I Would Do Anything For Him - Tumblr Posts

Here we go again, rock hard, striated and fabulously vascular biceps…so sexy, such a huge turn on.

ME: AroAce

ALSO ME:

I can’t take my eyes off him 😵‍💫

bonus: one more random gif because tumblr’s limit will not stop me

Okay don't mind me I'm in the middle of a Crooked Kingdom reread and feel overwhelmingly inclined to rant about Jesper Fahey because this fandom just doesn't give him the treatment he deserves. I'm specifically going to incoherently ramble about the scene in Crooked Kingdom where he, Colm and Wylan are being shot at because I feel like that scene is representative of Jesper's arc - but, before we dive into that, let me contextualise a few things first. Jesper does things for the thrill of it: he thrives off chaos and spontaneity, hence why he "always felt better when people were shooting at him". It's because the sound of gunfire "called the scattered, irascible, permanently seeking part of his mind into focus like nothing else" - and it also provides a distraction from his pain and trauma, because whenever he'd think about it, "everything in him recoiled. Trying not to die was the best possible distraction". Whenever anything to do with his past or his debt is brought up, "his hands returned to his revolvers" because he found himself "longing for the cool, familiar feel of their pearl handles beneath his thumbs". It steadies him as much as it possibly can when he's not in a dangerous situation, momentarily calling his mind into focus, an attempt at distracting himself from his afflictions.

Based off similar instances, the scene in Crooked Kingdom where he, Wylan and Colm are being shot at should have brought him that same satisfaction that any other shooting would. He "should be buzzing from the excitement of the fight. The thrill was still there, fizzing through his blood, but beside it was a cold, unfamiliar sensation that felt like it was draining the joy from him." What makes this situation so different to the others is that he can't ignore his problems and trauma now: it's staring him right in the face. Colm is right there. The thrill of the fight doesn't feel the same because "all he could think was, Da could have been hurt. He could have died." And we know that Jesper's debt would cost Colm the jurda farm Jesper grew up on, forcing him to acknowledge the reality of his problems: with Colm being right there, Jesper just can't ignore his afflictions because all he could think about is how his father would "suffer for his antics". If you ask me, this is so representative of his character arc as a whole.

This is further emphasised by how he's reflecting on the first time he spun Makker's Wheel right before this ambush, its intention being merely "harmless fun", but it ended up evolving into an addiction that "split [his life] like a log into two distinct and uneven pieces: the time before he’d stepped up to that wheel and every day since". The rush of a high-stakes situation is the equivalent of the "harmless fun" - it's a thrill that Jesper enjoys feeling, but in reality it's doing much more harm because it's preventing him from acknowledging and facing his pain. And he's indeed in so much pain: there's so much anguish inside of him, but he'd do anything to distract himself from it because the reality is just too painful.

This is where the tables come in: later in Crooked Kingdom, when the crew are being ambushed by the Khergud, Jesper "could feel the pull of East Stave" because he didn't have anything else to occupy his mind with. Then, the minute he thinks about facing his father, "the need to be at the tables was overwhelming" because he desperately needs to distract himself from the reality of his circumstances: "since Kaz hadn't obliged him with something to shoot at, Jesper needed a pair of dice and long odds to clear his mind". He can't use the ambush as a distraction, so the tables it is. As Inej tells him, "they feel like medicine. They soothe you, put you right for a time. But they’re poison, Jesper. Every time you play, you take another sip." This isn't the first time poison has been used to represent something that is preventing the Crows from healing - we also see it with Matthias, when he tells Brum in Six of Crows, "the life you live, the hate you feel - it's poison. I can drink it no longer". Just like how the exploitation of Matthias' grief and pain as a means of fueling hatred prevented him from healing because it kept exacerbating the anguish within him (he had to stop drinking the poison to do so), Jesper's addiction - and, by extension, the thrill of a high-stakes situation - prevents him from acknowledging the wound inside him and working towards healing it. It gets to the extent where “he had always thought of himself as lucky… what if he’d been bluffing this whole time?” - he’s gotten so used to suppressing his pain that he, in a way, loses sense of who he is. His façade has distorted his perception of himself. It's not until Colm arrives in the Barrel that Jesper is forced to acknowledge just how deep that wound is and how much it's festering - just like how he couldn't even feel the thrill of a fight properly because of the possibility of his father getting hurt.

