kiss on your lips before chuckling and telling you, “I think you may want to fix your makeup a bit.”

“I-I will,” you quietly agreed with a nod, watching as he ducked his head and left you in the bathroom alone, hot, bothered, and honestly a bit pissed off. You quickly relocked the door and went to the restroom, trying to rid your underwear and body of the traces he left behind with his abrupt finish. After cleaning up, you went to work fixing your makeup as best you could and hoped that with all of the wine in their system your friends wouldn’t notice that it was slightly less perfect than when the night began. 

As you quietly made your way out of the restroom, you froze when you heard Derek’s voice coming from around the corner as he asked, “That love toy of yours treating you well?” 

Your blood ran cold as Spencer responded, “Oh, I- uh- Yeah. She is.”

“My man!” Derek said with a bright laugh before the conversation was prompted to return to non-sexual topics by someone else at the table. 

You felt your shoulders slump as your eyes casted themselves down to the floor and you just wanted a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. A sense of dread began to fill your body and your head began to feel heavy as your anxiety started to climb. Trying to breathe through the dizzying feeling, you kept your eyes down as you made your way past the table Spencer was sat at. When you reached your friends, you offered a small smile before telling them, “The headache is just getting worse, I think I need to get going. I’m sorry to be a downer…”

“Hey it’s okay! Get to feeling better!” Maddie told you, offering a smile to try and comfort you. 

“Thanks,” you said as you reached into your small purse and pulled out a few bills that should more than cover your fair share of the meal. “Congrats again, Adri. You earned it!” you told her with a fake chipperness in your voice that you hoped was convincing. 

Once that exchange was over, you quickly made your way out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, trying to convince your lungs to take deep breaths before a full blown panic attack set in. You should have known that all of this with Spencer was too good to be true. You should have known that he just wanted you for sex and nothing more. 

Even though you know you shouldn’t have, after that night meeting Derek and Penelope, you had let your mind wander just a bit and had imagined a little life with Spencer. An apartment smack between both of your jobs, going to the movies together, reading in silence on the couch, maybe even him showing you off at some team party after they closed a particularly hard case. But clearly none of that was in the cards for him… It was just a fantasy you had built in your head.

How did you let this drag on for so long? You pride yourself on being a strong and independent person and for the longest time had sworn off dating after the last disaster that had ruined your life. Yet here you were letting Spencer come crashing into your life, upturning everything you had built for yourself. A searing hatred started to rise in your chest, but it wasn’t directed toward Spencer. It was for yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted though when a gentle hand was placed on your upper arm to get your attention. Just turning to look at Spencer made you dizzy once again and you braced yourself against the building to keep from falling. “Are you okay?” Spencer asked. “You’re still on the pill right? I didn’t even think about asking, I-”

“Yes I’m still on the stupid pill,” you choked out through your tight throat that felt like it was threatening to close up any moment. 

“Then what’s-?” he tried but you interrupted him. 

“I just thought you thought of me better than a ‘love toy…’” you whispered, the sound barely audible. 

Spencer reached for your hand and squeezed it gently which made your heart soar, but it came crashing down once again when he softly reminded you, “No attachments, remember?”

Panic reared its ugly head again as that dreadful feeling threatened to overwhelm you. So before you could break down in front of Spencer in front of the restaurant, you jerked your hand away and sharply told him, “You can go to Hell, Spencer Reid…” 

a/n: phew, that was... something! i think i need to go touch some grass... anyways, when i was plotting this, i couldn't help but think of another song that ended up causing their backstory, so i'm going to start writing a part two to this called 'butterfly effect' because i don't like unhappy endings. i hope to see you there! likes and comments are always appreciated!

xo, brooke :)

part two - butterfly effect

[southernimpala]

sunny side up

sam winchester x waitress!reader

summary ↬ you serve the winchesters breakfast at some shitty run down diner

notice ↬ fluff ! some cutesy lil flirting, i promised a new fic tn and can't believe i delivered cus i feel like shit but enjoy !, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.4k

the old wooden clock mounted on the wall above the front door ticks teasingly toward the middle of your shift, the break you’ve been craving for the past four hours drawing closer as the seconds jolt in a circle. there’s already coffee staining your apron, leaving a big black blotch right on the pretty lace, there’s crumbs in your hair, and you’re sure the lipstick you put on this morning to look more put together than you really are is already smudged across your face. 

you pay no mind to your appearance as you lazily flip through your order notebook to a blank page while making your way to your new table. 

“hello, welcome to porky’s, what can i get started—” 

two boys catch your eye when you look up, one with short, dark hair almost sputtering dark roast out of his mouth, while the other—shaggier, darker hair with big, piercing hazel eyes—parts his lips at the sight of you. 

“u-um, would you like to see our specials?” you choke out, awkwardly pointing your pen behind you to the big chalkboard above the coffee bar, almost like second nature. you aren’t sure what else to do with your hands. 

the one with the odd necklace wipes the drink from his chin and clears his throat, “ahem—yes, yes we would, right, sammy?” 

the other—sammy—doesn’t seem to hear, his eyes still held solid on your face as it drifts across every feature. it’s not until you hear a shuffle, then a knee hit the underside of their table— “right, sammy?”—when he shakes out of it, nodding aimlessly. 

“sorry,” not sammy says, chuckling stiffly, “my brother here, uh… had a rough night.” 

you can’t help but eye sammy, looking his figure up and down as your brain runs through a million different ways this seemingly innocent, soft, person had a rough night. your heart jumps when he catches you, “o–okay, let me get you some menus.” 

“that would be wonderful,” his brother smiles, hard and plastered.

you twist to fetch the menus and feel the sigh of relief lifting a weight off your crushed body. those are two of the most gorgeous men that have ever walked into your shit diner in some nowhere town off an interstate, and suddenly the clock doesn’t seem so loud. instead, your heart thumps in your ears as your shaky hands grab two menus from the back.

“dean, what the hell was that?” you hear sammy harshly whisper across the table, being met with a response from dean that was too low for your ears to catch.

it takes you a minute to reach composure, remind yourself that their probably asshole drifters looking for some eight am fun, and hand them their menus with a straighter posture and higher head. 

“okay, porky’s recommends the country omelet with extra bacon or the five stack.” you inform, the rehearsed speech ingrained in your memory from training flowing easily as you avoid sammy’s eyes.

dean flashes you a shimmery smile, “well what does—” his eyes glance down to the nametag clipped to the cream colored waitress uniform, your name falling off his tongue like syrup on pancakes, “what does she recommend?” 

sammy’s lips purse. your stomach knots. 

“u-um,” you’d never had anyone ask you before, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t recommend any of the greasy diner food here, but you swallow down a warning and sputter, “i like the french toast with eggs.” 

“eggs how?” he asks, skimming the menu with eyebrows furrowed. 

at the same instant, you and sammy blurt, “sunny side up.” 

your heads shoot up, eyes attracted to the other like moths to flames, bright and burning in your pupils. the rosy blush that paints across his cheeks infectiously spreads to yours, mouth catching flies as it opens and closes, desperate to find something professional to say, when dean slams his menu closed, holding it out for you to take. 

“well, i guess i know what i’m having then,” he says, a tinge of—what was it—defeat in his tone. 

you send him a tight lipped smile, turning to look at sammy as he tries to shield his eyes from your stare, which you just can’t help. the seven thirty sun is shining against his soft, wavy wisps and smooth skin like it only burned for him, his fingers stretching against his forehead, long and slender, as his jaw flexes under the tension of him trying equally as hard not to look at you. your knees almost give out. 

“what are you thinkin?” you ask him, trying to fix your definitely frizzy hair behind your ear. 

his teeth catch his bottom lip, “the same,” he answers, voice cracking, making dean run his palm across his mouth to hide a smirk, “with another coffee, if you don’t mind.” 

“not at all,” you say sweetly, gently taking his menu, “eggs sunny side up?” 

his eyes twinkle in the sun’s warmth soaking through the large window, “you read my mind.” 

you give him a wink, hugging the menus to your chest before spinning on your heel. you can almost feel their attention drawn to you as you walk away to put the orders in, a weird, butterfly feeling settling deep in your stomach. 

it’s a game of cat and mouse as you and sammy play a staring contest across the diner while their breakfasts cook—whether it be with your pen between your teeth as you lean against the counter, or with a bunch of plates balancing on your hip belonging to another table, catching him watching out of the corner of your eye. 

the snicker you see him try to hide when you find his eyes on your figure has you crumbling, like your skin melts and blood goes cold. 

by the time their foods done, you’ve passed by their table close to four times asking if they need another refill, or maybe more napkins, or if there’s a spot on your utensils i can get you another—

the timer dings. order #44 gets called. their plates are hot under your palms as you carry one in each hand, the sunny side up eggs having you biting your lip hard to keep a smile down. 

“okay, two french toasts with eggs, sunny side up,” you announce, delicately placing down their breakfast, the smell of butter and rich maple filling your nose as it wafts in steam, “anything else i can get for you boys?” 

you catch dean nudge sammy’s knee again under the table, coughing loudly like he’s signalling something. 

sammy’s face flushes, which inadvertently causes you to do the same as you switch between the brothers. 

“u-um,” he clears his throat, pokes his fork into his sunny side eggs, “what time do you get off?” 

your body burns with satisfaction, but you won’t let him think that you're that easy, “what time do you skip out on this small town?” 

dean laughs obnoxiously with a mouthful of french toast. sam chuckles like he’s fallen in love. 

“not for a few days at most,” he answers, confidence finally laced in his tone, slick yet still soft, with a smile that kills any hard to get attitude left in you. 

you nod, accepting cruelly that he’s won you over, “i get off at one.” 

“listen,” he starts teasingly, raising his hands against his chest defensively, “don’t feel obligated.” 

a sickly sweet laugh that wipes the smirk right off his pretty face leaves you like the butter dripping down the crust of his french toast, “i think it’s out of my control now.” 

dean leans back in the ripped leather booth, rolling his eyes and sighing in a that should be me way. sammy doesn’t even bother giving him a second look, and you’ve noticed he hasn’t touched his food once since you’ve started to lean closer over the table, hovering over the half-drunk cups of coffee and unused napkins.

“sorry about that,” he responds smoothly. your elbows wobble as you hold yourself up, leaning closer and closer— 

another timer dings. you suddenly remember you’re on the clock, and it hasn’t stopped ticking well after your break that you’ve certainly missed with all the flirting. 

you clear your throat, removing yourself from over their breakfast and fixing the collar of your uniform that’s now crooked against your collarbones, “y’all let me know if i can get you anything else.”

“will do,” dean drags, halfway into the sunny side up eggs smudged in orange across his plate. 

you get out a last wink, fingers softly smudging the red lipstick painting your mouth, “see you at one, sammy.” 

dean’s fork drops in his eggs. 

sam, well, sam’s in love. 

“we aren’t leaving after this case, are we?” dean mumbles. 

sam watches as you walk behind the counter with his heart slamming against his ribcage, begging him to maybe never leave your side. 

“nope.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tags ↬ @h8aaz , @sacr1ficialang3l <33

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !

[fallenbratfiction]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[coquettefrancaise]

rock 'n' roll star

by Oasis

pair: Azriel x reader ~ 1.9k

warnings: excessive drinking, nothing else really

summary: tall, dark, and, handsome, Azriel was a wet dream incarnate… which is only intensified when you notice his newest accessory

author's note: why, yes, Drew Starkey was on my mind the entire time I wrote this. also, I'm considering whipping up a small continuation that's a little less fluffy 😋

"You're drunk, baby."

