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i want to suck on dbf rafe’s fingers. respectfully ofc
୧ ‧₊˚ 💳 ⋅ 🎀 ˖° 🐇
thank god for the lock on your bedroom door.
if you hadn’t had one, your dads voice yelling out “sweetheart, i’m home!” might have startled you into a heart attack whilst you bounce on rafe cameron’s dick in your girly pink bedroom.
he jolts up beneath you, an adorably frightened look on his face as you both momentarily freeze. you clear your throat, placing a hand on rafe’s chest before yelling out “okay dad!” and immediately continuing to roll your hips.
“shit, thought you said he wasn’t coming home huh?” rafe mutters quietly with his teeth grit, trying to hold himself together and push aside the anxiety of being caught so he could get his nut. he did come all this way after all, now laying mostly naked on your bed balls-deep in his bosses daughter — so it was a little too late for sensible thinking.
“are you scared of getting caught?” you giggle, laying your hand over his and guiding it to run up your soft naked body as you ride him. he shudders, the irritation melting off his face just a little.
“you should be scared.” he shakes his head, leaning fully back against the stacked pillows once more.
“m’not.” you whimper quietly, before a mischievous smile possesses you. you moan loudly and his eyes that were on the verge of fluttering closed snap open. with each loud and obvious moan, you release a giggle like you knew what you were doing. the last straw was when you moaned his name.
“hey, hey shut up kid.” he grapples you a little, one hand holding the back of your head and the other placed firmly over your mouth. you slow your grinding to stare at him sweetly as you both catch your breath — rafe through his mouth and you shakily through your nose. “alright?”
you nod, and the hand on the back of your head slides down, resting on your hip once more encouraging you to continue riding him. you do so, and the hand over your mouth starts to let up too, until his fingers are ghosting over your lips effortlessly. in a haze of pleasure, you duck down — catching the tip of his pointer with your pink wet tongue, before sucking it into your mouth, letting out a little hum.
“shhhhit.” he whispers as he watches you, taking the initiative to add another finger past your lips. “yeah… you like that huh? that shut you up?”
“mhm’ueyes” your answer comes out whiny and garbled around his thick digits and he immediately pulls them out to give your cheek a wet little slap.
“hm? speak up.”
“yes daddy.” you mewl and he licks his lips, eyes subconsciously jumping to the door for a millisecond.
“yeah… yeah damn right… i’m your fuckin’ daddy.” he hums before stuffing his fingers back in.
୧ ‧₊˚ 💳 ⋅ 🎀 ˖° 🐇
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rafe + overstim
warnings: overstimulation, unprotected sex
“don’t close your legs now, you were just begging for this shit.” rafe yanked you towards the edge of the bed by your ankles, a soft protest leaving your lips once he lined himself up with your entrance. “wait, y-you can’t,” you were still trembling from the aftershocks of your previous orgasm, “m’too sensitive, ‘hurts rafe.” you nearly cried when he started stroking your clit with the throbbing head of his cock. “it hurts?” he taunted, “did you think about it hurting when you were acting like a fucking brat in front of my family earlier?” rafe pushed the tip in, your body jolting in response.
“wanna grab my dick under the table but act all sweet and innocent like you’re some kind of saint. if only everyone knew how much of a cock slut you really are.” he shook his head, slamming into your cunt with a groan. you yelped, hands flying out to grab ahold of his wrists. this wasn’t the first time rafe fucked you when you were overstimulated, but the feeling was still unbearable, your hips moving in an attempt to pull away from him. he grabbed you by the curves of your waist, holding you down as you writhed in both pleasure and pain. “fuck- please, i won’t do it again.” tears were running down your cheeks now.
rafe scoffed. “of course you are, you know why?” he leaned down, “because you love this, ‘love being manhandled and forced to cum even though you whine and say no.” you let out a shaky breath, your mouth falling open in a silent moan when you felt his fingers circle your clit. “is that not true?” he planted a kiss on the tip of your nose, waiting for you to give him the green light to keep up his ministrations. as soon as a ‘yes.’ slipped past your lips, rafe was merciless on your cunt, torturing your bundle of nerves as he fucked into you like there was no tomorrow.
you lost all ability to hold yourself up, your elbows collapsing from underneath you. “you’re doing so good, baby. ‘think you can give me three more?” he smiled down at the dazed expression on your face. three more? surely you’d pass out by then. when you felt your second orgasm of the night approaching, you couldn’t help your thighs from shaking around his waist. “rafe, i-i’m gonna cum..” spots dotted your vision as you fell over the edge, your eyes screwing shut when you felt that band in your stomach snap. rafe shushed you, still holding you in place when your thighs threatened to close around his hand.
“try to move away again and i’ll make the next one so much worse.” he said through gritted teeth. even though rafe was close himself, he enjoyed seeing just how fucked-out he could make you. “too much!” you squeaked. taking your lips with his own, he stopped working on your clit, slowly thrusting into you so you could feel a small sense of relief. “are you okay?” he met your starry gaze. blinking slowly, you nodded. “good, because we’re not done yet.”
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⋆ ★ Moodboard + P. link
Imagine after weeks of begging Rafe to take you to the country club and teach you how to golf, one day he gets sick of your begging and is like, "Fine 🙄," and then an hour in at the course, he's got you like... this and then afterward he's all like “this is why I don't take you to the club with me.” 😭😭
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I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality
—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k
readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch meets Haley after college
“There is a kid in your office.”
“Morgan?”
Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence.
“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear.
“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.”
“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom.
“How old are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says.
“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning.
“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?”
He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience.
Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes.
“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says.
Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves.
You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other.
You stand when he comes in.
“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask.
“Yes?” he asks.
You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.
“Do we know one another?” he asks.
You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in.
“I think you know my mother.”
“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy.
You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…”
You bite your lip.
He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?”
“Yes, sir,” you say.
You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked.
The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer.
“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back.
He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University.
You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking.
There’s certainly some of him in your frown.
“I think you should sit down,” he says softly.
You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago.
He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math.
“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.”
“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder.
Your eyes widen just a touch.
“Can I sit with you?” he asks.
You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least.
He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.
“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod.
He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed.
“But I believe you,” he says.
“You do?”
“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.
“How?”
“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.”
“Why?” you ask.
“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.”