That scene is one of many cracks that start to form as Jesper continues to bottle up all of this pain and trauma, until he finally breaks when Wylan proposes that he's such a good shot because being a Fabrikator allows him to direct the metal of the bullets. Jesper protests, asking Wylan why he can't "just let things be easy" - why can't he just let him keep ignoring his problems, when it's so much easier than facing them? But Wylan stands his ground, explaining that "they’re not easy... You keep pretending everything is okay. You move on to the next fight or the next party. What are you afraid is going to happen if you stop?" This is why Matthias calls Jesper “angry and frightened” - he’s afraid of stopping, because he knows stopping means that he’s forced to face the reality that he’s deeply wounded. This is when he finally breaks under the burden of his own pain, under the reality that he can't keep ignoring it anymore - hence why he chooses to put his share of the reward in Colm's name because, as he explains to Kaz, "I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of money just yet". For the first time, he's acknowledging his problems and working towards fixing them, no matter how much time it takes (because trauma and addiction don't just disappear overnight).

n e ways this ended up being significantly longer than anticipated but this is what happens when I start analysing these books: it snowballs out of control and suddenly I can’t shut up.

I love Wylan Van Eck.

It is making me wanna watch Criminal Minds again idk why tho 😭

hey I just wanted to say I really love your blog and all your content ✨️ 🥰 and I wanted to know, would you be willing to make a fic where Miguel is a cop and he makes up like a bs reason to arrest the reader and like it goes from there and smut ensues. 👀 however you wanna do that whatever kinks you wanna throw in there would be all Gucci. Maybe even throw in the reader being handcuffed by him. 😩

anyway, keep up the amazing work ✨️ 💖 ✨️

wanted to help

pairing: fbi agent miguel o’hara x crime scene technician fem reader

contents: mentions of murder, serial killer, smut, oral (f receiving), doggy, spanking (like once), use of handcuffs, use of the pull-out method (not 100% guaranteed to work irl 🗣️), overstim, aftercare, squirting, and some fingering. pls lmk if i missed anything 😭

author’s note: used to have the biggest obsession with criminal minds back in 2020 so this was somewhat self indulgent. anyways, hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it <3 (hopefully y’all aren’t tired of munch miguel yet 🤞🏼)

word count: 6.6K

The city that never sleeps.

The once notorious city that guaranteed a fun time at any hour of the night had now stopped its activities after 10. Businesses closed down early. Citizens started walking in pairs even to go just around the block. Clubs started shutting down. Streetlights that hadn't been bothered to be fixed before now illuminated every inch of the sidewalks.

Empty streets elicited panic across a 50 mile radius of the city, everyone left wondering where the killer would strike next. Mafia bosses increased their bribes to police officers, urging them to catch the killer since it was bad for business. People no longer sought out drugs in the back of a dirty alleyway, too afraid of ending up in a body bag.

Why? What could possibly alter the way a whole city moves this rapidly?

The trail of bodies left behind in the wake of a new serial killer who came to claim the city as their playground. Paths of blood where children used to come out and play until the sun went down. Decomposing flesh lingering where fresh flowers had just been planted. It was a catastrophe for both tourists and locals alike.

It wasn't the first time Nueva York had the misfortune of having a serial killer roaming around in the streets. The .38 Caliber Killer. Son of Sam. The Times Square Killer. The list was long enough to have its own special drawer dedicated back at the police department, piles of evidence collected in a separate room. But even with the multiple occurrences that happened, panic ensued almost every time without fail. And truthfully, how could it not?

This killer was much different than the ones you'd encountered before, no visible m.o. connecting the victims. The killer seemed to be angry with the city, going for whoever they could find first. The locations where the bodies were found were sporadic, one in Staten Island and the other at Hudson River. You were almost certain they'd be willing to put a body on the Statue of Liberty if they could.

Riots ensued after the first couple killings, citizens enraged over the deaths of their own. The murder of the butcher who greeted everyone with a smile at his shop before giving them their pack of sausages. The college professor that many students had fond memories of, a wall painted with her picture to keep the spirit alive.

Questions of how competent really was the police force ensued, shifting the people's anger from the murders at hand to the police. You couldn't go past a police station without seeing a person with a sign in hand yelling outside. "While you're sitting on your asses, there's a bunch of people getting murdered!" was one that remained imprinted in your brain.

The fire department was putting in as many hours as the police force was, waving off the flames set by protesters. Some of them sharing the same concerns that the people were, asking how many people had to die in order for the police to put some priority to the killer stalking through the streets. Truthfully, the police department was just as clueless as anybody else.

The 'Teddy-Bear Killer,' as dubbed by the news despite many officers urging not to put a name to his actions, left nothing to go off a trail of. One of the only reasons why you were so certain was the teddy bear that was usually left on the scenes. A mocking symbol, truthfully. No matter how many times it was ran for fingerprints or even just a smidge of DNA, the results came up empty.

The only thing inside the teddy bears was a recorder, the screams of the victims playing when the fluffy belly was squeezed. Where the killer tended to attack its victims. In all the cases up to date, the thing that the killer has taken as their trophy has been the small intestine. Even that was methodical, the cut precise enough to keep the rest of the body intact.