"No I'm not Azzy. You are."

Azriel reeled as your breath hit him. "You smell flammable.”

Normally, your girls nights consisted of going out to dinner and gossiping. Only on occasion would you and the other females from the inner circle decide to hit Rita’s and club. And tonight was one of those occasions… with a whole bunch of alcohol.

“What in the Mother do they put in those drinks?” Azriel snorted as he carried you into your shared bedroom.

“First rule of the secret menu: don’t ask questions.” You giggled, body heavy in Azriel’s arms as exhaustion pulled at your limbs.

He had been enjoying a glass of wine with his brothers when Feyre had reached out to Rhys that backup was needed. At least the high lady had the decency to drink under her weight.

You weren't the type who knocked back drinks on a whim- you weren't even a casual drinker! So it came as a surprise when Azriel felt your inhibitions dull through the bond.

When the three Illyrian’s arrived, it had been like trying to wrangle sugar-induced toddlers. You and Nesta attempted to return to the bar for ‘one more drink’ and then Mor was grinding against the nearest fae as they practically dragged her out.

Azriel set you down on the bed, running a hand through his hair as you snuggled into yourself and closed your eyes. “Don’t you want to get ready for bed?”

You grunted.

"Come along, my little drunkard, I just cleaned your favorite night-shirt this morning."

That had your eyes blinking open, fingers inching across the duvet, near where he was standing. After years of dating, he understood what you were asking. So he picked you up once more and began undressing you.

With every layer taken off, you swayed, his shadows supporting your torso to help keep you upright. They had been taken with you from the get-go, racing to greet you first, or be the one to make sure you got inside your apartment safely.

"Azzy," you mumbled as he fitted the raggedy, old t-shirt he'd had crumpled in the bottom of his drawer, over your head. You had found it after your first night spent together and hadn't let go since. Even though he'd attempted to throw it away time and again.

"Hmm?"

You looked up at him, adorably bleary-eyed. "D'you know what would be sooooo sexy?"

He chuckled softly as he leaned you back against the pillows. "What, baby?"

"An earring!"

That made him pause in wetting a rag. An earring? What kind of nonsense was Mor whispering in your ear all night? He sat beside you and began wiping the makeup off your face. "Why do you say that?"

You shrugged.

He patted your cheek softly to wake you up. How much did you have to drink tonight exactly?

An annoyed sound rumbled deep in your chest. "You can't just tell me to pierce my ears and then drift off into sleep."

"Dunno. Thought it'd be-"

"Sexy," he huffed amusedly.

You eyed him suspiciously. "What are you laughing at? You're like the sexiest man in all of Prythian."

He pulled you into his chest, smoothing a hand over your hair, committing the silkiness of it to memory. "Oh no. I would never dare make fun of your sexy mate. Not when I know what those claws of yours are capable of. I was only laughing because I was remembering something that happened earlier."

No response came from you, only a soft snore and Azriel knew you hadn't even heard him. And when you woke up in the morning, annoyed that he let you go to bed without having completed your skincare, he would only hug you tighter to him and smother you with kisses until you couldn't think over your giggles.

He didn't mind having to take care of you. In fact, it solidified the notion that someone needed him. That he was someone's first choice. And what better way to show you how much he loved you than to give into your dreamy desires. After all, words spoken under the influence were words of truth, weren't they?

So he pulled the comforter over you both and turned off the faelights, thinking more about your suggestion.

There had been too many behaviors today. First the kid who threw a tantrum when his friend claimed the only blue crayon first, and then the little girl who threw a box of blocks when told to put them away. It seemed that those two incidents set the rest of the day up for disaster.

Not to mention that you spaced the dinner with the inner circle you had tonight.

When you had walked into your apartment, a shadow awaited you, pulling you along to the calendar on the wall. And then you had to walk yourself because Azriel had closed the bond well over a couple hours before for whatever reason. You hadn't been able to concern over it when you had been hit in the back by a toy.

So you sped over to the restaurant, the dark wisp trailing behind you as your companion. A small comfort in itself.

As soon as the hostess showed you to the reserved table, you were pulled into hug after hug, before being able to sit and decompress, the tightness of your shoulders still present.

Cassian slung and arm over the back of your chair, sighing as if he'd been the one who'd dealt with a dozen four-year-old's. "Where's your bodyguard?"

"I was under the impression he was with you or Rhys. He hasn't answered any of my calls down the bond."

"The bastard is probably brooding somewhere," he clicked his tongue. "And you know something? You don't have to put up with that guy. You're young, hot, brilliant; you deserve someone far better. I can always ask Nes if she'd be willing to share our bed."

You snorted out a laugh, Nesta peering around her mate. "I wouldn't wish Cassian upon anyone."

His face pulled down in a hurt frown. "What's that mean?"

Before Nesta could answer, a chair scraped along the tiled ground, and Mor sat down across from you. And behind her-

Your own chair clattered to the ground before your face was smashed into Azriel's firm chest, inhaling the deep, intoxicating scent of night you believed was the closest thing to heaven.

Long fingers slip to the nape of your neck, thumbs urging your chin up so your gaze could connect with hazel ones. "Long day?"

You let your forehead fall onto his pec in answer.

You could feel the low vibrations of his quiet chuckle and then he was moving you backwards, sitting in the chair you left behind- now upright thanks to a disgruntled Cassian -and set you on his lap as his hands ran soothingly over your arms and back.

"I didn't realize my offer would upset her that bad," Cassian defended.

The both of you ignored him, the rest of the room blurring into insignificance as you had the only thing that mattered holding, and waiting patiently for you to give him the spiel.

"Later," you promised. "For now: why'd you close the bond? Is everything alright? Are you alright?"

He only ever closed the bond whenever he was sent away on some secret spy errands or after a particularly rough tumble in the training ring that ended with him in the infirmary.

Guilt creased his brow, his thumb pressing into your chin. "It's nothing concerning. I was just..." his eyes flickered behind you, "Nothing bad."

You peered over your shoulder to find Mor, who was smirking feline-like into the rim of her drink. You'd never seen the resemblance between her and Rhys so clearly until then.

You turned back to Azriel, confused.

His face softened, reassurance flowing down the string that bound your souls together. "I'm serious, baby. I only feel bad because it probably worried you to not be able to reach me and you've obviously had a shit day already. If anything, the reason for why I went MIA will, hopefully, excite you. Promise."

Long ago, when you were in the unfortunate habit of dating douche bags and lowlifes, you believed that you would never find a man worthy of you. Now, after having met Azriel, you hardly believed you deserved him.

You leaned in to kiss him when you saw a silver glint at his ear. Curious, you brushed back his midnight hair and your eyes widened.

The corner of Azriel's lip quirked and you could hear a snicker from Mor.

Pierced through his earlobe sat a thin silver hoop. You cupped his jaw, turning his face from side to side, taking in every angle with hungry eyes.

"When? How? Where?"

His eyes glinted with proud male satisfaction. "After training this morning and by Mor at the House of Wind. Do you like it?"

Did you like it? Does Cassian admire himself in the mirror? "Y-yes!" you stammered, fighting off the abrupt desire to nip at it, when realization dawned. "You didn't want me to feel the pain of the piercing."

He shook his head, knocking his hair back over his newest improvement. You were quick to push it back.

"I take it you like it?"

"Like it? I love it. It's so-"

"Sexy?" he supplied.

That word sparked a vague memory; one with drinking, being carried home...

"How did you-"

"That night you got drunk off your ass at Rita's-" your cheeks burned as you recalled- somewhat -of what had happened a little over a week ago. "-you told me in your drunken haze that I would look 'sexy' with an earring."

Embarrassment colored your cheeks but he was quick to say, "It was adorable."

You rolled your eyes. "Calling a female who is over two centuries old 'adorable' isn't comforting when she, tipsily!, spilled a lifelong secret!"

"And yet, it resulted in me learning about your lifelong secret and making it come true. Which will then be beneficial for us both." His eyes darkened with the implication and you had to stop yourself from begging him to take you home right then and there.

But he did have a valid point. For some strange reason, you had always been attracted to males with piercings. And even though Azriel was a practical sex god without one, it only intensified his appeal.

You gingerly thumbed over the hoop, knowing how sensitive it must be. "Do you like it?"

"I would do anything to make your dreams come true." He captured your wrist, smoothing a kiss over your fluttering pulse. Somehow, he knew how to make you feel like a young, naive fae in love.

“I have to admit, it makes my bad day a whole lot better.”

“Oh?”

“I previously thought that just being smashed by your muscles would be enough to get me over my stress but this has proved to work tenfold.”

A teasing nip at the heel of your palm. “I’m at your service, always.”

"Azzy?" you peered up at him beneath your lashes.

He didn't need you to say the words out loud as he stood abruptly, you in his arms, and said to the family, "We'll see you all next week." And began out of the restaurant.

You heard Mor explain amongst all the confused chatter, "Let's just say Azriel's become even hotter." Which was followed with Cassian's and Rhys' groans.

divider credit: cafekitsune

[esmedelacroix]

minors gtfo . i need y/n to step on toxic!sukuna's neck and not be a doormat for a sec .

Angry feminist bitch!reader who ghosted toxic!sukuna after they hooked up on their first date.

Don't be mistaken, it wasn't for no reason. Angry feminist bitch!reader was shocked by Sukuna’s lack of after care, she simply had to remove herself from the situation. I mean did you expect him to kiss you and tell you he loved you? Hell no. But after the delicious pounding you were given, a pat on the back or carrying you to the toilet would have been fine.

You realized then and there that Sukuna had lied. He didn’t want a genuine relationship. You didn’t know why you thought you would meet a guy who was serious about you on a dating app anyway. It was unfortunate because you had had the best sex of your life.

You were gripping the sheets as he pounded you from the back. He spanked you and pulled your hair and you were loving every second. You felt fireworks ignite in your stomach as he played with your clit which had you coming undone on his fat cock. The sexual attraction and his lust was perceived to you as a 'spark.' You promised yourself you wouldn't make that mistake again.

Angry feminist bitch!reader who left Sukuna’s apartment the moment she realized he was a piece of shit who didn’t know how treat a woman right. No after care was already a red flag. Then there was the multiple times in the bar he addressed you as ‘woman’ instead of your fucking name.

Toxic!sukuna who found himself randomly thinking about you whenever he went back to that same bar he took you to. His tastes had changed. You and that attitude of yours had blown him away. You ruined him in just one night. You and your tight, wet little cunt.

Convincing himself he wasn't hooked on you, he looked for women with your height, your eyes, or your hair; yet he couldn’t find one that was just right. They were beautiful but they weren’t you. Especially in the bedroom. You were a little brat. Not afraid to defy him. Fucking yourself back on him and misbehaving even after he slapped your ass just so he'd do it harder.

His dick jumped in his jeans when you told him off for ordering your food for you. "I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself," you snapped. You then proceeded to order the exact menu item he had chosen for you. Or the time when he also tried to order you a fruity cocktail and you rolled your eyes just looking to the bartender who apparently knew you well and slid you a scotch and soda.

After failing his search for a carbon copy of you on the dating apps where he usually found women to fuck and ghost, he sat alone at the bar picking at a blooming onion. "Trouble in paradise, player?" the bartender asked sliding him a pint of Guinness(you called it liquid shit on your date).

Sukuna slightly smiled to himself at that memory of you. "Yeah, I fumbled man," he admitted.

"I figured, after your date with _____ went south and you kept comin' in with girls that somewhat looked like her," he chuckled.