You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.”
“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.”
“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”
“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.”
“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”
There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.”
You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?”
“You were expecting me to turn you away.”
“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.”
He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.
“What do you do?” he asks.
You frown. “Sorry?”
“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.”
You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.”
“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully.
“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.”
“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly.
“I don’t know either.”
Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still.
“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests.
You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once.
“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.”
“You’re not working?”
Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch.
—
Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.)
He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back.
He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret.
He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick.
You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack.
“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.
‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly.
You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.”
He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you.
He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.
Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away.
Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?”
“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.”
You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile.
“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.”
“And Haley doesn’t mind?”
“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.”
You actually laugh.
Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful.
—
only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️
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Hiiiiii!!!!!!! I recently got back into criminal minds and devoured all ur hotch fics like a MANIAC (you write. So unbelievably well. Im also in love w ur tasm peter stuff, you are just such a good writer thru and thru) and that one request where Jack calls reader mom for the first time really stuck w me so I was wondering if maybe I could request smth of the opposite? Like not-so-single mom!reader and hotch have been dating for a while and her lil girl calls him dad for the first time :3 🖤🖤
thank you for requesting! 💌 —your daughter calls Hotch dad for the first time. fem, 2k
“Come in, come in!” Hotch says, the door held ajar by his arm, forcing you to squeeze in and save the heat. “Quickly, honey, please, get out of the rain.”
Sarah bursts in through the door and away from the rain, her vinyl coat covered in raindrops, her boots wet with mud. “Aaron!” she says, pulling it into something softened and excited at once, though her ‘r’s are weak, closer to ‘w’s. “I missed you.” She jumps from one foot to the other.
He makes sure you’re safely inside before he abandons you. It’s not very kind to you, but he can’t help himself. “Sarah,” he says, without your daughter’s sweetness but heavily fond, “I missed you more, honey. How many days has it been?”
“Four!” she says, holding up four fingers as Hotch grabs her by the waist.
He doesn’t mind her wet coat, working an arm around and beneath her to shuck off her muddy shoes. They topple to the ground to unveil damp socks.
“Oh, no, your socks are wet. I did all the laundry while we were waiting, I have some warm ones for you in the dryer. Should we get you out of this coat?”
“Where’s Jack?” you ask.
“Eating. He was starving, couldn’t wait.”
You kick your shoes off and gather them with Sarah’s to line up by the door. Hotch takes off Sarah’s coat with some one-armed manoeuvring, aware of her smiley gaze following his every move.
“I,” you say, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, cold lips to his rough skin, “am gonna go to the toilet really quickly. Hi, handsome.”
He savours your kiss and watches you go. He owes you a better greeting, he missed you just as much as he missed your girl. For now, he wipes the cold from Sarah’s cheeks and stations her comfortably on his navel.
He loves her like his own. He’s privileged to get the opportunity, and it’s hard not to feel that low level of awe whenever she’s around, because she loves him the same way. Sarah waits for him to smile before she wraps her arms around his neck, long enough to twine her fingers in the short hair she finds there.
It’s funny to love someone you had no hand in bringing into the world, but no less real. He’d do anything for Sarah. I miss you doesn’t cover it, but it’s a start. “I missed you,” he murmurs, not well-versed in baby talk but always willing to try for his kids. “It’s so nice to see you. Jack missed you too, should we go see him? I can change your socks.”
He ushers her back enough to see her. She has such loving eyes, not shy at all as she nods her head. “Can you make crackers?”
He beams. “Oooh, yes. Crackers and cheese and apple slices, I know what you want, honey. It’s ready for you in the kitchen.”
Things weren’t easy at first for either you nor Hotch. He works too much, and you both have priorities that can’t be shifted, but the connection between you was easy. Love, undoubtedly, pretty much the moment you met, even if it scared him. He never thought he’d get a second chance and he’s not sure you thought you’d find yours either, and yet loving you has been as helpless as loving your daughter. He doesn’t have a choice and he doesn’t want one.
In this time, you’ve found routine. He’s introduced the idea of moving in together and you’re excited for it, though concrete plans haven’t been laid. There’s a lot of questions and no need to rush into answering them yet. He has no intentions of letting you go now —Hotch will do anything it takes to keep his small family.
Today, right now, that’s crackers.
“Sarah!” Jack says when he sees them, jumping off of his chair to climb on top of it. He holds his hands out and Hotch leans down with a loving laugh to let his son hug her. “You’re back!”
“I’m back,” she agrees.
“Do you want some of my sandwiches? Daddy made me two.”
“Yes!” she says, wiggling to be put down and given what he’s promising.
Hotch fights to take her to the sink and wash her little hands, to her horror and whining. He says, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you gotta wash your hands before you eat.”
He puts her in her own chair, and it is Sarah’s chair, outfitted with a big pillow so she can see the table and marked by a pink star sticker, putting a placemat in front of her. Jack quickly pushes one of his sandwiches towards her. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Jackers,” she says.
Hotch smiles. Despite their different interests and ages, they’re quick to get along.
He shouldn’t pry while you’re in the bathroom, but he worries about you. “Honey?” he calls up the stairs.
“I’m just changing!”
“Yeah? Can you bring some socks for Sarah, please?”
You shout back something incomprehensible. He returns to the kitchen, where Sarah looks over the chair with pleading eyes and asks, “Crackers?” a piece of lettuce stuck to her chin.
“Ah,” he says showfully, turning to the fridge to grab the plate of crackers, sliced cheese, and apples he’d Saran wrapped an hour ago. He peels off the wrapping and places it in front of her. “Here, sweetheart. Do you want anything else? Maybe some chips?”
She laughs and grabs a piece of apple without answering him.
“What about you, sweetheart? Drink?” he asks Jack.
“Yes please, daddy.”
Hotch makes Jack a cup of orange juice and Sarah a sippy cup, hers diluted some with water. He places them down in front of the kids, squatting down between their chairs, intending to stay and chat. “How’s that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to listen for your light footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Thanks, daddy,” Jack says.
“Thank you, daddy,” Sarah echoes, reaching for him. Hotch offers his hand, startled, not quick enough to hide it. She doesn’t pay any mind to his expression, pleased to have her hand held and her big plastic plate of crackers to munch on.
