Blurb Concept With Steve Harrington. [ GAZE ] Our Muses Are Having Sex In Missionary And The One On The

blurb concept with steve harrington. [ GAZE ] our muses are having sex in missionary and the one on the bottom tells them to slow down so they can just look at them for a few moments.

requested by @stardustmunson ᰔ

Blurb Concept With Steve Harrington. [ GAZE ] Our Muses Are Having Sex In Missionary And The One On The
Blurb Concept With Steve Harrington. [ GAZE ] Our Muses Are Having Sex In Missionary And The One On The
Blurb Concept With Steve Harrington. [ GAZE ] Our Muses Are Having Sex In Missionary And The One On The

steve was in a rhythm, his body perfectly melding with yours with each jut of his hips, filling you right to the brim. there wasn't a beat that he was missing, hitting all the right spots as his tongue rolled across the cherubs of your breasts.

he leans back up, staring down at you now as his hair falls idly around his face. the lights were dim, but the moonlight from outside was dancing across his features.

god, he was beautiful.

you could feel the coil in the pit of your tummy building, wanting to bend and break, but seeing steve like this was something special. you were the only one that got to see him like this. vulnerable, needing, craving the feeling of being inside you.

you didn't want this moment to end.

"steve," you moan his name, but he thinks nothing of it. you always said his name while he was buried deep inside you and he loved it. "steve... slow down, baby."

it was evident by the way his eyes widened that he thought something was wrong and immediately stops thrusting, "i-i'm not hurting you, am i?"

"no, no, no," you brush the chocolate curls out of his face as best you can, letting your hand linger on his cheek, "you're not hurting me. i just - i want to look at you for a bit longer."

the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk, "in that case... is this slow enough?" he pushes himself into you at an almost torturous pace, pulling a moan from deep within you, and chuckles at your reaction.

Blurb Concept With Steve Harrington. [ GAZE ] Our Muses Are Having Sex In Missionary And The One On The
Blurb Concept With Steve Harrington. [ GAZE ] Our Muses Are Having Sex In Missionary And The One On The

More Posts from Editfein and Others

3 months ago

Guys, I’m new to this app but I honestly can’t describe with words how much I absolutely, utterly, ADORE it. Like genuinely.


Tags
2 months ago

"get a load of this guy"

IM TRYING????

"get A Load Of This Guy"
2 weeks ago

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkf4Yfqm/

I saw this TikTok and it's so cute! Can you write smt like this with military!rafe, I just feel like this would happen with them lol.

(for the sake of this blurb, the twins’ names are callum && emerson)

rafe’s packing his things for deployment, shirts and rations piled onto the living room floor while one of your twin boys sit on the couch watching tv. you’re in the kitchen, brows furrowing before you yell, “cal, come here baby!”

momentarily looking up from his task, he notices the little boy still sitting on the couch, before he says to him, “callum, your momma’s callin’ you, don’t ignore her.”

he doesn’t budge.

rafe doesn’t even notice the other boy beginning to clamber down and make his way over to the kitchen while he discards his bag. “callum?” he asks confused, pointing to emerson who’s still sitting on the couch, tilting his head at his dad before shaking his head.

“no?” rafe repeats, eyes flicking over to the toddler waddling over to the kitchen. moving around the couch, rafe catches up to the little legs, picking him up in his arms before questioning, “are you callum or emerson?”

you lift your eyes from where you’re cooking, shaking your head at the exchange but keeping quiet, letting rafe figure it out on his own.

“i callum,” the toddler babbles, and you’re grateful that they’re too young to have developed the trick of pretending to be the other twin.

“jesus, you’re callum,” he mutters, settling the boy on the kitchen counter for you to talk to him as you first wanted to.

“mixing up our kids rafe?” you chuckle, focusing your attention onto callum who’s trying to grab the potatoes you just cut, prying it gently out of his hands.

“no, dunno where you got that from,” he grumbles, not accepting his mistake in his usual stubborn fashion. walking back to the couch, the look he gives emerson, a slight cock of his head and narrow eyes as if to make sure it’s really him, doesn’t quite go over your head. you’ve seen it too often - rafe always mixes up your kids.