"Why are you so observant?" he scoffed pouting to himself. Toji shrugged in response.

"Bartender thing. We know it all."

"You probably know how to win her back too," Sukuna assumed.

"Maybe."

"Tell me man, do me a solid," Sukuna insisted.

"I don't know dude, I see how you move. I just don't want you to break her heart. She's my friend you know," Toji explained. Toji had heard all the tales about Ryomen from the drunk women that would come in and wail about him. He heard about the no after care. He knew about the ghosting. He knew he only called the girls he 'dated' when he wanted to fuck. He knew he talked to women with zero respect. He didn't want you to get hurt(he knew you wouldn't let that happen) and wanted to be a supportive friend.

"Well she still went back to my place after. She must have liked something about me. You could argue I made her happy," Sukuna claimed with his arms crossed.

Toji chuckled at that, "That woman loves sex. She probably just wanted an orgasm outta ya. She's also getting closer and closer to misandry because of guys like you so just give up on her. She's too good for you."

"Hearing that from you, one would think you like her," Sukuna accused.

"Well of course I do. She's like a star. She's so far above me, I'm content with just watching her shine, hoping that one day I could be one too," he mused.

After hearing a big tough guy like Toji's poetic ass hogwash he knew he wasn't nearly man enough to be worthy of you. So he couldn't help be shocked when you answered one of his stupid spontaneous texts that night. Sukuna had begged you for a redo on your date again and you had finally answered, 'fine,’ after the 80th try. Angry feminist bitch!reader who just couldn’t help herself. So, he was a misogynistic shit head; the dick was too good. Besides, you could change him.

. . .

a/n: shall I continue ? lmk cus this was just word vomit .

[divinector]

Responsive Website with Sidebar

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For the Night | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 2, Finale!!

Summary: During a night out with the team, you and Spencer find yourselves together at the bar. So, when a creep tries to pick you up, he tries his best to defend his best friend (by being MORE than just that…)

Tags: fluff, pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption 🤷‍♀️

Words: 1.4k

|

It was often, after difficult cases, someone on the team would shout out a suggestion of “what’s everyone doing tonight?” or “anyone wanna go get some drinks?” This time, it just so happened to be Penelope.

“Come on, you know it’ll be fun,” she pleaded to the boy genius packing up in the bullpen.

“I don’t know, Garcia. I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile, putting another file in his over-the-shoulder bag.

“Pretty Boy, you’re plenty of fun,” Morgan jested, one arm around Garcia. “Plus, I think Pretty Girl is going, too,” he smiled.

Spencer knew that was your nickname, given affectionately by Derek. He mulled over it in his mind. At least, if you were there, he might have someone to talk to about common interests. You were, after all, the only one on the team that could follow along with his ranting, taking the chance to blab about your own latest interests, as well. “Fine, I’ll go,” he came to the conclusion that hanging out with team would probably be more exciting than rereading a scientific journal to the soothing sounds of Vivaldi. Plus, he would get to see you outside of work.

“Yay!” Penelope clapped her hands together, her blonde pigtails bouncing. “This’ll be so much fun!” She grabbed Morgan’s hand and started walking out of the bullpen. “See you guys there!”

—

You spotted him as soon as he walked in, grinning wide with a small wave.

“Spencer!!”

He laughed, waving back, in response. He scooted in next to you in the tight booth, his leg hitting yours. “What did I miss?” He asked, smiling at the team.

“Just hearing about Emily’s worst dates,” you smiled up at him, elbows on the table.

“Captivating,” he joked, a little stiff from the close proximity between the two of you. Spencer couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you. Well, he could, and he has been, ever since he met you. Sure, it earned him some teasing from the team, but you weren’t free from it either. ‘That’s just what happens when a man and woman are friends,’ he rationalized. But your relationship was closer than just friends. (Best friends?) It was hard to ignore the way you turned to him, when in a group, or how you always lit up when someone mentioned his name. And if Spencer was trying to hide how big his smile got when he got to rant to you about his favorite subject, or how much you two laughed about who-knows-what in the bullpen when the team wasn’t around, he wasn’t doing a very good job. And he certainly wasn’t doing a good job now, trying to keep his composure as you giggled next to him, as the conversation went on.

“Well, I’m getting another drink,” you spoke between a laugh. “Spencer, you wanna come with?” He looked up at you, standing with your purse over your shoulder.

“Sure,” he smiled, following you out of the booth and to the bar.

“I’ll have…” you leaned against the bar, tapping your chin in thought. “Whiskey and coke, please,” the bartender nodded. “Spence, you want anything,” he looked down at you, hands in his pockets. He squinted down at the little plastic menu that the bar had printed out.

“Just club soda, please,” he smiled shyly at the bartender. You stood up, leaning your hip on the counter.

“I’m glad you could make it,” you spoke to him, smiling.

“Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Penelope, but I can’t hear about what she does in the bedroom with Kevin anymore,” you laughed at the end of the sentence. Spencer did, too.

“I know what you mean,” he noticed the way you messed with the zipper on your jacket as you spoke to him, a habit he picked up on quickly, when he first met you. “However, I think listening to Morgan talk about his one night stands is arguably worse,” he laughed.

“It’s SO much worse!” You hit him on his sweater-clad arm, playfully, a wide smile pulling up at your flushed cheeks. He laughed with you, putting his head down a little to hide the blush that bloomed up on his nose.

“Only about fifty percent of first dates result in a second one,” he continued, cracking his knuckles nervously. “there are ways to increase that likelihood, like a good first impression, or establishing shared interests early on,” he gained a little confidence. “actually, over sixty eight percent of successful couples report that they were close friends before dating,” he spoke the last part before he could think about it. After he realized what his words might have suggested, he closed his mouth, turning away shyly. You smiled to yourself, putting your head down a little. “That’s, uh, probably why Morgan hasn’t found someone yet,” he turned back to you, smiling tight-lipped. “At least ONE reason,” he laughed. His lips pursed gently, his chestnut hair dangling around his ears. You looked up at him gently as he loosened his tie, still laughing a little at his joke. Your eyes wandered toward his lips. He licked them nervously, glancing back down at you, eyes scanning your face.

You were snapped out of you Reid-filled daze when an unknown man spoke up next to you.

“Hey, pretty lady,” his voice was gruff and had an inflection that somehow communicated that he had never touched a woman in his life. “Can I buy you a drink?” You turned around to see a man no older than thirty smirking slyly next to you, leaning on the bar. He absolutely REEKED of cigarette smoke.

“I’m okay,” you smiled nervously, subconsciously moving closer to Reid. The doctor narrowed his eyes, a little put off by the advance.

“Come on, pretty girl like you, here all alone?” He advanced. “Let me buy you a drink,” he reached out to put a hand on top of yours, but Spencer stepped in.

“Uhm, actually, she isn’t here alone,” he ran his hand through his hair nervously, giving the man a tight-lipped smile. The man looked between you two, a confused look on his face.

“For real?” His voice came out like gravel, and he scoffed a little bit.

“Yeah, for real,” you grabbed Reid’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” his heart skipped a beat or two when you called him that. Boyfriend. He couldn’t help but smile proudly at the man.

“You’ve GOTTA be joking,” he slurred, laughing.

“No, she’s not joking,” Reid stood up straight, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And, actually,” he began, his tone changing to how it usually did before he went on a rant. “According to surveys, around seventy percent of women find unsolicited advances in bars to be unwelcome and uncomfortable, rather than flattering,” he pressed his lips together, shrugging a little while squeezing your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt to scare the guy off. The man just stood there, confused. “Studies show that people decide within the first seven seconds if they're interested in someone. If you come off as aggressive or disrespectful, your chances plummet, which,” he looked back at you, smiling. “I think is what happened here,” he was proud of himself; you could tell.

“I don’t need your statistics, Einstein, I think-“

“Actually, Einstein had an IQ of about 160; I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read over twenty thousand words per minute,” this effectively wore the creep off, because he just mumbled an angry ‘whatever’ and walked away toward another group of girls.

You looked up at your friend and broke into laughter. He joined. “I cannot believe that worked,” you squeezed his hand a little, turning to face him.

“Honestly, me either. I figured he would either get bored and leave, or end up punching me,” he laughed out. “I may be in the FBI, but I don’t think I can handle a drunken bar brawl.” The bartender set the drinks on the counter in front of you and you gave him a small smile, grabbing yours. “The team’s probably waiting for us,” Spencer grabbed his drink, dropping your hand. You picked it back up, looking up at him.

“Just in case we come across any other creeps,” you smiled, a warmth running through the both of you.

“Good thinking,” he mused, squeezing your hand tightly, walking back toward the booth.

Morgan spotted the both of you, turning away from his conversation with Hotch.

“Oh? What’s this? Pretty Boy and Pretty Girl holding hands,” he crossed his arms. You rolled your eyes at the comment.

“Some weirdo tried picking me up, so,” you held your intertwined hands up so they could see. “Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

(‼️💕IF YOU LIKED THIS, REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[bunny-jpeg]

blueberry muffins with mai tail x Lando Norris?🥰

bakery menu

hey! do you want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu!! there's a whole host of things to check out. there are endless options and combinations. i accept larger orders and orders from fandoms outside of f1. i like writing these so i keep makin' em! so thank you! and for this anon thank you for the short and sweet order! i hope you love it!!

blueberry muffins ("i don't think it'll fit") + mai tai (loss of virginity) served by lando norris (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, first time/loss of virginity, slow sex, lando takes your virginity (and is very nice about it), best friend!reader

when you were a teenager, you would often have dreams of this happening. to be intimate with the likes of lando norris, a boy turned man that you had known for a large chunk of your life. you had admitted to him during his visit back home that even after all the time you were still a virgin.

and without much thought he asked, 'want me to fix that?" and you almost fell out of your seat at the bar.

you swallowed and said, "yes." and while you'd try to play it off like the alcohol talking. that was a big fat lie, about as big as the crush you'd been harbouring for lando since your days in school.

you walked back to your flat, lando's hand in the back pocket of your jeans. you took a detour to an corner shop opened at this hour and bought a small pack of condoms. better safe than sorry.

"last thing you want to happena fter your first time i get pregnant." he laughed, "especially by the likes of me." then paid for the condoms before he led you out of the store and back to your flat. he remained close to you, loving the feeling of such intimacy between the two of you.

he kept an arm around you with the condoms in the back pocket of his jeans. you led him up the steps to your place and got the door open. once it was closed behind the both of you, lando took you by the shoulders and pulled you into a kiss.

"you have no idea how beautiful you are." he said.

"there's no need to butter me up, lando." you laughed as you gave him a little bit of a shove. but he only came back closer and held your chin to kiss him.

when the kiss eventually broke and you grabbed him by the wrist to bring him to your bedroom. that was when the clothes came off. lando put the pack of condoms on the nightstand as you got into the bed. lando eyed you up and down and licked his lips without thinking.

"and no one has ever had sex with you?" he couldn't believe it. the sight of you was beautiful, sitting up on your bed and looking at him, "no one? at all?"

you shook your head, "no one.. i just was too busy."

lando nodded as he got into bed with you. he was naked and he reached for you. he touched your soft skin, "are you sure you want to do this? i don't want you to feel pressured."

you shook your head, "it's all fine, lando." you reached for him an softly kissed him on the lips. his hand trailed up and down your side before he put you on your back. he eyed you down, taking in the sight of you.

"good. i want this to be good for you." he cupped your face, "you only deserve the best." he stroked his cock before he leaned over you to grab one of the condoms from the package. he got it on before he leaned back to look at you.

