#thoma drabble

[syefiles]

⋆ various men who melt when they see you in their clothes.

he sees you come out of the shower, all dressed and freshly moisturized for the night. yet, he can't help but stare at your perky nipples piercing through his shirt, which was barely giving you any justice, giving him a view of your boobs. his shirt was already enough to drive him crazy, but he finds you only wearing underwear underneath it.

he was ready to pounce on you and fuck you until you go limp.

the sight was too much for his cock to bear, as it started leaking precum all over his boxers. don't you know how hard he is for you? you effortlessly make him go crazy for you without having to do anything. ''are you gonna sleep, love?'' you ask him, but his hand reaches into his pants and palms his bulge. ''fuck- do you see what you do to me?'' he peels off the blanket on his lower half and gives you the sight of the outline of his cock.

you smile at him, deciding to give him a proper show, teasingly taking off your underwear in front of him. swaying your hips subtly, enough for his eyes to anchor onto your body. ''you tease.'' he said, finally getting up from the bed and pulling you in by your waist, sitting you on his lap.

he let out a small groan, feeling your wetness pool on his boxers, the warmth almost making him cum immediately. your hips wasted no time grinding on his cock, your aching clit gaining friction. ''such a good fucking doll for me.'' he praised.

childe, itto, kaeya, thoma, ryusei shidou, isagi yoichi, tabito karasu, adam blake, keisuke baji, kazutora hanemiya, izana kurokawa, ken ryuguji, eren yeager, jean kirsten and any of your faves <3

[uramakimochi]

Batboys scenario:

YOU LOOSE CONTROL OF YOUR POWERS WHILE SLEEPING.

WARNINGS: Just fluff, no use of Y/N. Inspired by this thought of mine. R can fly but it's not explicitly said whether they're a Super/Kent or an alien. This should be gender neutral enough for everyone^^

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

BRUCE

Bruce entered the room with a yawn that he tried to cover with his hand, while slowly rotating his neck and chest to make his bones crack loudly.

The only thing he wanted to do was get into bed with you, hold you close and sleep forever. But he knew that all the love and devotion he felt for you would never be enough to free him from his duties as a vigilante, so the only thing he could do was enjoy to the fullest those moments that life allowed him to spend with you. One of which was a good rest together.

Bruce loved sleeping with you. There was no better feeling for him than coming home late after a patrol and hiding under the covers, wrapping his mighty arms around you and pulling you against his sturdy body, falling asleep lulled by your body heat.

But before he could already imagine how he would spend a beautiful night next to you, he had to stop on the threshold of the door when his eyes fell on the double bed. Or rather, who was above of it.

Because yes, you were there, exactly where he expected to find you, but you were not on the bed. You were literally floating above it, like a bee on a flower.

Bruce smiled amusedly, because honestly that was nothing new. That was something that often happened when you were asleep: entering the world of dreams was as if your powers merged with them and not being able to control them of your own will, sometimes you happened to rise into the air in the middle of the night. Sometimes you slipped away from Bruce's arms, but other times you even took him up with you.

But Bruce didn't care, he was used to it. And he would never blame you because that was just who you were. And he would always love you, for every virtue and every flaw.

So he approached you silently until he was at your side. Meanwhile, you continued to float above his head as if nothing had happened, clutching the pillow under one arm and your eyelids fluttering every now and then, surely because of the dream you were living in your mind.

"Sweetheart" he murmured softly, reaching up to gently pull the blanket that covered your body and that was floating with you. "Wake up my love"

After a few seconds you squinted and then finally opened your eyes in the darkness.

"Mhh" you moaned and your eyes landed on your husband's face. "Bruce... Hi, what is it?"

Bruce smiled comfortingly, moving his hand to your arm.

"Forgive me, i didn't mean to disturb you" he replied, running his warm palm back and forth along your arm. "You're floating again"

It was at that moment that despite your tiredness you realized how low his face was compared to yours and you pressed your lips together. "Oh..."

Your body slowly returned down to rest on the soft mattress and you adjusted your position to cover yourself, finally looking at your husband from below, as it was supposed to be.

"Thank you" you gave him an embarrassed smile. "Sorry"

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and then walked around the bed to his side, sitting on the edge to take off his shoes and lie down under the covers.

"You have nothing to apologize for, i always tell you that" he reassured you as he lay down and you wasted no time in snuggling into his side. "You know i don't really care if you sleep mid air. I'd just prefer to fall sleep with you in my arms sometimes"

"I know, but i hate when it happens" you replied with a small pout.

You felt his strong arm wrap around your shoulders to hold you close and you closed your eyes, resting your head on his bicep, ready to go back to sleep. "Because i like falling asleep in your arms too"

Bruce smiled again, tilting his head to kiss your forehead one more time and watched you fall asleep again within minutes, lulled by his warmth and his sweet caresses that you had missed that night.

"I know my love"

DICK

Dick was the most affectionate of the boys and this meant that at every opportunity he would stick to you like a mussel and he wasn't afraid to show it. Whether it was for a simple nap together, when you were cooking or cleaning the house, while he was watching tv with you, in the shower, when you went out... You name it. He was always glued to you. And during the night he was no exception.

Even when the temperatures were the highest he would close his arms around your body and hold you to his chest as if you were a stuffed animal that comforted him from his nightmares. And you, somehow, always managed to fall asleep, no matter how glued he was to you.

But Dick was like that and there were just a few times that you told him to let go because that was just the way he showed his affection and you appreciated him for it.

And the fact that your boyfriend was clingy meant that whatever happened to you... Well, he was there to suffer it too.

Specifically, i'm talking about when your superpowers got out of control and while that almost never happened when you were awake, the same couldn't be said for when you were asleep. Because when you were dreaming it was like your body and mind were letting go and often it happened that without realizing it you found yourself floating in the middle of the night.

Now, Dick was used to your powers and all, but the first time he witnessed your 'sleepwalking flight' he felt a little taken aback. But he remembers it like it was yesterday.

Imagine the scene.

You and Dick were fast asleep (he was even snoring and almost drooling on your head) and of course his strong arms were around your body from behind you, holding you to his chest in a firm warm and affectionate hug even in your sleep.

At a certain point however, he had to open his eyes, awakened by that horrible feeling of a dry throat that screamed at him to get a fresh glass of water to quench his thirst. So Dick rubbed a hand over his eyes to wake up and reluctantly let go of your body to turn on the other side and get out of bed. But when he stretched his legs towards the floor...

Dick's eyes widened and he felt like his breath was taken away for a fraction of a second when he realized he wasn't lying on his soft bed but floating right above it, blanket included.

"Oh fuc- Woahh!"

And before he could react, he fell down with a cry. Luckily his fall was softened by the bed itself, but that didn't stop him from rolling onto the floor with a heavy thud. That and his scream were enough to wake you up too and after you woke up with a start, abruptly interrupting your dream, you fell too but your trajectory allowed you to land on the matress unlike your boyfriend.

Dick still sitting on the floor, groaned in pain and then he sharply turned to you.

"Baby!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What was that??"

The lamp on your nightstand turned on and then he heard you get off the bed and walk quickly to his side and then he saw you crouch down in front of him.

"Oh my god Dickie i'm so sorry!" you looked at him worriedly, placing one hand on his cheek and the other on his head, making him tilt it to see if there were any bruises. "Are you hurt??"

Dick waved a hand with a small, pained smile. "Nah, i'm fine. I've been through worse. Just... What just happened?"

You let out a small sigh and let yourself fall backwards, sitting on the floor. "My powers. It happens to me sometimes when i'm sleeping, especially when i'm having particularly weird dreams or nightmares. My parents told me i've been doing it since i was little"

He nodded in understanding. "Oh. I see"

You looked down, feeling sorry and embarrassed by what had happened.

"Forgive me, i forgot to tell you. I didn't mean for you to get hurt, honey. Are you sure you're really okay?"

Dick nodded again, forgetting the pain to give you his classic dazzling smile. "It's okay, sweetheart, really. These are things i have to get used to if i want to be with someone with superpowers"

And you giggled fondly, leaning forward to give him a couple of affectionate kisses on the temple.

"I guess that's the price you have to pay for clinging to me all the time, huh?" you murmured against his skin and he placed his hands on your waist to keep you close to him.

"I guess it is"

JASON

Jason was big and bulky but he was a light sleeper and since he was also very protective of you, he was always alert in case something happened during the night.

In fact, the slow movement of his arm that was rising against his will was enough to disturb him from his sleep. Jason opened his eyes but did not worry about being possessed by some strange demon. He sighed when he saw what was happening next to him. Or rather, above him.

"Babyyy" he moaned with a heavy yawn, but he received no response from you who were still sound asleep.

Immediately the hand of his arm that was rising and sliding from its position around your back, reached out to grab your wrist before you could rise too high for him to reach while still lying down. When you felt his warm palm touch you, you woke up too and when you opened your eyes you saw Jason dragging you down towards him, making you return to his side in the same place where you had fallen asleep a few hours ago.

"Where did you think you were going mh?" your boyfriend asked, his voice still thick with sleep, wrapping his muscular arm around your back (again) and pulling you close.

"Sorry" you muttered slightly embarrassed in the darkness of the room, snuggling against his shoulder.

It wasn't that you were new to floating during the night, but it wasn't something you were always proud of in his presence.

"'S okay" he replied, tilting his head to nuzzle yours and plant a kiss on it, while he closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep. "But if you want to go for a fly, at least let's do it together"

And you smiled, closing your eyes as well while your hand automatically went to rest on his chest.

"Sure"

TIM

Tim wasn't known for being a big sleeper. And you hated more than anything to be the one ruining the few hours of sleep he could afford, disturbing him with your powers when you started floating in the middle of the night without your control.

But Tim was a sweet soul and he always reassured you by telling you that it was not a bother for him if he slept in the air rather than on the bed. He would sleep anywhere, even on the floor and even for just five minutes, just to be with you.

"Are you really sure it's not a problem for you?" you asked again, looking at your boyfriend with uncertain eyes.

Tim lifted his head from your chest, returning your gaze with a sleepy one, already half asleep mostly thanks to the effect of your hand caressing his hair, while the other was resting on his back.

His arms dangled in the air falling on both sides of your body, while his legs remained comfortably resting on yours. Luckily Tim, even though he was well trained, didn't have a body as large as Jason or Bruce, otherwise he would have fallen to the ground.

"Babe" he replied and his exasperated look gave way to a slight smile. "For the umpteenth time, yes. It's not a problem"

"But what if you move and fall to the floor? Or what if I move and make you fall to the floor?"

"We're not that high up" Tim sighed, glancing at the bed below you and then looking back at you. "You're talking to Red Robin, if i fall i can handle it"

"But-"

Tim shushed you by leaning in to give you a small kiss on the lips and of course you returned it, letting yourself go and forgetting your worries for a few seconds, while your hand in his hair slid down to his cheek.

"No more 'buts'. I promise you nothing will happen" he continued when he pulled away. "And you know i don't sleep much anyway, so if i were to fall i'd notice"

"Hmm" you muttered still uncertain. "Okay... If you're sure"

Tim gave you a smile and settled more comfortably, resting his head back on your chest and closing his eyes. One of your hands caressed his back with your fingertips and you rested your chin on his hair.

"But please, wake me up if something happens" you added and you felt him nod slowly against you.

"Mh, will do. 'Night babe"

"Goodnight Timmy"

DAMIAN

You and Damian were sleeping peacefully in your bed, him in front of you with an arm on your shoulders pulling you against his body and your arms tightly wrapped around his slim waist, while one of your legs was trapped between his.

Damian had fallen asleep lulled by your breaths against his collarbone, but like Jason he was always alert during sleep, no matter what time it was. In fact, when he suddenly felt your bodies start to rise in the air he slowly opened his eyes but he didn't panic or get scared, knowing perfectly well what was happening. And above all who was making it happen.

Damian laid his eyes on you with a loving gaze, admiring you despite the darkness. He found it funny that despite your intertwined bodies were literally floating a couple of meters away from the bed, you continued to sleep deeply as if nothing had happened. He even saw your lips curve upwards and he also smiled tenderly in turn, wondering who knows what you were dreaming of to smile like that.

Damian then noticed that you and him were getting closer and closer to the ceiling as you floated upwards. But before your head or his could hit it, he raised an arm to rest his hand against the ceiling, stopping the movement in mid-air. The other hand that was on your shoulders instead, slid up until it reached your head, covering it with his palm in a protective way.

Oh if you had been awake to see it your heart would have fluttered with joy and Damian knew that too. He cared for you in every way, both with the little things and the more heroic ones, as he had learned in his life as Robin.

Due to the impact of his palm against the ceiling it was as if your body bounced like a balloon and went back down, continuing to drag Damian with you until you finally stopped in mid-air. He reached out to your face to stroke your forehead with his thumb.

"Beloved" he murmured.

Just hearing him call your name once, accompanied by the lovely feeling of his finger rubbing against your skin, woke you up. You squeezed your eyes and then opened them, looking at your boyfriend with the typical expression of a child just disturbed from his nap.