1 month ago

ever look at a photo of drew starkey that is so perfect and ungodly beautiful that you just have to put your phone down and stare at the ceiling…?

1 month ago

This idea has been stick in my head but I don’t got the skills to execute it.

Rafe dating a reader he calls “Angel” bc despite growing up with Rafe reader somehow has never done half of the crazy shit Rafe did. So reader is quite literally one of the few good thing going for him.

Until *dundundun*

Someone at a party convinces reader to try some drugs (Rafe as the controlling bastard he is, though that’s a good? thing in this case, doesn’t let reader do anything that isn’t weed) because Rafe must get tired of being around someone innocent. But when Rafe finds out what’s been done he’s rightfully pissed that someone tried to taint his angel.

This Idea Has Been Stick In My Head But I Don’t Got The Skills To Execute It.

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, drug use, peer pressure, coercion, manipulation, slight angst, crying, fighting, rafe is very overprotective, a little bit of rough handling, reader is described to be innocent and kind of sheltered, light fluff, reader freaks out when she realizes she’s high, reassurance + comfort

wc: 1.3k

‘innocent little y/n’— that’s what everyone called you when you were growing up. you never lied, you never stole, you were actually a tattletale and everyone hated you for it. because of that, no one ever wanted to be your friend, all except for rafe who had no idea why he felt the overwhelming need to protect you and keep you tucked into his side where you were ‘safe and sound’ from anyone who wanted to tease or be mean to you. it was rather easy since you found yourself following him around everywhere anyways.

your dynamic changed when you two got older and he had another threat to worry about that he didn’t have once before; and that was boys. he remembered hearing some of his friends talk about you in a way that had him throwing punches and getting suspended. once ward threatened him with military school on the mainland, he decided that the only way people with ulterior motives and sick and twisted minds would back off was if he stook his claim on you and let everyone know that you were his. and of course.. it worked.

no one knew how on god’s green earth you two ended up together. rafe was a hothead with a drug habit to match, and you were just there; oblivious to it all. you didn’t know anything about rafe’s little problem since he never did any lines or took rips from a bong in front of you. except for one time when he unintentionally got you high when you two were boxed in his truck and he decided to smoke since ward was on his ass and he needed it. he didn’t snap until he looked over at you and saw you spaced out, your eyes red and glossy as you played with the ends of your hair.

rafe was quick to throw out his joint before fanning the air and rolling down the windows. for the next hour he had to deal with your nonstop giggling and even went as far as getting you snacks from the food mart in a poor attempt to shut you up. “would you quit it already?!” he scolded you every time you tried to feed him whatever sweet you had in between your fingers. rafe vowed from that night forward that weed was the only thing he’d ever let you get high on. fortunately, he never smoked in front of you again and didn’t have to worry about that problem— until now.

“do you really think rafe wants to be with someone who’s boring? a little bit of blow isn’t the end of the world, angel.” topper scooted closer to you on the couch, making sure to throw in the nickname rafe has had for you since you were kids. “i’m not boring..” you crossed your arms over your chest once you saw the way topper eyed your cleavage, your eyes searching the room for any sign of rafe. “you sure about that? why do you think rafe never does his shit in front of you? it’s cause you’re a fucking buzz kill.” topper opened up the tiny baggy of powder, a smug grin spreading across his lips once he saw you peer down in curiosity.

“rafe is a pretty crazy dude, wouldn’t he want a break from all of this ‘innocent’ shit? i bet you he’s no where to be found right now because he’s talking to another girl who actually knows how to have a good time.” he scoffed, his words making your eyes water. “just try it, baby, i think rafe would love to see you bouncing off of the walls for once,” topper opened the baggy, scooping some of the substance up with his pinky, “and you wanna know something else? this shit makes you go all fucking night long. rafe would definitely appreciate that..” you eyed topper’s hand as he brought it up to your eye level.