“Why’d you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” you ask, passing him Sarah’s socks, and rounding the table to stand by Jack's other side. “Hi,” you add, ruffling Jack’s hair, “look at you, gorgeous, you got your hair cut.”
Hotch rubs Sarah’s knuckles, trying to phrase it, not sure how to tell you with the kids still there. Will Sarah feel embarrassed if he brings it up so swiftly? Will she feel like she’s done something wrong? Will you?
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
He decides to present you with the situation. He’s not manipulative, but clever. “Mommy got your socks, too. Can we take these cold ones off, is that okay?”
“Yes, please,” Sarah says.
You watch in confusion. Hotch gives you a quick look. Trust me for a second.
He eases the socks off of her feet, laughs when she laughs at his tickling, even if he’s not quite sure how to feel. Happy, he gives her toes a squeeze and bunches a sock up to pull it over her heel and up to her ankle. “One,” he says, repeating the process with the same tenderness. “Two. There we go, all warm again, Sarah.”
“Thanks, daddy.”
You breathe in.
Sarah puts some cheese on a cracker and offers it to Hotch, who eats it while you summon him away with silent parent talk. He kisses her forehead and wipes it clean as he goes.
“Did she do that when I was upstairs?” you ask quietly.
Hotch knows you. Loves you, but knows you intrinsically. He knows just by looking at you that you’re happy, but you’re worried about something, and it’s not hard to guess what it is: he might not want Sarah to call him daddy, and telling her not to might break her heart, and yours too.
“She did.”
“She’s never… expressed that interest to me.”
“Sometimes they think about things more than we know.” Jack still surprises him as he did when he was a toddler.
“She just loves you,” you say.
“I love her. She can call me whatever she wants to.”
You hold his wrist, taking a step closer to him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” He murmurs now you’re close, ducking his head to yours, two halves of the same heart looking at one another’s hands. “I love her more than anything in the world. I want to make her crackers for the rest of my life.” Hotch puts his index finger to the soft skin under your chin. “Maybe by tomorrow she’ll forget she called me daddy and she’ll never say it again, but… I want her to. Is that okay?” he asks.
You lean up to kiss him and you nod into his lips, which makes it hard but not impossible to kiss back. “She loves you so much,” you say quietly. You’d only wanted a quick peck.
He might’ve said he loves her more than anything, but there’s a level on which he holds her and Jack where you sit too. He loves you. You made Sarah who she is all by yourself, and you’re so lovable standing in his reach. You’re perfect.
Maybe he’s feeling sweet because Sarah called him daddy.
“I think Jack confused her,” he says.
“Maybe. You are, you know, her dad. You do everything a dad would.”
Hotch slots his leg between yours and leans back to force you into his favourite kind of hug. You laugh slowly, hug the same, your arms sliding up over his shoulders to wrap behind his head, your hand cupping his hair.
He closes his eyes and feels your waist.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says.
“I don’t worry about you and Sarah, I know you love her. I guess I just worry about us. Not that you don’t love me, Aaron.”
“Big changes,” he guesses in a whisper.
“Big changes.”
He encourages you away to hold your face. He hopes that waiting with you in quiet for a while can explain it better than words.
Your shoulders finally relax.
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could I please request a remus x reader that isn’t used to affection and cries at being called a pet name <3
—Remus calls you lovely, so you cry in his back garden. fem
You hold your hands out to the fire pit, relieved when heat kisses your palms and warms your arms to the elbow. Summer nights are supposed to be warm. Not in Wales.
The decking under you bends and groans as multiple pairs of feet cross it. Someone steps off by your legs and moves further into the garden. Solar lights warm the space and a battery powered lantern lights the patio table where Sirius hosts a championship of Speed.
A pair of shoes stop by your legs. They step down and a body sits next to you tightly, thigh to thigh, no want for space. “Hey,” Remus says. “Are you cold?”
“Not really.”
“Did you bring a jumper?”
“I’m not cold,” you laugh. “Of course I did, though, it’s upstairs.”
Staying with Remus and his friends has been fun so far. The idea of spending a few weeks of your summer between your second and last year of University at Remus’ house had felt daunting when they suggested it, but you’ve had nothing but fun so far. It’s nice to have friends. Nicer to have patient and gentle ones.
“You can have my jacket? Wear it over your shoulders like a cape.”
“No, thank you. Really.”
Remus takes your arm. Gives it a quick rub with his thumb until his hand moves down to yours. He feels your fingers, his palm soft, before he returns to his personal space. “You don’t feel too cold. I’ll ask James to put another log on in a bit.”
“All the food is keeping me warm.”
He grins. Brown eyes, brown hair, lashes of firelight on his cheek. “Are you having a good time?”
“Of course I am.”
“Yeah? Will you tell me if you’re not? I know it’s weird staying somewhere else. Even if it’s just that the bathroom makes you miserable or you need extra socks.”
“It’s like I’m on holiday with all my best friends,” you say lightly.
“You are on holiday with your best friends. I’m not, ‘cos it’s my house, but this is the definition of a holiday.”
“Thank you, for inviting me.”
Remus puts his arm around your shoulder, and he kisses your temple with a gentle smile. “I wanted you here, lovely. We all want you here.”
His arm falls away. It’s just amicable affection, you know that, but it’s more than anyone’s given you in a long time. You’re surprised he’d want to; you must feel a deep, deep tenderness for someone to call them lovely like it’s their only name, and to kiss their forehead with a smile already in place.
You pull the inside of your bottom lip between your teeth. It’s precious, to be wanted. To have someone as special as Remus show you what you mean to him plainly. You’ve had a great day filled with nice food and good friends, and now you’re warming your knees by the flickering fire pit in the Welsh countryside, stars emerging above you, the moon a pinky nail by the mountains.
You tip your face into your hands.
Remus brings a hand to your back and draws a shape without comment, but his hand flattens, and he feels it loud and clear when you sniffle. “Dove?” he asks softly.
You raise your head quickly, sniffling again as you wipe hot tears off of the hills of your cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Did I upset you?” he asks, sitting up straight. “I’m so sorry, what did I say?”
“No, no, it’s nice. It’s nice, you’re always so nice to me.”
“You’re upset because I’m nice?”
“I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”
“Not used to it,” he says, frowning. His brows set. He’s nearly stony.
“You’re the nicest friend I’ve ever had.”