"Mmh, what is it Dami?"

Damian gave you a smile while continuing to caress you, while you felt your eyelids still drooping from tiredness.

"You're doing it again" he simply said.

There was silence for a few seconds. And then without saying anything both of your bodies began to descend, until you gently rested on the bed again. Damian felt you wiggle in his arms while you tried to get comfortable against him and even closer if possible, looking for his body heat.

"Sorry" you muttered, pressing your face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "I promise i won't do it again... 'Swear..."

And a few seconds later your breathing against his skin became heavier. You had fallen asleep again, without any difficulty.

Damian's emerald eyes looked at you amused while his hand found its favorite place on the back of your head, his fingers caressing you affectionately. Because that wasn't the first time you told him you wouldn't do it again and he knew it wouldn't be the last either.

"I count on it beloved"

DUKE (i added him too because i felt bad leaving him out😔)

The alarm clock on his nightstand went off and he reached out to turn it off. When Duke opened his eyes and turned to you with a sleepy smile, he thought he would find your angelic still sleeping face to greet him. But his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he noticed that you were not on your side of the bed.

"Uh... Weird" he thought.

Because he was usually the first one of you to wake up and it always took him a good few minutes to get you out of bed. Could that be the first time you had gotten up before him and had already made breakfast? Was it perhaps a special day?

Duke smiled amusedly, but then he noticed another detail. Your pillow was in its right place, but the large blanket you shared was gone.

"That's why i was cold last night..." the man muttered, after realizing that he had spent the rest of the night without a blanket. But why?

A familiar yawn from above his head caught his attention and Duke looked up. And when he saw your body floating above the bed, his heart skipped a beat.

You stirred, awakened by your boyfriend's alarm clock and the famous missing large blanket slipped from your body, falling onto the bed beneath you. You then turned to look down at him with a sweet, innocent smile.

"Good morning"

Duke let out a small, scared cry and jumped up from the bed. "L-Love! What are you doing up there!?"

You looked at him in confusion and lowered your head, finally noticing the distance from your side of the bed. "Oh... Oh crap!"

With his heart still pounding, Duke watched you calmly slide down until you were back on the ground. You then gave him an embarrassed smile.

"Um, surprise?"

Duke walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Are you okay??" he asked still scared, looking you up and down. "I thought you were... Possessed or something!"

You chuckled, waving a hand. "What are you talking about, Duke? It was just my powers"

He seemed to relax. He knew about your powers, but he never expected to see something like that.

"Oh..." then he sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. It was unexpected, you almost gave me a heart attack"

You gave him a sorry smile, taking his hand to comfort him.

"I'm sorry, i didn't mean to scare you. I completely forgot to tell you that sometimes while i sleep i lose control of my powers and start flying. It's been happening to me since i was little. Imagine what would happen if i slept in the open air"

He also finally laughed and he hugged you and you felt his body relax under your palms.

"How about i make breakfast to make up for it, mh?" you then asked and he nodded with a big smile.

"I'd really like that"

[callmeizukunotdeku]

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? That they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[colourfulbisexualities]

SUITS AND SASS ; aaron hotchner x female medical examiner

you’re the bau’s new medical examiner, oozing dark humour, sass, and a killer sense of style, ready to shake up the team. but when you butt heads with aaron hotchner on day one, sparks fly while the rest of the team bets on how long it’ll take for you to win him over.

YOU STRUT into the BAU like you own the damn place, and honestly? You should. The overhead fluorescents do their best to wash out your glow, but even the most soul-sucking government lighting can’t dim this.

The emerald green suit hugs you in all the right places, a sharp contrast against the deep red silk blouse that’s unbuttoned just enough to toe the line between ‘professional’ and ‘distracting.’ Your heels which are Louboutin, naturally - click against the floor with every confident step, the sound sharp, decisive, commanding attention even from the most sleep-deprived agents around you. And your jewellery? Impeccable.

Large emerald studs in your ears, a matching ring resting on your manicured fingers. Each piece a carefully curated display of wealth, taste, and an undeniable presence. You don’t just walk into a room; you arrive, and anyone with half a brain can feel it.

Today is your first day as the BAU’s new medical examiner, and if you’re being honest? You’re already unimpressed. Not with the job itself because you live for the thrill of carving open a fresh corpse before most people have had their morning coffee, but the aesthetic of this place is tragic.

Beige walls, government-issue desks, the faint, ever-present smell of burnt coffee and bad decisions hanging in the air. It’s the kind of environment that breeds stress wrinkles and caffeine addictions, and you’ve already decided that you will not be another victim.

No, you’re here for something new. Something interesting. The only reason you transferred was because your last job had become boring, and you refuse to let your skills stagnate among mundane cases and lackluster conversation.

The BAU, at least, promises a bit of excitement—new cases, new killers, new mysteries to unravel. And, if nothing else, the chance to shake up an office full of straight-laced federal agents with your dark humour and sharp tongue.

The bullpen is exactly what you expected. Agents in various states of exhaustion, stacks of paperwork threatening to topple, and the subtle hum of tense conversation punctuated by the occasional ringing phone. It’s an atmosphere of constant movement, of minds working overtime, and while you appreciate the energy, you can’t help but sigh dramatically as you glance around.

“This place is hideous,” you mutter to yourself, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off your sleeve. “Jesus, does the FBI have something against interior design?”

And then you see her ... Penelope Garcia, dressed in an explosion of colour, exuding the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly who she is and not giving a damn what anyone thinks about it. Finally, someone with taste.

The second her eyes land on you, she lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand clutching at her necklace like she’s just seen the Virgin Mary herself descend into the bullpen. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Who are you?”

You smirk, tilting your head just slightly. “The new medical examiner. And, from the looks of things, the only other person in this building with a sense of style.”

Her eyes sparkle like she’s just found a long-lost soulmate. “Oh, honey, we are going to be best friends.”

“Obviously,” you reply smoothly. “Someone needs to help me cope with the tragedy that is this office décor. Do you think the Bureau would let me expense a new couch? Maybe some curtains? Anything to make this place feel less like a funeral home for the aesthetically challenged.”

“Oh, sweetie, they barely let me expense my glitter pens. You’re asking for a miracle.”

Before you can reply, a voice cuts through the air. Sharp, authoritative, and entirely unimpressed. “You’re late.”

You turn slowly, already knowing that this is going to be fun.

Aaron Hotchner stands before you, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes intense, scanning you like he’s already profiling your entire existence. And damn if he isn’t gorgeous. You hadn’t expected that. The way his suit fits just right, the sharp angles of his face, the sheer command he exudes—it’s almost enough to distract you from the fact that he’s clearly about to be a pain in your ass.

Almost.

You blink at him, deliberately slow, before glancing at the large digital clock on the wall. “It’s 8:59.”

His jaw tightens just slightly. “We start at eight.”

You sigh, placing a perfectly manicured hand over your heart as if this news has wounded you. “Oh, tragic. If only someone had told me that I was expected to conform to the outdated concept of ‘morning people.’” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m expected to function without proper espresso. What kind of barbarism is this?”

There’s a pause, the kind that suggests Hotch is not used to being spoken to like this. Behind him, you catch the subtle exchange of money. Morgan handing Reid a few bills, Emily shaking her head with an amused smirk. Oh, they were betting on this. Good. At least someone in this building understands entertainment.

Hotch, to his credit, doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he exhales, slow and controlled, the only sign that you’re even remotely testing his patience. “Garcia, show her around the building.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” she says, looping her arm through yours like this is the best thing to happen to her all day.

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you—calculating, assessing, already irritated. You turn your head just slightly, meeting his gaze with a slow smirk.

“He’ll recover,” you murmur to Garcia, low enough that only she hears.

She giggles, glancing back at him before whispering, “Oh, I hope not.”

Hotch watches you go, pressing his lips together as he forces himself to look away. You’re impossible. He already knows you’re going to be a problem, and the worst part? He can’t decide if that frustrates him… or intrigues him.

[thedelusionalbitchgianna]

Emily: ARE YOU-

Morgan: Fucking.

Emily: KIDDING ME?! YOU-

Morgan: Fucking.

Emily: IDIOT!

Spencer: …What was that?

Morgan: Hotch banned Emily from swearing, so I’m helping her out.

[superbat-love]

Bruce stomped into the living room with the kids clutched under his arms—Steph and Barbara under his left arm, and Jason and Dick under his right arm. Clark followed closely behind him, carrying Damian, Jon, Duke, Kon and Tim.

Nine soaking wet little kids were unceremoniously dumped on the floor in front of the fireplace. Cass silently jumped down from her spot on Bruce’s shoulders to curl up on the armchair.

Clark: Alright, explain to us why you kids were out playing in the forest in this storm.

Dick: We wanted to play hide and seek, so we had to find a bigger space.

Bruce: The Wayne manor is on 150 acres of land.

Jason: Yeah well, if some people didn’t cheat…

Duke: Nobody hacked into the cameras around the place!

Tim: I-It’s not our f-fault you guys pick the most obvious places to h-hide.

Steph: Even without the cameras you still cheated, Tim. I saw you guys. You got Kon to fly you up the mountain! We agreed on ‘No Superpowers’! And now you’ve got hippo…hippopotamus.

Barbara: I think you mean hypothermia, Steph.

Kon: How is that considered cheating? Flying is not a superpower. Birds fly!

Jon: Dogs fly!

Dick: That’s just Krypto, Jon.

The kids huddled around together, discussing whether flying is considered a superpower.

Clark: Enough, you are all grounded for putting yourself in danger.

Bruce: [yelling over the kids’ protests] I don’t want to hear any excuses! Everyone is grounded except Cass.

Kon: She played with us too! She hid near the entrance of the forest.

Bruce: Still considered to be on Wayne property.

Damian: Can we be grounded in the barn?

Jason: The barn? That’s the dumbest suggestion I’ve ever heard.

Dick: Hey! You can’t call people dumb, dummy.

Damian: I want to play with the chickens, okay? They’ll get lonely!

Jon: That sounds fun! I want to play with the chickens too!

Barbara: Don’t listen to them! I vote for the kitchen, because Alfred is there.

Steph: Me too! Alfred makes great cookies!

Bruce: This isn’t a vote. You will each be grounded in your own rooms.

Superbat Family Fics

[ahfrickenfrick]

Damian gets into a fight at school, he comes out with just a few scratches.

He’s suspended for three days due to the other boy having a broken nose, but he won’t tell anyone why he and the other boy got into the spat.

Tim finds him sitting on the ground in the library, sketching something from a book. he gives tim a glance, before continuing his work.

He decides to pull out his laptop and work side by side with Damian, getting lost in his own little world for over an hour before Damian says anything.

“… the fool tried saying you all are beneath the Wayne name. He said unfavorable things about Richard, Jason should’ve stayed missing, that Duke deserved to be in the ‘stuck in the system’. That— brat, said he hopes the tabloids are true in their current rumors after your coming out. He deserved far more than a broken nose.”

Damian set down his pencil, trembling with frustration and anger. As Tim felt his heart warm.

He gently wrapped his arms around Damian, pressing a quick kiss to the kids temple before he could react.

“Thank you Dames, I know Bruce is going to have to be a parent here and tell you why it’s bad when he gets back, but thank you. Just… be careful, we all are used to these comments, and can take care of ourselves. But thank you anyways.”

Damian’s cheeks were flushed, shrugging his shoulders to try and hide his face, but other than that, he let Tim drape himself over him.

Bruce finds them an hour later, looking for Damian to talk about what happens, but instead finds the two brothers curled up on the floor, sound asleep.

[anantaru]

DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, zhongli, thoma, ayato

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, breeding, hitting it raw, established relationship, lots of cum & making a mess, taking about starting a family, a little baby fever, praise kink, petnames used: princess, baby, cute boys & feral boys, love sick genshin men

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley's trace was slow on you, on the other hand it was also precise, as if he was wholly sure on where he was supposed to touch you.

at the end of the day, it was him and he was aware on what would please you— certainly it's over his logical thoughts and his body moves on its own when he digs his fingertips into your hips to push into you strongly, a hazy grin brilliantly touching up his soft lips when you curve one hand around his neck, forcing your eyes to meet. his arms hold your legs apart consistently, sending charged shivers hastening from your quivering thighs to your sloppy sex.

how utterly perfect you were to him and how unbelievably well he could snug himself inside your dripping pussy— you're driving wriothesley insane, you better keep that in mind, and the way your walls were narrowing down on his thick shaft, almost tasting just like a warm peck of your soft lips worshipping his skin.

and with no punches pulled, wriothesley wonders if you're real sometimes, it's truly frightening that he cannot resist you. mainly when he ghosts his thumb over your perspiring skin, idly contouring the outlines of your curves and smiling when you puff out a needful whimper because of him. other than that, he doesn't move slowly when it came to his hips, and his hands? well, they're ruthless, way beyond recovering, exploring your body when his painfully hard cock snaps forward— you're almost there and so was he, feeling it wide in your belly, pulling the coil in your stomach and soon after he chases more of his relief, unable to keep his hips still, he tastes the shivers of an impending orgasm like a vibrating, electric current weighting around the hardened outline of his length.