“i don’t know—” you backed away slightly before his fingertips were nudging your lips. “yes you do know, just snort it, come on,” you kept moving away until your back hit the armrest of the couch. topper had his pinky directly under your nostril, a sense of panic flooding your system as you attempted to turn your face away. topper only followed, cursing a ‘just fucking snort it already!’ before you succumbed and gave the substance the lightest sniff you could muster. in seconds, you screwed your eyes shut tight, the crunching sound of bone meeting bone making you yelp once you realized rafe’s fist planted into the side of topper’s face.

topper was immediately rendered unconscious, the partygoers nearby all gasping in unison. rafe grabbed your face, inspecting you quickly before he spotted the coke residue on the tip of your nose. “that sorry motherfucker..” he gritted his teeth, his vision growing blind with white hot anger. despite topper’s unconscious state, rafe still punched him until he drew blood, kelce, along with some of his other friends stepping in before things could get worse. “he’s down already bro, that’s enough!” kelce shouted, your boyfriend swatting away all of their hands until they were able to get him off.

getting out of their grip, rafe wasted no time in dragging you up by your arm, your legs shaking as he lead you two out of the crowded house and to his truck. “let me see you.” he pulled out his phone, flashing the light on your face. your pupils were blown to shit, your teeth clattering as you shivered in the chilly night air. “fuck, baby..” he felt guilty beyond words for thinking stepping away to get another drink— even if it was for a quick second, that leaving you alone was a good idea. “rafe, my heart is beating really fast!” you cried, grabbing his hand and placing it over your chest as your face twisted in horror.

“i know, i know, just try to stay calm, angel.” he placed you in the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt in place before rushing around and peeling off in the direction of home. you were sweating now and panting as if you had just ran a marathon. rafe felt utterly helpless, the scared look etched into your usual soft and happy features made his gut wrench. he swore he would never do a line again even if his tolerance was already up there from years of experience. he hated seeing you like this. “he wouldn’t stop getting close to me, i didn’t know what else to do!” your leg was bouncing, your fingertips itching to move in anyway you could.

“don’t worry, we’re almost home.” he reassured you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before you could panic any further. once you two were in the driveway, rafe rushed you both inside, quickly starting a cold shower and cleaning you up. neither of you went to sleep until your high subsided a few hours later. during that time, rafe made you push down a lot of water along with eating something so you weren’t on an empty stomach. “everything is okay, alright?” rafe held you in his arms, a small hum sounding from your lips before you drifted off into a much needed slumber.

rafe watched you sleep and he couldn’t help but think of everything after this incident occurred. you were the only person in his life that wasn’t tainted in any way. the only good thing he had going for him. he couldn’t handle the thought of topper forcing his way over you and you sitting there helplessly, hoping he’d turn up soon. the thought made his fists clench again as he recalled the confused yet relieved look on your face once he was in your view. he made a promise to never leave you alone like that ever again.

gone were the days of attending pointless parties..

1 month ago

smutty request!!! shy!reader loves when dean dirty talks but shys away when he asks her to speak up during sex

omg yes !!!! this is a fun lil trope !!! 18+ <3

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

it’d be all like “shit, look at you, baby. you feelin’ good?”

and you’re blushing, overwhelmed and completely overstimulated by dean and the way he handles your body with expertise. your face burns and your cunt flutters around him as butterflies stew in your stomach.

“c’mon, angel,” dean grunts out as he thrusts, “talk to me.”

the smirk on his face is devious, and the way his hand pinches and rubs at your clit is downright mean—he knows exactly how to work you up until you can’t help but babble out the words you’re trying to hold back from spilling out.

he feels you squeeze and tense around his dick, gripping him like you’re about to melt into the mattress. a squeak escapes you. and then a whimper. and then a full guttural moan.

“oh, there she is.”

your timid nature washes away as the floodgates open from dean’s magic fingers and his chubby cock splitting you open.

“fuck– fuck, dean! shit! please! feels so good!”

dean grins. there's his girl.

1 month ago
Safe With Me | R.G.

safe with me | R.G.

feat. Rick Grimes x sunshine!reader cw: MDNI 18+, established relationship, mentions of traumatic incident with family annihilation & suicide (you are responsible for the content you consume), mentions of child death, hurt/comfort masterlist

“Carol!” Rick called, jogging across the lawn to catch her after the town meeting. The sun blazed down, ruthless and disorienting after hours of being indoors. “How'd it go?” He asked, referring to the run she led this morning.

They both knew he was asking how it went for you specifically.

Rick didn't care about much else besides you and his kids these days. Alexandria ran just fine without him worrying himself sick; you’d shown him that.