“Can I give you a hug?”
You nod, shivering as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, no room left between you. His cheek smushes into the side of your brow, a heat like the fire warming you, the two of you listening to the sound of wood embers popping.
He makes a sound somewhere in his chest and pulls you closer again. Impossibly, he shifts, and his second arm comes around to turn his side hug into a proper one, as though he’s changed his mind about it just a few seconds in. You turn into him without apprehension.
“You’re not used to it. Do you like it?” he murmurs.
You press your face to his jaw and neck. Your arms act of their own accord, tightening behind his back.
“You should be used to it, someone like you. You should be so used to it that it bounces straight back off you again.” He rubs your shoulder. His fingers work into a tight muscle gently. “You lied about being cold, I can feel it now. Your back is freezing.”
You raise up off of the decking to hug him harder. He’s all for it.
“We’ll teach you exactly how to be part of the world’s touchiest friend group,” he promises. “You're already a good hugger.”
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omg junie!!! I missed them 😭
Mothers day lil fic with eddie x reader from june baby? 👉🏻👈🏻
mom!reader, 1.5k
“Big stretch!”
You hold your arms above your head, stretching as tall as you can go. Your t-shirt rises and exposes the soft stretch of your tummy, stretch marks decorating your skin and lightened in the sun as you lean to your left side.
“Okay, now we count. One, two…”
“Three,” Junie says. “Five, six, seven.”
“You forgot four, babe. Let’s try again, okay?” You stretch to your right side. “One, two, three…”
“Five, six, four–”
You giggle. Junie, who wasn’t doing a very good job at copying your yoga poses to begin with, hears you laughing and drops her short arms to her sides. “Tummy!” she says, jumping forward to push her hand into your stomach.
“I’m telling Eddie you did that. So nasty.” You drop your arms.
“Tummy,” she says again, poking at your belly button.
You catch her hands in yours and level her with a feigned glare. “What are you trying to say about my tummy?”
She beams. It’s lovely to have a little baby that looks like you. Her joy is yours, her smile made up of your lips and teeth. She’s a mirror, and you could never not think she was gorgeous —it makes you gorgeous too.
“Guess we’re done stretching?” you ask.
She lifts her hands to your sides, a gesture to be grabbed. You lean down to collect her and drag her up for a hug, holding her low at the back to encourage face to face time. “What, you’re not talking to me?” you ask warmly.
She touches your neck.
“I know,” you say. You’re pretty sure you get it.
Outside, tires roll across grass and road alike. You listen for the whine of Eddie’s van as it parks, grinning all over again when it comes. He’s not supposed to see you today, it’s Sunday, he has too much stuff to do.
If he’s outside, it means he swapped his shifts again or called out, which means he’s gonna give you one of his speeches about being sickly sweet in love with you. You can pretend you don’t like them as much as you want, but there’s no better feeling than being loved like you’re something special.
You open the door before he can, and he needs it, anyhow. To your confusion, he’s carrying a cellophane wrapped bouquet made up of a hundred different colours and a white box in the other, arms full and naked, no jacket to hide from the early summer sun. Your eyes widen as he gets to the steps. He looks like he made an effort to see you (and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t always, you love him as he is, but you can’t help asking yourself why).
“What’s going on?” you ask.
Eddie smiles. “What do you mean?”
“What’s the stuff for?” There’s a bag hanging from his elbow.
“This stuff?” he asks, cresting the last step.
“Hi,” Junie says.
“Hi, babe.”
“Hi.” She reaches for the flowers. “Pretty.”
“You think so? I got them for your mommy but I’m sure she’ll share them with you.”
You’re nonplussed as he moves in to kiss your cheek and skirt around you. “Come on. This stuff’s heavy,” he says, the cellophane crunching against his chest as he squeezes past you into your home.
“Eddie, what is that stuff?”
“You don’t know what day it is today?”
You think about it for a second at least. “No?”
It’s not your birthday, not Junie’s. You and Eddie can’t have made it to your first anniversary already, but perhaps six months? You try to do the maths in your head. Eddie puts the white box on your kitchen table, the bag on Junie’s high chair, and the flowers by the sink.
“You really don’t know, do you?” he asks, some sympathy in play.
“Eddie, we did stretches!” Junie says from your arms.
You offer her to him. He wraps her up and makes it look easy, baby on his hip. Quick kiss pressed to her cheek. “Yeah? Mom’s got you doing yoga again?”
You’re drawn to the box like a magnet.
“What is it?” you ask.
“It’s for you, babe,” he says easily, smiling as Junie tucks a curl behind his ear. “It’s all for you. You can open it.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I am. Open it up.”
You take the box’s lid off, lips parting in surprise. Happy Mother’s Day has been written in white writing against a baby pink cake. It’s simple, without frills, but it’s sweet and it looks soft to the touch.
“Is it today?” you ask.
“Yeah, babe. I can’t believe you didn’t know.” Eddie shifts Junie forward to stop her from tangling his hair. “That’s a lie, I totally can. Quick, come here.”
You slot into his side, expecting the kiss, but not the second one against the apple of your cheek. “Happy Mother’s Day. I would’ve been here sooner, but I had to make sure my mom knew I was thinking about her first.” He taps your noses together before pulling away. “You’re the best mom ever, so. Me and June got you some presents. No biggie.”
“Junie got me this?”
“Who do you think wrote on the cake?”
Eddie pretends to eat Junie’s hand, to her delight. You feel the cardboard of your box between your fingers, no attempt made to hide the achingly huge smile that’s taking shape. “And the bags for me too?” you ask.
Eddie can hear it in your voice. “The bag’s for you too, of course. You're the mother.” He snarfs against Junie’s wrist. “Um-num-num.”
You drag the bag from Junie’s blue and orange high chair across the table to peek inside. It’s a flat, paper bag from a clothing store, so the contents surprise you for being much more than clothes. Your smile gets worse with each item unveiled from its tissue paper depths: a humble box of fancy chocolates, a bag of your favourite chips, a small black box and a pair of pyjamas wrapped together with a ribbon.
You hesitate with the box, hand atop it, head tilting toward your shoulder. Eddie doesn’t notice your hesitation, or at least he’s pretending not to, pretending to nibble Junie’s sleeve where she’s laughing it up in his arms.
“What’s in the box?”