The pressure at the police department had been evenly distributed amongst everyone, but it was mostly your department that was starting to feel it. While the people of nueva york questioned the officers' competence, the officers questioned your competence. They were on the verge of snapping with every 'there were no traces left on the teddy bear or on the body' that you gave them after the report came back.

Your days at work had gotten more stressful, getting into work before the sun rose and coming back home after the sun had set. You'd probably run more pieces of evidence for DNA for this particular case than all the other ones in your career combined. The love that you once had for the job, for the scientific aspect of it, started to fade away with the pressure set onto you. You loathed getting up in the morning just a little bit more each passing day.

The shrill sound of your alarm ringing in your pocket woke you up, a small groan escaping from your lips as you quickly reached into your pocket to turn it off. You blinked a couple times to get adjusted to the sunlight pouring through the window, rubbing your eyes when you managed to get up. You looked down at your attire, noticing you hadn't bothered to change out of your clothes before you fell asleep on the couch.

You felt the prominent ache on your back from your night on the couch, the cold water running down your body doing nothing to alleviate the feeling. You wanted to stay at home a bit longer, wanting to avoid the police officers ordering you to do your job correctly despite having no knowledge of how analyzing a crime scene works. Eventually, you willed yourself to get out the shower and get your day started.

The badge around your neck felt more like a decorative prop than an actual symbol of justice. None of your efforts were successful as of yet, some of the developments in the case almost seemed to set it backwards instead of forward. It was like the killer was always two steps ahead of the police, working the officers into their carefully woven trap. You made your way inside of the police department, offering a couple ‘good mornings’ before making your way over to the back.

"Morning," you heard from behind you, Detective Jessica Drew standing there as she extended a cup of coffee towards you. The taste of the coffee was stale, moderately bitter at best but you appreciated the gesture. "Morning," you responded, taking the coffee from her before setting it down on your desk. She was one of the few people at the department who shared mutual respect for you and the job you did, making her more enjoyable to talk to than the others.

You took a couple sips from the cup of coffee so as to not appear ungrateful, practically gulping it down so the taste wouldn't linger too much on your tongue. She talked about how she wanted to start a family after this case was over, if it ever reached an ending point. "Well I'll make sure to process the information even faster if it helps you," you responded after she was done speaking, the both of you planning out what you'd do once the case was over.

"Overheard from one of the bosses that the agents from Quantico are getting here today," Peter B. came up behind the two of you, donut sprinkles flying down to the desk beneath you as he spoke. You figured it was probably for the best, with the killer skipping counties to dump the bodies off. For all the department knew, there could be countless cases in other counties gone unnoticed.

Though the situation was worsening by the hour, you could tell from the overall atmosphere that the other officers weren't so complacent to handing off the case. It was one thing for the people of Nueva York to doubt the officers' ability to get their job done, but it was a completely different thing for the chief of police to admit that the case was too much for them to handle.

"And how are your buddies taking that?" Jessica asked him, knowing too well how sensitive some of their egos tended to be. Peter B. shrugged, wiping some of the excess powder away with the sleeve of his shirt. "They're taking it as well as you could expect. Though, I'm pretty glad that they're taking over since that means I'll get home to MJ at a reasonable time. She's already pissed off that I prioritize my work more than our marriage."

Ah, one of the reasons why you avoided dating anyone too seriously. You quickly learned that most people aren't receptive towards having a date once a month at best. Truthfully, the only people that understood what a pain it was to get some free time were those same people in the force. They were the only ones that understood that sacrifices had to be made in order to be able to advance in this profession. Too bad most of them were narcissistic assholes.

The chief made a rare appearance, standing in front of the room with the agents from Quantico standing right behind him. "Alright good morning folks. As I'm sure many of you have heard, the killer's been jumping through jurisdictions and frankly, the kill rate's getting out of control. So i called in the FBI and I expect for all of you to be compliant with what they ask from you," he announced before giving the stand to what you could assume is the unit chief.

He looked like he was used to commanding a room with just his stare, his expression having no room for any emotion. "Good morning officers, i'm SSA O’Hara and we've been sent here to help out with the case. We're not here to take over, we're here to help out with the jurisdictions you don't have access to," he spoke up, eliciting a couple whispers amongst the room. He seemed to ignore them, distributing a couple folders to the officers in the room. He was more interested in getting started rather than getting to know who he was working with.

You departed back to the lab you worked at in the back of the station, going through some of the evidence that had been collected by the prior shift. You couldn't help but silently hope that maybe a fingerprint would be left behind on one of the teddy bears even after they'd all come back with no traces. A small defeated sigh escaped from your lips upon seeing the blank report, the sounds of the victim’s screaming coming through the plush animal.