Carol grimaced. “She hasn't come to find you?”

Rick's jaw clenched, his heart beating a bit faster. “Would I be askin’ if she did?”

“She, ah—she’s fine,” Carol clarified, sensing his mounting alarm. “But there was a—an incident.”

“What kind of incident?” He growled.

“We were clearing a property, and she went into the house first—”

His anger flared. “Why would you let her—”

“Because everyone matters, Rick,” she snapped. “I can't treat her special because she's yours.”

He grit his teeth. He knew Carol already paid you extra mind, so there was no sense arguing it.

“She volunteered anyhow, so I sent her. There were no Biters, but…” Carol took a shaking breath. “She found the family in the dining room, parents and two little boys. Practically nothin’ left of the bodies, half-eaten dinners in front of ‘em, rotten through. Mom’s brains all over the wall—”

“Alright, alright,” Rick cut her off, scrubbing a hand over his face. Fucking brutal. Rick had seen plenty gruesome scenes like it, but you—somehow you'd held onto your heart through the end of the world.

“I don't think she took it well, didn't speak the rest of the run. Passed her ration off to Rosita. Had that stare, y’know?”

Rick nodded. Had that stare himself on countless occasions. “She went home?”

“Far as I know,” Carol affirmed. Rick went to head that way when Carol grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “Don't push her, she'll talk when she's ready.”

“I know, I know," he assuaged. “I’ll go easy.”

Carol nodded and released him, and he started down the road, breaking into a jog when he was sure no one was looking.

When he reached your shared house, sun-bleached siding and half-roasted grass, he slipped through the front door, finding Carl reading by the lone fan in the living room. The house was eerily quiet, save the cordant hum of the whirling blades, it's cedar bones heavy on its foundation.

“Hey,” Rick hissed, getting Carl's attention. “How is she?”

Carl shrugged. “Makin’ lunch. Not singing’ like usual,” was all the boy offered before turning back to his comic.

“Alright, take your sister and go on to Michonne's for a bit,” he said, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Carl huffed his displeasure, but did as he was told, trudging upstairs to fetch Judith while Rick moved towards the kitchen. He waited to hear the scampering of Judith's footsteps and the click of the door shutting behind them before pushing through the small door into the kitchen.

You were staring down at the blue flames of the gas stove, an open can of soup in your hand. Completely frozen, besides your yellow sundress fluttering around your bare legs.

Normally, the sound of Rick's boots up the steps was enough to have you bounding out the front door and throwing yourself into his arms, even if he'd only been to the neighbors and back. And you always sang while you cooked, some scratched-to-shit record backing you up.

His heart cracked.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, careful not to startle you.

You blinked, bleary eyes focusing on the can of soup, then flicking back up to the empty pot. Trying to connect the dots of what you'd been doing. “I'm making lunch,” you said, barely above a whisper, and he wasn't sure if you were talking to him or yourself.

“I see, can I help you?” He asked, moving a little further into the room. Turning down the knob on the stove to reduce the lapis flame.

You shook yourself, straightening with a too-wide smile. “I've got it!” You chirped, pouring the can into the pot. It spat and sputtered, entirely too hot. Rick snatched it off the burner, putting his body between you and the wrathful soup so you didn't get burned. “Shit! Let me get some towels.” You hurried away, frenetic energy wafting from you, spooked like a hare.

He knew that with one wrong move, it could tip into full-blown panic. “Honey, easy,” he soothed, catching you by the arms when your turned back towards him. “No harm, no foul.” He gently took the stack of towels from you, six for a few splatters of broth, and set them in the counter.

“I need to—” Your eyes were glazing again, hazy as the memory creeped back in.

“Don't worry about lunch, darlin’. I sent ‘em off to Michonne's for a little while.” He took your arms again, rubbing up and down your biceps to try and keep you with him.

“Oh,” you mumbled, glassy eyes drifting just past him at the wallpaper. “Why?” Your eyes refocused on him, brow furrowing slightly.

He leaned down to kiss the wrinkle away. “Too nice a’day for kids to stay inside. And thought you and I could spend some time together.”

“Oh,” you repeated. You fell quiet for a moment, and he could practically see the gears turning in your head, like you were trying to dredge something up you'd forgotten.

