#< Might as well start a tag in case I do ever go back to the De Beers series

[hoeratius]

I’m doing my dissertation with Flowers in the Attic as a case study! Penny for your thoughts?

Okay, with the caveat that I haven’t a clue what your dissertation is on so not sure how relevant any of these thoughts are – here I go!

Note – this contains spoilers for Flowers in the Attic.

Who is the target audience for Flowers in the Attic?

This is not me describing the target audience.

This is me not having a clue what the intended audience is for a book that features phrases like "Oh, golly-lolly!" as well as erotic descriptions of a toddler’s underwear.

I read this for the first time when I was about 12 and again now I’m nearing my thirties. The first time round, it felt naughty and like I was reading something that was clearly Adult Literature. Now, I see the childlike phrases and excessive use of exclamation marks and think it’s not just because of the narrator, but because of the audience as well.

Like, this book is twee.

It’s about so many layers of incest and child abuse and neglect and religious extremism and repression and it somehow manages to be twee. HOW?

The incest (let’s just get that over with)

Everyone in this family is into everyone. My edition has questions at the back for a book club discussion, and one of them goes:

Had their father not died and they were all still living together, do you think Cathy and Chris would have instead developed sexual feelings for their parents? Why or why not?

And like, those sexual feelings are there the entire way through.

Cathy wants a husband like her father, who gives her a ring and ‘vows to forever love my Cathy just a little bit more than any other daughter’. When their mother calms Chris down, you get a paragraph like ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss finger his hair, stroke his cheek, draw his head against her soft, swelling breasts, and let him drown in the sensuality of being cuddled close to that creamy flesh that must excite even a youth of his tender years.’

Like – Okay! Cool! That is a way to describe your mother! And your brother! Like, this could just be an embrace between a mother and her son and instead it becomes this incredibly loaded, sexual passage. And that happens constantly. The narrative is obsessed with sex, with the sin it might bring and with the changes bodies go through to make it happen. I didn’t count how often Cathy thinks with jealousy of her mother’s breasts but it’s a recurring theme, and I’m kind of glad their father died before Cathy hit that part of puberty because I do not need to hear whatever feedback he’d have given her when she first goes shopping for a bra.

The Aryan perfection

Did you know they are blond? And blue-eyed? And so pretty, prettier than anyone else their age? Perfect? Like dolls? Did you get that??

Maybe it was a eugenics plan to maintain the most Aryan family in the universe, but good lord, has Cathy internalized it.

The good bits

After Cathy and Chris have a sexual encounter where he kisses her breasts after stabbing her with scissors, Cathy asks:

“Chris – what we did just now – was it sinful?”

Again, he cleared his throat. “If you think it so, then it was.”

I’m too early in my thoughts to have anything very coherent to say about this, but it does show their complex relationship with sexuality in a really interesting light. Does anything other than P-in-V count as sex? What is the boundary between normal familiar affection and incest? (Personally, I’d say the family cross the line from ‘normal familiar affection’ constantly but equally, I can see why kissing people on the mouth doesn’t have to be inherently sexual or inappropriate. It’s just that V.C. Andrews’s prose makes everything sexual.)

I also thought it was very bold of VCA to have Chris describe the sex as ‘rape’ immediately after it has happened. Keeping in mind that this book came out in 1979, he is the romantic lead, and it was (I think???) aimed at teenage girls, I was not expecting them to name the beast by its name. Even if Cathy assures him it wasn’t rape (and let’s not get into the victim blaming paragraph, jfc), having it out in the open immediately? Actually sensational.

On a different familiar note, I loved the way they kept waiting for their mother to return and the way their love faded differently for all of them. Cathy’s turning to bitterness sooner (prompted by jealousy over Chris’s affection?), versus the twins becoming alienated and addressing her as ‘Ma’am’ by the end… And yet that constant hope that she’ll show up, the disappointment when she brings gifts rather than freedom…

Corinne’s wilful closing of her eyes to justify the neglect haunted me– the way she stops looking at the twins, doesn’t see how Chris and Cathy are maturing. Especially because Cathy is in exactly the age where so much is changing in her body and there is the horror of being perceived (the paragraph where she describes wearing loose clothing to hide her new curves and feeling like she’s being seen anyway – I remember that.)

And at last: the reveal of the arsenic. Iconic.

The bad bits

Other than the writing (so many exclamation marks!! What the fuck!!! The action of going down the stairs doesn’t need this emphasis!!!!!), I just want to say, with my whole heart, that the twins are the most annoying characters in literature. And their insistence at the start that everyone will surely love them, they are so cute and perfect?

Honestly, if I’d been the grandmother, I’d have thrown them out of the window during their first tantrum.

Overall verdict

Do I like this book? I don’t know. I tried to come up with more bits that I disliked, but everything – the twee-ness, the weird sexualization of everything, the “Oh boy”s and stilted dialogue – it all feels very organically entwined. I definitely understand why it became a middle school obsession when it came out in 1979 and it’s going to haunt me for quite a while to come, I think.

I don’t think I’ll read any of the follow-ups, but I might (might) treat myself and reread the De Beers series one day, or that one set in New Orleans with the evil twin. VC Andrews(‘s ghostwriter) was not afraid to go big and there is a certain appeal to such shameless commitment to drama.

[medicinemane]

I don't know, I get tired of a lot of positivity

Like yes yes, the world's wonderful and I'm so strong or whatever generic thing is being said (because it's always so generalized to the point of meaningless), but you know shit is what it is, and the only way forward is with changes I manage to make... which you're not helping with at all

And as for like... my internal mood, I'm deeply isolated, sorry if hollow platitudes don't sooth the gaping maw inside me

It is what it is, and I probably get my shit together enough to do stuff like teach out of my basement like I'd like, it's just I believe that I'll be alone in a crowd like I've always been

But positivity... I just... I kinda get sick of it. There's this guy on youtube I watch who talks about economics stuff, he's recently started doing positivity and... I just fucking know his personality enough where it's like sorry mate but I'm not interested in hearing you spout Secret light kinds off drivel

...I don't know, I suppose it boils down to this

One, I can barely fucking take in positive things said directly to me, about me. Generalizations don't help even a little... I'm a mess, I'd really like someone to toss me a life preserver instead of always tossing confetti at me while I struggle to stay afloat... doesn't help

Two, the world is a terribly imperfect place, and rather than taking a mentality of "everything will work out", I think it's important to acknowledge that sometimes good people live alone, die alone, and they never got the break they needed and slowly bled out

I think it's worth knowing that if you can't step in and help yourself, then maybe no help'll come at all

...I don't know, I suppose in the end the core of what I'm saying is a lot of positivity seems like self help tier stuff and... I get tired of that, and I see so many good people struggling and... eh... either I can at least come in and say something positive custom fit to them, or I can keep my mouth shut

Just fucking let me rot. Help or let me fester on my own, you know?

I got rid of the trailer, I maybe did something like cleaning though I can't tell... at what point will my pace on trying to make things better be good enough for people, and I'll be able to stop having people tell me to fix my life... as if I hadn't thought of that already

...everyone means well, it's just tiring

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For the Night | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 2, Finale!!

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

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

Warnings: Alcohol consumption 🤷‍♀️

Words: 1.4k

|

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“Spencer!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, admittedly, so did you.

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

[terras-domain]

can you tell me on how bad you want Sullyoon? what'll you do if she gives you consent?

AN OFFER I CAN'T REFUSE

Male Reader X Seol Yoon-A (Sullyoon)

Tags: Rich Male Reader, Bratty Sullyoon, Unhealthy Spending, Lip Gloss, Cumshot, Voyeurism

terra's note: hello! Been a while since I've been writing huhu ;-;. Hope you're all doing well. I got quite a line of requests on hold so I better get to it haha. Sorry to the anons waiting for me to actually move my lazy ass, I'll try to set a little time frame for me to do these requests so I can actually write stuff I've been having in my mind. In any case, enjoy~! (And I love you all <3)

"Oppa~! I told you I want to go out shopping again~"

My thumbs could only rub my temple, trying to make sense out of her words. This is her third time this month where she's on a shopping spree. And Sullyoon's shopping addiction isn't any normal addiction, she could range from a thousand to probably fifty thousand dollars just in one day. I might have the money for it, but if she keeps doing this, time will only prove my girlfriend's shopping addiction could only make me go bankrupt.

"But babe...you just went shopping last Wednesday no?" I asked, resting by the couch and stretching my arms to wrap it around Sullyoon. The bratty Yoon-A pouted in dissatisfaction. Honestly it's very cute when she does that face, but it's just not a good day when she keeps nagging and whining about me not giving her enough money to feed her crippling addiction with designer clothes and expensive bags that she barely ever uses. "I know, but oppa. Today there's a special event at the Chanel boutique at the mall. And I want it!" Her eyes starts to pull her trump card, puppy eyes with her soft face resting on against my chest, almost like cat begging for food by purring at me. "Fuck, this brat really doesn't let up easily!" If only I had the guts to say that out loud. Only monologues from the voices inside could be made as a response. "Fine. We can go and take you shopping." Sullyoon's crocodile tears almost got sucked back into her retina from how happy she is to hear the news, smiling ear to ear in victorious. "Yeaaaay~ I love you oppa!"

"But..." I cut off her victory celebration, smirking as I looked back at my girlfriend's pretty face. "Only if you agree to my terms." I continued, making the ecstatic Sullyoon puzzled. "What is it oppa? What's your rule?" "You can spend as much as you like baby. I'll treat you like a princess. But I want to have you as mine 100% today, and you can't say no~" My face looked back at Sullyoon, knowing this type of offer would definitely make her have second thou- "Sure, no problem!" Her quick answer shocked me. Without a single hesitation she wants to take the deal so easily.

I brought her to the bedroom, handing over a small well decorated box, containing a buttplug inside it. "I want you to wear this babe." I ordered, which created a smirk on Sullyoon's face as she laid in bed, spreading her legs as she slowly pushes the sex toy inside her anal hole. "Happy now, baby?" She asked, an eyebrow raising high up, showing this is light work for her. "Oh Sullyoon I love it," I smiled, pecking a kiss on her lips as I rubbed her back door, pushing her buttplug a bit deeper inside while I caress her smooth silky cheeks. "But we're only getting started~"

I asked Sullyoon to come to the mall in a crop top, which of course she has to oblige from the rules we set up together. Though as much as I want to make it a challenge, I couldn't dare to leave her out cold in the mall while shopping, so I lent her my cost to wear while we walk around and look what her lust for expensive products lead her to. She first went to a an SK-II outlet, looking for some beauty products, particularly a new makeup set. It's not like she ran out of them, she just wants a new colour.