Throughout the following week, you hadn't noticed much of the agents' presence around. They had their own office set up at the department but they didn't bother to make much conversation with anyone other than themselves and the chief. They'd kept true to their word and focused on collecting evidence from other counties in the city, leaving this one up to the officers to control. You wondered how effective this method really was but you didn’t have any position to speak up about it.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, making quick work to slide your headphones down to your neck before turning around to look at the person. It was the unit chief you saw around the first day, SSA O’Hara. "Excuse me, you're part of the analytics crew?" He asked, bringing your attention back to him. You'd been distracted ogling the way his suit strained against his arms. It took you a couple seconds to acknowledge his question, nodding awkwardly.

"I am, is there a piece of evidence that you needed?" You forced yourself to keep your attention on his face, noticing the dark circles ringing underneath his eyes. Hust a week and he looked even more exhausted than you did. He shook his head, handing you a FBI vest to wear. "I need you to join us at one of the crime scenes. Maybe you can capture something that our agents are missing."

The ride to the crime scene was short, the body had been disposed of in Times Square. Though the air in the car almost seemed charged in a way, his presence almost looming over you despite how much you tried to ignore it. You willed yourself to keep looking out the window to avoid looking over at Miguel, knowing that it wouldn't be easy to look away if you did. You let out a small, relieved sigh when the car came to a stop after what had seemingly been five hours. (it had been five minutes)

The killer was starting to get bold. Leaving bodies in a public space where anyone could've peered into what they were doing. It also meant that they would mostly likely start to get sloppy, letting that sense of confidence rush to their head until they eventually left something vital behind. They'd gone from being someone that dumped bodies into rivers to dumping them in public areas in just the span of two months.

You knelt down where the body was position, taking your camera out its case before snapping a photo. You quickly realized that most of the evidence collected would be compromised by the different people that had walked through the area, leaving you back at square one. You couldn't help but notice marks around the victim's neck, telltale signs of strangulation. Not only was the killer getting bold, but he was getting more aggressive.

You snapped a couple pictures of what you could, making sure that none of the agents touched the cadaver before you had the chance to get a couple samples. You made quick work of putting on a pair of blue gloves, collecting some strands of hair and skin before placing them in a plastic bag. "Did you manage to find anything?" SSA O’Hara’s voice startled you as you were getting up from the floor, his hand darting out to help you before you landed on your butt.

"Thank you," you muttered, hoping you wouldn't embarrass yourself any further. You explained to him the details you'd seen about the lesions, though you figured it was something he probably already knew by now. "Alright, thank you. Good work. Agent Reilly over there's heading back to the station if you want to head back with him," he told you once you were finished with your report, excusing himself to go talk with some of the officers.

Foolishly enough, you found yourself wanting to spend more time with SSA O’Hara. You'd read a couple of the reports that he'd written about some of the killers he'd captured, fascinated with his mode of thinking and the way that he just so eloquently expressed his thoughts. "You didn't leave?" He asked when he came back over, realizing that Agent Reilly had already left. "No. I was hoping to maybe get a glimpse of the way you worked? Your analysis skills are truly some of the best I've seen."

He indulged you in some conversation as he filled out one of the files in one of the tents set up, reminiscing some of the previous cases that he'd gone over. One of his favorites was a man that was so obsessed with the Renaissance, painting his victims after one of Michelangelo’s paintings. "The most bizarre thing from that case had to be the fact that I had to convince the police I was a good guy in the situation. Pretty sure they didn't agree with the methods I used but they were effective," he added, looking up from the file over to you.

You'd been hanging onto his every word up until now, admiring the amount of passion that he seemed to have towards his line of work. Passion that you'd been lacking lately. He snapped his fingers in front of you, letting out a small chuckle at the way you jumped back. "You zoned out there. Is everything okay?" He inquired, turning the conversation onto you for a change. "I haven't really been feeling a lot of passion for this work lately, at least not in the way you were describing and I don't know what to make of that."

You'd expected him to burst out in anger, defending this line of work with guns ablaze. He held your hand in his, letting out a small huff as he considered your perspective. You hadn’t expected for him to begin physical contact, but you liked it. Oddly enough. "I know it's hard to keep that amount of passion when it feels like nothing's coming out of what you're doing. But your work is important, it's making a difference. All I can tell you is that it's good you're not completely desensitized to the amount of bodies you've seen as of yet."

You headed back to the department with miguel shortly afterwards, silently dreading the amount of evidence that you'd have to go through. "Thank you. for everything," you told him upon stepping out of the car, receiving a small nod. You made your way to the back, putting on a pair of gloves to make this process go by as quickly as possible. The headphones you had on made the chatter outside disappear, letting you get into your element. Blood work. DNA testing. Recording analysis.

For the first time in a while, you'd managed to finish up with your work at a reasonable hour. "Hey, do you think you can run this for any fingerprints or blood?" You asked one of your colleagues, referring to the clothing article that one of the officers had just brought by. Your colleague nodded, assuring you that they'd get it done along with giving you the green light to go home. A green light that you’d definitely be taking them up on.