"—wanted this for so long." his way of wording was slurred despite his clear intention to confess his desperation, and you're clearly unsure on what exactly wriothesley meant by that— needless to say there were conversations in the past that revolved around dodging the condom for a while, so he could penetrate you raw and reach the warmest, most delicious sweet spots on your walls without the thin plastic ultimately separating you two.

but instead of asking him for a better explanation, you reach out to touch him and mouth wet kisses over his neck before whining when he spreads your thighs further apart to watch how the filthy blend of your arousal and his milky whites dribble out of your hole, your used slit drawing more of it out each flutter— so, wriothesley does what he believes was the most proper way to handle such situation and immediately shuts his dripping dick back into your core, your mouth going dry by the unexpected intrusion as he kisses your forehead with a soft laugh, sending a ripple of heat to your stuffed cunt while tracing the patterns of your walls with his pink cock head.

it's cute, when he kisses your forehead again before continuing his sentence from earlier, "i dream about this constantly." a low, rumbling heave breaks into your ear all hotly and wet, "to feel you, baby, fuck— for real this time." as you peer up at him— he looks like your cunt just sent him to heaven, his thrusts sloppier than before but imbedded with more passion.

they're purposeful, tensed and slobbering all over your cum-stricken walls— he's giving you his all, holding you still while pushing his cock deeper only for you to clench down again, almost bringing him to tears by how eagerly you were responding and how desperate you fluttered around his shaft, almost strong enough to push him out again, your sensitive pussy so responsive, and deliberately letting his cock feel the warmness of your insides.

𖧡 — ZHONGLI

under the homely protection of zhongli's weight on top of you, he greedily pumps his thick shaft in and out of your cunt, attempting to shift his hips a little so he could trace his cock head even better, more so finer into your walls that the intense precision of it stole the air off your lungs.

the passionate noises expelled by your bodies graze against the shell of your ears, the wet, smacking plunges burgeoning at every following thrust as zhongli twists his large palms around your knees with the force of his bodily strength before pressing them towards your chest, your complete frame now folded in half, your dripping cunt on full display and fuck, you're so damn tighter this way— and your precious husbands eyes edged on to the brink of swelling with translucent crystallines due to how unbelievably constricted your tiny hole got just when he sunk back inside, seeking out more.

pushing his tip through your pussy, he roams over your silken walls lingering on his shaft, the small oozes of your arousal and his cum spitting and drooling all over his dick as he rams it back into you, so he could claim you, dwell on top of the correct spot, so he could scatter his load all over your insides, his balls slapping against your flesh. zhongli doesn't give you time to breathe, leisurely fucking you through your helpless whines, puffed out hiccups of zhongli, zhongli, touching the depths of his heart as you coax a breathy chuckle from his throat— you're so fucking adorable when he gets you to that point of wobbly trembles taking over your frame, your half-broken sobs sealing the cracks of his soul.

zhongli likes to dwell on the thought of starting a family with you, his cute darling loving him and yearning for his body— it had always persisted through his consciousness whilst playing small fantasies on repeat. truly, it was difficult to hold himself back in bed, taken into consideration just how strong zhongli was, and he genuinely does try his best to not go beyond feral on you, holding himself back when he lastly drips his creamy cum down to your battered walls, your head lolling back and digging into the disheveled pillows as your mind breaks in shambles.

in spite of that, he gives you what your body shamelessly yearned for, his bangs sticking on his wet forehead as zhongli continues to paint your sloppy pussy and plaster his cum all over you, dragging his hard shaft over a sensitive patch on your responsive flesh. suddenly— you make a mistake and cry into his neck, whilst unbeknownst to you, you're turning him on again immediately, his cheeks inked in redness, his lips curved up, his eyes widening with a light bead of sweat forming just above his brow bone.

𖧡 — THOMA

this was, without a doubt, the furthest you have ever gone with thoma this eventful night— and you cannot help the perpetual twitches of your body before you pant out a passionate cry, so blissful that it brought you to tears when he cums inside of you again— with a low, deep rumble of your name coming undone, a feral noise coruscating through your delicate shape with how impossibly intense and hot it was.

his white, creamy seed sowed a blistering hot spot on your inflamed cunt as his sticky load easily slips into you and overflows the deepest depths of your pussy, messily bubbling out instantly before thoma swiftly crowds it back into you— your fists trembling against your body when his cock messily slaps at your cunt.

but do not be mistaken, because his muscled arms won't move away from you, even after cumming large and hot, he keeps his hips steady at all times whilst slowly rutting in and out, in and out before lifting up one of your leg to settle it on top of his shoulder, coaxing minuscule effects of overstimulation on your throbbing pussy.

"fuck— i can't wait." thoma suddenly whispers at you, his lips leaving wet manifestations on your cheek before grabbing onto the swell of your breast with his palm, all the while forcing his thudding cock back into your poor cunt, your clit twitching in anticipation to climax once again. "i really can't want to start a family with you."

in a way, you could state that thoma meant it in a literal sense, because the split moment after spelling his words out for you to hear, he does not waste a single, more second before ramming you into a feverish daze— and he thinks it's adorable when all you can do is whine in response, your hips steadily moving up to receive his blows as you corner his neck with your trembling arms, your lips mouthing hasty please, please, please, and more, more, more, as a pearl of sweat forms on your forehead.

you clench so tight around him now, thoma thought he's about to break under the pressure you put him through— despite that being utterly determined to make this work flawlessly, prolonging your lust when he reaches down to your clit and flicks one calloused finger over the bristling bundle of pleasure, pending between rubbing rough circles over your inflamed nerves and nudging his fat cockhead inside your cunt walls, his balls straining from the heaviness of his milky whites when he once again— nuzzles his face inside your neck and noses over the familiar scent of your wet skin before shooting his full load into your tight pussy, his abs hot and red, flexing with the ridges imbedded in sweat.

thoma just loves his little sweetheart so much, and he'd never deny any requests you'd throw at him— and the moment he comes back from his strong high that made his heart almost burst out of his chest, he nips at your bottom lip all sweetly, his hands a little shaky, closing around your frame;

"i just love you so much, ‘can't wait to start a family with you."

𖧡 — AYATO

your husband ayato was, in his untouched eminence, a kind man— compassionate and affectionate, and he works hard at his job to provide for his family, adores spoiling you and treasures your precious frame, as if it's the most delicate, most exquisite diamond in the world.

most importantly and beyond anybodys imagination, the yashiro commissioner likes to reveal a side of him, that he believes needs to devour you entirely;

"so tight, fuck!" he curses through a tensed jaw when he fucks you, and your ayato always made it his duty to tell you just how he was feeling because of you— what kind of pleasure he was experiences, how his soft, kissable lips touched up into a hazy smirk when you peer up at him, "i crave you, princess." he whispers again, your moans energizing him to hit all inside you, splitting you effortlessly with the thickness of his shaft reaches places.

it's quite easy for him, and he fills every last inch of your pussy that it overcrowds you and you start to believe that if you were to push down on your stomach right now, that you could actually feel him brush in and out.

another experimental thrust and you greedily squeeze up around him as he makes you swallow around his cock, gaping down before admiring just how fucking sinful it looked disappearing in your sloppy pussy— a ring of pearly whites presented around his shaft, almost like you're claiming him that particular way, the film of your arousal sticky and spilling all over his stiffened erection.

"w-where do you want me?" ayato leans over to mouth a kiss on your cheek before whispering wetly into your ear, hoping you are still able to respond despite looking like a hot mess by now— your legs quivering and on the brink of giving up on you if it wasn't for him strictly keeping them apart;

"inside..." you babble incoherently, inside, inside, inside, gasping, when he observes you struggling to properly take the fullness of his cock even though he had prepared you properly beforehand, his muscled arms looked against you before he drums his erection back and forth, your cunt creamed up and ready to take another one of his load.

"fuck— you don't even know how much i wanted you to say this." he confesses, the soft sounds of your cunt suckling him in appear like the finest music to his ears— and your body arches up into his chest, twisting slightly under him as you listen to a deep groan fall from his lips.

you whine, overstimulated, and squirm under the towering touch of his body when he obliges to your pleas, your bedroom feeling oppressively hot as he fills you at last, the trace alone, fuck, the warm feeling of ayato filling you with his seed made your head spin and rewire— he was so big, so hard and he just felt so good throbbing angrily inside of you.

his balls drip with your arousal and his cum, there was just so much of it that it made you dizzy, an aching pulse on your wet sex pawing its way through your sensitive places, your body jolting heavy while grinding on his hips, his dick sinking and bulging constricted around your insides, mouth agape and whining out a silent scream.

it took your breath away, truly, and now it’s silent and everything else stood still, only your foreheads pressed against one another, the room humid and smelling of lewdness and filth— but it's comforting in a way, and ayato’s hand drums up to your bare side, inches his way all up to your soft cheek before pushing you against his mouth with the same intensity as he was handling your pussy earlier, squeezing the air from your lungs, suffocating you with sweet nothings and praises, new confessions and small fantasies of breeding you once more.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ikinremu]

Hi, I love anything Cillian's characters, Tommy especially!

Could I ask for Tommy Shelby smut, that involves either breeding or choking(just a light hand around the throat)?

Thank you so much!

Hi anon, ofc you can!! Sorry for the wait as always, hope you enjoy <3

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GREEDY

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! SMUT WARNING !

TAGS: P in V, Breeding, Light Choking,

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God, if he could stay here forever; right here, there would be no question. In Tommy’s eyes, his life truly couldn’t get much better beyond what it was in times like these. Your body was pinned tightly beneath him, bare and soft, practically moulding against each touch. It felt as though the mattress was teetering on the edge of swallowing the two of you entirely.

His fingertips pressed into your naked skin, seizing the curve of your backside with a ferocious hunger as he drove your hips against each thrust he planted.

When he had you like this, there was only a single thing in his mind.

“You know what I think about when I’m fucking you like this?” Tommy heaved, his words slipping out amidst a hoarse groan as he cocked his brow in the slightest manner.

You replied with a defiant shake of your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in your best attempt to stifle your moans as you felt his cock strike deep inside you.

His words came out a gruff, tangled mess, as though battling his laboured breaths, “I think about filling you.”

Upon his words, a wave of scorching heat coursed through you, “Oh fuck, Tommy-”

Your bodies melted against one and other, Tommy’s chest tensing, allowing you a momentary glimpse behind the facade. His lips ghosted over your ear, ensuring you were suitably tantalised in the moment he knew you’d detest it most.

“Fucking my cum into your cunt, that’s what I think about, love..”

A particularly loud moan escaped your throat, polluting the air around you with the sultriest sounds. You felt your heart pounding wildly, a relentless pace in your chest as he thrust between your trembling thighs, urgency simmering in the space between you.

“Wouldn’t that be sweet, eh?” He murmured within a low chuckle, speaking more to himself than to you.

Tommy kept one hand splayed wide across the small of your back, fingers callous as they pressed just enough to anchor you in place as his hips rocked intemperately into you, as though claiming you. His other hand however, began to wander, growing bolder as he traced your curves.

His hand glided up your torso at a torturously slow pace, leaving a spark of arousal wherever he brushed. He halted as he reached the swell of your chest, bringing his thumb to the stiffened peak of your nipple as he began to draw tight, clean circles. A sharp, involuntary gasp broke through the air as his thumb flicked the sensitive bud.

You felt the curve of his lips ghost over your breasts, the hot breath of his satisfaction. Without warning, he landed a firm, teasing smack - not drawing pain, but a gratifying sting.

“These fucking tits.” Tommy mumbled, soothing the tender spot with his palm.

“Fuck..” You whined, back arching with pleasure, pushing outward to his body.

His hand wandered further, soon enveloping your neck within his hand.

“That’s it, let me hear how good I’m fucking this cunt, love.” He grunted, accompanying with a less than subtle smirk.

Curling around your throat, his fingers began to press a little - not harshly, but enough to feel.

“You’re gonna be all fucked out, darlin.” He chuckled, “Gonna leave my cum dripping down those perfect thighs, mm?”

The image of it - Tommy’s cock pulsing eagerly between your thighs as he spilled himself into you - only spiked your arousal more, wetness soaking his cock more so with every thrust. His grasp tightened a fraction around your throat, eliciting a broken whimper from you as his hips smacked against you repetitively. Each stroke grew more ruthless, deeper.

“This pussy is so greedy for my cock,” He exhaled, revelling in the way you clenched around him with heightening need, “Keep fuckin’ squeezing me love, every fucking drop.”

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Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Your support means the world to me! I’m working through a lot of requests so thank you for your patience if you’ve sent one in <3

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[dreamer81093]

“Why—Why do you keep doing this? Over and over and over again, you break yourself to pieces for others and never let me help!”

“Because I don’t want you to! You have enough to deal with!”

“So? You matter most! Not some stupid job, not money, not who lives or who dies! You!”