Sullyoon tested out a new cherry pink shade on her plump lips, slowly filling in her lushes lips with the colour. It made me hard from how she's so attentive when doing so, causing me to pitch up a tent underneath my pants. "Ughhhh babe...you look hot as always~" I grunted, looking at her painted mouth, smiling back at me as the staff starts to approve how pretty Sullyoon is wearing it. "Thanks baby, it's special edition lipstick by the way. Hope you don't mind that." FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS. God she's really trying her best to drain every penny out of my wallet or something. "Fine...you can buy that-" I surrendered. It was a good colour on her, and it looked so hot I can't say no to that. "but only if you suck me off while wearing those lipstick hehe"

I dragged Sullyoon with me towards a shelf where people don't check out much. Pushing her down on her knees I pulled out my cock to let it land on her face. "Wait...bae not here" Sullyoon pleaded, the shame kicking in as she doesn't wanna get caught, she's an idol after all. My face didn't change expression at all, not even an ounce of my body cared about her pleads. "Well you're not shy using my money." I replied while my hand reached the back of her head. "So you better keep up the shameless act, slut!" I continued as my hand pushes Sullyoon's gorgeous face to take my cock, forcing it in her throat. "Ughh.... mmmhhhh!" Sullyoon groaned in retaliation, but not for long. This isn't the first time Sullyoon suck my boner, so it's not hard for her to take it in and work me up.

"Ughhhh just like that Sullyoon baby. Keep going babe." I grunted as Sullyoon's mouth got to work, her lips locking my cock between them, her tongue swirling on my tip. It's so good I couldn't help but let a few moans escape my mouth, immediately covering up my mouth hoping nobody hears us. "Mmmh nghhh~" Sullyoon's eager slurping kept my mind occupied, enjoying the sensation of her mouth working up my cock just like she does it every other night. The way her round pearl like eyes stare at me so innocently whilst her mouth work my cock like a pro, it's enough to make me lose my mind. "Ughhhh baby I wanna cum." I groaned, not like Sullyoon can stop me from cumming. We had a deal, and I want to get as much of from it! I started to cum, blasting rope after rope of cum in her mouth, shooting it inside her throat. "Mmmmh~ ghhhhck!" Sullyoon grunted, trying to avoid gagging as she receives my thick load of semen deep in her mouth. It felt too good, I accidentally shot my cum on her pretty cherry pink lips as I pulled out. "Oppa....the lipstick" she looked up, disappointed and shocked. " Awwww don't worry baby, I got some paper towels to clean you. And we can go buy that lipstick now hehe~"

Beep

And there goes a 5000 dollars. All for her lipstick. Well it doesn't really matter, since I got a good blowjob from Sullyoon thanks to it. We kept walking around the mall when Sullyoon pulled me towards a boutique. "C'mon oppa. I wanna look here next!" She dragged me in, and just like that I could already feel my money flowing out of my pockets.

The best part of shopping for Sullyoon's clothes is watching her obsession with clothes. The tight and short shirts she wore, exposing her smooth and silky tummy just gets me going. I just watch as she picks one shirt after the other, pairing her crop tops with skirts and jeans, her eyes couldn't stop looking at them. It felt like forever, but it was all worth it to see Sullyoon's beauty with her fashion sense, changing from one pair of clothing to another like it's a fashion show. Not only did I enjoy watching her having fun trying out all these clothes, my cock also was enjoying the sights of her visuals entertaining and her sexy body exposed.

"...and that's the last one." Sullyoon giggled, twirling as she shows off the last piece of clothing she was trying on and got in the fitting room to change up. I couldn't keep myself calm anymore. Following her inside, I could see her slowly undressing herself, dropping her skirt down to reveal her round butt. Smirking, my hand swings towards her left cheek, smacking her ass which make her jolt. "Ngaah~! Oppa-" she couldn't finish her sentence, my hand already on her mouth, covering up her moans with my palm. With my cock twitching, itching to penetrate her, I couldn't care less of where I am, and how wrong it is to do this. My cock immediately pushed it's way inside Sullyoon's tight pussy. The sensation of her cunt taking in my thick rod made me grunt in pleasure, slowly putting up to a slow speed while my hand kept covering her soft tender lips, making sure she doesn't let out any loud moans to attract the staff or other customers of our little party in the fitting room.

"nghhhh mmhhh~" Sullyoon's muffled moans vibrate on my palm, heating up from the breath of her moans. As much as this must be embarrassing for her, I know she's loving it, enjoying the sensation from getting fucked in standing doggy position and being able to see her reflection of her getting railed in front of her. "Are you enjoying it baby?" I loosened up my hand, letting her finally speak when it looked like she can control her moans for now.

"Aaah~ aaah~ fuck" Sullyoon's moans were audible if someone walked near the fitting room. Thankfully the day wasn't too busy and not many customers were around. "Oh Sully look at you taking this cock like a good girl~" I grinned, pistoning my cock hard inside her, causing her moans to be a bit louder, but she did well to suppress them. With my rod fully indulged in Sullyoon's tight cunt, my grunts were also inevitable. Our moans together inside that small room, with the thought of getting caught was so hot.

I tried to push my luck harder, unlocking the fitting room door and opening it wide, letting the view of me being inside Sullyoon up to anybody that is remotely close to it. "Oppa! What're you doing?" Sullyoon wanted to scream, it was obvious. But she also didn't wanna get caught, so she said that in a whispering yell. "Oh baby~ don't tell me you're not into it~ you're getting wetter already." I smirked, with my cock getting harder for her as I thrust in and out of her, Sullyoon doing her best to cover up her moans from being pounded from behind. Sullyoon could feel my cock growing bigger inside me, knowing what's about to come. "Oppa, if you wanna cum, please cum inside. I can't get caught with my body covered in cum again." She begged, with her cute face doing puppy eyes at me. Adorable.

"Hmmm that sounds like a good idea babe~" I pondered on it, before finally I pulled out. " But I think I'm the only one able to make the calls here~" I giggled as I started to rub Sullyoon's clit, massaging it while my finger pushes inside her, fingering her. It made the cute Nmixx member to moan loudly for a second before being covered by her two hands. I kept going, moving my fingers in a frenzy inside her pussy, making her legs shiver. "Mhhhh, nghhhh-!" Sullyoon's muffled sounds was all over the place as her eyes rolled back, and her legs now tremble as she cums, dripping out her climax from the pleasure of my hands finishing her off. "That's a good girl Sullyoon~" I praised her, letting her take her time to grasp herself. While she's doing that, I kept jerking off, stroking hard as I take aim on her nice bubble butt. "Fuck I'm gonna cum-" I grunted, shooting rope after rope of cum on her ass cheek, covering her with my cum as her bodily liquids drip from her pussy to her thighs.

And there goes more of my money, spent for Sullyoon's lust for fashion. "That was fun, wasn't it baby?" I asked Sullyoon, who was getting exhausted from getting railed. Her face a bit pale from exhaustion, but she looked happy with the stuff she bought. We both walked out of the mall and got in my car to reach home. "I'm just happy it's all over" Sullyoon sighed in relief, leaning to her seat. "Oh? Who said it's over? I think the deal was 24 hours~" I reminded her, which made her look at me in shock. "You're not gonna be shopping for a while when this day ends, babe hehe~"

[macabr3-barbi3]

CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed. 

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh. 

Right over his head. 

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring. 

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you. 

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of. 

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him. 

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed  Val coming into a room. 

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants. 

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with. 

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“ 

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach. 

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

[parfaitblogs]

illicit affairs ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you want more than spencer reid can give you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst (18+ for suggestive content) tags: relation(situation)ship. s7 spencer. mentions of past intimacy. unrequited feelings. spencer's not the best person ever. kinda fade to black & unhappy ending (welcome back june parfaitblogs). reader has kinda bad self-worth. word count: 2.5k a/n: soooo fucking cliche man chases the girl after she leaves. im sorry. except im not. so sorry for whatever ooc thing spencer reid does in this. except it isnt ooc. tell me he didnt have a whore phase in s7. u cant. im sorry this is soooo dialogue heavy LOL.

Fractured shards of your soul scatter this apartment. 

This Godforsaken green-walled, quaint apartment, that you had spent so much of your time in. Nights, not days, because his days were spent yearning for an engaged woman. His nights, however, were reserved for you. Most of them, at least. Some of them. A few of them. Not many of them at all, actually.

It was a little embarrassing; how much of yourself you were willing to disrespect for some attention from a man who probably didn't think much about you outside of your presence inside his walls. But then he would touch you, and he would kiss you, and all self-deprecation will go out the window. For he is so gentle, and he knows every single crevice and button to press on your body like he speaks its language. 

Embarrassing.

It started innocently. A night spent with him after you had been broken up with, resulting in one awful decision that led to the other. Crying in his arms, to kissing him, to having sex, which he was rebutting all up until it actually happened. Rambling about transference while still leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck, shaking his head because you two should not be doing this. 

A week later you went back to him. You were sad, in your defence, and Spencer Reid was your friend first. He was good at distracting you, you learned. You would cry, and thus, he would make you come to forget about it. Like clockwork. 

At some point it changed from a coping mechanism, to an emotional necessity. You stopped thinking about your broken heart, and instead about how good Spencer was to you. Which might've been your biggest mistake.

You were not to him what he was to you anymore. 

And maybe he knew that. A laughable idea, because Spencer Reid, who could be slapped in the face with a poster that said I am in love with you in big bold letters, would still be oblivious to it all. But maybe he knew.

You had to ask this time to come over. Maybe pathetic, how much of your self-worth you relied on whether or not a man you weren't even dating wanted to see you. How much of your world had crumbled around you because it had been two weeks and he hadn't spoken to you outside of discussing a case. 

It was definitely pathetic how small you felt as you sat in the corner of his couch, a glass of water you didn't really want to drink encased in your palms, condensation seeping into your skin. In your defence, it didn't usually go like this. Usually, it took you all of three seconds to get insidehis apartment before he started kissing you. Why wasn't he kissing you?

You could hear the faint sound of shuffling behind you, glasses clinking together and ceramics settling on the marble countertop. The only other indicator Spencer was even there was his irregular breathing. Irregular from what, you didn't know. 

Another beat of silence passed, and with it, your patience. You set the glass down on the coffee table — something he would’ve scolded you over if not for the thick layer of tension between you two.

"Did you not want me to come over?" You regret the words the second they're out of your mouth, and they uncomfortably pierce the air, only to be followed by another thick blanket of fucking silence. You had already said it — you might as well commit. "Spencer?" 

You lifted your gaze from its fixated position on your lap to find him standing still in the kitchen, a bowl in his hands, still damp from its time in the dishwasher. 

"You know you're always welcome here," he replied when you had locked gazes. 