Now that you were home alone.. you actually didn't know what to do with this spare time. The options seemed limitless that you couldn't help but feel a bit at a standstill. You could take a bath, go out for drinks, or simply just lay down on the couch until you fell asleep. With the amount of exhaustion you'd faced these past couple days, you figured the last option would probably be the smartest one to go with.

You were about to get settled in on the couch with a glass of red wine, a loud knocking on the door interrupting your time alone. You walked over, your fingertips lingering above the handle before thinking better of it. What if the serial killer found out where you lived? And now had a personal vendetta towards you? Just the thought was enough to make you circle around your living room trying to pick something out.

Now was the time you really wished you would've invested in a baseball bat instead of a $15 bottle of wine that hadn't even gotten you slightly tipsy. You settled for grabbing the tv remote, holding it close to your chest. If things went south, you'd probably get away with throwing the remote at their head and running away. The pounding on your door got louder, matching the thumping ringing in your ears.

You whispered a silent prayer to yourself, willing your hand to stop trembling so you could unlock the door. You opened up the door, fighting stance in position as you readied yourself to attack. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" SSA O’Hara’s voice made you pry your eyes open, your eyes widening upon seeing him standing there. You quickly set the tv remote to the side, clearing your throat.

"I thought you were a serial killer," you mumbled, opening the door a bit wider to let him in. "And you were planning on defending yourself with a remote?" He mused, folding his arms across his chest. all you could offer him was a small shrug, standing across from him in the same stance. “Is there anything I can help you with, agent? After the mini heart attack you almost gave me?”

"You're under arrest," he spoke sternly, his voice devoid of any of the humor he'd displayed when he stepped in. "Under arrest? But for what?" You questioned him, racking through your brain to figure out what you'd done wrong. Was it for going over the speed limit one mile? No, they wouldn't send the FBI to deal with that. Or would they? You'd tried to think of all the different things you could've done wrong, eventually coming up with nothing.

"Obstruction of justice. There was a t-shirt that was supposed to be processed for DNA and it wasn't. The person who'd signed off on receiving that was you," he explained, taking the handcuffs off his utility belt. Thoughts of your lingering student debt came back to you, reminding you of why you needed this job so badly. You wouldn't be able to get a house if you got arrested, much less if you had a track record of debt trailing behind you.

"Please agent, I'm sure there's a misunderstanding," you tried to plead with him, willing to get down on your knees and beg if it came to that point. You really really needed to keep this job. "Was it or was it not you that signed off on that?" He asked you once more, your gaze going straight to the floor. You stayed silent, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah, it was me. But please, there has to be something that I can do in exchange for my freedom."

"Now that you mention it, maybe there is something you could do." You hadn't expected for that simple sentence to lead you into the predicament you were in now, your nails digging into his scalp as he kissed you. He pulled on your lower lip just hard enough to make it pleasurable, slipping his tongue inside your mouth. You tasted much better than he could've possibly imagined. The taste of the cheap wine lingered behind, but he was quickly falling in love with the taste of it.

His lips moved south, leaving a couple open-mouthed kisses on your jaw before moving his head down to your neck. He bit down gently on the skin, seemingly wanting to mark you despite the fact that this would only be a one time occurrence. All the meanwhile, he slipped your flimsy pajama shorts to the side to expose your dripping cunt. One of his fingers went inside, relishing the way your walls squeezed around him. It would certainly take him some work to get his cock inside of you.

The combined feeling of his tongue running down your jugular and his finger curling inside of you to find that sweet spot was enough to have you breathless on the couch. Your body was completely limp, submissive to whatever desire he wanted to fulfill with you. "Please, need more," you whined out, bucking your hips into his finger. Even that wasn't enough though, the friction wasn't enough to satiate the growing need inside you.

He was able to pick you up like you weighed nothing, your head hanging off his shoulders. "What room's your bedroom?" He asked upon stepping into the hallway, a smack to your ass as he waited for your response. "Furthest one on the right," you responded, hoping he wouldn't notice the way you dripped at just his hand on your ass. He set you down on the bed upon stepping inside, spreading your legs before he got settled in.

Moans erupted out of you before you could think better of it, his nose nudging against your clit while his mouth was buried in your pussy. It was shameless, the way that he almost seemed to be making out with your cunt. His tongue plunged in and out of you, slick coating it everytime he pulled out. He was intoxicated by the way you tasted, the way that you felt underneath his fingertips. He was just intoxicated by everything about you.

You brought your hands down to his hair, an iron grip on the strands while he focused on rubbing your clit with his nose. "Fuck," you mewled, one of his fingers joining the ministrations of his tongue. He gently pulled your clitoral hood up, exposing the swollen nub. His mouth clamped around it, sucking and swirling his tongue around it at the same rhythm his finger was pumping in and out of you.