"i don't think it'll fit. what if it doesn't fit?" your words were a bit of an ego boost, but lando wanted to assure you. of course he looked like he wasn't going to fit, you had never been with anyone else.

"then i'll spend all night making sure it fits for the next time." he promised as he got into your space once more.

you got your legs around his waist at his request and he rubbed the protected tip of his cock up against your slick pussy. he sank into your pussy slowly, he took his time to make sure you were comfortable.

"are you okay?"

you nodded in response, "yeah, just never felt this before. this is different than any of my toys." your cheeks went hot, "better though! much better!" you shifted a little in your spot on the bed.

when he got to the base, he exhaled. he felt a shudder in his body. you felt like a dream. you were painfully beautiful. you drove him wild. you had for years, even when you over plucked your eyebrows and had braces in secondary school. beautiful then, beautiful now.

lando was lucky to be the one to take your virginity.

he moved against you slowly. his hands on your hips as he rocked against you. he wasn't putting too much force behind his thrusts, he couldn't. this was your first time and he didn't want to scare you. he could tell that your cheeks were warmed, even if he could see them fully due to hands covered your face.

"don't hide from me, beautiful. i want to see it all." his words were comforting as he moved against you. he rocked against you, his pace slowly gained momentum. he added, "please, beautiful."

you hated how his words impacted you, they made your cheeks feel flushed as you pulled your hands away and pulled him closer to you by the shoulders. he kissed you deeply as you moved against one another. you moaned against his lips and your stomach was in knots. here you were, under your best friend. letting him fuck you like you had dreamed about for years.

as if lando didn't do the same all that time. even when he was with other people, he thought of you. he wanted to make sure it was all special for you. even thrust, kiss and movement was perfect for you. as it was what you deserved. a perfect for time.

"you feel great, lando. thank you."

"of course, anything for you, beautiful. better me than some scumbag from your school. someone you could trust." someone you could love. but those words hung on his tongue before he brought you in for another searing hot kiss. lando had been playing chicken with his feelings for years, which was why he jumped at the chance to have sex with you.

and the way you looked at him as he moved against you was the hottest part. you looked up at lando like he hung the stars in the evening sky. that he was for a brief moment your entire world. the universe confined to your shoe box bedroom where the bed was creaky from years of sleeping. it wasn't used to these kinds of activities.

it didn't take long for you to feel close to climax. it felt similar to when you pleasured yourself in the same bed. but the movements made the air get caught in your throat. oh, this was something else. you panted and whined as the other man looked down at you.

"fuck you're beautiful." he panted as he rutted against you. his movements were quick, but not painfully rough. he held your hips for good leverage. i could feel the sweat as his temples and his heart hammering in his chest.

he knew he was a lucky man.

your toes curled and your back arched when you climaxed first. lando would make sure you got yours first before he got his. and when you relaxed after reaching your peak, he hiked your hips a little higher and moved against your faster. to a speed that he knew was going to send him over the edge.

you scratched a this back, leaving pretty red lines and he continued to fuck you. this was something else. he knew he wouldn't last long and soon he finished inside the condom while inside of your sweet pussy. he groaned into your shoulder and arched his back from the heightened pleasure.

"date me." he said, "please. just date me."

you blinked at him, you immediately coming back to your senses, "what?"

he kissed you as he slowed his hips to a stop, "let's go out, for real. not when we'd go on pretend dates as kids. i want you... more than this. everything."

you kissed him once more before he pulled out. the fight taken out of both of you. your heart pounded from his words. the deceleration felt like a streak of cold through you. but in a way that made you alert. you had been friends for years.

it would make sense, but still it left you breathless.

you laid curled up in his arms. focusing on his sleepy breathing he was practically knocked out by the time his climaxed. he kept you in his arms. protecting you while under the covers, you had suddenly become a safety blanket for him. you carefully trailed your fingers up and down his arm. this was a dream come true, but you were left wide awake. lando wasn't asleep long as he woke up a little bit.

he yawned a little bit, eyes slightly closed, "go to sleep, beautiful." he said tiredly, "i'll ask you out for real tomorrow. flowers and all that. can't right now, just wanna hold you" then shifted you closer to him and fell back to sleep.

tomorrow you'd have to have a grown up conversation about what you were. and the only thing that allowed you relax for the night was the promise that he'd ask you out. that lando wanted you as much as you wanted him. <3

[kosmique]

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[butchvampireheimerdinger]

The Great War

A/N: So this was made in response to a request but it ended up blossoming into a full 2K word fic adjacent and I had to split it into two posts! Anyways, if you enjoy sexy and occasionally soft Sevika, dramatic arguments that result in comfort, and mob-wife vibes… enjoy!

Warnings: Not smut but mentions of sex and both characters are D O W N B A D.. A lot of cussing and mentions of violence.

Pairing: Butch!Sevika X Femme!Reader who is super outgoing and forward

🂱 So the two of you’ve met briefly around town, kinda running in the same circles. You notice her right away but you don’t actually talk until she shows up at work — The Last Drop.

🂱 You’re a server and your charisma, magnetism, and punchy/blunt sort of energy makes you well suited to hospitality. You’re the bubbly outgoing type of waitress who gets their table laughing and in a good spirits with ur contagious good vibes.

🂱 You beat the other waitress to claim Sevika’s table, and it’s on.

🂱 She would get a kick out of it — your shamelessness. She really likes the forward thing, timidity makes her roll her eyes. Life’s too short for playing hard to get! Plus, she’s an adult. And a literal revolutionary who quite literally does not have the time for all that.

🂱 Before you learn each others names you endearingly and lightheartedly call her “butchy,” or something like that. She calls you sweetheart.

🂱 You’d pour her beers on the house. You’d lean over the bar counter on ur elbows, making sure ur titties look good and perky. And if it was just the two of you, she would not hide her ogling.

🂱 It’d be a bit of a game to you two. Making the other person crack, being the first to back down/get all blushy. You’d be all flirty-flirty over the bar counter, she’d pull you into her lap during her card game. It’s like how straight guys play gay chicken. Except ur actually gay so it would just be chicken.

🂱 And she’s smoking indoors, as per us. You ask if you can have a hit. She shotguns it into ur mouth and you blow it upward, once again drawing attention to your décolletage, to the girls hehe

🂱 Eventually she just asks you straight up if you wanna spend the night. Maybe you take her up on it, maybe you don’t. Either way, she’s not the fuckboy (fuckbutch?) hit it n quit it type. She’s an adult woman with emotional intelligence and communication skills goddammit and she’s gonna ask you to dinner.

🂱 Takes u to the fanciest place in the undercity, orders everything on the menu trying to flex her wallet and impress u. Whether or not u ask for it she gets you one of those weird rich people desserts where they make part of the preparation an “experience.” like they pour hot liquid over a hollow chocolate shell and it cracks open and reveals a little cake inside. Or something involving a blowtorch.

🂱 Anyways this whole time ur just rubbing ur lil high heeled foot up her pant leg under the table and twirling ur hair, touching her arm, etc. Naughty girl — she mock-scolds you telepathically with a dommy little eyebrow raise thing.

“Here? Now? I pull out all the stops to give you a magical evening and you already wanna leave and bang it out. That’s real classy, sweetheart.”

🂱 You’re both rather bold and upfront, obviously. Strong personalities, fire sign energy — which means you butt heads often. Your relationship is super intense and fiery so every day is like a soap opera, or like The Real Mob Wives of Staten Island in levels of drama.

“Why the hell didn’t you come home last night? And why did i have to find out from Vivi that she saw you cracking skulls in a fishing boat by the pier?”

“Babygirl I told you I was taking care of business. Sweetheart, uprisings don’t happen overnight, it’s all about biding time and strategically applying political pressure in Topside-”

“Jesus, Mary, and the goddamn camels you and your strategic goddamn pressure. I’ll tell you I’ve fucking had it with you and your fucking pressure. You wanna make me look like an idiot? When me and my girlfriends are sitting drinking mimosas for brunch at Jarrod's and they ask me ‘Y/N where’s that woman of yours?’ And i have to look them in the eyes and say “Clint Eastwood was unable to join us as she had a prior engagement strategically applying pressure. To the back of enforcers’ skulls. With a fucking baseball bat. Like a common thug. Mind you, I’m a classy lady all by my lonesome on a Sunday fucking morning-"

“Classy lady I’ll fucking say. You’d think I plan on growing old with Mrs. Fucking Vanderbilt, the way you want to buy ten thousand pairs of red high heels-“

“Omg babe you wanna grow old with me?”

“-that all look exactly the fucking same, by the way. ‘Burnt orange’ and ‘vermillion’ and ‘chartreuse’ or whatever the fuck — You know it’s just fucking red.

“Chartreuse is green, since you wanna be a smartass,”

“Don’t gaslight me, woman. Where do you even plan on wearing those? We live in an oversized sewer pipe. Not the magical land of Oz. I told you who i was when you met me. I told you this is what I do. And you better get used to it if you wanna keep charging my card at every boutique within a ten mile radius,”

“Or what? Gonna give me the spiel again, talk me to death about the uprising and the political elites and the our time is imminent, y/n. Gonna threaten me like you do your little fishing buddies? Gonna apply me some strategic fucking pressure?”

“That’s enough.” Sevika hissed, scary calm. She kicks the pantry door shut and whips around, pointing at you with her cigarette. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re done, Missy.”

“Beg pardon? I’ll decide when I’m done, thank you very much. You’ve got some nerve telling me when to speak when I can’t even reach you half the time. I had to track down your little boss the other day — brought him a lovely casserole — and ask if he could pass on a message for me! ‘Excuse me Mr. Scaryman Eye of Zaun, sir, could you possibly ask Zorro if she might head home as soon as she’s done busting kneecaps? And to arrive in a clean shirt, as my parents are in town and they prefer to greet their daughter-in-law when she’s not covered in someone’s intravenous blood. Thank you kindly.’”

“You showed up at work? Wait- you talked to Silco? Babe I told you to stay the fuck away from there!”

“Please. He may be the kingpin of the city or whatever, but I make a gorgeous quiche. Trust me, babe. Once he tastes my cooking, I am henceforth immune to whatever machiavellian basement torture chamber you brutes probably use as your break room.”

🂱 Sorry guys, got a little carried away there. Point is, one minute you’re screaming at each other and dramatically slamming doors and throwing shit, the next you’re fucking on the kitchen floor like the world’s about to end. You guys basically co-authored the book on how to be an absolute nightmare of an upstairs neighbor. The entire building feels the floor shaking and no one knows if the screaming is just you guys having a little too much fun for 2pm on a Tuesday, or if they’re gonna see this on the news tomorrow.

🂱 Kidding! At the end of the day, trust and loyalty are the foundations of your relationship. You love each other wildly, deeply, and passionately.

🂱 Sevika has a strict no going to bed angry policy. If you’d gotten into it that evening you might give her the cold shoulder, curl up facing away from her in the quiet moments before bed. She’s reading by the lantern on the bedside table — an upcycled barstool the two of you stole from your old job at The Last Drop one evening when you were in a particularly silly mood.

🂱 She catches your gaze a couple times as you stare over your shoulder to see if she’s paying attention to you, and then you immediately turn and go back to ignoring her. She takes off her reading glasses, tosses her book onto the bed, and rolls over to you, wrapping her arm around you from the back.