"That's not what I asked," you said, readjusting your body, chest pressed up against the back of the couch, chin resting atop its ledge. You watched as he dried the bowl and put it away, his shoulders deflating, before he turned back to face you. 

"I do want you here," he said, but even with the finality in his voice, you were sceptical. 

"Are you sure?" you despised the insecurity that seeped into your tone.

He stilled again, and even with the distance between you two, you could see gears turning behind his eyes, coming up with a response that wouldn't break your heart, probably. Because he knew.

He could lie. Say that yes, he is sure, and he does want you in his apartment right now, and he wasn't simply entertaining your own desires. Desires that he seemingly had grown tired of. But you would figure him out immediately, and maybe he knew that as well. Stupidly smart Spencer Reid thinking ahead, frustratingly so. 

Instead, he said your name, in an awfully cautious tone. Maybe lying would've hurt less. He took a step around the kitchen counter, ever so slowly closing the distance between you two. 

"It's okay if you don't want me here," you tell him, forcing a reassuring smile and stopping him in his tracks. "You're not forced to amuse me."

"Do you think that's what I'm doing?"

"Yes. You've hardly said a word to me, and I've been here twenty minutes," you rebutted. 

"I told you on the phone that I had some maintenance chores to do." Okay, true. "Once they're done, I'm all yours."

You shouldn't say anything. You knew that. The words on the tip of your tongue would cause an argument, and he had just technically promised to do what you both knew you had come to do, and after two weeks of hearing nothing, any attention from him was good attention. You shouldn't.

But you did. "Are you really?"

His eyes closed and a harsher breath of air expelled through his nose, his hands flexing by his side as he took a moment to respond. "What does that mean?"

"Are you really all mine?" you cringed even as you asked the question. And, you already knew the answer. 

"What do you want my answer to be?"

You could scream. "That isn't fair, Spencer."

"Do you want it to be yes?"

You didn't want to answer that honestly, too afraid of the rejection that was sure to follow. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, this is a relationship, and relationships need communication—"

"—A relationship?" you repeated back to him, incredulously. "You think this is a relationship?" 

Fingers dug into his eyes, and his shoulders sagged further. "What is it, then?"

"Convenient." The word stung even you, despite being the one to have said it. 

Or maybe it didn't hurt him. For he responded, in an achingly calm tone, "Explain that to me."

"Don't use profiling techniques on me," you countered, and he watched as your walls shot up around you. 

"Asking you to explain something to me isn't a profiling technique," he said, taking another step towards your residence on the couch.

"No, but the tone of voice you're using is."

"Would you rather I yell at you?"

"No—Spencer," you stammered so frustratingly in an attempt to come up with a response, emotions taking authority of your brain functions. "I come here when I'm sad, we fuck, I go home. That's all this is. That isn't a relationship."

"I could argue what a relationship legitimately is."

"Please don't."

"Okay," he agreed with a short nod. "Do you want more out of this arrangement, then?"

"Can you give me more if I do?"

His silence was answer enough, and so slowly but surely, you were untangling your limbs from themselves on the couch, and planting your feet on the floor.

"Where are you going?" he asked as you stood up.

"Home," you replied, curtly, and he watched in a still silence as you left. 

The slam of his apartment door was loud, and it echoed throughout the hall. Feet pattered against the stairs as you descended them, quickly, because your tears were forming fast and you were attempting to beat exposure to the outside world before they started to fall down your face. 

But the universe had other plans for you, and your named reverberated throughout the final staircase you had to descend. Your lips pulled into a line in an attempt to neutralise your expression, and you turned at the base of the stairs.

"You want more with me," he said, admittedly a little breathless from chasing you the way he did. 

"Glad you could deduce that one, Doctor."

A frustrated huff left his lips. "Stop shutting me out."

"I'm not doing this here," you replied, taking another step back — that he matched, stepping down a step. "Spencer."

"No, we are. If you are going to walk out of my apartment, then we're having this conversation here."

"I don't even want to have this conversation," you argued. 

"Yes you do."

"You don't know me."

"Yes I do." When you opened your mouth to argue again, he was quick to cut you off. "You want more with me, but you're too scared of me rejecting you, so you're brushing it off as something unimportant, in hopes that I'll forget about it so things can go back to what they were before."

"God forbid."

His lips pursed. "Can you be an adult about this?" 

Your heart stuttered uncomfortably in your chest, and he stared expectingly at you for minutes. Minutes that you let pass, your breaths shallow as you stared up at him, boring holes into his own eyes. Then, "Are you going to reject me?" 

"Yes, but—"

Oh.

Somewhere your name was said once, then twice, but it all sounded far too distant, submerged underwater, maybe. Your brain muddling with every single thought it had ever conjured up in all your years of living, to the point where you couldn't even figure out if the tears burning your eyes were actually there, communications in your brain on lockdown. 

You were detached from your own body as a hand was placed on your shoulder, your eyes flickering over to Spencer's face, which was an alarming amount closer than before. It was his hand, you figured, which meant he was watching you have this breakdown, and suddenly the thought of being like this in front of him was far worse than anything he could've said to you. 

"Okay," you said, almost breathlessly, stumbling back a few steps, nodding your head, and blinking away the tears all at once. "Which is fine, by the way. Because this isn't a relationship. And we agreed on casual sex, so really, you're not doing anything surprising, and I should've expected this. Yeah."

"Can you please look at me?" You hadn't even realised your gaze was flitting around the place until he said it, and you forced your eyes to rest on his face again. "Yeah, there you go. Hi. Deep breath."

You took in the gulp of air, despite it still being shallow from your onslaught of emotions, matching your rhythm with his own. He repeated the act a few more times, until you had settled into less violent gasps, and he was sure you were grounded with him again. 

"You back with me?" he asked just in case, his voice horrifically gentle, and you wordlessly nodded your head. "Can we talk about this, now?"

"In your stairwell?"

"I don't think you want to walk all the way up to my apartment again," he said, and he was correct; you didn't. "I would reject you. That's true."

"Which you're allowed to do," you answered, quietly. 

"I am," he agreed with a nod. "If that isn't okay with you, then tell me. We can call this off right now."

"And what?" you asked, ugly emotions clawing their way up your throat again. "Go back to how things were before?"

"Well, yes—"

"—No, Spencer!" you snapped, and he seemingly hadn't expected it. At all. "I can't go back to normal with you, not after this. Sex is fucking intimate, and it is scary, and you have seen me at my absolute worst and still slept with me these last few months. You have seen parts of me I refuse to share with anyone, because I trusted you."

"I didn't force you to do that," he countered. "You showed me every single side of you on your own accord. So do not paint me to be a villain."

"I'm not trying to," your voice was desperate, and if you weren't so busy using your hands to talk animatedly, you might be tearing out your hair by now. "I just—I don't get it. How was it so casual for you? How can you go back to what we had before all of this like it's nothing?" 

"All of this was never anything serious. We agreed on that."

"No. No, don't explain what this was to me. I know what it was. Answer the question."

How was he so calm? His eyes searching your own now tear-filled ones, but the crease in his brows was the only indicator of any emotion, for his body was alarmingly relaxed. 

He exhaled, "I don't know what to tell you. What do you want to hear?"

"The truth."

"I don't have feelings for you," he said, voice so curt you wondered if it was the way he said it, or what he said, that shattered your barely mended heart. Again. 

"Which is fine," you repeated the phrase, because maybe if you said it enough, you'll start to believe it. 

"So, do you want to call this off?" 

"We should."

He only nodded in agreement; a violent reminder that you weren't imagining the things he was saying to you. This wasn't a bad dream, and he was actually telling you the relationship you had built up in your head wasn't real. 

"I don't want to," you murmured, voice pathetically small, shrinking in your shoes beneath him. "I really like you, Spencer."

"Which is why we should call this off," he reasoned, and you wanted to scream.

"Are you going to be even a little sad if we do?" He parted his lips, and a beat of silence passed. And then you were stepping back, puffing out a strained breath of air, nodding your head in understanding. "I should go."

"You won't talk to me if we call it off," he said before you could get too far from him. When you turned to look at him again, he added, "Will you?"

"No."

"Then yes. I'll be sad."

"Because I won't talk to you?"

"Yes."

You stared at him for a beat longer. "Not because you won't have a fuck buddy anymore?"

"You were never just a fuck buddy," he said, exasperated, the phrase sounding foreign on his tongue. Sorry for exasperating you.

"No. But I'm not enough to like, right?" 

He said your name, and stepped off the staircase he had been residing on, lowering the height difference between you two. "You are enough to like."

"Not to you!" "I am not the only man in the world."

The bottomless pit in your stomach grew larger, only because to you he was. To you, he was everything. And you felt things far too big, and the realisation that he had never and will never see you that way was a world-shattering discovery. 

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the floor. "We never should have started this."

"I agree." 

"I'm gonna go."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, seemingly deciding against arguing with you any more. He merely nodded his head, and forced a smile. "Yeah."

"Bye, Spencer."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[wokelander]

(TELL ME I’M YOUR) NATIONAL ANTHEM !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. president!leon, intern!reader, drug mentions, affair, cheating, smut, p in v sex, oral, blowjob, just general presidential gross behaviour

note. commission for @slovakbabe :33 sorry this is so late.. kept changing it ugh! ignore any typos / mistakes :3 feedback / rbs appreciated. inaccurate bc i’m british 💔 some details r taken completely from lewinsky-clinton case! like umm the dress duh.. and some of the trial talk! also the part w claire um! sorry the pov keeps switching oh my gosh!!! hope u like this and I hope it was worth the wait!!! tried to compress the plot to make it fit into the word limit so if it sounds jumpy excuse me… readers personality changed ack..

God bless America, and God fucking bless nepotism.

You don’t know a thing about environmental quality, your carbon footprint is far bigger than your So Kates and it’s not something you’ve ever been concerned about. Dad was an advisor to whoever was in office twenty years ago and his last name takes you further than your English degree ever has.

The lady in charge of interviews tells you that you have a ‘good face’ and that must mean something. When you get the call a few weeks later you’re not surprised. Now your parents have something to gush over at soirées and afternoon tea parties - their girl is interning at the White House.

“He’s a liar, a total liar, you know, I don’t think he even knows what he’s doing, he reads off a script twenty-four-seven.” Claire can’t even pretend to be happy, she struggles to look at you when you drop the news over brunch.

“I mean he’s the President, Claire, lying is like his job,” you say to her, checking out your pores in your compact mirror, “and he’s hot, have you seen him in that Vogue photoshoot? The nineties one?”

“Yeah.” Her bottom lip juts out. “He’s also a sex pest, they just put whoever's got the most statutory rape allegations against them in office, the people’s vote doesn’t even count.”

“Jesus, he’s not that bad, Claire.” You stand up, dusting the crumbs off your lap and leaving a tip on the table.