“But you need to not have to deal with the things I can! You need rest and you need these breaks—”

“I need you!”

…

“I-I need you. Only you. So please, don’t shut me out. You’re all that I need.”

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Kiss and Tell 'Em, Cutie

Ship: Rafayel x MC/reader

Summary: Jealousy is a vicious whip—especially when you're dating an artist. Yet you have some ideas to make sure his admirers get the message. He...is...yours.

Word Count: 6,879 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+, mdni), Rafayel calls reader "cutie", jealous reader, Thomas appearance, Talia appearance, Tara mention, Rafayel is once again obsessed with reader's perfume, Rafayel calls reader "sweet girl", Thomas is a nosy fucker but also a proud dad, can also be found on AO3

18+ Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, handjob, vaginal sex, sex against a wall, bathroom sex, mirror sex, unprotected sex (please do not do this), Rafayel is a bit of a sub but also a switch, implied that reader jerks Rafayel off while he drives (please do not do this either)

Notes: For his birthday, here is a Rafayel fic! (Fitting that this is my first L&DS fic to get posted; I'm a Raf & Sylus girlie at heart.) I've seen a few other concepts similar to this that inspired me to make a fic out of it. Not actually birthday themed, though!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Clothes were strewn about the bedroom, the man throwing them invisible in his closet. You perched on the edge of the bed, dismissing every option he suggested with barely a second thought.

Rafayel emerged from the depths of his walk-in closet, a frown on his face. As much as he hated these exhibitions, whining and begging you not to make him go, he couldn't recall a time you'd been this reluctant to give him a yes about his suit options—especially not when tonight's exhibition was "massively important."

"Cutie? You alright?"

You looked up from the outfit you'd been staring at on the floor, a suit in a lovely blue shade that he'd worn to the opera with you what felt like ages ago. "Hmm? Oh—yeah, I'm fine," you lied, trying to sit up straighter and bring a smile to your face. It felt more like a grimace.

Rafayel's face fell into a concerned pout. "I know you better than that," he chastised gently. He sat next to you on the bed, clothing forgotten. "What's wrong?"

You shrugged. You rubbed your arm awkwardly, unwilling to spit out the reason for your glum mood.

"Talk to me," Rafayel said, taking your hand. He brought your wrist to his mouth and kissed it.

He had a way of breaking down your walls, staring at you with those big, loving eyes. You sighed. "It's stupid," you mumbled.

Rafayel grinned at you. "Stupider then my antics?" he asked. You were reminded of him sitting in a hospital bed for an injury he didn't have, griping at you.

You shrugged again. "I...guess not," you said. "It's— Well, it's more embarrassing than..."

Rafayel flopped into your lap. "More embarrassing than me?" he gasped, a delicate hand to his chest.

You laughed. "No, that's not what I was going to say," you said, pulling his hand into yours. He smiled softly at you when you laced your fingers together.

You took a second to get your thoughts together, trying to come up with a way to make yourself sound less, well, jealous. But when the problem is jealousy...

Rafayel remained content in your lap, happily nuzzling your joined hands. The soft kiss he pressed to the back of your hand dragged you out of your contemplation and you blurted out: "I don't like the women that come to your exhibitions."

He raised his eyebrows at you and you flushed. You backtracked, trying to explain it better.

"Well, it's not that— What I mean is that I don't like the way they...fawn over you," you said, the words coming out bitter. You didn't notice the smile twitching on Rafayel's lips, even as he tried to fight it. "They act like they're coming to see your art, but they're just there to giggle over you! And I'm not being jealous, I just think they shouldn't be pretending they like your work when they clearly don't give a shit and they don't know a single thing about art!" You paused briefly, then huffed and threw yourself backward on the bed. Rafayel made a sound of displeasure at being displaced from your lap. "Alright, fine, I am jealous. They don't even know you, they don't really care about you or your work, but they prance around trying to get your attention because you're cute and famous and taken but they don't care about that part!"

You sat back up in a ridiculously over-exaggerated "prim and proper" pose, pretending to hold a glass of champagne. Your threw your voice up an octave and mimicked, "Oh, Mr. Rafayel! Mr. Rafayel! Please tell us so much about the kind of paint you used, Mr. Rafayel, we definitely want to know more and aren't just trying to get in your pants! And with your girlfriend right next to you, too!"

Rafayel laughed, unable to hide his chuckle behind his hand. You glared at him. "What?! That's what they all sound like!" You crossed your arms over your chest as you fell back onto the bed. Rafayel got comfortable next to you, propping his head up on his hand. "And they don't ever stop, even after you introduce me. Or, worse, when Thomas steps in and introduces me because some—some—some hussy is taking things too far!"

When it had become clear you had run out of words (for the moment), Rafayel draped his free arm over your middle and tugged you closer to him. "I never thought I'd see you get this worked up over something like this," he noted.

You sighed. "I normally wouldn't, I mean...I trust you, Raf, this isn't about you. It's about these girls treating our relationship like it's nothing when you... When you mean the world to me."

"Cutie," Rafayel murmured, voice tender. He kissed your cheek once, then twice. He nuzzled into you and, for a moment, the two of you basked in each other's warmth, eyes closed, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Eventually, Rafayel began poking your cheek until you opened your eyes. You glared lightly at him, only to receive a pout that made you fix your face.

"We could always not go tonight," he said, in the same husky tone he usually started this debate with. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and you knew he was ready to pull out all the stops to convince you.

You were tempted to just let him win. But the last time you'd caved so easily, Thomas had chewed your ears out as well as Rafayel's—for over two hours.

"Nuh uh," you said, shaking your head. "I promised Thomas we'd be there, and I'm not getting yelled at again for 'letting my personal feelings get in the way of a great artist's work!'"

Rafayel giggled—a true giggle that made your heart warm. "He would have been even angrier if he knew what we were really doing that night," he teased, his fingers toying surreptitiously with the waist of your pants.

Heat coiled in your belly. Your eyes met Rafayel's; his gaze was darker, alluring like the sea before a hurricane hit. "All the more reason for us to go tonight," you forced yourself to say. He groaned, his arm flopping dramatically back onto the bed. You rolled your eyes, "He'll call and call and call until we answer, and if we don't answer, he's gonna show up at the door to drag you to the exhibition himself." You rolled over and cupped his cheek; he leaned into the touch. "Raf, tonight's important. You have critics coming and an interview set up. You have to be there, it's not one of the nights you can get away with skiving off."

After a moment, you felt the bed dip as Rafayel rolled off of it. He went back to his closet and started digging through it again. "Fine, fine," he sighed. "But if we're going, we have to match tonight." He pulled a large box off of a shelf and brought it over to you. You could see the name of an expensive dress brand he liked to spoil you with printed on the box's side.

"Raf, what...?"

He held it out to you. "I was waiting for a special occasion to give this to you," he said, a tad shy, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "But I have a suit that matches it, so..."

You pulled the box into your lap and tugged at the ribbon binding it together until it fell away. You shimmied the lid off and unfolded the paper hiding the dress from your view. You lifted it out of the box and gasped.

The dress was a deep claret red, embroidered with flame lilies. The short bell sleeves were made from claret chiffon, delicate and flowy. You slipped the fabric of the dress between your fingers; it moved like water and shimmered under the light.

"Rafayel," you breathed. "Oh, Raf, it's beautiful, thank you!" You dropped the dress onto the bed, carefully, and threw your arms around Rafayel's neck. He laughed, holding you tightly around the waist.

"We can match tonight," he said softly, "and I'll keep you on my arm. Tonight, everyone will know I am yours."

I am yours. Something about the way he said it had butterflies flapping around in your heart. You pulled back to stare at him, wanting to ask...but you weren't even sure what you wanted to ask him.

You didn't protest as Rafayel turned back to the closet. He pulled. out a shirt that matched your new dress. "What do you think, cutie?"

You thumbed over the shirt. It was made from the same material as your dress. "I like it," you said. You nudged him toward his mirror. "Put it on!"

The two of you helped each other dress. Rafayel laced up the back of your dress and adjusted your sleeves so they lay nicely on your shoulders; you helped him button up the shirt and looped the fancy tie around his throat.

You sat side by side at his vanity, adding your final touches. You matched your jewelry and your makeup; Rafayel was happy to help you clip your necklace on. Once it was secure, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on the side of your neck, just below your ear. For several long moments, you admired each other in the mirror. Then you got back to applying your makeup, using a darker shade for your lip that would complement the dress.

Looking at the pale expanse of Rafayel's neck, you suddenly had an idea.

You applied a fresh layer of the lipstick. "Come here, love," you murmured, beckoning him closer. He obeyed, letting you tug him down. He smiled when he realized what you were doing and did not stop you as you adjusted his collar and moved his shirt to the side.

Your lips touched Rafayel's skin. You kissed his neck a little harder than necessary, ensuring it would leave a lipstick stain.

The mark left behind when you pulled away was perfect, complete with a movie-style sound of a kiss. It was a dark, easily noticed imprint of your lips, only partially covered when his collar was flipped up.

A soft, almost shocked gasp left Rafayel's lips—you wouldn't have even heard it if his mouth hadn't been right next to your ear. A louder sound, closer to a moan, slipped out of his mouth when you pressed a second, softer kiss closer to his collarbone, leaving a mark for only your eyes to see when you pulled his shirt off later.

"There," you murmured. You covered it with a light tapping of setting powder. "Now they'll know just how mine you are."

"Silly girl," Rafayel whispered. "They'd know just from how I look at you."

He leaned in and stole a kiss, his hand sliding down your body. He slipped it between your knees, trying to part your legs, when you pulled away. You reapplied your lipstick and slipped the tube into your clutch, along with your perfume and your mascara.

Rafayel stared at you with a dazed, almost lost expression. You smiled at him. "Come on, Raf, we'll be late if we don't leave now," you said, feigning ignorance to how turned on he was.

You took his hand as the two of you left the bedroom, headed for his car and the exhibition, a perfect kiss on your boyfriend's neck.

~❊~

People milled about the art gallery, a low hum of conversation in the air. They pointed out small details, leaned as close as they could to paintings before a guard told them to back away, marveled at the cost of each piece.

You and Rafayel stood next to Thomas in a well-lit corner of the room, your hand resting in Rafayel's crooked elbow. A steady flow of conversation between yourselves and admirers of Rafayel's art kept you alert and awake, some part of you always keen to be his bodyguard. But when there was a lull between conversationalists, you rested your head briefly on Rafayel's shoulder; every time, he bent down to kiss the crown of your head.

The difference between this exhibition and the others was astounding. You took gleeful pride in the number of times peoples' eyes dipped to Rafayel's neck, then to you, made the connection, and blushed, averting their eyes quickly.

"Mr. Rafayel!" A woman's voice cut over the din. Rafayel perked up, searching for the voice. You caught a glimpse of his Auntie Talia standing by one of his pieces—one he'd made about Lemuria.

Rafayel quickly excused himself from the conversation with his current guests and extricated his arm from yours. You nodded as he whispered, "I'll be back soon." He kissed your cheek, lingering a moment, and a woman who had been blatantly ignoring your mark on his neck to keep flirting with him turned a very deep shade of red.

For a few more minutes, she and her companion—her sister, you guessed—spoke stiltedly to Thomas about Rafayel's art, Thomas doing most of the talking to fill in their silences. Eventually, the two women shuffled away awkwardly.

Peaceful silence fell over you and Thomas. After a moment, he cleared his throat and gestured toward Rafayel with his chin. "So."

You barely kept back a sigh. "Yes, Thomas?"

"You left your mark on him, I see," he said, barely able to restrain the mirth in his tone. "For the whole world to see?"

Your eyes picked Rafayel out in the crowd as he spoke animatedly to his aunt. You smiled; even at a distance, your mark was visible on his throat.

"Yes," you said, a tad smug. "Yes, I did. Problem?"

He shook his head after a moment. "No," he said, though his tone was a tad too light.

You rolled your eyes, pulling your perfume out from your clutch. "Spit it out, Thomas. 'It's unprofessional!' 'You're risking his reputation and yours!' 'The media will have a field day!' Did I get it right?" You reapplied your perfume to your wrists and your neck, dabbing at it to spread it more. You slipped it back into your clutch, turning your attention back to Thomas.

He laughed. "No, although I suppose that's all true. We're just...going to have to work a lot harder to sell his paintings without a bunch of smitten women to sell them to."

You scoffed. "There will still be smitten women—except now they know they haven't got a chance. Who knows, maybe more women will be buying his paintings, desperate to have a piece of the great Rafayel."

Thomas fixed you with a teasing look. "You have the piece they all want."

It took a moment for it to register. You gasped softly and lightly thwacked Thomas' arm. "You had better be talking about his heart, Thomas."

He chuckled. "I am not."

You slapped Thomas' arm again, your cheeks burning.

"What are you two playing at?" Rafayel's voice interrupted. I turned to face him, pleased that he was back and mortified that he had chosen now to return. It increased when you saw Talia at Rafayel's side.

Though a laugh, Thomas started, "Your—"

"Nothing," you said, quickly cutting him off. "Auntie Talia!"