Your thighs clamped around his head tightly, holding him in place as his mouth sucked on your clit. Not that he had any intentions of going anywhere after this, not when you tasted so damn inviting. He quickly realized that there was no other place he'd rather be other than in between your thighs, tasting and providing you with the pleasure that you deserved. It almost made the stupid arrest plan in his head worth all the trouble.

Your walls clenched tightly around his finger, a telltale sign that you were on the brink of your orgasm. "Just let go for me. Wanna taste you so bad," he moaned against your clit, the vibrations running through your body as he spoke. "Be good and give it to me, I've been treating you so well," his voice almost came out in a purr, working you through your orgasm. Your walls unclenched, liquid leaking down from your folds to his expecting mouth.

You thought he would've stopped after one orgasm but he continued to lap at your cunt like he just couldn't be satiated from the one time. You were on the brink of overstimulation, your hands clawing desperately at his hair while his tongue cleaned you up. The discomfort quickly morphed into a pleasurable feeling, moans elicited from your throat once more. “Feels so good,” you whined out, bucking your hips to meet his tongue.

Felt too good, truthfully. You wanted to pull away from the shockwaves running down your body at just the mere touch of his tongue, all the while wanting to simultaneously grind your hips down to him. "It's too much," you whined out, scooting up on the bed. Before you had the chance to get too far though, his hands were holding your hips tightly to keep you in place.

"You can take it, dulzura. Let me finish with you, please," he murmured, opening his eyes and looking over at you. Damn it. If that wasn't the most angelic expression you've seen in your life, you wouldn't know what could possibly compare. Your slick coated his mouth and chin, messy hair sticking up at the ends from the tight grip you had on him. But the look in his eyes was the one that had you enticed.

While his actions throughout the night had been nothing but dominant, the look in his eyes conveyed nothing but pure submission. Showed the true, wanton need that he had just to keep eating you out until your release coated his tongue once more. "Yeah, okay. I can take it," you relented, his mouth going back in between your legs. Where it rightfully belonged.

You felt a small shiver run up your spine as one of his hands came up to play with your breasts. He squeezed your left nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, rolling it in between until it hardened. He maintained eye contact, licking a stripe from your clenching cunt to your clit. Every sensation felt heightened from your previous release, your legs trembling with every swipe his tongue ran across your clit.

Your orgasm came out in more violent waves than last time, your legs trembling underneath his grasp. You bucked your hips up to his face, desperate to get that sweet escape. "Fuck, I'm so close," you whined out, your fingers practically digging into his scalp as you rocked your pelvis up to his face. You could tell that this orgasm was much more different than your previous one, much more intense.

Your back arched off the bed, Miguel’s grip on your hips keeping you from moving too far away. A mantra of 'fuck fuck fuck' escaped from your lips as you felt yourself approaching that climax. Your release gushed out of you when he pulled his fingers out your cunt, clear liquid hitting his mouth and chin from this angle. Your back hit the bed once more, any thoughts in your head fucked dumb.

Your eyes widened at the sight before you, seeing Miguel’s mouth completely coated with your slick. He didn't seem to mind the fact you squirted, in fact, he seemed to revel in it. You practically had to pull him off your cunt when he started swiping his tongue across your folds to clean you up. He seemed hesitant to be removed from his newfound favorite meal, a bit more compliant when your lips met his.

Your tongue ran along his lower lip, tasting the remnants of your previous orgasm. You brought your tongue inside of his mouth, the taste of your own slick overtaking your own senses. His tongue molded with yours in perfect synchrony, his hand coming to your chin to raise your head up a bit more. “Get on your stomach. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You laid down on your hands and knees, waiting for Miguel to come back from the living room. You heard the distinct sound of metal clanking, turning your head to see the pair of handcuffs he would use to 'arrest' you in his hand. He stepped closer, placing the handcuffs on the pillow next to you. "Before we get started, you okay if I use these with you?"

You looked over at the handcuffs, unable to deny even to yourself that the idea was enticing. "I'm okay with it," at your approval, Miguel put your hands on the bedpost before clicking one of the handcuffs to your wrist. He checked that the restraint wasn't too tight before getting up, kneeling on the bed in between your legs. "So shocking pretty. All wet and just for me."

You wiggled your ass to get him to do something, just to feel his touch on you again. He let out a small chuckle, leaning in closer before spitting into your awaiting cunt. He was so enticed with the way you clenched around nothing, eager to be filled up with something. Anything. He spread your cheeks wider, leaning in and giving a tentative lick to your folds before straightening his back.

His hand wrapped around his cock, giving himself a couple jerks before he positioned himself. He slid in slowly, your walls clenching and unclenching rapidly to get adjusted to the feeling of just his tip. You turned around to see just how much he had left to thrust in, your eyes almost widening double in size. He must've sensed your panic, rubbing your ass cheeks as he pulled out. "Don't worry, I'll ease you into it."