He looks up quickly. Not pretending. “Oh, that’s– If you don’t like it, I can take it back. It’s nothing crazy.”
“You’re proposing.” The box is shaped for a bracelet or necklace rather than a ring.
He nods severely. “Will you do me the honour?”
You laugh softly and line your thumb to the box’s seam. It opens on a tense hinge, clicking into place.
It’s a bracelet made up of silver beads. There’s a small flat-circle charm between the beads, that, upon closer inspection, harbours two hearts, one bigger than the other.
“It’s nothing fancy, okay? So if it breaks you won’t feel bad. It’s real silver though, you don’t have to take it off much if you don’t want to. I don’t know. I think it’s, like, a reminder of her when you’re not together.” Junie whines, encouraging Eddie to press another peck to her cheek as he hugs her tighter, and takes a step closer to you. “If you don’t like it, it’s really fine.”
You slip the bracelet onto your wrist. It goes without saying you’ve never had much jewellery.
Taking his face into your hands is easy. Holding him tenderly is second nature. “Thank you,” you say, eye to eye, willing it to sink in deeply. “I love you.”
“Yeah, I love you, too. And Junie loves you more than anybody. You deserve to know that.”
“I do,” you say, glad when he puckers up for a kiss. You kiss his pouting lips misaligned to nobody’s worry, adding another for thankfulness, and a third just because. He’s smirking before you’ve so much as pulled away.
“And thank you!” you add saccharinely, stroking Junie’s cheek, though the idea that she had anything to do with your gifts is funny. “I wouldn’t get to be a mommy if it wasn’t for you. I love you.”
“Love you,” Junie says distractedly, more interested by the stud earring in Eddie’s lobe.
He gives you both a soft, soft look, startlingly yards away from his previous smirking. “You’re the best girls in the world.”
“You're the best boyfriend.” You curve an arm around him to steal him and press your face into his arm. “I love you,” you say, smushed. “Thank you so much for everything. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he says.
“I really love you.”
“Yeah,” he says, his nose touching your head as he cranes his head down to you. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I love you too. You deserve it, alright?”
Junie pats your head. “Love love love you. Kiss?”
She almost blinds you trying to kiss you in the eye as you turn your face toward her, but it’s nice.
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hi Jade! Can I make a kbd request of Steve and the girls spoiling r for mothers day?🥹love u!
The spoiling starts early in the morning. Heavy, hot kisses from your husband, his thumb pressed gently to the column of your throat. “Love you,” he’d said. He’d been squeezing your side in his other hand as he said it, like he couldn’t keep the pressure in.
You shower, and Steve lays out soft loungewear for you to change into. He tends to Wren as you dress, shushing a big cry before it can start and wake her sisters, stooped over her bassinet. “Hello, honey,” he whispers sweetly, giving the bassinet a gentle rock. “Hello. Are you going to be a good girl today for your mommy? I think you are.”
You sit on the end of the bed, dressed. Mother’s Days are pretty good every year, like a second birthday, and you’re looking forward to a good long day of cuddly girls and kisses. Steve gets crazy acting like you’re the best thing since sliced bread (though he occasionally does it for no reason at all), and tonight you’re promised a hand just under your chest as he tells you how much you’ve given him.
But for now, you’ve got breakfast to make.
“Can I ask for something?”
Steve pulls Wren up into his arms with a self indulgent groan. “Oh, anything.”
“Can you make me hot chocolate?”
“It’s literally all I want. I need to make that for you right now, or I might die.” He beams and nudges your shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
You trail downstairs with him and Wren where she’s popped on his hip. She’s in the stage of life where she is still wholeheartedly just a baby, but a baby who can smile, and laugh, and communicate with you all and especially Dove. She started crawling just a few days ago, and she’s a happy, smiley girl when she isn’t annoyed at being put down.
Steve makes you hot chocolate so thick the spoon moves slowly when he puts it in. He kisses behind your ear as he places it in front of you at the table, Wren now safely transferred to a high chair beside you, where you’re feeding her mashed banana on a bendy spoon.
She smiles at you like you’re the light of her life.
“Is that nummy?” you ask.
“She’s getting chubby.”
“Yes she is,” you croon, giving her cheeks a squeeze with one hand. Her lips shine with banana spit. “She’s my chubby girl, oh, I love her. She’s growing up so fast, my sweet girl.”
Steve wraps his arms around you from behind. He doesn’t say anything, just hugs you lightly, long minutes of his touch as you feed the baby her breakfast and occasionally take a sip of your specially made drink.
“Are you saving up all the niceties for tonight?” you ask, tipping your head back to see him.
“I wrote it all down already on your card.” He speaks in a gentle tone like you had, leaning back to allow you comfortable space. “I’m just trying to get a load of you before Avery comes downstairs.”
Rousing and footsteps. “That’s sort of freaky.”
“I have a sixth sense.” He looks over your face with enough longing to feel like a touch, a finger running down your nose and over your mouth. “I’m gonna have to make more hot chocolate.”
Avery takes her time getting to the kitchen, but when she’s there, she’s quick to throw herself at your legs. “Mom,” she says, grinning at you, “it’s your day!”
“It is,” you say.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” She puckers for a big kiss.
The day is kiss after kiss after kiss. Steve has more than a card, he has a necklace for you with each of the girls initials embedded into small circles, and he has a bag of your favourite candy the size of your head, though he mentions it in private where the girls can’t hear him. Dove, once she and Beth wake up, has made you a drawing with flowers that you pin to the fridge with pride. Beth gives you a bouquet of mildly wilted flowers she and Steve had picked in the garden the night before, as well as some interesting stones, and an empty snail shell.
Avery, who you’d wondered after a few hours might have forgotten, presents you before dinner with a homemade book. She’s folded a few A4 pages and split the pages in half, topside illustration, and bottom half story. “It’s about you,” she says insistently.
The story is simple. You eating breakfast with them. You going to work (though what Avery thinks you do at work is a mystery, she draws you at a desk with a notebook and a big smile). You getting home, and kissing each of them, a speech bubble that says, “How are you, baby?” pointed from your mouth. You rub their backs, and sit down on the couch to read with them. You tuck them into bed and kiss them, and then Steve tucks you into bed and kisses you.