“Hey baby?” She kisses your shoulder and the back of your head since you still won’t look at her, and she continues. “Love of my life? Light of my world? Keeper of my soul and partner in crime through the sea of trials we call the fucked-up game of life?” You turn slightly to give her a glaring side eye.

“…What do you want.”

“Still mad at me, babygirl?”

“Not at all. Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I’m sorryyy,” she draws it out, cooing at you all soft and sing-songy. If the ne’erdowells who often got their asses handed to them by her and her little team could see this Sevika, they’d think they lost their mind. Hell, if any punk on the street could see this Sevika they’d think they lost their mind. It made your knees weak the way she undid herself and softened for you. For only you. You fought the smile forming and she continued murmuring against your skin.

“It’s all this bullshit at work Silco’s got me taking care of. I’m neglecting my little lady, I’m stretched so thin. It’s too much…”

“Too much…?” You echo. “Talk to me, love. Silco’s not letting you catch a breather?”

She grunts in affirmation against your shoulder: “Mm-hrmm”

“Does my baby have the whooole wide world on her poor, tired, buff, strong, sexy shoulders-EEK!” She gleefully flips you over to face her, making you cackle. You’ve been disarmed. At her mercy. You always were.

She leans forward to bonk her forehead against yours.

“Glad someone in this cruel world finally understands me and my line of work,” she says, half-joking.

“No one understands the importance of your job better than me, babe.” You continue, at this point unable to remove the sarcasm from your tone even if you tried. She nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder facedown, head supported by the cushiness of your tit. You weave your fingers in her hair.

“The honorable burden of great duty… The unfathomable smothering of moral obligation, even. One might describe it as an immensely… strategic pressure-”

“-For FUCK’s SAKE”

“You have worker’s rights, you know! Demand an hour off — paid — in your underground torture chamber-breakroom. You’re entitled to relax and sip coffee as you watch the bodies hit the floor, goddammit!”

Feigning exasperation, Sev dramatically collapses backward starfish-style on the old-ass creaky-ass decrepit-ass daddy longlegs convention of a double bed the two of you share; in a shithole apartment, in a shady-ass neighborhood, in a collapsing city. That’s how it was between the two of you. Underneath it all, she trusts that you’ll always be there to kiss her wounds, to make sure her collar is straight and there’s no shmutz on her face. You trust that at the end of the day, it’s you she’s coming home to.

[playthingsforpeanut]

One Night Repair

A/N: Hey so I've had this idea of !WorstWolverine meeting someone at a bar and having really aggressive sex to blow off steam... it gets pretty cute at the end in my opinion so I hope you like it. Takes place post time ripper.

Pairing: Worst!Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You meet Logan at a bar, and he ends up wrecking your apartment. You'd usually object in the morning but... he had something else in mind.

Content Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, creampie, fingering (fem! receiving), light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (f + m receiving), literally words of pure nasty smut, idk I'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. porn & somewhat plot (in between the lines), actually y’all i apologize this is just pure smut i think, rough sex, overstimulation, slapping, pussy slapping, tiny hint of arousal from crying, Praise kink, Pet names (hun, baby, doll, sweetheart, darlin’, angel, honey, bunny), Squirting, Body worship, slight use of restraints, Dom x Brat... If I missed anything please tell me.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The evening dragged on like any other. Another late night shift, another bar full of drunk bastards. You like that the owner would let you wear what you wanted to work, and tonight, you opted for a simple black tank top and black workout leggings. They hugged your curves well enough to get decent tips but didn't expose you enough to get groped by strangers, not that any of these bastards were smart enough to not touch you like that.

Most of the evening was normal, your regulars ordered their usuals, and you kept up your friendly facade as you worked.

Unfortunately for one patron, he decided to grab you as you leaned over the table to deliver his group's next round of drinks, earning a concerned brow raise from Logan, who was sitting at the bar. You had tried making small talk when he ordered his drinks from you, but he preferred to stay quiet. You shrugged it off as him not wanting company and carried on with your orders.

"Excuse you, I am not on the menu." You bitch rather loudly, grabbing his hand and pinning it to the table with a rather quick motion. Tonight was not the night to fuck with you. You were itching for a fight, but not enough that you'd be willing to lose your job.

"Ey, ey easy sweetheart! Just trying to have a good time!" He groaned, pulling his hand free from the pressure grip.

"You're done." You said calmly, "You leave your money and you get the hell outta here." You release his arm, and saunter your way back to behind the bar, cursing to yourself under your breath.

"Nice technique," Logan speaks up. "But next time you should break his wrist." He takes a swig from his beer.

You turn your head from the drink you were mixing to look him over. You toss him a half smile. "You wanna be next?"

He chuffs. "Tempting."

You roll your eyes and serve the mixed drink, moving on to cleaning some stacked-up glasses. He eyes you out of the corner of his, nursing his beer. He noticed how your attitude had changed, your responses to the patrons weren't nearly as friendly as they were when he arrived.

Closing time finally rolled around, and Logan couldn't help but wait outside with a cigar in his mouth. You cleaned up the bar, and as you locked up, you spotted the tall stranger leaning nearby.

"You lurking?" You put your hands in your jacket pockets as you turn to confront the stranger.

"Walkin'" He said. "Thought you'd want an escort." He puts out his cigar on the cold brick wall, also putting his hands in his pockets.

"I can handle myself." You scoff.

"Heh, Yeah, I saw that," He admitted, stepping a bit closer. "But I didn't like how that guy eyed the alley on his way out."

You roll your eyes, shake your head, and begin walking toward your apartment, which is only a few blocks away.

He followed from a safe distance, but not too far so he could still be there if something happened to you.

"I don't need a bodyguard." You call over your shoulder.

"I know. I'm walkin' home too." He replied with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and continue your path home. He continued behind you, just a few steps away. You stop at a traffic light, and he stops next to you.

"I never caught your name..." You say looking up toward him.

He smirks and faces you. You can't help the way your eyes dilate as you take in his features. He was handsome, in a rugged way. Something about him made you want to climb him like a tree but, you weren't that easy... were you?

"It's Logan." You hum a response and turn to face the pedestrian light that changed to allow you to walk. He followed a bit closer now, but making sure to read your body language to make sure he wasn't making you too uncomfortable.

"Why did you really follow me home? Hmm? looking for somewhere to crash?" You decide to at least make some small talk.

"Like I said, thought you'd want an escort." His replies were brief, which was relatively aggravating. Thankfully your apartment complex was only a few feet away.

"And like I said, I can handle myself." You toss back. You twirl quickly to meet his gaze, causing him to stop abruptly. "So thank you but no thank you, you can fuck off now, Logan"

His eyes darkened as you cussed at him. His brow raised at your boldness. His lips were inches from yours, and his breath fanned over your flushed cheeks.

"Say that again." He growled.

"Say what?" You stood your ground, not allowing your body to falter. You kept a strong stance, eyes fixed on his. "Logan?" You smirked, enjoying how worked up he seemed.

He pressed closer, pushing you against the door to your apartment. You sucked in a breath at the forced proximity, your eyes glancing at his lips briefly.

Logan loved how defiant you were. He would've left you alone at the door had you not whipped around on him and sassed him like that.

"Say the word, and I'll walk away," He leaned in closer, his large, muscular arm bracing his tall frame against your door.

Your legs rubbed together to soothe the newfound ache between your thighs. 'Fuck it...' you thought. If he was gonna tax your time and patience after a shit night, the least he could do for you is be a good lay.

You arched your back into him, allowing your lips to connect in a rough, passionate kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, his tongue following suit, as he attacks you. His free hand meets your waist, pinning you to the door. You can’t help the soft whimper from escaping you, as his hand slides down your thigh and pulls your knee up to his waist.

He moves down and sinks his teeth on the sensitive spot on your neck, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hands move to his neck, holding on for some kind of grounding. You open your eyes, coming down and realizing you are still in the hallway. “Fuck…” you groan.

“Such a dirty little mouth…” Logan growled into your neck. He took a moment to catch his breath.

A shiver ran down your spine, and your hips buck involuntarily. Logan smiles against your flushed skin. “Oh… You like that?” He purred.

God, you hated this guy. He is so cocky but he’s so fucking attractive you can’t help but want him. “Oh shut up…” You groan.

“Do you not want me, pretty girl?” He cooed.

You don’t reply. You do want him, but you couldn’t let the smug bastard have that satisfaction. He leans back to meet your hazy gaze. He licks his lips at the sight of your swollen lips, and at that, you find yourself turning around to unlock your apartment door.

Logan removes his arm from the door and watches as you go inside. He’s more respectful than you thought. He actually fucking waited for you to invite him inside. You look at him, half exasperated at his cockiness, and half desperate for him to come in. You stand there holding the door open.

“May I come in?” He asks with a sly smile, leaning against the door frame.

You roll your eyes and grab him by the jacket, pulling him inside. “Oh Fuck you.” Your lips crash into his as he enters your apartment. The door shuts behind him, and his hands immediately find your hips. He growls and harshly pushes you against the wall. You thought you were just crazy, but he threw you against that wall so hard, he dented your wall.

“Filthy fucking mouth…” He growled between the fight of your lips and teeth. His words pull a moan from you, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Logan’s hands grip your thighs firmly. You whimper when you feel his very hard cock pressing against his jeans into your core.

You tug off his jacket and throw it aggressively to the floor. Logan’s hands wander to your tank top, making quick work of removing it. His hands roam your body, almost as if in silent worship.

“Fuck…” You groan. You lean forward and bite his neck hard, causing Logan to buck his hips and punch the wall. A growl ripped from his throat as he gripped your hips and ground into your core, pulling another needy whine from your throat.

“You want this?” He growled, grinding into your core again. “You fucking want me to fuck you pretty girl?” He bites your neck back pulling another moan from your lips.

“Mmh fuck you… fucking asshole.” You whine. You grab his shirt and pull it off, ripping some of the threads as you do. He allows it, before his hand wraps around your throat, holding your head against the wall, squeezing hard enough for you to get a slight high from the pressure.

“I’m gonna fuck that attitude right out of you, dirty girl. The only curses you’re gonna make are pleas to god.” Your eyes meet his, and you bite your bottom lip.

“Is that a promise?” You grind your hips against him again, a fierce need building quickly, Logan growls again.

“Needy fucking thing…” He curses to himself. He spots the couch in the dim room and throws you on it. “Take ‘em off.” Logan orders. You bite your lip as you watch him remove his belt expertly. He starts to wrap the belt into a figure 8. “Now.” His eyes flicked from your pants to your eyes.

Defiance shone in your eyes. “Make me.” You smile devilishly, crossing your arms. Logan let out an annoyed huff, and yanked your legs to him, spreading you wide. He started to kiss you passionately again, and just as you thought you got away with it, Logan raised his hand and slapped your heated core.

The sound that escapes your lips is a mixture of pleasure and pain. “What the hell?!” You whimper. Logan’s eyes are dark.

“I said, take, em’, off.” His voice left no room for discussion. You stare at him as your thumbs hook the waist of your pants, and slowly pull them down, exposing your soaked undergarments. The scent of you filled Logan’s nose. He let out a low growl. “Good girl.” His hand glides up your thigh feeling how wet you were. “Mmh look at you. Already soaking wet for me. Such a pretty little fucking thing.”

Goosebumps rose over your body, his words sending shivers throughout your body. Or was it his hands? Where one hand was grazing your cunt gently, the other was pulling on your hair slightly as he held himself up over you. He grabs your hands and pins them over your head. He slides his belt over your wrists, tightening it.