"Hello, my dear!" she said, smiling as she hugged you. "How have you been?"

As you caught up with Talia, filling her in on the most recent trip you and Rafayel had taken, showing her pictures of Tara's new cat, and listening to her tell you vaguely embarrassing stories about Rafayel, the man himself practically clung to you. He returned your hand to his arm and leaned into you.

Rafayel's breath hitched all of a sudden. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily; you realized he'd caught scent of your perfume. Your stomach flipped at the memory of the last time he'd taken special interest in your perfume...

But he remained relatively calm. He slipped his arm around your waist and kept you tucked against his side, his eyes fixed on you. He ignored the people trying to engage him in conversation.

Thomas, upon noticing this, caught their attention and explained quietly that Mr. Rafayel was taking care of important business. Anyone with eyes, however, would know his attention was solely on you.

And you couldn't deny that it made you absolutely giddy.

A young woman—the girl who'd thrown herself at Rafayel at the last exhibition, and who'd been the breaking point in your jealousy, you realized with a start—pushed her way into the conversation. Thomas' attempts to steer the conversation away from Rafayel's personal life and back to art failed repeatedly. This time, she had no qualms about revealing she knew nothing about art, choosing instead to pry.

"Mr. Rafayel," the woman crooned, "I'd love to know more about your artistic process."

Rafayel's eyes narrowed quickly. "My artistic process? What about it?" His voice was flat. Talia raised a brow.

"Well," she said, wrapping her hand suggestively around her champagne flute, "where do you get your ideas from? What in your life inspires you?" She took a sip, subtly licking the rim of the glass. You felt your eye twitch.

"Each individual painting's inspiration is explained on its plaque," Rafayel drawled dismissively. She continued to stare at him, lips fixed in a pout. His fingers tightened on your hip and he brought you even closer to him. "But if you must know, much of my work is inspired by this lovely girl right here." He pressed a soft but lingering kiss to your jaw, one that caught yourself, Talia, and Thomas off guard. "I owe so much to my love."

Laying it on thick, you thought, but all thoughts were wiped from your brain when Rafayel turned your face to him with his fingers on your chin. He kissed you softly, shifting his position to make the lipstick on his neck visible. Possessive, yet obedient. You tried not to make it obvious you were pressing your thighs together at the thought.

The woman's expression dropped for a half a second. She brought her smile back quickly and all but sneered, "Well, isn't that cute." Now it was her eye that twitched as she looked at you, her voice shrill.

You smiled up at Rafayel, barely containing a giggle. You put your hand on his chest. "Oh, he's being modest," you purred. "Rafayel's the genius."

"I am not," he said, and you got the sense it was meant for you as much as it was the young woman. "Half of the paintings hanging in this room wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

You cast her a quick glance, feeling your cheeks flush at the warmth in his eyes. "You know how men are when they're in love," you said, playing the part of an awkward girlfriend in public. Secretly, however, a thrill had gone up your spine. The things I'll do to you when we get home...

Rafayel squeezed your hip. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Talia smile.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Is there a particular painting you'd like to ask Mr. Rafayel about?" he asked, his gaze flicking between the woman and the pair of you. It appeared he'd figured out what was going on. "I'm sure it's all too easy to generalize when asked such a broad question." He chuckled awkwardly.

She cast Thomas a withering glance. "I'm fine, thank you." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

A moment of silence fell. You leaned into Rafayel, practically melting into his arms.

"Well," Thomas said after a moment, "she seemed lovely." He glanced at the kiss on Rafayel's throat. "I'm beginning to understand your possessive streak."

Talia laughed. She rested a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't you worry, dear. He only has eyes for you."

"Oh, I know," you assured her, your gaze on Rafayel. You were sure you looked like you wanted to eat him alive—and he knew it, judging from the redness of his ears.

Quiet swept over the whole room as two people entered: a man and a woman, both dressed for business, both with notepads. A cameraman followed. You recognized them as renowned art critics. They'd given Rafayel trouble in the past, praising his art but denouncing him for a lackadaisical attitude.

You felt him nip at the junction of your shoulder and your neck while you were distracted. Now what would they think about this...? You didn't want to find out in the morning paper.

Thomas' intake of breath was audible. He adjusted his suit jacket nervously. "They're here," he said quietly to Rafayel, who was barely paying attention. Even so, the tension in your little group heightened.

"Hmm?" he asked, slowly dragging his mouth and eyes away from you.

Talia glanced toward the reporters. Her eyes darkened and you trusted she knew their reputation with her nephew. "I'll let you take care of your official business," she said to Rafayel. "I've kept you for too long as it is." She extracted a promise out of the two of you to attend her next performance, then disappeared into the crowd.

Thomas turned on his heel, facing Rafayel immediately. As if on instinct, he started adjusting his lapels. "Alright. This is incredibly important, Rafayel, you know that as well as I do. It's a miracle they agreed to do another review for you, and we can't give them anything negative at all to report on— Rafayel, are you even listening?"

You glanced up at your boyfriend. His eyes were a little glazed and were once again locked on you. You recognized that look.

You cupped his cheek. "Raf, sweetie, the critics—"

He leaned into your touch, nose pressed to your wrist. There was a pleading look in his eyes when he looked up at you through his lashes.

"Rafayel?" Thomas questioned.

You glanced back at him. Over his shoulder, the critics were approaching.

Rafayel tugged on your arm. A mischievous glint had entered his eye. You gaped at him. "Now?" you whispered. He nodded. You stared at him for a second.

"When was the last time we had a little fun?" he whispered to you. He glanced at the approaching critics. "They can wait a few seconds for their star artist to...freshen up, can't they?"

Some part of you knew this was a bad idea. The rest of you was too easily swayed by that sweet, tempting tone in Rafayel's voice. You caved far quicker than you would have liked to admit.

"Thomas," you said over your shoulder, "tell them Rafayel will be right with them. I'm just... I'm gonna go give him a pep talk, okay? Freshen him up a little."

He glanced at Rafayel, uncertain. "Is that why he's like this? Nerves?"

"Something like that," you muttered under your breath. You grabbed Rafayel's hand and dragged him into the hallway. Rafayel was more than happy to follow you, a spark in his eye. You found a bathroom, shoved the door open, checked that the stalls were empty, and locked it behind you.

You turned to Rafayel. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" You squealed a second later as he gathered you in his arms and pushed up against the wall. He nuzzled into your neck, groaning at the smell of the perfume there.

Rafayel nipped again at the spot he'd been sucking on when the critics arrived. You let out a soft moan. Good idea or not, he had you hook, line, and sinker.

He came up for air, stared at you a second, and then crashed his lips into yours. "Need you," he moaned into your mouth. His tongue prodded at the seam of your lips. "Please."

You wrapped your arms around his neck. "You have me," you promised him. "But the critics..."

Rafayel pulled away long enough to make eye contact. "I'll be quick," he promised. Then a lopsided smirk appeared on his face and he added, "Ish."

You laughed. "Come on," you breathed, already pulling your dress up to your waist. "Take me how you want."

He groaned at the sight of you, slipping his fingers into your panties, pushing them to the side. He found your clit and pressed down on it. He locked eyes on you as he began rubbing it the way you liked best. You moaned, throwing your head back. Rafayel moved quickly to cushion your head with his other hand, protecting it from the tile wall.

"Careful," he breathed. "Don't hurt yourself, cutie."

You bucked your hips. "C'mon, please," you whimpered. "Need your fingers, Raf."

He laughed. "You don't even want me to warm you up?"

You gripped his wrist and moved his hand lower. The two of you gasped in unison as his fingers came into contact with the wetness pooled in your entrance.

"Fuck, sweet girl," Rafayel cooed. "Is this from earlier? Did showing off to that girl that I'm yours get you excited?"

Your hand slipped down his body. You rubbed over the bulge in his black pants. "Got you excited, too, baby."

Rafayel whined, leaning into your touch. He moaned softly as you squeezed him. "Cutie," he whispered, nuzzling against you. He looked down, watching as he pushed his fingers into you.

You took them easily, blushing at the wet squelch you made. He quirked his fingers inside you, searching for the spongey place that made you moan. When he found it, your legs tried to clamp shut.

Rafayel sandwiched himself between them. "Ah, ah, ah," he chastised. He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles over it while he plunged his fingers in and out of you. "Don't push me away, cutie."

He's remarkably controlled for a man whose face is as red as a tomato... you thought.

Whining, you leaned into his arm, his hand still between your head and the wall. You kissed his wrist. "Can I touch you? Please?"

He nodded frantically.

You fumbled with the zipper of his pants, then his buttons. You shoved his pants down low enough on his hips that you could pull his cock out of his boxers. He whimpered; gone was the control you had just been admiring.

He was already leaking, milky pre-cum dribbling down his length. His tip was flushed a deep, needy shade of pink. He twitched under your admiring gaze.

"Pretty," you murmured, admiring him for a moment. You trailed a finger up the underside of his cock, eliciting a full-body shiver. His fingers faltered for only a second inside you before he resumed stroking your walls. "So damn pretty, Raf, you always are."

You spit into your hand. He gasped aloud as you wrapped your hand around him. Slowly, you moved in your hand in time with his fingers. The schlick sound of your hand on his cock, moving easily with spit and pre-cum, filled the bathroom, joining the squelching of your pussy.

Rafayel's little gasps spurred you on, encouraging to move your hand faster against his length. He whined, biting his bottom lip. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his chest hitching, his cock jumping in your hand.

"Sweet girl," he groaned. "Sl-slow down, or I'm gonna cum already." He looked up at you, his eyes dark. "And I really wanna fuck you."

Trembling slightly as your own pleasure built up, you hooked one of your legs around his waist. "So fuck me, then," you whispered. "We can take our time later."

"That's my girl," he murmured. He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and lifted them to his mouth, sucking off your wetness, moaning at the taste of you. He pulled your panties off and let them dangle from the ankle already hooked behind his lower back. He slipped his arm underneath you, helping you jump up onto him. You wrapped your other leg around him as well.

Hand still wrapped around his cock, you lined him up with your entrance. He paused and pressed a soft, asking kiss to your forehead. You nodded and he gently pushed in.

You were whining as his tip slipped into you, the barest resistance from your walls. He paused.

"You okay?" he breathed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you promised. "Keep going, sweetie." You let out a breath, looking down as he pushed further in, moving slowly. You pulled your hand away from his cock just as he reached down to rub your clit, helping you take him.

You let out a loud moan. "Baby," you whispered. "Oh, Raf, fuck." Your voice echoed in the empty bathroom.

Rafayel bottomed out and let out a soft breath. He held you, one arm supporting your ass and the other wrapped around your back. You draped your arms over his shoulders, one hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Can I move?" he whispered.

You nodded. "Yes, baby," you murmured. You kissed him hard, then softly again. "Want it."

Rafayel's hips started slowly, carefully. He moaned, head falling against your shoulder. "Sweet girl," he whimpered. "You're so tight today..." You whined and clung to him, gasping as his head hit the right spot. He grinned against your skin. "Is that the spot, cutie?"

You whimpered. "Y-yes," you gasped out, head falling back again.

Rafayel stumbled forward until your back met the wall, bracing you there and adjusting to thrust harder and faster into you. "Feel good?"

You answered him with a messy kiss. His next thrust hit just right and you gasped against his mouth. Rafayel's tongue swiped against yours in the next second.

You relaxed all but your legs, keeping him close to you. His rapid thrusts had you trembling harder, legs shaking around him. You buried your head in his neck, opposite the kiss mark to keep it intact, and muffled your moans with his collar.

"Mark me," he begged. "Please, cutie, mark me as yours."

Some part of you was still aware that he had a professional engagement once you were done. So you pushed his shirt down and sucked a hickey into his collarbone, where you could hide it, that matched the other you'd left earlier.

Rafayel moaned embarrassingly loudly. He was panting now, even as his hips kept up a steady pace, your walls fluttering around him.

"Are you close, sweet girl?" he purred. "Gonna cum for me?"

"Yes," you whined. "Fuck, Raf, I'm so—"

The door handle jiggled.

You and Rafayel froze, heads whipping toward the sound. Panic filled you until you remembered you'd locked the door. Even so, the two of you stayed absolutely still, eyes locked on each other, until the person on the other side of the door gave up.

Several moments passed before Rafayel started to move again, returning to the slow pace he'd begun with. You tapped his arm quickly. When he looked at you, eyes wide, you whispered, "Faster."

Rafayel giggled. "Then you gotta keep quiet, okay?" You nodded. "Good girl," he breathed. A second later, he giggled as you tightened up around his cock, growing wetter at the praise.

The two of you continued, panting and whimpering quietly, muffling each other's noises with kisses. Rafayel's thrusts grew sloppier as he grew closer. The knot in your stomach tightened.

"Close again," you murmured against his lips.

"Forgive me," he whispered in response, leaving you frowning—until he pulled out of you, effectively squashing your orgasm. You spluttered in confusion, even as your interest grew at the sight of him shoving his pants and boxers further down, his cock in his hand.