He eased his cock into you inch by inch, letting the sting between your legs disappear before he tried to push more of himself in there. While a voice inside of his head was telling him to just go ahead and fuck you, he was willing to be patient. He wanted this to be as pleasurable for you as it was for him. The handcuffs clinked every time he pushed inside of you, your body jerking forward. "See, there you go. We're almost there, lindura," he assured you, pressing a small kiss on your shoulder.

The two of you let out a collective gasp when he bottomed out, his cock filling you up in ways that you only could've imagined. His cock was just so damn thick, almost the size of your wrist. Not only that, but it was fairly long. It reached spots that not even your toys had been able to reach before. He let you get adjusted to the feeling before pulling out completely, pushing the slightest bit of his dick into you.

You arched your back to the best of your ability given the circumstances, your ass in the air as he thrusted into you. He started off slow, thrusting half of his cock in before working his way up to thrusting fully inside you. Your slick coated his shaft with ease, some of it leaking it down your thighs. "Best pussy I've ever had, just taking me in so good," he moaned out, starting to establish a rhythm once he made sure you were comfortable taking him.

The image of your ass rippling underneath him when you pushed your hips back to meet his thrusts was something that would be burned into his mind until he died. Better yet, he was pretty sure he was already in heaven with the way your moans sounded in his ears. It was quickly becoming his favorite tune, hearing your voice moaning out for his name. The sound of the handcuffs slamming against the headboard mixed in with the sounds of skin slapping together, a true symphony taking place.

He angled his hips to hit your g-spot with much more ease, the change in your pitch telling him that he'd been successful. His hips snapped in and out of you, his balls slapping against your ass every time that he bottomed out inside you. The ridges of his cock brushed up against your g-spot with every thrust that he took. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the intensity of his thrusts, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

"Fuck, harder!" You moaned out, turning around to look at him. He complied with your request, his thrusts increasing in intensity. He'd taken the request at face value, understanding what you'd meant when you said harder. Some of the other men you slept with took it as a sign to go faster, leaving you unsatisfied at the end. Though, you were pretty sure that after this encounter, he'd successfully ruined sex with anyone other than him. You couldn’t see anyone potentially topping this whole experience.

His pace had lost all sense of rhythm, the only goal in his head was getting both of you to cum. Your walls clenched tightly around him, gripping him like you never wanted to let him go. "Fuck fuck," your voice came out unnaturally loud even to yourself, too overtaken by bliss to care how loud you were being. The loud clinking of the handcuffs echoing through the room indicated that Miguel no longer cared about any future noise complaints, completely overtaken by pleasure as well.

Your walls clamped around him tightly, your release gushing out of you. Your juices formed a creamy ring around the base of his cock, some of it dripping down to his balls. He was certain that it wouldn't matter how many times he had sex with you, the feeling of having you clench around him was something he'd never get used to. His thrusts got sloppier, barely pushing half of his shaft inside as he worked himself to his own orgasm.

He had enough self control to will himself to pull out, his fist going back to jerking off his cock. His balls unloaded onto your ass, painting you like the perfect canvas in his eyes. He'd never seen someone look so beautiful before, with your fucked out expression and his cum dripping onto your thighs. He knew he wanted to keep this as a memory, use this for material whenever he'd come home late back at Quantico. His eyes darted around the room before finding exactly what he was looking for.

He grabbed the camera you'd set down on your nightstand, the sound of it turning on filling the room. "Look so pretty like this," he cooed, snapping a photo of your backside. He took a couple more, letting them process as he set the camera to the side. Not before he stuck the pictures shortly after they printed inside of his pants pocket, though. He got acquainted with your apartment pretty quickly, rummaging through some of your bathroom cabinets to find a white washcloth.

He gently swiped the cloth against your ass to clean up the cum that was starting to stick, cleaning his own cock after he was done. He walked over to your dresser, picking out a fresh set of panties along with some pajamas that he figured would be comfortable. He unclasped the handcuffs, putting them on the night stand. Once you rolled over to your back, the only thing you had to do was raise your hips as he dressed you. He laid down next to you, kissing your cheek.

He took your hand in his, gently rubbing the irritated skin. "Sana sana culito de rana, si no se te sana hoy, se te sanara mañana," he murmured, rubbing the cold gel he’d picked up from your bathroom onto your wrists. You doubted how well a frog's ass would be able to heal you by tomorrow but you decided it would be better not to question it. "You did so well for me, linda. Thank you for letting me try it out," he told you, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"Are all the charges dropped?" You muttered as he held you in his grasp, his arms wrapped tightly around you. He had no intention of going back to his empty hotel room, not when he could be having this instead. You were still thinking about the previous arrest, wondering how you were going to fund for your bail and later, your student loans. So far, your only options were either run away from the country or find a sugar daddy that had a net worth up in the millions. Both not ideal options.