He places rough kisses down your body, biting here and there. He hovered over your cunt, releasing a hot breath over it, making you arch your back and whine. Logan smirked. “Mmh look at you, so wet for me.” He hooks his arms around your thighs, holding them open for him. He inhales and runs his tongue up the length of your cunt, over your soaked panties.

A moan escapes your lips, your hips bucking from the contact. “Now are you gonna be a good girl and do as I say?” He licks his lips.

“Maybe” you reply.

Logan grunts and leans forward. You cry out as a sharp pain emits from your cunt, where Logan just bit through your garment.

“Rule one.” He looks into your eyes from his position between your thighs. “You do as I say. You be a good girl, and you get pleasure. You be bad?” He licks over the sensitive spot he just bit. “And you get pain. Understand?” He holds eye contact, waiting for an answer.

“Yes…” You say through a breathy moan.

“Yes, what?” He grazes his thumb over your trembling lower half.

“Yes… sir.” You bite your lip and gaze at him through hooded lids.

“Good girl.” He smiles and pulls your underwear down your thighs. You whimper as the cool air of your apartment meets your aching core, and Logan watches as you clamp around nothing. “Such a needy little thing, I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already aching for me.” He smirks and lazily strokes your inner thigh, avoiding all the best spots on purpose. You groan in frustration.

"Ah ah ah... patience counts toward you being good, you want to be good for me don't you kitten?" He rubs his thumb over your clit, pulling another stuttering gasp from your lips.

"Y-yes s-sir." You whisper. He smirks and glides his tongue up the length of your cunt, flicking your clit gently with each stroke. A silent praise for your good behavior. You moan as he laps up your pussy, acting like a man starved. You instinctively roll your hips, but Logan keeps them firmly planted under his arms. His thick biceps hold you down with ease.

You begin to feel that familiar ache in your lower belly, as he draws little circles with the tip of his tongue around that sensitive little bundle of nerves. He adjusts his arms, one placed over your lap and the other begins teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in and groans at how you squeeze him.

"Fuck..." He growled between laps. "So tight..." He can only imagine the feeling of sheathing himself inside you later. He knew he needed to work you up to that though. So after a few soft thrusts, Logan slides his ring finger in, pulling a desperate moan from your lips. He curls his fingers expertly till he finds the spongey sensitive spot in your core. You arch your back as he finds it. "There it is..." He moans. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard while offering soft flicks of his tongue for relief. He feels your walls quaking around his fingers. He knows you're close.

"FUCK!" You moan out. Logan's merciless attack on your most sensitive spots sends you barrelling toward your climax so fast it's dizzying. Your moans grew louder and more desperate as he continued his attack.

"You wanna cum baby?" He growled, his words muffled. "Ask me, baby, nicely, and I'll let you."

"Fuck you!" You cry, your body hot and writhing. Logan bit down on your clit again, pulling a pained wail from your lips.

"I said behave pretty girl. That's the only way you're gonna get what you want." He thrust a third finger in aggressively.

You moan louder at the intrusion, digging your nails into your palms. "Fuck! P-Please.. pleaseeee..." You whine, your body so close to its release.

"Please what?" He lifts his head off your cunt for a moment to hear you better.

"Please.. please can I cum? Please Logan I want to.. I need to cum...." You whine. The need to finish overwhelming your iron will. Logan, now satisfied with your pleas, lowers his head and continues to flick your clit with his tongue, pulling the most pathetic little sounds from your lips. Your walls flutter around his probing digits.

“That’s right baby,” he cooed “let go for me…” your toes curled at his words. The final push your body needed to release a cry of his name, followed by a mumbled jumble of curses. He smirks and laps up the excess fluids spewing from your body as he relishes in the mess he’s making of you. His fingers slow, and he raises to place a hard kiss on your lips. He trails down to your jaw, giving your clit soft circles with his thumbs as he helps you ride it out. “Goooood girl…” he moans into your neck.

You whimper as he removes his hand from your cunt. He uses his free hand to grip the back of your head and pull it back slightly, earning another gasp of pleasurable pain from your lips. “Open,” he growls.

You whimper and look into his eyes for a moment, unsure what he meant. He furrows his brow and pulls your hair a bit tighter. “Open your mouth, pretty girl.” He says again. You whimper but slowly open your mouth for him. He slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck them clean. He grins, releasing a breathy groan as he watches you greedily suck on his fingers.

"Atta girl, atta girl..." He smiles and pulls his hand away, replacing his fingers with his lips and tongue. You moan as he wraps his arms around your waist. He lifts you off the couch to your feet. He places you down on your feet. "Can you walk?" He says in a low growl.

"You think I can't?" You reply sarcastically, catching your breath. He chuckles and removes the restraints in your hands.

"So feisty." His eyes graze over your face, which was defiantly looking back at him. You smile and bite your lip, as a wicked idea crosses your mind. This fucking man just made you a whimpering mess and you intended to do the same to him. Before he catches on, you turn and shove him onto the couch. "Hey wait-" You grab him through his jeans and smile up at him from your knees.

"What? Do I have to ask for permission to suck your cock too?" You smirk. He smiles and chuckles to himself.

"I suppose not." He unbuttons his jeans and you help him pull them off. You suck in a short breath when you spot how big he is. You run your hand over his bulge and hook your fingers in the waistband. You expose his member, as it springs free with a loud *thwack* against his toned abdomen. You bite your lip at the sight. You inhale deeply and grip him firmly, bringing him to your lips. You lick up the length of him, flicking the tip that's dribbling with pre cum. He lets out a breath of relief and lounges his arms across the back of the couch.

'The smug bastard' you thought. You'd be lying if you said you hated how he immediately took control of you, but now was time for your revenge. You look in his length, allowing him to slip into the back of your throat with ease. You smile at the buck of his hips, and glide your teeth back up his shaft, earning a hiss. He looked down at you with a glare, and you simply smiled at him innocently. You wrap your lips around the tip and suck while pumping his shaft with your fist. You work him slowly at first, enjoying how he groans at your touch.

Now that you've got him, you start bobbing your head on his cock. The sound of his dick hitting the back of your throat, paired with his groans fill the room. When his moans get particularly loud you graze your teeth along his shaft once more. He growls and grabs your hair at the base of your head.

"Behave..." He warns. You smile innocently again.

"I am behaving." You tease

"Little fuckin' brat..." He mumbles.

Your mouth is replaced with your fist, however, you're quick to occupy your mouth. You dip your head between his legs, holding his glistening cock so it's pressed against his belly as you press your wet tongue onto his balls. He bucks his hips and groans, tugging at your hair.

The sounds he makes above you are downright filthy, deep moans and filthy praise that have you moving faster. The lewd sounds of your actions fill the room along with the rising sounds escaping Logan's lips. His moans are deeper, harsher, and you can feel his pulse through his cock. He's close. You work him perfectly, syncing your bobbing head with your hands, stroking and massaging.

"F- Fuck!" He growls. He bucks his hips up while grabbing your head and holding you in place. "Stay still, stay right fuckin' t-there." He strains. With another flick of your tongue, he unloads into your mouth. You drink him greedily and smile. The sweat dripping down the side of his face was enough for you to know he was spent.

When his grip on your head loosens, you smirk and graze your teeth along his shaft once more. The smirk on your face is quickly wiped away when Logan hisses and grabs your head again.

"I told you to behave." He growled. "And look at you, all smug because you think after one little orgasm I'm done with you?" He catches his breath and unsheathes a claw. "Little do you know brat, I'm just getting started with you." He cuts the center of your bra off with his claw, and grabs your now exposed breast aggressively. You bite your lip to hide the moan that threatened to erupt. Fuck, this guy was hot.

He pulls your head closer to his, causing you to crawl up the couch over him. "Get. In. Your. Bed." He growled in your face. His eyes demanded you take him to your room, so he could finish what you both started.

Oh but you, ever the defiant one. "You don't wanna take me here? on this couch?" You talk-back.

"You deserve to be properly bedded, even if you are a little brat." He pulls you in for another kiss. He nibbles on your lip and rubs your head, worried he may have hurt you the last time he tugged. You smile, pull off of him, and lead him to your bedroom.

The sounds of your footsteps fill your ears as you try to keep yourself together because fuck, he can't know how goddamn turned on you were at his words. Or rather, everything about him. Once Logan knew which room you were taking him in, he picked you up and threw you onto your own bed, earning a soft yelp from you.

Logan strokes his cock as he gazes over you, laying helplessly in the bed. "Look at you... so fuckin' pretty. I hope you don't have to work tomorrow..." he smirks, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

"Why is that?" You say, raising your arms to cover your exposed breasts.

"Because..." He grabs your arms and pins them above your head. He leans in, where he's mere inches from your lips. "You won't be able to walk in the morning." He leans down and crashes his lips onto yours. You feel him grind against your core, still slick from his previous actions. You buck your hips as he grinds over your sensitive clit. "So sensitive.." He works his way down to your neck and bites down hard as he sheathes himself.

"Fuck! Fuck, Logan I didn't do anything what was that for?" You cry out. He chuckles and licks the spot he bit.

"You tried to hide your body from me... You broke rule 2." He purrs.

"You never said there was a second rule..." You whimper. Logan smirks.

"Didn't I?" He smirks, and thrusts harshly into you once more, pulling yet another loud moan from your lips.

"FUCK! Gods I fucking hate you... You cocky bastard..." You groan. Logan's smirk returns.

"Don't worry pretty girl, if you're good, I'll be gentle." He teases with a slow thrust.

"And what if I don't want you to be gentle?" You challenge.

"Mmmm that can be arranged. I can make a rule you'll keep breaking. Over and over and over." He pumps again, slowly.

"And what rule might that be?" You arch your body into him, gaining some more friction than he was currently giving.

"Rule 3. No cussing. Not for you, brat." He smiles, giving you a knowing look. You whimper at the new rule, knowing he's got you pinned.

"You don't fuckin mean that..." You whine.

Without hesitation, Logan takes one breast in his mouth and pinches the other between his fingers, earning a sharp cry from you. "Oh I assure you brat, I do." He smiles and licks the abused nipple. "Now, be a good girl and hold onto something."

Logan grips the backs of your thighs and raises your legs high in the air. He slides his hands down and grips your waist. He pistons into you mercilessly, and your moans fill the apartment.

He grunts. “So tight,” he praises. “Fucking perfect little cunt...” He pumps in and out of you harder, faster now, letting himself go.

Your hopeless little whines drive him further. "Fuck.. Logan..." You whimper. Logan raises his hand and slaps your face. Not too hard as to hurt you, but enough to register as punishment for breaking a rule.

He twitches inside you when you moan louder at the slap, and your walls flutter around him. His lips find yours again, biting, kissing you bruisingly. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, as it seems to have formed a more permanent 'O' shape as he fucks you relentlessly.

Your walls contract around him, squeezing him as he sinks deeper inside you, hitting exactly where you need him most. You’re so close, ready to come undone. “Fuck, L-logan,” you whine as he pounds into you. “I’m gonna—” He cuts you off with another slap. You whimper and he leans down to kiss your red cheek.

He feels you contract around him, and he growls. "Come on brat, cum for me. You can do it." You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.” 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his words. Your skin is on fire, and the friction is absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. Your pathetic little "uh uh uh's" meld into soft "fu- fu-fuck's" and Logan wraps his hand around your throat.

That move alone sends you careening over the ledge. You scream out his name as he grips the pressure points in your neck making you see stars. Your heavy pants turn to squeaks as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking sensitive.” His praises are muffled in your ears, the blood roaring over anything else. He slows his pace a bit, allowing you a moment to come down. He rubs your quivering legs, humming soft praises.