Quickly, Rafayel pulled you away from the wall and bent you over the sink. You were faced with the appetizing view of Rafayel behind you, lust in his gaze—and in his hands. He flipped your dress up over your back, exposing your ass. You grinned at him in the mirror; he wiped it off your face as he spread your legs and pushed back into your pussy.

Moaning softly, Rafayel folded himself over you, holding onto your waist as he began thrusting into you.

"Oh, fuck, cutie," he whimpered. God, you loved when he sounded wrecked like that—and you hadn't even needed to do anything to get him there. "Feels so damn good like this."

You found yourself mesmerized with the view of your bodies moving together in the mirror, your hips moving to meet his every thrust. As for Rafayel, he had buried his face in your back, jaw clenched to hide his whines.

"That's it, baby," you cooed. "Oh, holy shit... Rafayel, baby, you're gonna make me cum!"

His arms tightened around you. "Go ahead, sweet girl, please. Please, let me have it. Cum on my cock, please, please."

"Needy boy," you teased, though you were hardly in a position to judge. You shuddered, legs shaking, knees weakening as pleasure crested through you.

Rafayel's hand slipped further down, slapping away the fabric of your dress. His trembling fingers found your clit and began to rub in sensual circles. Your pussy clenched around him and you whined.

"Cum for me," he begged. "Fuck, please, please—cum for me!"

It crested like a wave through you, pleasure building to a peak but not quite going over the edge just yet. You moaned, trying in vain to quiet yourself.

Rafayel gasped in your ear. "Oh, fuck, cutie! Cutie, I'm— I'm cumming, oh shit, I'm—" He devolved into a moan, nearly sobbing as he came. Sticky warmth filled your pussy.

"Raf!" you cried out, his cum filling you, triggering your own release. You gasped, legs shaking violently. Your ears were ringing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, shit, baby... Oh..."

Panting, Rafayel slumped against you, his hips pumping into you a few more times. Had you been anywhere else, you were certain he would have just kept going.

Your hand found his. You laced your fingers together as you breathed, trying to recover your senses. You looked over your shoulder. "You..." Words caught in your dry throat. "You okay?"

Rafayel lifted his head and locked eyes with you in the mirror. "I'm great," he breathed. He gave you a lopsided green. "How do you feel?"

"Fantastic," you replied, matching his smile. After a moment, during which you cleared your throat and caught your breath, you added, "We should...get back."

He nodded, sighing heavily. He pulled out slowly. Both of you groaned as his cum dripped out of you and onto the floor.

"Let me clean you up," he said softly. He pulled up his boxers and pants before he grabbed a paper towel. He wet it and squeezed the excess water from it. He dabbed it gently between your legs, cleaning the slick and cum and sweat off you.

Rafayel tossed the towel and pulled your panties back up your legs. He helped you fix your dress, straightening it out. In return, you readjusted his shirt, careful to cover the hickeys you'd left on him, wiping up the lipstick marks on his neck and face. You did, however, leave the stain you'd given him for the evening.

The two of you were quiet as you cleaned up and washed your hands, basking in the bliss of each other. You could already tell you were going to be pleasantly sore for the rest of the evening.

In the mirror, the two of you tidied your hair and faces. Rafayel crouched to wipe the mess from the floor. You reapplied lipstick and mascara and, by the end of it, you had to peer closely to realize anything had happened at all.

Rafayel offered you his hand. "Ready, cutie?"

You took his head. "Are you?"

He sighed. "You and Thomas," he teased, "thinking I can't handle the press."

You raised your eyebrow. "Should I quote their last article to you?" He huffed. You squeezed his hand. "Just...pay attention. Answer their questions. Be humorous but not rude, alright?"

"I," he said, affronted, a hand to his chest, "have been reliably told that I am not rude—I am sassy!"

You giggled. "Oh, hush," you said, kissing his cheek. "I trust you with this, Raf, I do. It's going to be just fine."

His face softened. "Thank you," he said, voice fond. He gave you one last kiss on the cheek as you rounded the corner, stepping back into the exhibition.

Eyes turned toward the two of you immediately and you tried your best not to look like you'd had a quickie in the bathroom. You smiled serenely at people who made eye contact with you, giving Rafayel's hand a squeeze.

Thomas was still entertaining the critics. Thankfully, the three of them were laughing as you joined them, Rafayel dropping seamlessly into the conversation with a clever comment about his art, bouncing off of what Thomas was saying, that appeared to make them forget that they should ask where he'd been.

As chivalrous as you'd ever seen him, Rafayel guided the two critics away from you and Thomas, starting them through the exhibition's planned loop to view his art.

For several moments, you and Thomas were silent as you watched Rafayel. You had the sudden feeling that you must look like proud parents.

"I don't know how you do it," Thomas said at last.

"Do what?"

"Get him to cooperate, to put it bluntly," he said. "I've worked him for years, and I've never seen him so willing to...mingle."

You hummed in agreement, then realized that Thomas was watching you out of the corner of his eye, waiting. It dawned on you that he was hoping for an actual answer.

You hoped you weren't blushing.

When it became clear you weren't answering, Thomas cleared his throat and went back to watching Rafayel, now at a different painting, laughing with the critics. Then he cleared his throat again.

"That was, ah...quite a long pep talk you two had."

Oh, you were certainly blushing now.

Catching sight of Thomas' sly side smile did you no favors for your burning cheeks. You looked the opposite direction of him, biting your lip.

Thomas laughed behind his hand. "Oh, really? Forget the kiss mark, fucking in a public bathroom is the real risk to his reputation!" Yet he didn't seem all that surprised by it. "At least I hope you went to a bathroom and not a hallway..."

"It was a bathroom!" you said quickly, no longer caring that you were incriminating yourself, just mortified at the idea at being caught with your dress around your hips in the gallery's halls. Then you shrugged. "I locked the door, don't worry. We might be stupid but we're not that stupid."

He tilted his head, debating. "You know, stupid isn't the word I would go for."

"Oh, no? Dumb? Reckless? Idiotic?" you offered.

He rolled his eyes. "Horny," he corrected, voice low.

You glanced over at your Lemurian, several other instances flickering through you mind: water sloshing in a bathtub, rolling around in paint together, your surprise visit to his hotel room for a previous exhibition, the first time he'd shown you his tail, and the night in the desert. And that was just the beginning.

Looking back at Thomas, you said, "I don't think you know your artist that well. You'd...be surprised."

Thomas coughed. He clenched his jaw so hard you thought you heard a tooth crack. His eyes drifted over the art on display. "So when he said you were his inspiration..."

You were nodding before he could finish his thought. As his voice trailed off, you took in his suddenly bloodless cheeks with a laugh. "Don't look so shocked, Thomas. He's not lying about the other inspirations for his paintings—those are just...secondary."

"Oh, God."

~❊~

"So!" Rafayel was incredibly cheery as the pair of you left the gallery, headed toward his car. Your joined hands swung between you. "Is Thomas going to kill us?"

You laughed. "Well, I don't think so. Are your critics going to turn you into a public scandal?"

He beamed. "Not this time! They were enchanted by me. Besides, it wasn't really a scandal last time, Thomas is dramatic." You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "They caught me in a bad mood last time. But this time, I had you." He squeezed your hand, then brought it up to his lips, kissing it softly.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "I love you," you said quietly, adjusting so you could see his face.

Rafayel's eyes glittered in the darkness. "I love you, too, beloved."

He held your door open for you before getting in himself. The radio was playing a soft, quiet love song you would have liked to dance with him to, if you had been anywhere but the car.

The roads were quiet and empty, illuminated by streetlamps. You reached over and placed your hand on Rafayel's thigh. He smiled, glancing at you.

"Does somebody want something?" he asked, only half-teasing.

"Drive faster," you purred, looking him up and down. When he raised a brow, you elaborated, "I have a laundry list of things I'd like to do to you."

Rafayel's cheeks flared pink, but his foot pressed down on the gas and your hand slowly creeped higher up his leg.

You made it home ten minutes earlier than you should have.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Love and Deepspace // Rafayel

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the L&DS/Rafayel taglist!}

[t4rt4gl14]

SOFTIES GONE HARD!

❤︎ warnings: fem!reader. meandom!chara. spanking. bondage. manhandling. praise. degradation. size kink. cockwarming. overstimulation. edging. cum stuffing. breeding(kink). claiming. dacryphilia. marking.

❤︎ FEATURING: ZHONGLI. KAZUHA. THOMA. KAVEH.

❤︎ authors note: this one is about genshin men who’d usually fuck you softly but they’ve decided to fulfil their own desires today, using your body of course. ASKS ARE NOW OPEN. 18+ MNDI.

ZHONGLI.

calm, collected, ravishing zhongli, who always fucks you nice n slow, taking his time, softly trailing his fingers over your body. it was until a certain young man working in the market decides to flirt with you each time you go out, despite reassuring zhongli that you weren’t interested he was adamant on…reminding you who you belong to.

pinning your wrists above your head using one hand, the other circling your clit, fucking you into the couch as his tongue roams in your mouth, he usually speaks words of praise and reminds you how he adores you but this time? nothing but his promise to claim you. “you whore, you’re liking this arent you? a-ah fuck— i’m going to make sure your body remembers who it belongs to”. he hisses when your walls clamp down on him like a vice; halting right against your cervix and spilling all of his cum inside you. you both moan in unison and he doesn’t move until he’s let out of every drop- only then, does he slightly pull out and fuck up into you again.

KAZUHA.

now you can’t tell me this wouldn’t be hot, kazuha who’s given up on being so nice to you when you’ve kept teasing him on board the crux, he drags you into a storage room and whispers right into your ear whilst grinding his erection against your clothed pussy. “i am sick and tired of your endless teasing, i’ve spoilt you, haven’t i? seems like i’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

your knees can barely hold you up at this point, with yet another rough thrust into your wet cunt, a soft thwop thwop thwop heard from the storage room. he covers your mouth with his hand, uttering pure filth into your ears, “can’t even keep your voice down…do you want the others to hear how well i fuck you?”, you shake your head, whining and mewling against his soft palm, eyes rolling back from the pleasure. his thrusts pick up the pace, signalling his own orgasm. “mine…minemineminemine..”, he moans, biting down on your neck to keep himself quiet as his cum shoots into you, he softly rides out his orgasm, more of his seed leaking from the tip with each hump…”let’s go again, shall we?”

THOMA.

thoma is still surprisingly nice even when he is jealous, but boy he gets freakkyyyyy; kissing you softly as he blindfolds you, laying you on your tummy as he grinds his long thick cock against your ass, smearing his pre cum against your skin, “m’so hard for you, wanna fuck you..wanna show you much i love you”. and god does he prove his adoration for you.

you’ve already orgasmed yet he keeps fucking into that tight hole of yours, shamelessly bending down to your ear and moaning out, your juices making a sloppy mess and he can already begin to see the ring of cream forming at his base. when you cry and mewl, when you keep telling him your sensitive, he just keeps mindlessly rutting into you, whimpering soft apologies, “m-m’sorry…m’sorry— i-i know you’re s-sensitive you just feel— anghh~ s-so good, good girl..”, he gets lost in the pleasure, cumming into you again and again, using you for his own satisfaction, his brain registers that he, himself, is also extremely sensitive but his hips don’t know when to stop, his heart yearns to breed you, to make sure by the time you’re done; his cum leaks out of your cute cunt….thomaaaa <333

KAVEH.

ohh kaveh, sweet sweet kaveh who’s just lost his temper with you, he’s just gotten this overwhelming urge to just fuck you so hard, i mean it’s only natural right? he just wants to have you dumb on his cock, that’s normal…right?? but alas who are you to deny him? what was meant to be a fluffy cuddle session turned into full blown sex…

you shift slightly, pulling the blankets off you; it was getting way too hot, especially with how you’ve been sitting on kavehs cock for the past 40 minutes, ass cheeks red from his spanking. i mean honestly why was he being so rude? each time you asked him if you could move, “zip it will you? i know you like this, you’ve been twitching around me the whole time”, he teases with another spank, thrusting up just slightly; small tuft of hair tickling your clit. then after 20 minutes he sighs, “ride me like a good slut eh?”, and with shaky arms you grip his shoulders as support and start bouncing on his cock, ass slapping against his thighs— his dick reaches so deep when you ride him like this; you moan out as your back arches, calling out his name again and again..kaveh!..kaveh!~ he won’t deny how much this turns him on but eventually your pace doesn’t satisfy him, so he grabs you by the hips and flips you over onto your back, absolutely railing you, a pace that you’ve never experienced; you didn’t even know he had this side to him! and honestly…it was really hot.