“He knows Epstein.” Claire takes a moment to stand, but she follows when you start to walk away.

“Yeah, but not that Epstein, Claire.” In all honesty, you don’t know much about President Kennedy other than his sexual escapades, you know a lot about those. You know about his affair with Ashley ‘America’s Sweetheart’ Graham, and you know what she was wearing when they got caught by the media.

Graff earrings that weighed 52.55 carats each, you wonder how many children died digging out those white diamonds, a yellow cap-sleeve dress and white closed-toe pumps, four inches tall. She towered over him in the photos the same way his wife does.

“How many Epstein's are there?” She’s so intense, you feel the heat of her anger when your arm brushes hers.

“A lot, and not all of them are Jeffrey’s.” You turn to face her, giving her a smile in hopes of settling her down. “Now, I’m going to powder my nose in the ladies’ room and you’re going to wait out here, and when I come back you’ll be calm, ‘kay?”

When you return she’s not calm, and she’s not calm for the following week, but she wishes you good luck over the phone on Monday morning and it’s because Claire could never stay mad at a pretty girl.

You put on your best (read: shortest) dress, within regulations of course, you’re not looking to get fired on your first day, but you are looking to turn a certain head.

Your peers are dressed comfortably, to say the least, well, as comfortable as business wear can be.

Poor sartorial taste is always an indicator of wealth. The girl to your left might be a Harvard graduate, but if that tacky brooch says anything it’s that she came from a blue-collar neighbourhood. Her bouclé jacket is obviously thrifted and flats? Seriously? Ballet pumps in the White House must be a dress code violation.

The rumpled shirt of the boy directly in your eye line has got to be the biggest fashion faux pas you’ve seen like ever—Well, your sister wore white after Labour Day, and a chunky statement necklace a decade too late.

Smarts can only take you so far, but looks are everything. The clean-cut elegance of a Louboutin, a timeless red lip, and a nice ass in a tight skirt. Oh, you’ll be going places for sure.

(The second floor of the White House perhaps.)

Your superior, Helena, gets it. She’s tall and that always helps. Immaculately dressed in tailored pinstripe trousers, they’re not quite ankle-swingers, but short enough to show off her sleek boots.

Man, you should’ve gone to fashion school.

When everyone stands, smoothing the creases in their clothes, girls using their thumbs to clean the lipstick from the corners of their mouths - you’re a beat late, too many eyesores taking up the space in your head.

But there’s nothing for you to fix, you already look perfect, so you stand pretty while they tremble in ill-fitting dresses.

The camera adds ten pounds, President Kennedy is all the more handsome in the flesh. That face says Italian love affair, but you know that dick is American as apple pie.

His wife is close by his side, their arms looped in a show of sanitised intimacy. Sophistication is dead and gone, pillbox hats and pearls are out, Ada Wong is more seedy sex dungeon worker than Jackie O. It’s admirable really, you’ve got to have guts to dress like the mistress.

President Kennedy makes his way down the line of interns, and then, he pauses in front of you, close enough to smell his cologne. His eyes follow the clean lines of your outfit, and then he grips your hand too tight.

It’s when you’re mingling an hour later after your introductory session, Helena approaches you in her usual composed manner, and very simply says, “Be careful around him.”

“Who?” You ask though you know exactly who she means.

“Leon.” The informality takes you off guard, her brows furrow like his name is sour on her tongue.

“Oh.” You pretend to take this in, but you’ll suck dick to break the glass ceiling, you’d risk the Kennedy curse for that man. “I mean, I’ll try to be careful, but I have to be in his good books.”

Helena’s lips form a thin line. “Trying isn’t good enough.”

“Big day ahead of you.” Ada sits on the end of the bed, fully clothed to the detriment of Leon’s dick. A non-existent sex life is a side effect of marriage he hopes scientists are working on daily to find a cure for.

“Isn't every day a big day?” If it’s not constant meetings and putting false hope in the heart of every American, it’s brunch with world leaders and dinner with the Pope where cocaine is served under a cloche.

“Hm.” She places her teacup down, gliding towards him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “Nice tie.”

“I know,” Leon says absentmindedly, scraping the powder beneath his nails out, a makeshift French manicure, “It’s Armani.”

“And not custom-made?” She pinches his cheek, gentle in the way only a paring knife could be. Leaves a wound that won’t ache until he notices it in the mirror later. “You’re slacking, Mr. President.

“And you’re exasperating, Ada.”

“Wow.” Ada’s brows shoot up into her hairline. “That’s a big word.”

“Yeah, I’ve been learning.” Leon sniffs as she looks him over with practised attraction.

“Aw, just so you can be mean to me?”

“You know it, beautiful.”

The only good thing about today is the interns. Fresh meat. Leon’s a cat person, he likes cougars and sex kittens, and he’s sure there’ll be plenty to pick from. Older women are easy to please and younger ones are easy to charm, the moment he steps into that room, getting his dick wet is the main priority.

Hunnigan doesn’t have to know that he doesn’t really care about where these girls graduated from. Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Princeton. They’ve all got pussies and that’s what matters.

Leon makes his way down the line like it’s a pageant show.

Too short, too shy, too tall, too thin, too fat, straight up ugly.

And then there’s you. Put together, smiling at him all coy like you want him. Girls like Ashley don’t ask for it, they beg for it—You look like you know what you’re here for, you don’t need to beg ‘cause he likes you already.

Leon gets the chance to talk to you an hour later, Helena shoulders past him as he approaches, Hunnigan a few steps behind him. He hopes Helena didn’t say anything in bad taste. In her words, Leon is a ‘Napoleonic little fuck’ and if it wasn’t for the pay, she’d want nothing to do with him. She’s not his biggest fan, so he prays she hasn’t fucked it up for him before he even got a chance.

“So, how old are you?” Leon asks brashly, his mouth twitches upwards when you tilt your head to the side and challenge him with your gaze alone.

“I’m legal if that’s what you’re after, Mr. President.” You could tie his balls together like cherry knots with a sharp tongue like that.

“How legal?” Fucking legal? Drinking legal? Voting legal?

“Very legal, Mr. President, I wouldn’t get you into any trouble or anything.” Your smile is cheeky, and your eyes glint, you’re trouble from head to toe.

“I don’t need you to get me in trouble.” Leon smiles back at you, that skirt is so fucking tight, he wonders if he could get you out of it.

“Mr. President,” Hunnigan warns, her wooden face seems to come to life, a small frown gracing her lips.

“Don’t be jealous, baby, you know I love you and only you.” Leon takes her hand, kissing her fingers until she snatches it back. He catches you laughing into your palm.

See? Easy to charm.

“Mr. President.” His final warning.

“I’m joking.” Leon’s face softens when you slip past her into the crowd, hates to see you go, loves to watch you walk away.

“You need to work on your jokes, Mr. President.” Ada grabs his shoulder from behind and he’s chilled to his core. Jesus. She’s so fucking scary sometimes. “I think you’re having a midlife crisis, they’re getting younger by the second, we should get you a shrink, Leon.”

“Yeah, okay, Ada, you can stop trying to pimp me out.” He’s eye level with her today. She’s opted for a shorter pair of heels, less threatening.

“Pimp you out?” She scoffs, “I just don’t want to be bailing you out, Leon.”

“Don’t need to be bailed out.” Leon shrugs. “I’m the President.”

Being an intern, Helena tells you and the rest of your peers, it means you won’t get to brush shoulders with the President as much as you probably hoped. He doesn’t visit often. He’s busy—

But he comes every day like the sun.

He pretends to be interested in the environment, whatever it is that you’re meant to be doing, but Leon might be the biggest private jet offender yet.

You notice the agitation that crosses Helena’s face anytime he intrudes, it passes a moment later, back to her usual impassivity by the time he sticks his nose in your business.

“Merely interested,” Mr. President claims like he wasn’t looking down your shirt. “Just passing by,” he says when he places a hand on your shoulder and lets it linger.

He never goes further, and it drives you crazy. He’s the fucking President, he could get away with groping you in public, he could make you get on your knees right now and he’s holding back.

Being the President and all, you suppose he's immune to flattery, and that’s alright. You’re immune to diamonds and fast cars and designer dresses. Been there, done that. You won’t be swayed so easily, you don’t want his money, you want his dick and a little piece of his heart, a mention in his will, the key to the Kennedy estate.

You want to go down in history, any publicity is good publicity, you live and die by that. Weighing up the options, you decide playing hard to get is what might work best—He’s already got everything, and he already wants you, you know he does, but you’re going to take that away from him.

No more peeking down your blouse, no more wandering hands and no more flirting. You’re cutting him off, cold turkey. Like, yeah, hypothetically President Kennedy could get any girl he wanted, but he most certainly won’t be getting you, and every man wants what he can’t get.

By the end of the week, he’ll want to break you in like a pair of new dress shoes, he’ll be eating out the palm of your hand, and maybe your pussy from the back.

It works like a charm.

“You’re avoiding me,” Mr. Kennedy says, free of his security detail as he corners you in the hall, his nose brushing yours, eyes wide and desperate—It’s only been a week.

“What makes you think that, Mr. President?” You feign disbelief, placing a dainty hand over your heart. His eyes catch the light like a cats, a crescent of white eclipsing the blue.

“Leon,” he corrects, the usual smarmy smile wiped off his face, “say it.” His hand cups the underside of your chin, tilting it upwards.

You pretend to falter, gazing over his shoulder with glassy eyes like uttering his name is too much for a mere intern like you. It’s not, it’s really not.

“Leon…” You repeat back to him slowly, like you’re new to this planet and you’ve never heard the name outside of his utterance.

Slowly, Leon draws back, hands dropping to his side as he looks down at his shiny shoes. “Don’t… Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“All shy, it don’t suit you.”

“Oh.” So he knows what you were doing. Maybe you’re not as smart as you thought.

His hands ghost over your body, and he asks if you’ll meet him after dark. You’re an opportunist, so you accept and find yourself doing overtime in the Oval Office.

He’s gentler than you expect, cradling your face as he rocks his hips into you. You don’t kiss on the first date, but you’ve never been opposed to some fun. Leon’s head drops to rest on your shoulder, you wonder while you pass a hand over his hair if the Barbie blond is natural or a personal choice.

This is terribly boring, you thought there’d be something exciting about fucking in the Oval Office, but you find yourself more interested in the interior design. Could use a column or two, ionic or Doric or whatever.

Oh gosh is that a photo of his mom—And his wife is a given, oh and Ashley Graham is there too, is that even allowed? He doesn’t have kids, thank god.

Leon finishes on your stomach, then he twists to face the closed golden drapes - a sight you’ve only ever seen on the silver screen. Like clockwork, he plucks the mini flag from his desk and uses it like a handkerchief, wiping his cum from your stomach.