It’s amazingly close to the real deal, and her drawings are lovely. She’s taken so much care to write the story, you hold her for at least ten minutes after reading it.
“Thank you,” you say, your nose against her cheek. “I love being your mommy. It’s my favourite thing in the whole world.”
“I love you being my mommy.”
You squeeze her nice and tight.
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i feel like the kbd girls would be absolutely over the moon about blue toilet water, steve’s little home improvement promotes him to coolest dad ever, and sweet bethie wants to invite her friend over to show off their cool blue toilet water
(i just remember thinking that was like the coolest thing ever as a kid)
Steve doesn’t hide his smile. “Girls, it’s not gonna be as exciting as you think it is.”
Avery, Beth, and Dove sit in a line on the bathroom floor, watching.
“It’s gonna be blue, dad,” Avery says. “That’s exciting.”
“Sort of weird having you all watch me clean the toilet.” He’d bleached and scrubbed and bleached again, and now he’s wiped down the tank and removed the lid, he’s peeling open the blister pack for the blue cistern tablets.
“Gross,” Bethie says with a wrinkled nose.
“It is kind of gross, but that’s why I clean it so much. Okay, are you guys ready? I’m gonna drop it in.”
They all stand at once to crowd him. Steve tosses a tablet into the cistern and grins as the water turns blue immediately. His fingers are stained with it. He replaces the lid and rinses his fingers before he forgets.
“Okay. Ready?”
They all agree in their ways. Avery slaps her hands together and nods, Bethie says, “Yeah!” and Dove attempts to climb his leg like a sloth up a tree trunk.
“Wait!” Bethie says, tapping Steve’s stomach and running out of the bathroom. Her feet thud across the landing and into your room.
She drags you into the bathroom by the hand. “Okay, now you can, dad!”
Steve meets your eyes. “You ready? This is about to change our lives.”
You look around the upstairs bathroom in surprise. “Woah, what happened in here? It looks like a hotel. Did you scrub the grout? Incredible.”
“Mom!” Avery yanks you by your shirt to the toilet. Too many people in one place, you smush in next to Steve and he gives you a flirty smile on instinct. “Dad, please do it. I can’t wait anymore.”
“It’s really gonna let you guys down.” Steve stands at full height and reaches for the flush.
He presses it. Blue water floods the bowl and, despite the girls having seen exactly how he managed it, they all gasp. Dove giggles wildly against his leg before she reaches her hand toward the water, fingers a hairs width from the bowl when you catch her and drag her up into your arms.
“Oh no no no,” you say sweetly, turning her to see everyone, “we can’t do that, can we? We don’t put our hands in the toilet.”
“Wow,” Beth says. “Wow. Dad, it’s magic. Now we can have blue pee.”
“That’s not how that works, bug.” Steve takes Beth by the shoulders for a quick squeeze, then touches Avery’s, trying to get them to move on.
“It’s really cool, I love it. Can we have other colours?” Avery asks. Dove squeals in your arms to be put down, but you’re tickling her sides in an attempt to appease her.
“I’ve only seen blue ones,” Steve says, reluctant to let her down.
Avery looks exactly like him as she frowns. “Oh.”
“Can I ask Francesca to come?” Beth asks suddenly, nudging Avery out of the way to look up at him. “Please, dad, can she come look? It’s amazing.”
“Oh, honey, I think Francesca’s probably seen it before. But we can still ask her tomorrow if she wants to come over, okay? When the rest of the house is clean, not just the bathroom.”
“Fat chance,” you interject quickly, snorting.
“Excuse me?” Steve asks.
You laugh again and dive away as he pokes your side. “Get away from me, freak. I almost dropped my baby.”
“I can clean this whole house top to bottom in a day. I could do it in my sleep,” Steve says.
“Sure thing, honey.”
Avery pokes you in the stomach. “Not nice, mom.”
“Not nice, mom,” Steve parrots, grinning. “Wow, look at that. This blue toilet water brought us all together.”
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KBDDDDD AHHHHHHHHH
—Steve takes the lead when your baby makes a mess. mom!reader, 1.5k
Your hands are soft. Steve holds both of them in one of his, not quite big enough for a comfortable fit, but it’s alright. Your pinky finger rests against his knee. Doesn’t fit in his hand, but it doesn’t matter.
Steve loves you because you’re you. And so many things make you who you are, he couldn’t boil them down into just one thing. Maybe it’s your brightness he loves most, how you lean down next to him and smile into his tricep for no reason. Maybe it’s that you’ve never been cruel to him, not once. You have this capacity for love that you don’t see in yourself, but he does. You don’t expect anything from him that he can’t give.
He lets his head drop down to rest on yours.
If he’s clingy, you’re worse. You settle closer into his side with a content sigh nearly too quiet to hear. Then comes a scratching sound. His thumb, which had been employed in a soft back and forth into one of your palms, comes to a stop.
You sigh again. Less content. “Why’d you stop?” you mumble.
“Can you hear that?”
“No… What is it?”
He shakes his head, turning his face back into your head. “Nothing. Must be the wind.”
You take back one of your hands to rest on your stomach. “She’s kicking.”
“Is she? Can I feel?”
You press Steve’s hand to your bump and wait for him to feel it. He waits for another kick, not so much a vibration as a distension, the force of a movement. It’s like she’s saying hello, only he can’t feel it. You pull his hand down to the bottom of your stomach and nudge your shirt up so he’s skin to skin.
“She’s shy now you’re watching,” you say.
He turns his head in the other direction and you laugh, which makes him laugh, the volume of you both nearly not quite occluding a second heavy scratching sound from upstairs.
You stop laughing. “What is that? Is that Avery?”
Steve sighs. It had been really, really nice to sit with you and just get to appreciate you for a moment, but duty always calls. And no offence to you, but he’d much rather know Avery was safe, because what the heck is that sound?
He stands and helps you up, though he doesn’t wait for you to follow. Steve bounds up the stairs two at a time and you giggle and follow, saying something he misses about his rushing, how he’s gonna fall flat on his face. He yanks down the handle on Avery’s room and pushes open the door.
Your toddler looks up with caught eyes. “Oh.”
“Babe, what!” Steve looks around at the mess she’s made and turns around to shut the door.
“Steve, what is it?” you ask, still on the stairs.
“Baby, if you see this you’re gonna panic. It’s just a mess, and it’s going to upset you so bad. Go sit down. I’ll clean it up.”