MEANDOM THOMA AND KAVEH ARTGGGGGJDHHDJDJSJSB

[tinyluvs]

Hi! Could you do reader being pregnant with Hotch’s baby but she accidentally blurts it out to the whole team, Hotch included at the same time? Thank you if you do!

i absolutely can angel! you’re welcomee, enjoy !! ♡ cw; mentions of pregnancy sickness! nowt detailed/gruesome

the drive from the airport to the local police station is rough because of bumpy country roads, your stomach already feels uneasy and the local terrain is not helping at all

behind you, derek, jj and spencer squabble like children over something you don't care to listen to right now and beside you aaron is silent, eyes focused on the dark road ahead of you

your eyes flicker quickly to the mirror, seeing dave, emily and penelope following close behind in their suv before they clamp shut, focusing on the inside of your eyelids in a desperate bid to ignore your stomach churning

blindly, you feel around in the console for your bottle of water, sipping slowly while you stare at a barely there scratch on the dashboard

"kid, no, sorry but you're wrong!" derek huffs and turns in his seat and in turn, drives his knee into the back of yours, jolting your body cruelly

your eyes widen in panic, the gps estimates another fourty minutes to the station and unfortunately for you, you don't have that kind of time. heat prickles over your body uncomfortably underneath your fbi issued sweatshirt

"aaron," you mumble, looking up at him slightly. he turns his head towards you briefly, eyebrow raised before he's turning back to the road, "can you pull over?"

he turns back to you, no raised eyebrow but concern filling his eyes, "are you okay?" he asks quietly, though he doesn't make any attempt to get the suv off of the road

colour drains from your face, you feel it happen and your boyfriend watches it happen, "no, please, pull over," you rush out before swallowing thickly, your hands fumbling with your seatbelt

aaron pulls over as fast as he can without getting rear ended by dave. you're not entirely sure the car has completely stopped before you're jumping out to make a run for it

"what's going on?" you hear spencer ask

you're all of ten steps away before your body betrays you, lurching forward, hands gripping at your thighs as your lunch and the three bottles of water you'd drunk, repeat on you

a hand smoothes over your back, familiar, aaron, "honey," he sighs, using his free hand to collect your hair up gently. he rubs gentle circles into your back until your knees fail you, causing you to crouch

"is she okay? oh my god," penelope rushes over from the other suv, pulled in behind your one, blue lights lighting up the tree line a few feet ahead of you

you groan and rub a hand over your forehead when it's over, breathing in deep before standing. the entire team stares at you, all of their eyes wide and panicked, "guys, i'm okay," you offer up weakly

aaron pushes a bottle of water into your hand, "just sip it, please," he hums, guiding you a few steps back towards the cars

spencer visibly grimaces, face twisted in slight disgust and honestly, you can't blame him, "we should get you checked over," he says and you do your best to shake your head while sipping

"i'm sure she just ate something bad," jj offers up, sending you a soft smile and you wonder distantly if she knows. none of them should know, aaron doesn't even know

you had a plan, to tell aaron, a big breakfast and a cute announcement all on your day off but time had not been on your side. up until this point the sickness had been timing itself nicely with moments you could break off from the group without them noticing

"but it could be contagious!" spencer shrieks and then yelps when derek and jj both swat at his arm, hands slapping against his coat

"i'm okay, just give me a minute," you breathe, bending slightly to put the water bottle on the floor before leaning against aaron's side, "guys i swear,"

none of them look convinced and hell, if the situation was spun so you were a bystander, you wouldn't believe it either. aaron's hand slides across your back again, thumb tracing up the dip in your spine

penelope extends her hand, a few loose mints roll around in her palm, "thanks," you smile gently before swiping them from her, pushing all four into your mouth at once

"i'm just saying, i, don't want to get sick," spencer starts to argue with the rest of the team, "we have a case guys, if she's contagious and it's airborne we will all already have it!"

you frown as dave rolls his eyes as the younger boy, "you are not going to get sick spence, i swear," you reassure with a huff

"how can you be so sure about that?"

loudly, you groan, "because i'm pregnant, not sick," you snap and that shuts him up but everyone else gasps, all of them turning towards you, "oh my god," you slap a hand over your mouth in realisation

"you're what?" penelope shouts though emily and derek parrot her reaction. aaron's hand stops on your back as he stares down at you, his profiling skills being forgotten while he scans over your face

"i had a plan!" you cry, "i had a whole, elaborate, plan as to how i was going to tell you guys, i swear and now i've fucked it up, i'm so sorry," tears well up in your eyes before they overflow, spilling down your cheeks

aaron turns you towards him slightly, "hey, why're you crying, why're you saying sorry?" he asks gently, a small smile creeping over his face, "you're serious?"

you nod, sniffling gently when you wipe at your face with your sleeve, "i was supposed to tell you first and then the-"

your boyfriend has never been one for public displays of affection in front of the team, outside of a few pecks here and there but in this moment he doesn't care very much about the team

he surges forward, arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer for a kiss. you gasp against his mouth, suddenly very thankful for the mints you'd swallowed seconds earlier

around you the team hoots and woops, partly at the news and partly because aaron is kissing you like it could be the last thing he ever does

"you're not mad?" you ask when he pulls away, your fingers squeezing at his arms through his suit jacket before you turn your attention to the team, the question directed at them too

you get a clean sweep of no's before everyones rushing forwards, arms tangling around your body and whispers of congratulations passing your ears before they turn to your boyfriend to give him the same fate

"i, for one, cannot wait to tell baby hotchner this is how we found out," dave chuckles, hands shoved inside his pockets as he sends a wink your way

"what a story," you agree, fingers tangling into aaron's as the group divides up to get back into the suv's. jj's hand pats at your shoulder when you slide into the passenger seat

"when we get there, i'll take you to go and get some anti sickness pills" she whispers, "congratulations, again,"

before you can reply aaron's hand squeezes gently at your knee, "if you need me to pull over again, please don't wait until the last second," he scolds you through a smile

"yes boss," you giggle, eyes fluttering shut as he leans across the console to kiss your forehead. the suv rumbles as it peels away from the side the road and for the rest of the journey, aaron doesn't stop smiling, not even for a single second

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ aaron hotchner masterlist !!

a/n proofread badly, sue me xo

[darlingsfandom]

Heeey, I love your writing💕 can you please write something about Tommy buying a horse for his wife and teach her to ride, and the day ends with her riding Tommy real hard😍

Hi! Thank you 💕 I sure can.

TW: swearing , semi public sex, riding, p in v unprotected and not proofread.

Tommy was always full of surprises sometimes they were good other times they were bad and sometimes you didn’t even ask. It was better that way because you knew of the family business long before you married Tommy.

On the bright side this time was a good surprise. You were sitting out back enjoying your romance book with a glass of lemon water while the cool fall air breezed across your cheeks. It was quiet since Tommy was out , Polly was with Lizzie and shopping and the rest of the family was out doing their own things. It was nice to have the house to yourself. All thoughts in your head flew out the window when you heard Tommy’s voice in the distance.

Quickly you stood up on your feet as Tommy came in the yard with a surprise.

“Tommy! What on earth is that?” You asked closing your book and tossing it on the table.

“It’s a horse darling!” He smiled.

“I see that but what I meant was… why do you have a horse Tommy ?” You walked up to him with caution .

“Well because it’s your horse!” He offered you the rope but you stood in shock.

“You bought me a horse? Really? You’re joking! I don’t know the first thing about owning a horse!” You were in disbelief. The horse was beautiful you had to admit but you just couldn’t wrap your head around the reality of the situation.

“Well that’s why ya got a horse! I’m going to teach you how to care for her and how to ride as well.” Tommy petted the left side of the horses face before extending his hand out for you. You took his hand cautiously before he placed it on the horse.

“You got a female horse to match yours? Because they look the same!” A smile crept on your lips as Tommy smiled at you. It was true, he basically got his and hers horses for the two of you. He wanted you to go on rides with him, enjoy the nature that surrounded the home and beyond. A new hobby the two of you could share together since you didn’t collect guns or whiskey and he didn’t bake bread or the most delicious lemon cookies he’s ever had. This was something the two of you could enjoy.

“She is beautiful.” You whispered while petting her mane .

“Just like you my dear. Soft, elegant … Gorgeous.” Tommy kissed your cheek making you turn red. “Now for today I’ll ride with you on her which we can’t just keep calling her well her! You’re going to have to name ..”.

“Tulip!” You blurted out making Tommy chuckle. Here you were so determined not to like his gift but you had a name already picked out. Tommy nodded in agreement before he helped you up on tulip.

Tulip let out a little neigh which made you jump and Tommy shake his head as a laugh left his mouth. He got you up there with ease before hopping on himself. Tommy sat behind you as close as he could so he could still hold the rope and guide tulip. His chest was pressed into your back and had his arms wrapped around you as best as he could.

“Best of ya grab the rope too, safety and all.” Tommy kissed the back of your head and with the snap of the rope the two of you were off.

The afternoon flew by as Tommy took you for a ride along one of his favorite paths. It was stunning watching it go by and the sun sitting high in the sky. It wasn’t long before the two of you made it home. Tommy jumped off first before helping you down and taking tulip into the barn with his horse. The horses looked at each other and it was an instant connection. Tommy laughed as he watched his horse Butcher give Tulip his charm.

“I think they like each other.” Tommy wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you turned to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“I know two other creatures that like each other.” You arched your eyebrow while dragging your hand down his chest.

“I know that look sweetheart… let me take you back into the house..”

“No!” You pushed him up against the barn doors before smashing your lips into his. His hands grabbed onto your waist and lifted your leg up as the two of you kissed heavily mixing your tongues together. Tommy loved when you got to this level of neediness because it meant that he could do what he wanted whenever wherever ! You were needy after the ride because he had you sitting against her harness that was studded and you were sat upon the stud that rubbed against your clit.

“Needy girl … going to let me fuck you in a barn… although two weeks ago at the pub…” Tommy mumbled to himself as you kissed down his neck. Your hands were busy undoing his pants.

“No, you’re going to let me ride you!” You were in a hurry to get his cock out and who was he to complain.

“Now that you’re already an expert in darling.” Tommy smirked as you pulled his pants down along with his boxers but when you pushed him down into the hay that was a shock. You pulled down your skirt but as you took off your panties Tommy grabbed them from your hands and held them up. “Ooh baby, look at that wet spot! What a naughty girl you are.” He licked the wet spot while looking you the eye making you whine. “What’s the matter honey, do you need my tongue licking you hmm?”

“Tommy please! Fuck!” You had tears in your eyes from how worked up you were.

“Ride me baby and then I’ll lick your pretty cunt.” Tommy snapped his fingers and you were on it. You slowly jerked his semi hard cock before putting the head of his cock against your folds. A small hiss left your lips as you sank down all the way on his cock.

“Oh Tommy!” Your fingers grabbed his shoulders as he helped guide you along his cock.

“That’s a good girl, I know it’s big and no matter how many times I fuck ya ya never seem to get used to it! Magic little pussy ya got baby.” Tommy rubbed your hips as you finally started to ride his cock. It was slow and loving at first. He brushed your hair with his fingers as you rocked your hips back and forth making him let out low groans. Tommy pulled you closer so he could moan into your ear because he knew how much you loved hearing his moans.

The two of you enjoyed the soft yet passionate sex but something inside of you took over. Your grip on his shoulders got tighter before you looked up into his eyes and he could see the desire pooling in them. You lifted up your hips and slammed right back down before moving your hips faster, riding his cock like your life depended on it.

“Fuck yes! That’s my girl! Yes baby don’t stop! Feels so fucking good! Fuck! Ride my cock just like that.” Tommy’s hands smacked your ass cheeks at the same time making you cry in pleasure. Your mouth dropped open letting all your whines spill out . Tommy was in love! Well he’s always been in love with you but this was the lustful love . The way you were riding his cock was the best he’s ever felt, the way you just took charge and used him for your own pleasure that lead to his pleasure was amazing to him. His sweet little housewife that had a sexual hunger that only he could fill was the best feeling. Here you were owning his cock, looking so angelic yet doing something so dirty.

“My cock! Mine” you mumbled as you rode him hard.

“Yes baby! It’s yours! Fuck! Such a dirty girl! Fucking me in public place again” Tommy cupped your face in his hands making you look him in the eye before he stopped you from riding him. You pouted your bottom lip but only for a split second until Tommy took over and fucked his cock up into you as fast as he could. The sound of his heavy balls slapping against your wetness filled the barn making you moan loudly. His hand snaked up to your hair and gave it a hard yank so he could cover your throat in kisses. Your orgasm was on the brink and Tommy knew it so he slowed down before gripping your hips to pull you down his cock . He bounced you nice and hard on his cock that was aching to cum in you.

“Tommy!” You whined loudly as your body started to shake.

“I know baby, it’s okay be good for me yeah? Cum on my cock! Soak my cock… be a good OH !” Tommy was cut short as you clenched his cock cumming hard! The two of you cried out together as your orgasms washed over you. You were shaking in his arms as he held you tightly while filling you up with his cum.

Silence filled the barn as you came down from your high. Tommy rubbed your back lovingly as the two of you relaxed enjoying each others body heat.

“Ya know I meant it earlier honey… you’re already an expert in riding alright and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tommy kissed your temple before he slowly helped you back onto your feet to get back to the house so you could carry on like nothing just happened, just a regular afternoon fuck session between a husband and his wife in their barn. Between you and Tommy , it was never a dull day and neither of you would change it .