Liquid pooled from between your thighs. It took him a moment before he realized you came so hard, that you squirted all over him. He stared at the sight. Your cheeks flush red at the realization of what you have done.

“Did you just-“ Logan whispers, a soft smirk on his lips.

"I am so sorry... I-" Logan cut you off with a rough kiss.

"Don't you dare apologize." He stared into your eyes intently. A new gleam of excitement entered his features. "Think you could do it again?" He chuckled darkly.

“I didn’t know I could do it in the first place…” You whisper softly, trying to steady your breathing. Logan slams into you with that confession, burring his head in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck…” he growled. His chest swelled with pride at the admission. Knowing he was taking you further than you ever had been before was entirely too intoxicating for him. He bit down on your neck, pulling more pathetic little sounds from you. He lifted off of you just enough, so that he could shove your legs down, practically folding you in half.

He resumed his brutal pace, watching as you jiggle underneath him. He takes in every curve, every feature, every sound that escapes you, including the vulgar squelching coming from between the two of you.

He leans down and grabs the back of your neck, forcing you to look at the sight between you.

“You see that princess? See that pretty little mess you’ve made? Such a good girl…” he praises.

Your eyes lock at his impossibly large member penetrating you. Tears prick your eyes as he releases your neck, and guides his hand to your over stimulated bundle of nerves, stroking soft circles. You throw your head back, releasing louder, almost pained moans as he continues to push you.

“Come on baby, I know you can give me another…” He said between pants.

“I-it’s t-to muuuuuuch!” You cry.

“Shh baby I know you have another one in you… just let go for me. I’ve got you.” He lowers himself down again, silencing you with more sound swallowing kisses.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging your nails deep into his skin. He groans and bites your lip, dragging his tongue over the stinging sensation.

You drag your nails down his back, trying to ground yourself from this impossible high he’s got you on. You feel your white hot release coming, and with just a few more thrusts, he’s got you careening over the edge again.

Logan’s fist meets the wall with a loud *thump*. His release came on him so hard from the way you were scratching and sobbing for him, that not only did he cum hard, he punched the wall even harder.

He stills while still inside you, panting loudly. You can feel him twitching inside you, and you can’t help the disappointed whimper that escapes your lips as he slowly pulls out.

“Shh baby.” He leans down and kisses you gently. “Wait here.” You felt Logan get up. It’s not like you could see him. Stars clouded your vision from your most recent orgasm. You couldn’t hear much either honestly, and just as you think you heard him leave, he reenters your room with a warm rag and a glass of water. He places the water on your bedside table. He smiles at the mess on the bed, the mess you both made together. He gently crawls over you, placing gentle kisses up your leg as he softly wipes your swollen cunt. He smiles and hums as your hips buck, your core still entirely overstimulated. He places a soft kiss on your clit, and wipes the rest up.

He kisses your breasts, then your shoulder, and then your lips. If it weren’t for those kisses, you would’ve passed out right there, lulled to sleep by his gentle demeanor after being utterly obliterated.

He brings the cloth to your face, turning it over to make sure he was using a clean side.

“Are you alright?” He asks as he wipes away the tear trails from your cheeks.

“Mhmm…” you respond.

“Ah ah… use your words baby girl.” He strokes your forehead with his thumb.

“M-ok” you manage to mumble. “N-you can stay if- if you want.” Your small, dazed smile makes Logan laugh softly.

“Don’t worry about me, pretty girl. You need to rest.” He strokes your hair and moves some of it out of your face. He loved seeing how cock drunk you were, and the scent... he couldn't get enough of how your entire apartment reeked of sex.

You didn't need much convincing, because you quickly drifted to sleep. Logan smiled and looked up at the hole in your wall. He silently cursed to himself, already pissed he had done the same thing to your living room wall.

The next morning when you woke up, your apartment smelled like paint. You looked around to see you were alone, and your heart sank. You lift your head enough to see a small piece of paper next to the untouched glass of water from the night before. You slowly reach for the letter, eyes straining to focus on the scrawled handwriting.

*Good morning pretty girl. I'm sorry I had to go. I repaired the holes we made in your walls. Call me, if I missed a spot, or... if you wanna make some more. 111-111-1111 -Logan*

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆

[hotchscoffeecup]

from across the bar

summary: an observation here and a sarcastic retort there is a sure fire way to catch agent hotchner’s attention at the hotel bar. after sharing a drink, he invites you to his hotel room where he gives it you just the way you ask for it: rough.

tags: light bondage, minor self-degradation, hand sex, oral sex, p in v sex, ass slapping, rough sex

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

rating: m, mdni

word count: 4.2k

Goosebumps bristle across your skin; the sharp bite of winter’s wind whipping against your cheeks and tossing your hair about your face. You fold your arms across your chest, tucking your hands beneath your biceps and thinking you ought to have worn a thicker coat. The thin suede Calvin Klein duster you’re wearing flutters about your ankles as the doorman tips his head in greeting and pulls the door wide. Heat rushes out to greet you and you smile in thanks as you cross through the threshold.

Friday night at The Ritz-Carlton is as busy as any bar or restaurant in DC. Men and women dressed in exorbitantly priced suits and dresses mill about, laughing and cavorting over drinks; standing at cocktail tables or seated at the bar or sleek leather seated areas interspersed throughout the modern space. Recess lighting creates a dim ambience that gives Hollister a run for its money. Your lips twitch and you have to fight to school your facial expression. The opulence is unnecessary, but you roll your shoulders back and situate yourself at the bar anyway, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you do so.

“Something to drink?” a bartender asks, placing a drink menu in front of you.

You smile politely and push the menu away. “A riesling, please.”

“Riesling? That’s awfully sweet, isn’t it?”

Your brow arches in response to the deep tenor rumbling a few seats down from you. You spare a glance in his direction and note the way in which he swirls the scotch in his hand. You’re half convinced that no one actually likes scotch; that it’s more about men establishing dominance around other men while they all pretend to enjoy a drink that tastes like paint thinner.

He is quite handsome though; from the strong set of his jaw to the dark slash of his brow, everything about him exudes leadership and power. A lawyer, perhaps. His suit is tailored to fit his lean frame, an expensive watch peeking out from beneath the cuff of his dress shirt.

You thank the bartender as they place a long stemmed glass in front of you. You take a long slow sip, enjoying the crisp white wine.

“Careful, big shot” you warn, not looking in his direction. “Sweetness often masks the taste of poison. You ought to know,” you say, inclining your chin toward the glass in his hand.

He chuckles wryly and sips his whiskey, “Scotch is an acquired taste.”

You roll your eyes and check your phone, noting the lack of text notifications or any sign of a missed call and slip it back into your coat pocket.

“Not the message you were expecting?” he asks and he seems genuinely curious.

“It’s the lack thereof,” you grumble and take another sip of wine. Five minutes late is one thing, fifteen is a different matter altogether without any attempt to reach out.

“Stood up on a Friday night,” the man arches his brow and blows out a slow breath. “That’s rough.”

“I was not stood up!” you counter defensively. You take a quick breath and actually turn to face him. Your heart stills momentarily as you take in the amused look in his dark brown eyes and the smirk tugging at his lips. Quickly coming back down to Earth, you blink several times and cross one leg over the other.

You feel his eyes level on you and you struggle to come up with some quippy retort. As he sips his whiskey, you can’t help but notice how strong his hands look; his wide palms and long fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand. For a split second you wonder what it would feel like to have those fingers wrapped around your throat or tangled in your hair.

“Wedding ring,” you almost blurt out.

His brow furrows and you point to his left hand, indicating the tan line on his fourth finger. His hand flexes around the cup before he sighs. “Divorced.”

“Ah,” you say, taking another sip of your wine. “So, that’s why you’re drinking alone on a Friday night?”

“I’m not alone,” he replies coolly, arching a brow as he regards you.

His keen stare forces a rush of heat to flush to your cheeks. A smirk tugs at his lips in response to the obvious scarlett trailing across your face and neck.

Taking a deep breath, you finish your glass of wine, stand, and shuffle down to occupy the seat beside him, your high heeled boots clacking against the tiled floor. With a newly emboldened confidence, you place your hand flat against his thigh, boosting yourself up onto the barstool as you level your gaze on him from beneath curled lashes.

His eyes widen slightly, but you see a spark of a challenge flare to life inside them. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You reach for his tie, gently tugging on it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Forget my name,” you say coolly. “You clearly came out tonight looking to meet someone and it looks like my plans have changed.”

“I have a suite on the 7th floor,” he says.

You offer him a wicked smile, “Then what are we still doing here?”

•

As the elevator doors pings, signaling its arrival in the lobby, the man extends an arm, holding them open for you to enter first.

“A gentleman too,” you remark as you slide past him letting your body brush against despite the ample room to avoid doing so. The heady scent of his cologne sticks to you and you wonder if you’ll be smelling it on your skin here soon.

He steps inside and presses the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator doors begin to close, someone rushes toward them, trying to get on but the man doesn’t move to hold them. “Take the next one,” he says as they seal shut.

He pounces the second they do, one hand curled around your waist and the other tangled in your hair; your combined body weight thudding against the paneled wall of the elevator. His lips crash against yours, and your lips instantly part for him; groaning into his open mouth. This only seems to drive him further and you feel his erection pressed against your thigh.

“Eager, are we?” you breathe against his lips before nipping at the shell of his ear.

His left hand curves around your ass to cup it in his large hand as his other curls around the back of your neck, using his thumb to angle your chin up towards him. “You have no idea,” he says, voice husky as he moves to suckle the hollow of your throat.

You fist the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer to you. You moan against his mouth eliciting a deeper one from him. As the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the seventh floor, you peel yourself off of him and slip through the doors right as they open leaving him panting and aching for more.

Giggling to yourself, you don’t wait for him as you head toward his room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls after you seductively. With a breathy laugh he adds, “You don’t even know which room it is.”

“Oh, don’t I?” you tease. Without turning back, you raise your hand in the air, his key card tucked between two fingers. “You really outta keep better track of your belongings.”

The sound of him slapping his pockets and grumbling curses brings a cheeky grin to your lips. You slap the key against the keypad and buzz inside the hotel room, slamming the door shut just before he reaches you.

A dark laugh rumbles from beyond the door and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Undoing the belt at your waist, you shrug out of your coat and toss it over the nearby sofa. He knocks on the door and in a voice just above a whisper he starts to detail what he’s going to do to you once you let him inside. Your black high waisted trousers accentuate the curve of your waist, the black lacy corset teddy you’re wearing underneath pushes your breasts up and out.

As you move to open the door, you swipe his badge from your coat pocket, the other item you’d managed to swipe from his suit jacket.

He opens his mouth to chastise you, but instead he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drop to the swell of your breast. He leans into his arm that’s stretched up above him where he holds onto the doorframe.

Pouting, you fold your hands behind your back and rock back and forth on your heels. “I’m sorry for locking you out,” you say coyly. “Tell me though,” you say, leaning forward, looping your arms around his neck. “Do you have a pair of handcuffs somewhere on you to go with this badge, Agent Hotchner?”

Pulling your one hand free from around his neck, you flip open the leather bifold and dangle his own photo in front of his steely gaze.

His lips press together in a firm line as he looks from his badge to you, though the smile doesn’t slip from your mouth. He pushes his weight against the door frame and peers over both shoulders before taking his forearm and pushing it into your chest, forcing your back against the doorway and knocking the air from your lungs. Your chest heaves and your abdomen clenches as you bite your lip, eyes flicking from his mouth to his eyes. He dips his chin so his lips are level with your ear.