He decides honesty will be his best strategy. Remarkably, it works. You get to the top of the stairs and turn for your room, saying, “All right. I don’t wanna see.”
Avery’s in the adorable place between baby and toddler where she has lots of her babyhood still intact, but she’s her own broad person. She can talk, and walk, and do terrible awful things. If you saw the mess you’d never agree to another baby if you weren’t already having one, it’s horrific; where she found her crayons Steve doesn’t know, but there’s scribbles over everything. The walls, the bed, the windowsill.
She frowns at him with her eyes full of tears and drops a crayon on the floor, caught red-handed.
Steve nips out of her room to the bathroom for a spray bottle of cleaner and a rag. You lay on the bed in the main bedroom with your hand over your eyes.
It takes him a long time to clean off what he can. The walls become a rainbow blend and then a dark green sludge over baby pink, but he scrubs, and Avery tries to help near his knee. Despite what he’d said about it being a potentially upsetting scene should you have seen it, mess doesn’t stress Steve out anymore. You’d only panic because you’re pregnant, not because it’s a permanent problem. You’re easily upset lately.
“Good job, baby,” he says, kissing Avery behind the ear as she wipes the rag over the wall. “Can dad have a turn now? We need to clean this mess up before you fall asleep.”
“Not sleepy,” she says, dropping into his lap with a thump.
“No? So the sleepies in your eyes are for show, huh? Mr. Sandman gave you those for no reason.” He drops the rag, wiping his hand dry on his pants, and pressing it to her back. She’s more him than you and she’s beautiful nonetheless, sulky eyes and eyebrows like his, her little mouth. She rounder in the face, and she’s got a more feminine shape to her chin, but when she wobbles on his thigh with the effort it takes to fight sleep she looks exactly like him. Her eyes flicker closed.
“Avery,” he says, nudging her close to his chest, “we’re gonna have a big talk about crayons in the morning.”
“Nigh-nigh.”
Steve breathes out a short breath. “Yeah, nigh-nigh. I love you, messy girl.”
“Love you.”
Snores. Immediate snores. Steve lets her settle for a minute and then stands, holding her to his chest as he throws her sheets further back in bed and puts her down. He tucks her in, kisses her forehead, and cleans the rest of her room in silence. It takes ages, but nobody’s upset when he’s done.
You peek from under your arm.
“I’m sorry.”
He sits by your hip. “Ooh, for what?”
“That sounded awful.”
“Yeah, it was, you should be ashamed of yourself.” He looks for something to squeeze, deciding on your shoulder. “No, it was fine. She helped, and she’s back in bed.”
“I should go give her a goodnight kiss.”
Steve brings his hand to your face. Draws a curve down your cheek. When he cups your jaw, you stay still and wait for him to talk. He has the strangest feeling, like you’d wait all night. “You can give her a goodnight kiss, just there’s still some crayon on the wall. But we’ll paint over it, okay? I promise. Nothing’s ruined.”
“Was it everywhere?”
“On the walls and her bed. A lot more came off than I expected. And can you be mad? She’s an artist. That’s artistic expression.”
“Not mad. Just worried we won’t fix it and then we’ll have the baby and it’ll never get fixed.”
“I promise,” he whispers, leaning in. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”
You don’t have to say okay or thank you. Your hand searches for his as he stays there over you, your eyes met.
“I believe you,” you say finally.
“I know, I’m just looking at you. You have a sleepy like Avery did.”
You laugh and turn out of his hand. The reason goes unsaid, Steve, you’re so romantic.
“How’s that baby?” he asks, before you can roll away.
“She’s kicking, yeah. Everytime she hears your voice.”
He stops. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. You’re talking and she’s hitting me right in the spleen.”
“You don’t even know where your spleen is,” Steve says, putting his hands together. He is not afraid or ashamed to beg. “Can I feel it, please?”
“You don’t have to ask.”
He doesn’t always, of course he doesn’t. There’s love and trust in spontaneity, but there’s also trust in knowing you’ve had a long day, and you don’t enjoy being poked at like a poor animal at the petting zoo. Steve pulls your shirt up where it’d already been rising and feels along your skin gently, slowly, not needing you to tell him where she is. He presses the meat of his thumb to your tummy and waits. The bump is sturdy but surprisingly soft, too. When Beth kicks, for a split second, he feels it like she’s right there in the room.
He immediately drops his head to kiss your skin. “Hello,” he says, rubbing your stomach appreciatively.
You put your index finger by his. “Hi, baby.”
“Let’s hope you’re the well behaved one.”
You draw a short line, back and forth. “I don’t care if she's not.”
“I have a funny feeling she will be.”
“It’s wishful thinking.”
Steve grins and sits up. “It’s definitely wishful thinking.” Beth gives another kick. He can see it. “That’s sort of queasy. Are you alright?”
“Doesn’t hurt.” You rub your bump. “She’s just saying hi.”
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Quickie
Summary: You get caught up in the moment while dropping off dinner to your favorite bounty hunter.
Warnings: Mature Themes, Pure Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Unprotected Sex,Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Semi-public Sex, Manhandling, Ass Grabbing, Ass Slapping, Cursing, Minors DNI
A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
When you stopped by the precinct this evening, all you’d intended to do was drop off a home cooked meal to a certain bounty hunter. You had no idea what was in store for you the moment you’d walked back to the tiny corner office they'd set aside for him rocking the pink floral babydoll dress and jean jacket you’d dug out from the back of your closet.
If you had, then maybe you would’ve at least had the thought to stretch. Also, you probably would’ve worn different shoes. Perhaps you would’ve gone with a pair of flats instead of wedge heels.
And lastly, in favor of decorum, you would’ve left your man’s food up at the front with Deputy Milton where you, and it, were safe.
“That’s it. Keep workin’ me, baby.” Ari rasps, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear as his fingers dig into your hips. “There’s a good girl.” Choking back a sob, you’re forced to bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound of your cries.
“Fuck, you feel so good. But if you want this dick, you’ve gotta be gotta be quiet.”
Dear God, he was right. The last thing you needed was an audience. Especially not in the form of the entire police department. You were pretty sure that you’d die from embarrassment.