He waited patiently, sliding his hands down to hold yours.

“How was the meeting?” You finally asked, though your voice retained that same listless quality.

“Went fine. Same shit, different folks,” he said, shifting both your hands to his right one so he could bring the left up to cradle your face. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” You leaned into his palm, a rough, calloused thing against your supple skin, and your lashes lowered a bit, fluttery like moth wings. Something warm unfurled in his chest.

“C’mon, let me fix you somethin’ to eat,” he said, kissing your forehead again to hide the frown pulling at his mouth. He guided you back over to the stove, patting on the counter beside it. Your favorite spot whenever he got a wild hair to cook.

You hopped up, obedient little thing, and smoothed your skirt, crossing your dangling ankles.

He felt your eyes following him while he put on one of your favorite albums and resumed lunch preparations. He tried to keep his movements slow, fluid, easily trackable in your addled mind. After a few minutes though, you drifted off again, staring at a cracked tile on the floor.

Once the soup was simmering, he stepped towards you, moving to stand between your knees. “Pretty girl,” he hummed, tilting your chin up to look at him. “Why don't you tell me what's goin' on?”

You shook your head, tugging your chin from his fingers and turning your head away from him.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips along your hairline, balmy and salt-tinged from the heat. “You know I'll never let anythin’ happen to you,” he murmured. “Nothin’ out there can hurt you, or them, here.” He smoothed his hands over your ribs, the swell of your hips. “Not while I'm around.”

Tears welled in your eyes. That's a start, he thought. Out here, that numbness will eat you alive. Feeling is the only way to keep going.

“I’d rather die than let anything happen to them,” you whispered.

“I know, baby. I know.” He pulled you in for a proper hug, your face buried into the meat of his shoulder. “You take such good care of us, and I'm so grateful,” he said into your hair, kissing your crown. “You're a dream come true, darlin’.”

You cracked, a whimper eeking through your teeth, then another, until you were sobbing into his chest, fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt.

He sighed in relief, petting your hair while you purged the pent up emotions. “That's a good girl, there ya’ go. Let it all go,” he encouraged, your tears seeping through his shirt and cooling his sun-warmed skin. “You're alright now, I've gotcha.”

“She poisoned them,” you sobbed, thumping his chest with your fist. Barely hard enough for him to register. “She must have been so desperate—”

“This world makes people do monstrous things,” he said, flattening your fist out against his chest, willing his heart to beat slow and steady under your palm. “We can't try to understand it.”

“Do you think they knew?” You looked up at him, lashes dark and spiked with tears, eyes almost feverishly bright. Pleading.

He shook his head, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, deeply sorry that he couldn't give you the answers you needed. “We can't know, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

“We should have buried them,” you whispered, looking towards the window. “It wasn't right, leaving them like that.”

Rick never loved you more than he did in that moment, his heart leaping up his throat, choking him with affection. “I'll take care of it, baby. Don't you worry.” He couldn't resist pressing a kiss to your temple, your forehead, your nose, adoring you so much it ached.

“You will?” You turned back to him, fingers tightening on his shirt.

“Daryl and I will go as soon as I know you're alright,” he promised.

“But—”

“No buts.” He placed a thumb over your lips, quieting your protest. Another sign that you were feeling a little more like your usual, stubborn self. “Now, think you can eat a little f’me?”

You eyed the soup warily as he clicked off the eye and fetched a spoon, returning quickly back between your legs.

He dipped the spoon into the broth, lifting a small amount to your lips. “Just a few bites?”

You folded your lips together and shook your head.

“Baby,” he sighed. “You need to eat somethin’. I won't go until you do.”

But instead of indignation flashing in your eyes, he saw a prickle of fear as you stared at the spoon. Guilt curdled in his gut.

“Here.” He put the spoon in his mouth, eating the bite instead, then scooped a second bite, offering it to you again. “We'll eat it together.”

You didn't look convinced, but you parted your lips anyways, and he fed you a small sip.

“Good girl,” he said, taking the rest of the bite himself. “You trust me, don't you? Would I ever give you something that was going to hurt you? Hurt Carl or Judith?”

“No,” you mumbled, accepting a second, larger bite. “You wouldn't.”