Planting his seed in American soil, you guess.

His body trembles with aftershocks in your hold, and he offers a weary smile. “Was it… Was it good?” Leon’s eyes shift, he can’t hold your gaze as he tucks his limp dick into his slacks.

Awaiting your answer, he toys with the buttons on his shirt like a child looking for comfort in what they’re used to, that nervous look is out of place on his face.

“Of course it was good,” you lie, smoothing down your skirt, “you’re the President.” You don’t step into your heels yet, instead letting him revel in the inch or so he has on you, kissing his protruding collarbone.

That brings him to his senses, Leon’s chest puffs as he nods like it’s all coming back to him, his arrogance. “Right, yeah, I am.”

Before you leave, Leon takes your wrist in his hand, his nails look manicured. He’s got the nose for cocaine so you don’t put it past him. “Same time tomorrow?”

You smile at him sweetly. “Of course.”

Duh. You haven’t got a legacy out of him yet, nobody knows your name outside of your social circle and that’s not enough. Nice cars, colonial mansions—It’s not enough, you don’t need what you already have. When disposable income is all you know, when money grows in your backyard, it’s nothing about that. You won’t be done until you’ve run him into the ground.

Sure, you’re two yachts and a beach house in Miami rich, but you’re not the First Lady. You could boss around a maid or two, get a server fired when you go out to eat, but you don’t have world leaders rolling out red carpets for you to walk on when you land.

Honestly, if you weren’t so concerned with your figure, you’d think about poking a couple holes in the rubber—If that dick even works right.

A week later, you have him kissing your ankles while they dangle over his shoulders, the wet sound of his balls slapping your ass and strained moans as he tries to keep it down filling your ears.

Again, nothing to write home about, his tip barely manages to knock your cervix as he fucks into you with all he’s got, panting into your mouth while you kiss him. You gave up on faking it a couple of days in, you’ve a very good liar, but not a great actor.

You find that your disinterest gets him going, he sees it as a challenge, Leon takes pride in making you do as little as sigh when he thumbs your clit with deft fingers.

“Fuck, wait, I’m gonna—“ His eyes are lidded, staring at you expectantly while his hips stutter, dick pulsing inside of your slick cunt, his tip is wetter than you are. “Can I?”

“Yeah, sure.” You give him the green light and he spills inside of you, it trickles out, dribbling back down his shaft and leaving a residue on the underside of your ass. “I didn’t finish,” you tell him, unsticking your thighs from the glossy wood so you can shift back and spread your legs wide.

Slowly but surely, Leon gets the hint, slightly flustered by how straightforward you’re being. His thumbs part your pussy lips, tongue licking up the centre of your cunt, eating his cum out of your wet hole. You place a hand on the back of his head, pushing him into you, his nose bumps your clit and you gasp.

Oh god, why is his nose more talented than he is? You feel Leon’s fingers push into you, two to keep you happy, curling upwards as his lips latch onto your clit. You cum on his tongue, toes curling in your shoes, it’s pleasant and nothing more, like sun-warmed water lapping at your toes.

Leon moves to kiss you, his pink lips wet with your pussy, you want him to go home and kiss his wife with that mouth, you want him to wear your scent in place of his cologne. Your pussy is super prestigious, costs way more than Tom Ford.

Foxes are nifty little things - sometimes they come in the form of young girls with nice asses.

You’re pissing him off.

Nice car, wow, Mr. President! My dad has one parked in the garage, but we haven’t used it in a while. It's too loud, disturbs the neighbours. Oh, Leon, you shouldn’t have! No, really, you shouldn’t have, I don’t wear yellow diamonds, haven’t you heard of colour theory? They so don’t suit my undertones. Wow, Mr. Kennedy! You were in an episode of Friends once thirty years ago? Oh, gosh, you played Joey’s distant Italian cousin? That’s so crazy, my mom and Jennifer Aniston work out together every Tuesday!

Nothing’s enough, and that’s never been a problem for Leon. Even girls who have everything, Ashley Graham to name one, swoon over classic cars and ball gowns and him. They go crazy over him, but you’re using him as a stepping stool for something else. What else? What more could you want?

Leon might be fucking stupid when it comes to politics, he doesn’t know what to say without prompts, he doesn’t know shit about Guam or Penamstan or much at all—But he’s not dumb, you’re using him, and he’s letting you use him. Walking all over him in six-inch pumps, leaving your lipstick on his collar like you own him, sucking his dick so damn good he can't get rid of you.

You’re like a bed bug. A really hot bed bug. You’re also young, but his cock doesn’t care for morals or ethics and it never really has. Dick wants what the dick wants.

He isn’t going to be stupid this time—You don't want to be impressed so Leon won’t waste time buying you jewellery you consider old fashion, no need to take you for spins in vintage cars, you just want him. He gets it - everyone likes him.

“You’ve never taken me home,” you tell him one night, the white hotel sheets draped over your naked body, angel wings or a shrouded corpse, he's not quite sure.

“There’s nothing interesting at home.” Leon’s bottom lip juts out, preening when you scratch under his chin.

“Doesn’t have to be interesting.” You’re buttering him up with kisses. “You like me, right, Leon?”

“I guess so.” He grunts when you give him a swift elbow in the gut. “I’m kidding, of course I like you.”

“Then why don’t you want to take me home?” Your greed is so violent it grows teeth, he feels your nails digging into his skin.

He gives you one look. “You should know your place.” In my life, at work. An intern and a mistress.

You’re not one to back down. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” Leon says quickly, fuck, man, you’re scary. Ada isn’t scary, she’s just a bitch, in a hot way—You’re, like, mean. You boss him around and for some reason, he listens. Jesus Christ, isn’t the power imbalance meant to go the other way around?

“I want to come home with you,” you beg, but it’s not really begging, it's an instruction, “I want to sleep in your bed, don’t you like me?”

“I do like you, baby,” he insists, sighing softly when you take your hands off of him, he still feels the sting of your nails on his back, “I like you a lot, you think I treat anyone else like this?”

“Yeah, I bet you do this to every girl.” When it’s just the two of you, when he gets you bare like this, your age shows.

“Not true,” he scoffs.

(Obviously, that’s true.)

“Okay, so then if I’m sooo special, you should take me home.” God, you’re gonna ask him to dump his wife next. This is the problem with rich kids, they’re as entitled as he is. “It’s not like you have kids.”

Leon’s carelessness is lined with caution. He’ll take a mistress or two, but he won’t take that home. That’s something you do outside of the marriage bed. But you’re a kid, you wouldn’t know that, this is probably the first time you’ve fucked a married man, let alone the President.

“It doesn’t work like that, baby,” he tries carefully, pinching your cheek, “you’re a smart girl, you should know better.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, I’m not a kid.” It’s spoken like an accusation, his fingers lose all dexterity when you push him away.

“I know, baby, but you’re being a little selfish right now, you know that?” Comforting you is a balancing act, he flicks through a Rolodex of tactics in his head. He lands on making you feel small. Guilt-tripping doesn’t work on girls who are spoiled rotten, begging just makes you feel like the shit. “It’s not just about you here, is it?”

When you don’t answer, he continues. “If I took you home, I’d put everything at stake, I know you know that.” Leon pulls you apart like orange segments while you turn his mind into your personal playground—It’s a fair trade.

You turn over quietly and he knows he’s won.

It goes on for a month, and then two, and then three and then more—Leon finds himself wondering when it’s time to introduce you officially as his side piece. Unofficially, most insiders know, but the press hasn’t picked up on it yet. If Ada knows she says nothing about it - she lets him be quietly awful.

Your duties with Helena dwindle and he finds you under his desk more often than not, lips stretched around his cock, your lipstick smeared on his shaft.

Leon slaps his dick against your cheek and you jump, shoulders up near your ears.

“Don’t do that.” You pop off his cock to scold him, the wet of your mouth engulfing him a moment later, head bobbing as you take him to the hilt.

“Sorry,” he nearly whines, lips parting when you mouth along his dick, licking the seam of his sac when you reach the base.

Your hand works his cock while you suck on his heavy balls, leaving your red kisses all over him, he’ll watch them run down the drain when he showers. He feels your teeth graze his sensitive skin and the knot in his lower belly snaps, seed spurting from his leaky tip and landing on your cute red blouse in white ribbons. You kind of look like a red velvet cake.

“Oh fuck, Leon!” You knock your head on the desk when you get up, rubbing the forming bump with a groan as you dab at the stain on your shirt with a tissue.

“I’m sorry, you surprised me!” He makes no move to help ‘cause when he does try you only seem to get more agitated at him.

“Fuck, just—How am I supposed to go home like this?” The stain is pretty much cemented, that shit is potent, goddamn.

“You can take my jacket,” Leon offers, ever the gentleman.

“Right, and let everyone find out?” You raise a brow at him.

“Thought that’s what you wanted anyway,” he huffs.

“I do, but not like this,” you groan, missing the trashcan when you toss the clump of wet tissues, “I want to be caught doing something romantic, or just glamorous, not with your fucking dick in my mouth.”

“Oh, baby,” Leon coos, “but you’ve always got my dick in your mouth.”

“Shut up, Leon, oh—Whatever, just, I’m leaving, okay? Don’t call me tonight.” You grab your handbag from his desk, heels click-clacking as you exit, a very proud and noticeable stain on your right tit. He likes that one better.

Leon doesn’t call you, he finds himself away on foreign business, swept up by presidential duties for once and too busy to answer any calls that aren’t to do with work. He’s in Paris overseeing whatever Hunmigan told him to oversee when the news breaks. He never sees your voicemails until they come to him in the form of transcripts.

Leon, oh god, I’m sorry—I’m sorry for being a bitch last week, but can you please call me back? It’s important.

Leon? I’m sorry, can you call me back? It’s really important, I’m—I’m not fucking around, I promise. It’s just that, oh god, Leon, I really messed up, I can’t believe… I don’t want you to hate me for this, I know you’re mad at me, but please can you answer? They didn’t let me in today, they said you were away and—I told them who I was, that I worked there, I gave them Helena’s name and they still, Leon they didn’t let me in. I thought they knew about us.

Leon, I can’t—I need you to answer me, I feel like I’m talking into thin air, can you please just call me back, please, Leon? It’s urgent. I fucked up, I just need you to answer me so we can fix this, I fucked up so bad and I’m sorry, Leon—I was, I was stupid, but I can fix it if you just answer me. I love you a lot, Leon, please answer me.

I didn’t mean to call her, Leon, I didn’t—I mean, she’s my friend, I tell her everything and I wasn’t thinking. I was just upset, I just wanted to talk to someone about it, I didn’t know she would—I didn’t know she would do that to me. I didn’t fucking know, I just wanted to talk to somebody, I just—Please, don’t be mad at me, Leon.