[colourfulbisexualities]

FROSTBITE ; aaron hotchner x female medical examiner

aaron hotchner taglist.

you came prepared for the cold. hotch, as usual, did not. watching him try to out-stubborn the weather is almost amusing, until you catch the tell-tale signs of his inevitable loss. and since you refuse to let sheer fbi stubbornness be the cause of his demise, you take matters (and your scarf) into your own hands.

"YOUR IDEA of small talk is discussing lividity. Mine is asking if you’ve ever heard of a scarf."

The crime scene is a frozen hellscape, and you? You are rapidly approaching the limits of your patience.

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you step carefully over the iced-over pavement, adjusting the lapels of your very expensive black coat, which, unlike a certain someone’s choice of outerwear, actually serves a functional purpose.

The wind is relentless, cutting through the gaps between buildings like a scalpel, and despite the layers you smartly put on: your cobalt-blue sweater snug beneath your coat, the rich red of your gloves a bold contrast against the whiteout conditions—it’s still miserable.

And yet, Aaron Hotchner stands beside you looking like he just walked out of an FBI-themed catalogue, his usual dark suit and sad excuse for a windbreaker doing absolutely nothing to protect him from the elements.

You glance over at him, squinting. Does this man have something against being warm?

"Not a fan of coats, Agent?" you ask, tucking your hands deeper into your pockets, fingers curled inside the soft lining of your gloves.

He doesn’t even look at you.

"Not a fan of wasting time," he replies, flipping open a case file that the wind immediately tries to rip from his fingers.

You watch as he barely manages to hold onto it, and if you weren’t so distracted by the absolute absurdity of his life choices, you’d have the decency to be impressed. Instead, you roll your eyes so hard you practically pull a muscle.

"Oh, I see," you say, nodding sagely. "Dying of exposure is fine, but god forbid you take an extra five seconds to put on a real jacket. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you have needs like a normal human being."

Nothing. No reaction, no flicker of emotion. Just Hotch being Hotch, the immovable object of the BAU.

But then you notice it.

It’s small, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention. But you are. Because even though Aaron Hotchner likes to pretend he’s made of solid granite and pure spite, his body betrays him. His grip on the file is too tight, his fingers just a little too stiff.

There’s a subtle, controlled exhale that fogs the air in front of him, his breath quicker than it should be. And then, the real kicker? His shoulders tense as a tiny, almost imperceptible shiver rolls through him.

Oh.

Oh, this is pathetic.

"Oh my god," you breathe, eyes widening. "You’re actually cold, aren’t you?"

Hotch doesn’t react at first, which is classic avoidance, but you are nothing if not persistent. You tilt your head, studying him like a specimen under a microscope, and hum thoughtfully.

"You poor thing," you mock, reaching up to press a gloved hand to your chest in faux sympathy. "Here I was, thinking you just had an irrational hatred for comfortable outerwear, but no—you're suffering. You’re out here trying to will yourself into thermal regulation like some kind of FBI-trained monk."

Hotch finally exhales sharply, which you think is supposed to be a sigh of exasperation, but you hear the thinly veiled amusement under it.

"I’m fine," he mutters, flipping another page in his file.

"Oh, sure. You look fine," you deadpan. "Your ears aren’t bright red. Your fingers aren’t seconds away from frostbite. And I definitely didn’t just see you shiver like a chihuahua in a blizzard."

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, which, frankly, is a win for you.

But still, this is ridiculous. He’s clearly freezing, but he’d rather suffer in silence than admit that maybe, just maybe, wearing the bare minimum amount of clothing in below-freezing temperatures is a bad idea.

And so, you make a decision.

With a dramatic sigh that is entirely for show, you unwind the thick, red cashmere scarf from around your neck. Before Hotch can react, you step forward and loop it around his neck instead, wrapping it snugly like you’re dressing a particularly stubborn mannequin.

He stiffens like you just put a live snake on him.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," you reply, tugging the scarf into place with a firm yank.

His brows furrow, lips parting slightly, like he’s about to launch into a protest about how he doesn’t need it or he’s perfectly fine, thank you very much. But you’re not in the mood to listen to any of his nonsense, so you shut it down before it starts.

"Ah-ah," you cut him off, holding up a finger. "This is not up for debate. You will wear this scarf, and you will keep it on. Otherwise, I will make a scene. A big one. I’ll tell the whole team you collapsed from hypothermia. I’ll dramatically throw myself over your body, wailing about how I begged you to wear a coat, but you refused. I’ll make Spencer analyse your case history and find evidence of a self-destructive martyr complex."

Hotch blinks at you. Then exhales sharply. It’s almost a laugh.

"Charming," he mutters, adjusting the scarf like he’s still deciding whether or not he’s actually going to wear it.

You smirk, stepping back, fully satisfied with yourself. "So I’ve been told."

And just as you turn on your heel, walking toward the body, you glance back one last time—just in time to see Aaron Hotchner not taking the scarf off.

You allow yourself one last victorious glance at Hotch, watching as he shifts uncomfortably in the scarf you so graciously provided. He doesn’t take it off. Probably because he knows you’ll make good on your threat, but the way he adjusts it, fingers tugging at the cashmere like it’s some kind of foreign object, is downright adorable.

You turn back toward the body, your smirk lingering as you crouch down. The scene itself is grisly, the poor bastard half-buried in the snow, his lips frozen in something that’s definitely not a smile. Rigor’s already set in, his limbs stiff as icicles, but you can tell from a single glance that he wasn’t dumped here that long ago.

The lividity is still settling. You could probably put on your professional hat and start rattling off time-of-death estimates, but honestly? You’re more interested in seeing how long Hotch lasts before he starts pretending that scarf was his idea.

"Alright, Frosty," you mutter to the corpse, tugging your gloves tighter. "Let’s see what you’ve got for me."

Behind you, Hotch sighs. "Must you?"

"Absolutely," you say without hesitation.

You glance up at him, and God, he looks miserable. Not because of the body—that’s just another day in the BAU—but because the wind has officially escalated to what you’d describe as “actively attempting murder.” His hair, normally so neatly combed, has gone slightly tousled from the elements.

The tip of his nose is pink with cold, and despite the scarf (which he is still wearing, thank you very much), his jaw is set so tight that you can practically hear the internal monologue scolding him for not wearing something warmer.

You hum thoughtfully, tilting your head. "You know," you start, "if you ever get tired of the FBI thing, you could probably start a lucrative career in cryogenics. Since you seem so dedicated to freezing yourself for no reason."

He exhales through his nose. "Are you planning to examine the body or just continue providing commentary?"

"Oh, I can multitask," you reply, reaching into your kit. "I’m very talented that way. But if you’re cold—" you intentionally emphasize the word, watching his eyebrow twitch, "—you could always wait in the car like a responsible adult who values their own survival."

Hotch crosses his arms. "I’m not cold."

You snort. "Uh-huh. Sure. And I suppose your ears just naturally turn that color when you’re ‘not cold’?"

He doesn’t answer, which is a shame, because you were hoping for something more creative than sheer stubborn silence.

Sighing, you turn back to the body, lifting one of the victim’s hands with delicate care. The fingertips are pale, stiff from the cold, but not enough to throw off your estimate. "He’s been here maybe ten, twelve hours max," you murmur, examining the nails. There’s debris under them: dirt, a little bit of fabric. Defensive wounds up the arms. "Fought back. Not hard enough, though."

Hotch steps closer, the warmth of his presence—what little there is—cutting through the wind. "You’re sure?"

"I always am," you reply, glancing up at him. "Though I’m sure you’ll want an official report before you trust me. Because, you know, that whole ‘cold, hard facts’ thing." You pause, then grin. "Speaking of cold and hard... how’s your body temperature doing, Aaron? Holding steady? Need another layer?"

He almost glares at you, but you catch it. The way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to adjust the scarf again.

You knew it.

"I’m fine," he says, but it’s so much less convincing this time.

"Mmm," you hum, "if you say so."

You go back to work, scanning the rest of the victim’s body, making mental notes, piecing together the story. But your amusement lingers, bubbling beneath the surface, because as much as Hotch wants to pretend this is just another case, you know better.

Because Hotch may be a lot of things; stoic, terrifyingly competent, a walking definition of emotionally unavailable but right now?

Right now, he’s standing in the middle of a frozen crime scene, wearing your scarf.

You bend down to examine the victim’s shoes, reaching under your coat to adjust something tucked against your ribs, something small, warm and sneaky.

You feel a faint grin tug at your lips as you stand up, turning toward Hotch with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, since you’re so damn determined to prove you’re fine, I guess I’ll have to take care of this myself."

Hotch barely glances at you before looking back to the scene, probably convinced you’re just about to make some snarky remark.

Instead, you hand him the small hot water bottle you’d been keeping hidden beneath your layers. It’s snug and warm in your palm, the relief of it a welcome contrast to the biting cold of the air. The bottle is simple, wrapped in a soft, worn fabric, but the gesture—well, that’s intentional.

You’re not impressed with him.

"Here," you say, practically thrusting it into his hands. "Take it before I lose all sympathy and leave you to your miserable, stubborn self."

He stares at the hot water bottle for a moment, clearly taken aback. His eyebrows furrow, and his mouth presses into that familiar line of 'I don’t need anything'. But you’re already stepping back, giving him no time to debate.

"Look," you add, not hiding the smirk in your voice, "I’m not saying you’ll freeze to death out here. But if you keep standing like a statue, I will be forced to call the team in, and I’m not about to explain to them why you’ve turned into a human popsicle."

You walk off toward the victim’s body again, your breath still curling in the cold air, not caring whether Hotch takes the bottle or not.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him holding it—gripping it tightly like it’s an anchor in a storm.

The drive back to the office is silent at first, save for the hum of the engine and the sound of the heater blasting on full. The interior of the car is a blessed relief from the freezing temperatures outside, the warmth wrapping around you like a heavy blanket.

You feel the heat slowly seep into your skin, unwinding muscles that had been tense from the cold. You watch the snow falling in soft, lacy patterns through the window, your mind flickering between thoughts of the case and what the hell just happened back there with Hotch.

He’s beside you, leaning back against his seat, the scarf still draped around his neck, though now, it's just comfortable. No longer a point of stubborn defiance, no longer a symbol of his refusal to acknowledge anything personal.

You glance over at him, just a quick look, just to see if he’s still silently brooding like he always does. But?

He’s not.

His eyes are closed, head tilted back just slightly, lips parted like he’s actually relaxed. And for a second, you think you might’ve imagined the whole scene. But then the car jerks over a bump, and the real Hotch is there: stiff, controlled, and wearing a somewhat reluctant, subtle smile that you can tell he's trying to keep hidden.

You blink. No way.

You give him another quick glance, and this time, he’s aware of it, turning his head toward you with that deadpan stare of his. But there’s a flicker in his eyes—recognition, like he knows you caught him slipping just a little.

Caught in the act, and he doesn’t like it.

You bite back a grin, turning your focus back to the road.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Hotch clears his throat.

"Thanks."

It’s quiet, and you’re not sure you heard him right, so you just pretend you didn’t, even though you definitely did.

"What?" You glance at him, feigning confusion.

"For the scarf. And the... water bottle."

You fight the smirk threatening to curl your lips.

"You’re welcome," you say, tone sweet as sugar, because who are you to deny a man a little warmth after all the stubbornness he just had to display?

His hand briefly reaches up to touch the scarf, and then he drops it.

"I suppose it was... necessary," he adds, his voice soft, like he’s admitting some sort of defeat. You can almost feel him trying to keep his pride intact, but you can also feel the warmth from the heating system wrapping around both of you.

You roll your eyes. "No suppositions about it. You were shaking like a leaf, Hotch. Anyone with a pulse could tell you needed a little extra help."

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the faintest blush creeping up his neck. You know damn well it’s not because of the heat.

He’s quiet for a moment, and you can almost see him calculating whether or not to keep arguing his point. But, in the end, he just sighs.

"You really know how to make a man feel inadequate."

Now you can’t help but smirk, finally letting out a low laugh.

"You didn’t need me to make you feel that way. You’re doing just fine on your own."

Hotch doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s going to hold onto that last thread of serious, unflappable Agent Hotchner. But then you hear it: the faintest hint of a chuckle in his throat. It’s so brief, so soft, but it’s there.

It feels like a win.

"I’ll keep that in mind," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You glance at him again, trying and failing, to hide your grin.

"Good."

You settle back into the seat, relaxing as the car cruises through the quiet streets, the world outside a blur of snow and icy roads. The heater does its job, wrapping you both in warmth, and despite the quiet, there’s a change between you two.

It’s subtle, something you both know, but neither of you will ever admit out loud. The tension from earlier is gone, replaced by something else—a kind of... understanding.

You’re not sure what exactly this thing is between you and Hotch, but for now? For now, you’ll let him keep pretending it’s just another day at the office. You’ll let him think he’s won.

But in your head? You know the truth.