Miguel had forgotten about that little detail until you brought it up, the small movements he was making on your stomach coming to a halt. "So.. about that. It's actually a funny story, there was no arrest. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you and.. well, here we are," he responded, hoping that you'd at least find the situation a bit comedic. You unfortunately did not. You tried to move away from him, his hands holding you in place.

"You know, you could've approached me without the heart attack. I almost debated running away to avoid paying off my student loans along with my bond," you muttered, turning on your side to look at him. "Yeah but this way was more fun, don't you think?" He immediately shut up upon seeing your glare, realizing that the two of you saw the situation completely differently. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made up a false charge to get in your apartment."

"Next time, try romancing me or some shit with flowers instead of handcuffs," you responded, relaxing against his body upon realizing that you didn't have to catch the first flight out of the country. "Aw, but I recall you saying you liked them. I'll keep that in mind for my next trip back to Nueva York," he told you, leaning over and kissing your cheeks. You couldn't help but feel giddy at the prospect that he was already looking forward to his next visit just to see you.

You were pretty sure you had a giant sign on your forehead that read, ‘I slept with Miguel O’Hara.' Your coworkers seemed to look at you for a second too long even if you'd woken up a couple minutes earlier to make sure you had enough time to cover the marks miguel left on your neck effectively. Either it was the marks or it was the eye bags adorning your face from the lack of sleep the night prior that gave it away. The two of you ended up going at it again later in the night.

"Is it that obvious that I got laid last night?" You asked Jessica in a low tone once you approached her desk, sitting down across from her. She took one look at you, her eyes narrowing slightly before she nodded. "Clear as day, actually," she responded, not offering a reason as to why. You decided that would be the only answer you're getting, leaving the topic alone and moving onto something safer.

You looked up when SSA O’Hara walked in with a man in the same handcuffs he had you last night, a scowl morphed onto the man's face. Nothing needed to be said, it was extremely obvious why this man was being escorted by the FBI. Apparently the t-shirt that almost got you arrested last night had traces of the man's blood in there, mixed in with the victim's. You knew these type of men, too cocky for their own good. he'd probably end up confessing without much work put in.

It was only when the FBI car pulled away that you realized you wouldn't see Miguel anymore, materializing the fact that it had only been for the night in your head. You couldn't help but wish that it would've been more, you still felt the way his touch brought you to life. The feeling of his lips pressed against your shoulders forever imprinted in your brain. You looked down at your phone upon hearing a notification, a flight confirmation to Quantico appearing on your email.

Maybe it wouldn't be the last time you saw him after all.

taglist 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @yournextbimbogf @nixinluv02

I'm chewing on the walls right now🥰

So I've been watching Supernatural for years now (at least 5), it's been my favorite show for that long and it's been a HUGE part of my life and sUDDENLY JACK SHOWS UP AND?? STEALS ALL MY LOVE?? LIKE??? IM 4 EPISODES IN AND I JUST STARTED CRYING CAUSE HE'S SO GOSH DANG CUTE?? AND INNOCENT?? I WOULD KILL EVERYONE OFF JUST SO HE COULD LIVE??

I.N / 2023 Season's Greetings Making Film

whenever i think people are silly for spending loads of money on fancalls i just remember that my psychiatrist charges me $250 for six minutes and honestly junji could do a better job at this point

I am not the strongest soldier 🫣🫠

[231115] dk_is_dokyeom Instagram Update

🖤

oh god i can't stand this... my heart is exploding

i’m in love with jeong yunho

LIKE JUST LOOK AT HIM 🥰 OMG

FUUUCKAHEJRIEJKSJDBE THE VISUALS

This man, this gorgeous, dimpled man, he owns my heart. 💜

endless joon gifs 17/? [cr. namuspromised]

i hope minhyuk knows I love him

Have you ever seen the sun come out when someone smiles?

I have.

Hey, y’all!

Just wanted to say, my bad for spamming the comments on that Fire post. I got excited 😅

(By the way HES SMILING :D I will fight GOD to protect that smile of his-)

[don't sweat it!! i speak for myself but i know the others get excited too- i get all GIDDY seeing you guys get excited about the stuff we work so hard on!!! i had a feeling the fire enjoyers would like this one :]

see him fabulous]

Deep breath

I was just MINDING my own business, scrolling on my phone. THEN OUT OF NO WHERE I GET THIS?!

THIS FUCKING FINE ASS MAN!

I'M SORRY BUT

I MEAN

HE IS

SO

DAMM

FINE!

screams into pillow

I WISH HE WAS REAL! I wouldn't have a chance either way but still, I WISH HE WAS REAL!