“I don’t need my cuffs to keep you at my mercy,” he growls.

The breath in your lungs stills and you feel your pulse increase, thrumming inside your neck. Wrapping his tie around your knuckles, you gently tug him towards you. “Then give it to me, rough, G-man.”

He wastes no time. Releasing the door frame, he drops it and loops it around your waist before yanking you against his muscular frame. He walks you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and the door automatically locks.

His grip on your hips is bruising and you love the ache of his hands on you as he guides you to the bed. His lips seek yours out and when they find them, you slip your tongue between his lips. You can still taste the scotch on him. As you fold your hands into his hair, you gently suck on his lower lip, grazing your teeth along it and savoring the moan that elicits from him.

When your ass touches the edge of the bed, he pushes his pelvis against your hip, his erection digging into your thigh. You yearn to feel that hard length inside your pussy, but you know it won’t be that easy. You’ve played too many games with him tonight to win him over that easily. You lower your weight onto the bed and wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

“So?” you ask, offering a flirtatious glance whilst skirting the toe of your boot up the length of his leg. “What’s the verdict on those cuffs, Agent?”

His fingers curl around your bare shoulders and toy with the straps of your teddy. “I’m not carrying them tonight,” he says after a while. He moves to loosen his tie and your belly clenches as you wonder what he plans to do with it.

“Hands out,” he orders, and the authority in his voice is so natural you immediately feel compelled to listen.

He slips his tie from around his neck and winds it around your wrists, tying them together snugly, but not so much to cut off feeling to them. He grips the loose end and aggressively tugs you towards him so that your chest is flush with his.

You splay your fingers out against his chest and try to reach for the collar of his shirt to start working on the buttons when he yanks your wrists away.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs. He releases his hold on your makeshift restraints and shifts both hands under your ass. With a grunt, he picks you and shifts your weight so that you’re sat fully on the bed.

“Lay down,” he commands. “Arms above your head.”

As you slowly do as he asks, your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Yes sir, Mr. Hotchner.”

He emits a low groan as his name tumbles from your mouth and you know his cock is straining in his pants. Again, you try to tease him through his trousers with the toe of your boot, but his reflexes are too quick and his hand snaps out to catch your ankle. He arches one dark brow at you before focusing his attention on unzipping each one at a relentlessly slow pace. Your pussy throbs in anticipation of what’s to come and you bite your lip as he straddles your waist, one knee on the bed as his other foot remains on the floor. His eyes are fixed on yours as his fingers make quick work of the buttons of your pants. As his fingers curl around the hem and begin to wind them down your waist and hips, you can’t help but reach up and try to run your fingers through his hair.

Immediately, he snatches your wrist from midair and slams it into the mattress. You gasp and try not to giggle, excited by this show of brute force.

“Don’t move.” His voice is low. “If you can’t follow instructions, there will be consequences.”

You push your lower lip forward, “And I hate to suffer those at your big,” you enunciate each word, “strong, hands.”

Hotchner keeps his obsidian eyes, sharp as knives, daggered on you for a second longer, before releasing your wrists and sliding your pants down and off your legs.

“Now this,” he says, trailing a finger down the lace up front of the corset styled teddy. “Makes accessing want I know you so desperately want me to touch a little difficult, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, you should check again Mr. Hotchner,” you reply with a flutter of lashes.

He regards you curiously, but there’s a dark amusement glinting in the depths of his irises. His hand slinks around your calf, and that alone elicits goosebumps up and down the length of exposed skin. As his hand trails up the inside of your thighs, your muscles quake as you allow your legs to fall open for him.

His lips part as he discovers the missing fabric between your legs. His brow curves as he regards you with keen interest. “One way or another you knew you were getting fucked tonight.”

“One can never be too prepared, can they?”

“No,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. You squirm as he presses his hand flat against your belly, fingers splayed out as he slowly drags them down toward your center.

“Now let’s see just how ready you are, shall we?.” He sinks one long finger inside you and you groan. “So wet,” he murmurs, slowly sinking another finger inside of you. You feel the moisture pooling, how quickly the torturously slow rhythm of his fingers heightens your arousal. When his thumb presses against your clit and begins moving in slow circles, your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Oh, Aaron,” you say, dragging out his name. Your hands fumble to grip onto the sheets as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, maneuvering his fingers each time to strike your g-spot in rhythm with the circular motion around your clit. The wet sounds of his hands wringing pleasure from your body alongside him murmuring filthy things is too much. You need more.

“Please,” you say, arching your back against the mattress in an attempt to draw his fingers in deeper. “I need more.” You hook a leg around his waist and pull him against the edge of the bed, not missing the way his throat strains and eyes roll back at that thought. He increases his speed and without warning withdraws his fingers. You immediately miss their presence, but then suppress a scream as he dives face first into your pussy. His tongue delves into your center, devouring your pleasure. His slick tongue finds your clit, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nub and your pleasure centers are firing on all cylinders.

You dig your elbows into the mattress and push your hips into the air, pressing yourself against his mouth and he moans against your pussy. You feel the deep tremble reverberate against your walls and cry out as it becomes too much to bear in the best way possible.

He grips your hips and you kick you legs up around his neck, drawing him in as if he could get any closer to you. You clench the sheets above your head and cry out, his name on your lips as pleasure builds in your abdomen, pulsing through you all the way to your core. He shifts then, and before you can wonder what he’s doing, he takes a breath and sucks your clit between his teeth. You hiss at the unfamiliar sensation and swear you see stars when his fingers plunge deep into your pussy.

You come instantly, your orgsam surging through you like electricity. You feel it through every inch of your body, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your tousled hair. The aftershocks are still coursing through you as Hotchner tightens his hold on your hips and with a grunt of effort, flips you onto your stomach and yanks you closer to the edge of the bed. The sound of a belt unfastening and zipper coming down is all the preparation you receive before he slaps your ass and the hard length of his cock slams into you. You cry out with ultimate ecstasy as he fills you.

Turning your face into the mattress, you gasp and grunt with each forceful thrust. Your pussy clenches around his thick girth. The slap of flesh on flesh is all that can be heard as he pumps himself in and out. He releases a sharp breath and winds his fingers into your hair, tugging on it. You cry out and moan as you turn to look at him over your shoulder, finding great satisfaction when you watch him melt under your sultry smokey eyed look.

“Come on, baby,” you urge and you see his restraint crack. “Take what you want.”

His brow pinches and unfurrows as his grip starts to falter.

“Use me,” you push, delighting in the way his lips press together as he fights to hold on to his release.

You press your ass higher into the air, allowing him to plunge deeper into your core as his thrusts become less controlled and his pace becomes erratic.

“You don’t,” you grunt and moan as he strikes your g-spot again and again, “even know my name.” You breathe out and groan as you turn over your shoulder once more. “Let me be your whore, Agent Hotchner.”

Hot, thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock into your pussy. He holds onto your hips so tightly, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You relish in his pleasure as much he relished in yours. When he stops shaking, he slowly lowers your hips onto the mattress and smooths his fingers over the tender flesh there.

Easing you on to your back, you feel his cum slip down your inner thighs as he clambers over you and tenderly kisses your face and neck. When his lips brush yours, you taste yourself on him.

You reach up and hands still bound, brush the hair from his forehead. He smiles as he reaches up and undoes the knot with one swift move. The tie instantly unravels and he casts it aside. You place your hands on either side of his face, thumb stroking the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Let me help get you cleaned up,” he says gently, eyes soft.

You nod, “I think I’d like that.”

He cradles you into his arms and carries you to the shower where he places you on the tile floor and cranks the water on. As steam begins to fill the room, he helps you out of your negligee. Without words, you turn and push his blazer off of his shoulders. You do the same with his dress shirt and let him kick out of his shoes and socks before curling your fingers around the hem of his pants and underwear and kneel to draw them down over his ankles.

He loops his arms around your waist as you stand and kisses you slowly as he guides you back into the walk-in shower. The warm water cascades over your skin, soothing your taut muscles. You close your eyes as he tilts your head back and smoothes your hair away from your face. He places feather light kisses along your jawline as he pumps body wash into his hand from the dispenser on the wall.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he lathers the soap between his hands and smoothes it over your shoulders.

You release a moan of a different sort as his fingers massage the soap into your neck and back. You turn around and lean against the wide plane of his chest as he curves his hands around to wash your breasts and stomach.

His voice is amused when he speaks. “That good, hmm?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm.

He laughs softly in your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple. He continues to wash your body, treating each limb like a holy object the way he handles you with such delicacy and adoration. When he finishes with you, he washes himself quickly and exits the shower to retrieve two plush towels from beneath the sink. As you work to try yourself off, he fetches the robes provided to each guest from the closet in the main room.

You admire the softness of his stomach contrasted with the hard angles of his face and lean musculature of his arms and legs. He really is a beautiful man.

“Thank you, Agent.” You say with a wink as you take it from him.

He laughs. “You and titles. I thought we’d agreed on no names.”

“I said you didn’t need to know my name. I never said anything about yours. What can I say? I love a power play. After all, you must be used to that in your big, bad FBI office, hmm?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Something like that.”

You continue to towel dry your hair and smile back at him. “I guess this game of ours has reached its end. I gotta say, I had a wonderful time.”

“It doesn’t have to end,” he says with a suggestive arch of his brow.

Tilting your head back and forth, you weigh your options. “How about this?” you say, taking a measured step toward him. His eyes widen, surprised by your sudden prowess. “You and me,” you say slowly and stand on your toes so you can purr directly into his ear, “drop the ruse, order room service, and watch a movie on Netflix?”

He pulls away, expression unreadable for a moment. You keep your eyes on him, waiting, and then smile when his posture visibly relaxes. “Honestly, that sounds great, babe, I’m exhausted.”

A grin pulls across your cheeks as you dash into the room and grab your purse. Returning to the bathroom, you reach deep into your bag and unzip the pocket in the inner lining. You fish out your wedding rings and place Aaron’s in his hand before slipping yours back onto your finger.

“The crotchless lingerie was a nice surprise,” he says as he adjust the simple gold band on his finger.

Your lips quirk into a grin, “Yeah, I thought you’d like that little surprise.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss you. “Seriously though, how’d I do?” he asks. “I’m not used to using my office persona around you. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. With you, it’s so easy to leave work at the office and relax.”

“Well I certainly hope you don’t do that at the office.”

He chuckles. “You know what I mean!” He waves his hand absentmindedly. “The hardened exterior, the stern, hard voice, expressionless. Dominating. I’m never like that with you.”

“Naturally,” you tease, voice light. “I’m so full of fun and whimsy. It’s hard not to come back down to Earth from your Bureaucratic cloud of murder and mayhem when you’re with me.”

He loops his arms around you, hands flat against your back. “Five years of marriage and you still manage to keep me on my toes, more so than some of the men and women I’m paid to track down and put away.”

You pull back and look up at him. “You love the sex bucket list, be honest.”

He can’t fight the grin that tugs at his lips as he nods. “Role playing as two strangers that meet at random is definitely up there with the things we’ve done so far.”

“More fun than when we played naked Twister with the body paint?”

“Ooo, don’t make me choose.”

He dials room service, ordering plenty of food and desserts to refuel after your exciting adventure into role play and as you climb into the California king bed with him and snuggle against his chest, you silently thank whatever divine forces exist in the universe for every opportunity you get to spend with him like this; your lover, your husband, your everything.