I was frustrated, I told her about the shirt, why I got mad at you—I didn’t think anything of it, I tell her everything so I didn’t think it would be—I mean, she was acting weird, I was gonna take the shirt to be dry-cleaned after you fucked it up, but she told me I looked fat in it and that’s so—Leon, that’s so weird of her to say, Claire would never say that to me and I was fucking thinking at the time, that’s so weird, she would never say anything like that to me—Shit, and she even said it weird, y’know? Like it hurt her to say it, and I fucking just left it in the back of my closet, I don’t know why, she just got in my head about it ‘cause she’d never say anything like that and I was so confused. Oh fuck. God. I really love you, Leon, like, a lot. Call me back, it’s urgent, please don’t do this to me.

The press conference is held two weeks later, and surprisingly, you don’t show your face or make a fuss. He thought you’d cause a riot, that you’d sell that blouse for millions, get it DNA tested, ruin his life in a few seconds. It might be shame or heartbreak, Leon doesn’t know.

He wipes his sweaty hands on his slacks. From beside him, Hunnigan gives him a slight nudge. “You call her a woman, not a girl, is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” he says, posed up in front of an American flag like a pinup girl, “I want you all to listen to me, I’m gonna say this again, I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” He’s distinctly handsome on your flatscreen TV.

This man is full of nothing but his own prick.

How could you be so stupid? You should’ve kept it strictly business, but of course, you wanted more, you always want more.

While you suppress the urge to cry, your mom places a hand on your shoulder. “No use crying over spilt milk, honey,” she hums, going back to her fashion magazine a moment later.

But it is, he ruined that blouse, and you love that blouse. Not to mention you’re a laughing stock. You’re not the First Lady, you’re just some crazy bitch who lied about fucking the President.

It’s not fair, he gets to come away with everything intact, you’re the one who loses everything. Your internship, Claire, respect, everything. It’s all coming undone. All that dick you sucked landed you nowhere, and he—He just gets off scot-free.

You need to take him down.

Leon was smart enough to leave no evidence, he rarely messaged, he only called and call logs alone are never enough to prove anything. You’ve got all those gifts, but that means nothing to anyone, you can’t prove who got them.

Oh.

What got you in this mess in the first place is bound to get you out of it.

You ask Daddy to get you a good lawyer and you open up your case against Leon Scott Kennedy. DNA testing is on your side, the results tell the nation that it is in fact his American seed on your blouse and that their President is a sex fiend who likes to break young girls with bright dreams and promising futures.

Which, of course, isn’t true, you knew what you were getting into, but you’d happily lie to get the last word. To wipe the smile off his smug fucking face. You still want to fuck him, you still like him a lot. He sticks to you in an unpleasant way, like his cum.

“He’s on TV again,” your sister lets you know, and you lift your head from a court document to watch your ex-boyfriend fumble his way through a thorough grilling.

Leon dodges questions well, but you can tell he’s getting nervous. His fingers twitch and his blinking becomes more rapid. “Uh, what qualifies as sexual relations?” He tries to throw them off with his stupidly hot smile, his dimples and white teeth and pretty eyes when he knows damn well that being balls deep in your pussy is a sexual fucking relation.

“She wanted me,” he says finally, and Hunnigan closes her eyes like she knows it’s over, running her hand over her face as Leon undoes a lifetime of her work, “she wanted me, who was I to say no—As an American man, it’s my duty to listen to our women.”

Oh, he’s so fucking screwed. Why did you fuck such an idiot? You should’ve gone for an actor instead.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

President Leon S. Kennedy

July 19, 2024.

KENNEDY:

Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Americans, good evening.

Today, I’m standing here to take complete responsibility for all my actions, public and private. I’m here to admit to a personal failing, an indiscretion, that has hurt my family, colleagues, and the American people.

It is with great regret that I admit to having an extramarital affair with [REDACTED]. This was a serious lapse in my judgement and a personal failure, one that has brought endless pain to those around me, it was never my intention to disappoint the ones I hold so dear.

As I told the grand jury today, at no time did I ask for evidence to be destroyed or hidden, at no time did I ask anyone to lie for my wrongdoings. This is not a moment for excuses or justification, my actions were wrong, plain and simple. I misled both the nation and my wife with my previous statements, I understand that it gave a false impression to those around me, and to those who trust me. I deeply regret that.

My actions have caused the nation pain and needless embarrassment, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I had concerns for my family and protecting their privacy, the independent counsel investigation moved onto staff, family members, friends of mine and it has gone on for too long.

Our country has been distracted by this matter for too long, and I committed to taking full responsibility for this transgression. Once again, I apologise and aim to reclaim my private life for my wife, friends and colleagues. It’s nobody’s business but ours.

I humbly ask for your understanding and patience as I strive to earn back the trust of my fellow people, of our God, and of those around me.

Our nation faces significant challenges that require my full dedication, I ask for us to turn away from this spectacle, to move forward to come together and focus on the tasks ahead, to remain united in our efforts to build a better tomorrow.

Thank you for watching. God bless America. And good night.

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 6 (Final)

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The one time Colt Seavers kisses you — or, rather, the first time.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word (sending directly to the rest because Tumblr isn't cooperating)

Author’s Note: Well, folks, we've come to the end of this fic, and I hope it's everything you've all been waiting for. I can't express how much your kind words and amazing feedback has meant to me, and it has truly shaped this fic in more ways than you know. I'm really going to miss writing this fic, soooo........ if y'all are interested in a little epilogue, I'm up for that ;) Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Colt can’t get out of the camera crew’s station fast enough. He’s been searching for you all morning, but Holly finally pressed a note in his hand, telling him that you asked her to pass it on to him. He instantly searches for a quiet place where he can read your note, dreading what it might say.

Yesterday shook him up, in more ways than one. Staring down the headlights of a train while Elijah Gordon pushed him to stay a few more seconds was terrifying even for him. Seeing you engage in a showdown with Gordon himself in front of the entire crew was so completely unexpected and selfless that he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. No one has ever stood up for him like that.

The more he’s thought it over, the more he’s realized that he’s been blind. Blind to your feelings, blind to your sincerity, blind to the fact that he’s been on the verge of his sweetest dream come true. He’s been pushing you away because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you, but after what happened yesterday, he’s starting to realize that doesn’t matter.

He keeps remembering the look in your eyes when you were in the tent together. The gentle way your fingertips stroked his hair, the soft skin of your neck against his lips, the way you held him as if he were designed to fit in your arms. If your fierceness in defending him didn’t convince him that he needed to wake up and confess his love for you, the heated look in your eyes did. His plan upon finding you has been to simply pour out his heart and see if you’re still willing to accept him after everything that’s happened.

Colt finally finds an empty bench a few stations down from the camera crew, and he unfolds your note carefully. A gentle smile crosses his lips when he sees you’ve scribbled it by hand, your artistic handwriting scrawled in green ink across a piece of office paper. The smile slowly fades, though, as he scans the contents of your letter.

Dear Colt,

I’m sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I figured we’ve already said a lot of things that are more important than goodbyes. I want you to know that I’m not leaving because you hurt me or because I’m angry with you. I just think it’s best this way, for both of us.

I quit my job last night as Gordon’s set director. After everything that’s happened, I just can’t work for him. I’ve already had a few offers back in L.A., so I’ll be fine. I wish you the best as you finish the movie. You really are the best stuntman in the business, and I hope you stay safe.

I’ve already told you most of what I feel, so I won’t beat a dead horse any more. Still, in case I haven’t told you enough, I want you to know that the time I’ve spent with you has been the happiest I’ve had in a long time. I don’t know why you’re so dead-set on believing you’re not good enough for me. That thought has never entered my mind and never will. You’re the best person I know. When I look back on my memories of love, I will always think of you. Whatever you think you’d be holding me back from, it doesn’t matter to me half as much as you do. Please believe that.

I wish you all the best, and I hope one day our paths might cross again. Until then, thumbs up and happy landings.

Colt squeezes his eyes shut once he’s finished reading the letter, fighting the urge to crumple the piece of paper into a ball. How could you have been so stupid? his inner monologue chides him. How could you not have recognized unconditional love when it was staring you in the face?

The memory of your touch hits him like a knockout punch. Suddenly, every moment the two of you have shared comes back to him in excruciating detail. Smudging paint on each other’s faces. Walking you back to your hotel room. Flirting with you at the club. The look in your eyes when you ran to him after the train stunt. Your hands on his face, in his hair.

Setting his jaw, Colt glances at his watch. 7:42 AM. If he can figure out where you’re leaving from, he can catch you in time. There are a lot of things he needs to say before it’s too late, and now, for the first time, he’s ready to say them.

He folds the paper, tucks it into his pocket, and starts running.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You grip your steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. The sun has already risen over the mountains in the distance, but the beauty of the landscape is the furthest thing from your mind.

You can’t believe you actually left. You’ve never quit a job before, especially one as high-profile as this one. But you just couldn’t take it. You couldn’t work for someone who would so carelessly risk the life of one of their employees. Especially when you happen to be in love with that employee.

You haven’t told anyone but Holly (and Gordon, of course), and she understood. She also promised to pass along your note to Colt.

Writing that note is the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. You wrote eight versions of it before settling on the one you passed to Holly. The most painful part was knowing that that note may be the last time you ever communicate with Colt. Saying exactly the right thing was vital, and you finally felt satisfied with the ninth version, which included a lot less poetic verse and a lot more explanations of why you were really leaving.

The airport is looming on the horizon, and a wave of emotion sweeps over you, biting at the backs of your eyes. What was the point of knowing him if this is how it has to end?

You can’t stop replaying your memories with him as you pull closer to the airport parking lot. Things started out so simple and easy between the two of you — making each other laugh, sitting together at lunch, cheering on each other’s projects — but once the tension between you started heating up, maintaining a friendship has seemed almost impossible. You thought you could handle it, but it turns out you’re not strong enough to face Colt every day if you can’t express your love for him openly.

You pull into a parking space, facing the vast grassy field that leads to the plane runway. A passenger jet soars into the air, leaving a trail of jet stream behind. You’ll be aboard one of those planes within the hour, and maybe when you get to L.A., you can leave all your sorrows behind you.

You’re still trying to muster the strength to climb out of the car and drag your suitcase to the airport, when something… odd catches your eye. On the busy street leading up to the airport entrance, a vehicle is moving too fast to be driven by a normal person. The truck rounds the corner to fly up the airport drive at top speed, and your heart constricts.

That’s Colt’s truck.

All your attention is suddenly laser-focused on that familiar GMC pickup, and before you know what you’re doing, you’ve leaped out of your car and started running as fast as you can towards the driveway. A few seconds later, Colt’s truck pulls to a stop on the side of the drive, and he jumps out without even bothering to turn the truck off.