He whispers hungry kisses along the curve of your jaw while you continue to ride him, your internal muscles milking him for all he’s worth. Pure feminine satisfaction fills you when you hear him bite back his own groan. Emboldened by his response, you bear down, purposely clenching your heat around his throbbing cock.
“God, Beast! Fu–please!”
Pleasure mounts as your teeth graze the sensitive column of his throat, earning you a growl from your bounty hunter. You feel the sound, which rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest. It reverberates through you, all the way down to your toes.
Christ, it all felt so good. Enough to overwhelm your senses as you feel the coil tighten in your belly, threatening to snap with every moan. Every cry. Every measured stroke of your hips. It was almost too goddamn much.
Wanting to catch your breath, you attempt to pull away. Which is all the invitation your man needs to capture your mouth with his own. A mere second goes by before his tongue teases its way past your lips. It’s a wild, unbridled claiming that leaves you with no doubt to whom you belong.
He dutifully swallows each desperate cry. Every pathetic little mewl. He savors them with the knowledge that those carnal sounds were meant for him alone.
“I know, little Bird.” Ari presses a fevered kiss against your damp brow once he finally lets you up for air. “I know.” He then wraps his brawny arms around your middle, pulling you flush against him. “I can feel it buildin’. Shit’s so good I’m about to burn up.”
Nodding, you throw an arm around his neck to pull him even closer. A sharp cry bursts from your throat, prompting him to slap a hand over your mouth. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when your eyes are too busy rolling in the back of your head.
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”
“Please!” Your vision blurs as you try to focus on your breathing. A tear makes its way down your cheek as your muscles begin to burn, protesting their overuse – although it’s quickly chased away by your partner’s eager tongue.
That simple, yet surprisingly animalistic act is enough to make your pussy cream, drenching his dick with a fresh wave of your slick. But as heavenly as this all feels, you can’t quite help it when your movements begin to falter.
“Better not be gettin’ tired on me, baby.” The quiet snarl rips through you, ratcheting your feelings of ecstasy up another notch. His big hands move to your ass, tightly gripping the tender flesh as he encourages you to keep going.
“I can’t…” You whine, stretching out the word. Needing more, you find yourself arching your chest up at him. In your haste to get undressed, you’d only managed to get your bra half off, leaving one breast completely bare. “Please…”
“Need your man to help you, darlin’?” His tone takes on a slightly mocking lilt. “Is that it?” Your world blurs when he adjusts the angle, repositioning your joined bodies so that your back is now resting on his desk. “Can’t do it by yourself anymore?”
“Beast….” Your head lolls to the side, a thin sheen of perspiration cloaking your skin as the bounty hunter begins thrusting in and out of your spasming cunt. “M’so close.” You keen, seeking relief. “S’right there. Right there. Right there…”
“Shit!” Ari grits out, biting his lip. “You’re even tighter like this – gotta pussy like a fuckin’ vice, baby.” He nuzzles his bearded face between the valley of your heaving breasts. And then you’re treated to the wet scrape of his tongue along your heated flesh before rearing back to pull your taut nipple into his waiting mouth.
White hot sparks dance through your veins as Ari commits to wrecking you with his thick cock. Your mouth opens in a silent scream while he fucks you, his hips pistoning in and out of you as if his very life depended upon it.
Ecstasy threatens to overwhelm you once more as your nails claw at his back, which only spurs him to go deeper, ensuring that you’d feel him for days. Your Beast didn’t give a shit about you leaving marks on his skin.
He was the type of man who wore them with pride.
Ari hitches your leg around his waist, making you cry out. You’re rewarded with a sharp slap to your ass as a reminder to be quiet. “Gonna have to shut that pretty mouth, darlin’.” He reaches into his pocket to grab your previously discarded panties before shoving them into your mouth. “You brought this on yourself.” He hisses. “Walkin’ in here wearin’ in that dress.”
In this position, it’s like you can feel every ridge, every vein of his fat dick as he plunders your passion-swollen folds. Your heel digs into his back when you feel that fiery coil in your belly tighten and snap, sending you careening over the edge and into bliss.
You try to scream, but it’s hard with a mouth full of cotton. A fact for which you are eternally grateful. Wanting Ari to tumble with you, you clench your muscles over and over until you feel him unable to hold back.
“FUCK!” He roars, his big body jerking as the force of his orgasm washes over him.
Belatedly, you wish either one of you had thought to bother with a condom. But you push the thought away as quickly as it comes. Right now you felt too good to even consider wallowing in regret. Which meant that today’s neglect would just have to be tomorrow’s problem.
For a few moments, the two of you are content to simply exist as you are. You stay joined until your respective breathing evens out. Smiling, you press a soft kiss to your man’s shoulder, prompting him to stand up and take you with him.
It’s difficult, but you manage to suppress a whimper when Ari removes himself from your precious heat. “Uh, thanks for bringing me dinner, baby.” He says, attempting to catch his breath as he helps you fix your dress before zipping up his jeans.
“Never had someone get so excited over chicken enchiladas.” You try, and fail, to stifle your giggle.
“Well, what did you expect when you told me you made the guacamole from scratch?” He waggles his brows before dropping a swift kiss on your upturned lips.
“I dunno.” You shrug, gripping the front of his shirt to drag him back down for yet another smooch. Of course, Ari is more than happy to oblige. “Do you think anyone heard us?”
“Nah.” Your bounty hunter grins, toying at a stray curl with his finger. “Was Milton still listening to Taylor Swift when you walked in?”
“Yeah. He said something about being on an easter egg hunt. Apparently he has to connect all the dots before her new album, The Tortured Poets Department, drops.”
“Good. Then he didn’t hear shit.”
Needing to rehydrate, you reach for his water before screwing off the cap and taking a sip. “Am I going to your place or mine tonight?” You manage to ask in between gulps.
“Mine.” He grunts, nuzzling your nose with his. “I’ll see you in a few hours. We sleepin’ in tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” You playfully hedge. Tomorrow was typically your late day anyway, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Well, consider it my goal to get home early enough to convince you.” Ari helps you stand up before moving to fix the skirt of your dress. “I’m gonna walk you out now. Go straight to my place and lock up.” He tucks another stray curl behind your ear.
“Okay.” You breathe, wishing you could bring him with you.
“Good. And no matter how much I beg, don’t let me near that sweet pussy before you leave the parking lot.”
END
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