“I'll share every bite with you if that's what you need, whatever I gotta do to make you feel safe,” he promised.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his. He set the spoon down to hold your waist again, tugging you to the edge of the counter to feel your body press fully against his, his arms braced across you back.

“Promise me that if I ever start to lose it, if I ever pose a danger to those kids—” your voice splintered, brittle with emotion. “That you'll do whatever you need to keep them safe.”

He couldn't even think about it, the fleeting idea enough to make his chest constrict painfully, his stomach roil. “I'll do what I need to do to keep all three of you safe,” he promised instead.

“Deal,” you sighed, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

He shifted that final inch forward, catching your lips in a tender, top-lip kiss. You softened, nails raking through the hair at the nape of his neck as he drew you closer, languishing in the honeyed taste of you. Finally relaxing now that he was sure you'd be alright.

After a moment, you broke the kiss to breathe, your nose congested from crying. He grazed his thumb over your bitten lip, smiling softly at your slightly dazed expression.

“You're safe with me, darlin’,” he assured. “Always.”

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

1 month ago

Heels of Dreams

Heels Of Dreams
Heels Of Dreams
Heels Of Dreams

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home. warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!) word count: 2k ✧ masterlist

Heels Of Dreams

Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.

He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.

That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.

It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really –  insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.

So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.

“Regretting your choice of footwear?”

You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”

His brow lifted. “Mine?”

“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”

Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”

“Huh?

“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.

Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. “You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”

“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”

His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.

“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.

You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.

“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”

Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”

“I should drop you just for that.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn’t I?”

Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”

He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”

You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”

“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”

“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”

You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”

Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.

Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”

“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.

“Kick,” he instructed.

Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”

You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”

“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”

Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”

With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.

Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.

Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.

The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”

You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.

He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.

“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.

“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.

Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”

He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”

Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.

You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.

Like he needed to make it better.

Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.

His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.

Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.

And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.

His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.

His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”

You felt him smile against your skin.

“Marry me again.”

Another kiss.

“And again.”

Another.

“And again.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.

He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.

“As many times as you’ll have me.”

And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.

Heels Of Dreams

dividers by cafekitsune

1 month ago

So real

inspired by request | rafe unintentionally makes you cry

Inspired By Request | Rafe Unintentionally Makes You Cry

“Can you just—fuck, I said right there,” Rafe snaps, pointing aggressively at the engine while you fumble with the flashlight.

You shift your grip, trying to get it where he wants, but your hands are shaking a little now. It’s hot, and his tone is making your chest feel tight.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Dude, just—why is this so hard for you?” he says, frustrated, wiping sweat off his forehead. “You’re literally just holding a light.”

You go quiet. You don’t say anything, just stand there blinking fast because if you speak now, you’ll cry. And you really, really don’t want to cry in front of him over something this dumb.

But a second later, your eyes are already watering. And he sees it.

“Wait,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Are you—are you crying?”

You quickly look away, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

“Babe,” he says, quieter now. “Shit. I didn’t mean to—hey. Hey, come here.”

You still don’t look at him, just hand him the flashlight and step back.

“Don’t do that,” he says, sighing. His voice is softer now, not angry anymore. “I didn’t mean to yell like that. I’m just pissed at the truck, not you.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he mutters, walking over to you. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “I’m a dick. I know. I’m sorry.”

You stay quiet, but your hand grips his shirt, and that’s enough for him.

“I’ll be nicer next time,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “Promise. Just don’t cry, okay? Makes me feel like the biggest asshole alive.”

You mumble against his shirt, “You kinda are.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. But I’m your asshole.”

Inspired By Request | Rafe Unintentionally Makes You Cry
1 month ago

ooo continuing ur last oral fixation post i think jj would love if reader keeps on biting him … his beefy arm is out n ofc she has to put it in her mouth yup

mhm mhm mhm!! like you’re just sitting with the pogues n you’re laying your head on his shoulder and you just sink your teeth into his beefy arm when he’s wearing one of those tight t-shirts that make him look xtra beefy😋😋 prime time beefy jj was start of season two he was soooo !!

but he’d act like he hates it at first but just gets used to it and just likes feeling needed and having you there right next to him is nice hehe. but when people asks he’s like “she just does that sometimes.” just dismissing it like it’s normal lolll

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