The fifteen seconds it takes you to get halfway across the grassy field feels like an eternity, and by the time you’re halfway, Colt has already cleared the distance. He sweeps you into his arms, holding you off the ground as you try to catch your breath, completely overwhelmed by this grand gesture.

He came for me. He couldn’t let me leave without saying goodbye. It’s not over yet.

You’re content to stay like that, suspended off the ground and feeling his heartbeat pound against your chest, but Colt carefully sets you back on your feet and holds you at arm’s length. His face is a jumble of a thousand emotions, more than you’ve ever seen from him in all the time you’ve known him. He’s breathing hard from his enthusiastic sprint across the greenway, but his eyes are illuminated by his excitement at catching you in time.

“Colt—” you start, gripping his forearms as if he’s going to disappear.

He shakes his head, cutting off whatever you were about to ask. “I’ve been wrong. I’ve been so wrong.”

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, trying to make sense of his words. “Colt, how did you find me here?” you ask.

“I got your note,” he tells you. “Holly told me how to find you.”

“Don’t you have to be on set?”

“Actually, I’m not filming anymore.”

You can’t hide your confusion. Colt isn’t working on the movie anymore? What kind of insane coincidence could this be? “What?” you squeak, gripping his arms even harder. “Please tell me you didn’t quit because I did!”

Colt shakes his head, which relieves you. “Tom quit the movie last night,” Colt explains, his eyes never leaving yours. “Called Gordon and told him he was sick of taking orders and wasn’t working for him anymore. I’d say it had something to do with you taking Gordon to task yesterday,” he adds with something that sounds a little like humor. “Tom doesn’t want something like that reflecting badly on him.”

You laugh in pure disbelief, amazed at the turn of events you could never have expected. “Well, I never thought I’d be grateful to Tom Ryder for anything,” you say honestly, and Colt laughs with you, genuine joy behind his eyes. You search his face for answers about why he has rushed to the airport to see you. You begin, “Listen, you didn’t have to come all this way just to tell me—”

“I did,” Colt says definitively. “Believe me, I did. Because what I have to say isn’t something that can be done long-distance.”

Your heart drops. This is it. After all this time, you’re about to hear the words that you know are true, the ones you’ve been waiting for, from his own lips.

“Colt…”

Colt takes a step backwards, his hands falling from your arms to hold your hands between the two of you. The look in his eyes can only be described as utter sincerity.

“I have been so wrong about selling you short,” he says softly, emotion threatening to break through his voice. “I keep putting you on this impossibly high pedestal and believing that you’re way too good for me. I thought you could never feel what I feel because I don’t see myself the way I see you. To me, you’re every wonderful thing that ever existed.”

Tears spring into your eyes at his words, so totally without guile. “Are you serious?” you whisper.

“Absolutely serious.” His eyes blaze with an intensity you haven’t seen before, and his grip on your hands grows tighter as he says, “Listen, I’ve never said this to anyone in my life, but… I love you.” Colt stops, his voice catching in his throat when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you on set painting that triple-sized stop sign.” You both laugh at the memory, relieving some of the overwhelming emotion.

He keeps going. “I’m so in love with you it actually scares me,” he finishes, “because nothing has ever meant so much to me as getting this right. I can’t keep holding it back, and you deserve to know. It’s killing me.”

“Colt…” It’s as if you’ve forgotten every word but his name.

Still, Colt presses on, trying to get three months’ worth of communication out in three minutes. “I’m not asking anything in return,” he tells you insistently. “If you still want to go, I won’t stop you. You don’t need to say or do anything, but I just had to get this out. After yesterday, with the train stunt almost going wrong, and you telling Gordon off, and then when you told me you love me and want to be with me no matter what, I don’t know… it just sort of woke me up.”

Your eyes brim with tears again, and you squeeze his hands, giving him an encouraging smile to keep going. You can feel his pulse in his hands, flying as fast as the jet planes soaring over the nearby mountains.

“I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want you to be stuck with a guy like me.” Colt can’t seem to stop the avalanche of words spilling out of his mouth, every one as sweet as honey to your ears. “I keep imagining this amazing future for you and thinking that I’m only going to hold you back and get in the way. I’m still not sure it wouldn’t be that way, but… I’m not the only one who gets to make that decision.” His voice thickens with emotion again. “No one has ever cheered me on the way you do. No one has ever supported me with everything I do, and made me feel like I actually have a chance at real love. But you’re different. You make me feel like I can do anything, and if you still want me after all we’ve been through, I’m yours.”

The look in Colt’s eyes is enough to make your knees feel weak, and you throw yourself forward to steady yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. Colt’s instant embrace is more welcome than you could have imagined.

“Of course I want you,” you whisper in his ear. “Just you, no strings attached.”

Colt holds you against him for a few moments, long enough that a plane takes off from the landing strip and zooms far enough away that it doesn’t drown out his words. Finally, carefully, he pries himself out of your arms and holds you at arm’s length, his hands on your waist. “Look, I can’t promise that it’ll be easy,” he continues in a rush. “I’m a stuntman. Life is scary and dangerous and all that.”

“I don’t care about that,” you answer honestly, beaming through your tears. “If it’s what you love doing, there’s nothing I want more than for you to do it. I can handle it.”

“It’s not just that. I’ve never… I’ve never had a serious relationship before. Everything will be new for me, and I’m going to make a ton of mistakes.”

Colt’s eyes are misty, too, and your heart is so full of joy that it feels like it will burst. You know it must be radiating from your face, because Colt starts grinning back at you, seeming to sense how much you’ve been aching to hear these words from him.

“So am I,” you insist, your hands fluttering back and forth from his face to his shoulders over and over. “Mistakes are just part of a relationship. As long as we communicate and stay committed, we’re not going to fall apart just because of a few mistakes.”

Colt nods, flexing his fingers against your waist as his smile overtakes his entire face. Still, he doesn’t lose control: he seems to be holding back until he’s finished saying everything that’s been building up over the months. You’re more than happy to let your gaze wander over his wonderful face, to bask in the fact that Colt Seavers loves you back and isn’t going to let you go.

“There’s one more thing,” he says gingerly. “I… I don’t really have a lot of grand aspirations for the future. I’m a stuntman because that’s what I love doing, but there aren’t a lot of ways to move up the ladder. I’ll be doing stunts until I’m dead or until I can’t anymore, so basically, my future is just to be a working-class guy. I’ll just be an unknown stuntman.” He hesitates at the end of his speech, as if he honestly believes this could be a problem for you.

You want to laugh in sheer glee, but you hold back so Colt won’t think you’re taking his seriousness lightly. “If that bothered me,” you inform him, moving your thumbs lightly against the sides of his neck, “I would never have fallen in love with you in the first place. Colt, I’m not exactly shooting for the stars myself as a set decorator. Sure, I may have a chance to work on even bigger films, and it can always open up some new opportunities, but I’m not doing this to climb the ladder either. If we’re both working-class professionals for the rest of our lives, that’s fine with me. As long as I have you in my life, I don’t care what kind of life it is.”

Colt’s eyes finally brim over with the tears he has valiantly been holding back. His hands are trembling against your waist, and he ducks his head so you won’t see how much this confession has affected him. You pull him close to you again, resting your head just below his chin while he squeezes you tightly enough to take your breath away. This is what heaven must be like.

He’s whispering something against the top of your hair, so low you can barely hear it. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do,” Colt replies, the regret in his voice obvious. “I haven’t been able to make up my mind about what to do because all this has been in the back of my head. I should have just come clean with you the first time you ever let me know how you feel.” He lifts your head with his fingers under your chin, meeting your tear-stained gaze with one of his own. “It would have saved you all this heartbreak,” he whispers.

You smile up at him, resting your hand on his cheek. “What’s love without a little heartbreak?” you tease him. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Colt finally returns your smile, his shoulders relaxing as if he suddenly believes that this is real. “I promise I won’t break your heart again,” he says solemnly.

“I believe that.” And you do.

Colt is looking into your eyes with all the passion of the ocean in a storm, and you can feel the blush in your cheeks building just from the way he’s looking at you. You’re suddenly hyper-conscious of his hand that’s still resting under your chin, tilting your head back to look deep in your eyes. The hand that is slowly, ever so slowly, bringing your face closer to his.

Colt hesitates for a moment when your lips are just inches apart. You’ve been here so many times, so close to a kiss, and have parted every time. This time, however, you know his heart is beating for you alone, and you feel like you have all the time in the world to savor this moment.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, and his breath seems to double its pace as he considers what he’s about to do. He lifts an eyebrow at you, as if asking, Are you ready? Your smile tells him all he needs to know, and finally, finally, Colt closes the endless distance between you.

The moment your lips meet his, your heart whispers, This is what you were made to do. Colt’s kiss is everything gentle and passionate, his lips moving slowly against yours in a rhythm that is so incredibly natural. His hands find landing spots on your back when you tighten your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as he deepens the kiss.

Every last circuit in your brain is exploding in the sweetest way possible. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? you wonder, and Colt pulls away from your mouth at that exact moment, fixing his eyes on yours with an expression that tells you he’s wondering the same thing.

The separation only lasts a moment, though, because now that Colt has had a taste of your lips, he can’t get enough. He kisses you again, and again, and again, and again, until you’re both so out of breath you wonder if you’ll ever recover. His hands move up and down your back, clutching your body so tightly against his that you’ve started breathing in rhythm with each other. You can taste salt on his lips, and you have no idea if it’s from your tears or his.

Just when you think you’re about to drown in the sweetest possible way, Colt presses one more soft kiss against your lips, then pulls back so you can breathe. You find yourself gasping for air and aren’t surprised to see him doing the same. Your hands stay on his shoulders as they heave up and down, and he doesn’t loosen his hold on you for a second.

“Colt…” you sigh, your lips feeling like they’ve actually changed shape, “I’ve dreamed about this so many times. You have no idea.”

He inclines his head toward you, resting his cheek against yours. His beard scratches your skin in a way that sends a delightful shiver down your spine. “Me, too,” he whispers against your cheek.

“Promise me this is real.”

“It’s real,” Colt assures you, dipping his head so he can press a kiss against the skin right below your ear. “Realer than anything I’ve done in my life.”

You feel like your body is about to sail into orbit at the contact, and you grip Colt’s broad shoulders even harder as his lips move down your neck, across your throat, down to your collarbone. You know you’re making breathless sounds that betray how much he’s exciting you, but you are far past the point of caring.

With every kiss, it’s as if Colt is repeating the words he said just a few moments ago: I love you. I love you. I love you. One of his hands moves from your lower back to cradle your chin, tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.

“I’ve been aching for you,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Burning for you.”

His words inspire an entirely new shiver down your spine, one that makes you stand on your toes and arch even further into his arms. All you can manage to choke out is, “I love you so much… so much…”

You slide one hand into his hair, remembering how he reacted the last time you did that. Right on cue, Colt lets out a soft sound that makes every inch of your skin erupt into goosebumps. He goes still in your arms, his mouth still on the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. You run your fingers through his hair with firm but gentle strokes, reveling in the way he seems to melt in your arms.

After a few moments of it, Colt finally straightens again, his intense gaze locked on your face. You leave one hand in his thick hair and let your other wander to his face. Using just your fingertips, you trace his forehead, his cheekbone, his nose, his lips, his jaw, everything you’ve been dying to touch. Colt’s eyes flutter closed at your touch, as if he’s about to come undone right before your eyes. Your heart leaps when he leans his head to the side, leaning in to your touch.

You choose to copy his actions, rising up to press your lips to his pulse point, right below his neck. The way Colt’s hands on your waist flex in response tells you you’ve found something he likes. You trail your way up until you’re peppering kisses behind his ear, then on his cheek, on his nose, on both his closed eyelids.

At the sensation of your kisses on his face, Colt opens his eyes and smiles at you. It’s a new smile this time, one that speaks of a new emotion he’s feeling for the first time. Peacefulness. Assurance.

Colt raises his hands to frame your face, tucking the strands of hair that he’s pulled loose back behind your ears. His voice breaks when he says softly, “I may never find the right words to tell you how I really feel about you, but I promise I’m going to take every opportunity to try.”

You rest your hands on his chest, grinning as you reply, “We’ve got the rest of our lives for you to think of the right words. I’ve heard all the ones I need to know what you mean.”

Colt’s eyes are brimming over with the love he’s been demonstrating, the adoration, the gratitude, the sheer bliss of sharing this moment with the one person he’s been waiting all his life for. “You’re everything to me…” he murmurs, lowering his lips to touch yours again. “I’ve never…” he restarts, only to interrupt himself with another kiss. “No one has ever…”

He doesn’t even try to finish the last sentence, and your lips are meeting in a gentler kiss, one that calms the fire you’ve been building for the last little eternity. His lips are so soft against yours, coaxing things from you but never demanding. Colt’s hands stroke through your hair and down your spine, holding you close against his chest protectively. You can feel every breath he takes, every movement that reveals how wrapped up he is in feeling you with him.

Another deafening jet plane roars over your heads, but neither of you take the slightest bit of notice.

Colt finally slows your kiss down, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth and leaving one of his hands to tangle in your hair. He doesn’t pull away, just lets his lips linger on your jaw, as he asks casually, “So, Sofonisba, are you still flying out?”

“Sofonisba?” you repeat, words slowly drifting back into your brain.

“I was running out of artist nicknames,” Colt explains, a husky edge still noticeable in his voice. “Had to look that one up.”

You grin at him, though he feels it rather than sees it. “I don’t have to fly out. I don’t exactly have somewhere to be.” You snuggle closer to him, not quite ready to leave his comforting embrace. “Haven’t even gotten my ticket yet.”

Colt hums in approval at that, the sound lingering on your skin. “In that case,” he suggests softly, “what do you say to some coffee?”

“Can’t think of anything I’d like better,” you say honestly.

Colt returns your smile, pulling you forward for one last, reverent kiss to your lips. Then he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and the two of you gaze off into the distance, where another plane soars into the sky over the mountains.

You don’t know what lies ahead for you, and you know Colt doesn’t either. But you are assured of one thing now, and that is that you’ve found the man you were made to be with. All it takes is one glance up into his eyes to know that he’s confident of the same thing.

That’s more than enough for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Epilogue

[chuulyssa]

behind the camera. (light yagami)

↷ A/N ─ my first tumblr post ever <3 i hope i didnt go overboard with this (?) also IM SORRY for the abrupt ending i swear

★ COUNT ─ 0.6k

!! TAGS ─ f!reader, stalking, yandere!light, masturbation, fantasization

★ PROLOGUE ─ your over-obsessed overprotective boyfriend set up cameras around your house to watch his pretty little girl

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

You sighed as you felt the warm water droplets pour down on your skin. It was this that calmed you after a stressful day at work - massaging your body lightly with a loofah and washing the soap away gently. Slowly, you turned the temperature down, soaking you with cold water, and soothing your skin after the hot shower.

Getting out of the shower, you wiped your hair softly with a small towel. Tonight was one of the few when you were going to treat yourself with haircare and skincare, something you usually didn't get too much time for.

As you sat down on the bed in front of a mirror, your body completely naked, you turned on some music and started applying body lotion over yourself, smiling all the while. Little did you know, your boyfriend grinned, pausing his work to check your bare body out.

Light's pen hovered over a name in the Death Note as he watched you, not blinking even once in case he missed the beautiful sight on his computer screen.

He watched your hands glide from your chest, circling each of your breasts, to your waist. God knew how much he wished to touch you in the places you were touching yourself right now. Light saw you squeeze the lotion tube, applying some on your legs and thighs, and then his eyes fell on your pretty little pussy.

Your legs were spread apart as if inviting his dick to slide inside. His pen still held by his right hand, his left hand slipped to his growing bulge, his breath fastening and hitching.

His father was still working. His mother had gone out somewhere and his sister was at her friend's house at a sleepover. He did not have to be quiet while stroking himself watching you this time.

You spread your legs a bit farther apart to massage your ass and pussy, and he threw the pen down to unbuckle his pants as quickly as he could. He couldn't wait anymore.

Light pulled his boxers down, freeing his boner as his hands clenched around it. As you applied lotion on your pussy, he imagined his hand to be yours, and ran it up and down his hard dick, just like you did whenever you two had sex.

Slowly, he picked up the pace and pumped his dick faster and faster, all the while remembering how your breathy voice moaned from underneath him whenever he teased your clit.

Light watched through the camera as you stood up. He didn't want you to wear clothes just yet. He couldn't let you cover yourself while he was still relishing the sight of your beautiful body. He waited with bated breath for you to sit back down.

You lay down on the bed, still naked, feeling the blanket underneath you. Little did you know, your boyfriend breathed a sigh of relief in his house, which quickly turned into a groan. He visualized your smirking face, your head bobbing as you sucked him, and his cum dripping from your mouth as you licked him dry.

You felt your eyes droop as you struggled to stay awake, and thought you might as well put on a face mask while you were at it. Light howled in annoyance when you covered your glimmering eyes, his hands still doing the work. He instead imagined how you would make eye contact while constantly licking and sucking his dick, and he felt himself getting hot.

Every movement of your sleeping face and breathing chest drove him crazy, edging him closer to his climax. Finally, after a particularly loud moan, he came all over his chair and the floor, the image of your messy hair and lustful screaming fresh in his mind.

© chuulyssa, 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[bratphilia]

exposure (w. afton x reader)

note: as promised, it's here. also fun fact i have ocd and exposure therapy is one way used in my treatment. so i turned it into porn. enjoy! i will most definitely write a second chapter

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: corrupt therapist!william, innocent virgin!reader, manipulation, oral sex (f receiving)

your thoughts are interrupted as you hear a voice call your name. "hi," your therapist says, smiling kindly at you.

"hi steve." you return the smile and follow him to his office.

he opens the door for you and closes it behind him. you take a seat on the couch while he situates himself in the chair across from you. "so tell me, how are you doing? how are the meds working out?" 

"well, um," you start apprehensively. "that's kinda why i'm here to see you so soon. it's been a month and i don't think they're working."

steve gives you a faux look of concern, as if to say "oh no" and clicks his tongue. of course the meds aren't working. he handed you a low dosage of tylenol, a pain medicine, in an orange bottle without a label. any smart person would've found that suspicious — even more suspicious considering the fact that he's a therapist, not a psychiatrist. 

there's nothing wrong with you, either. you're just an innocent — rather dumb, in his opinion — girl with repressed sexual thoughts. thoughts he's been working his way up to helping you through them. 

"and the ache in your stomach is still there?" steve asks, just to make sure. 

you mumble an "mhm" embarrassed to look at him. he bites back a grin. "well, i have an idea."

you perk up at that. "ever heard of exposure therapy?" you shake your head 'no.' "it's a kind of therapeutic exercise that stresses the importance of facing the things that are giving you anxiety."

you stare at him blankly. of course you don't understand what he's saying. you're his dumb little girl, after all. 

"tell me, what are the symptoms you're having?" he asks. he wants you to say it — say that the root of your problems stem from overwhelming horniness, just as you've danced around saying in every session you've had with him.

you look down at your shoes. "well, uhm, there's this... tingle in my stomach. and the thoughts i'm having are... concerning to me. it's like i'm obsessed with..." 

you trail off and he raises an eyebrow. "...i guess what i'm trying to say is... i'm having really dirty thoughts. sometimes... they're about you.. or some men i see staring at me." 

steve tries his hardest to keep up the facade of a concerned therapist, but he can't deny how your words are going straight to his dick. "i see." 

"can you help me, steve?" you look at him with the most innocent, doe eyes he's ever seen. 

he cocks his head and smiles at you. "of course i can." he refrains from calling you 'sweet girl' — too unprofessional.

steve takes his spot on the couch next to you. he helps you situate your self so that you're leaning back. "can you spread your legs for me? you might want to take off your shoes for the sake of your own comfort."

your brows furrow and you do what he says hesitantly. you're wearing a cute, pastel blue sundress. when you bring your knees to your chest, spread just like he asked, he reaches to fold your dress over and reveals your white cotton panties. he could come in his pants from the sight alone.

you make a resistant noise when he reaches for your panties. "no one's ever touched me there..."

he already knows that. he can tell. but still, something about being the first one to break open that sweet cunt of yours fills him with even more desire. "i'll be gentle, okay?" he promises.

you nod your head and allow him to slide your panties down your legs, leaving them stretched near the bottom of your calves purposefully. it provides as a small restraint to you in case you squirm away from his touch. just as he expected, your pussy is red, swollen, and shiny with your slick. poor thing, he thinks.

steve brings a hand to run up and down your cunt, wanting to collect the slick gathered there. you moan and he feels you shiver. "th-that feels funny..."

"yeah?" he says before thumbing your clit. you let out a high pitched whine. his eyes move towards your face, fascinated with the way your eyes are fluttering.

"does that feel good?" he inquires, earning a "mhm" from you.

he picks up the tempo, rubbing the sensitive nub in circles with the rough pad of his thumb. you try to buck against his hand he brings his free arm to sling over your waist, halting your movements. "this won't work if you're moving like that. just let it happen, okay?"

"okay..." you murmur. it's easier said than done.

he stops rubbing at you. he has an even better idea. he leans down on his knees and kisses the spot his finger was just on. you let out a shocked "ah!" much to his dismay.

"gonna have to keep quiet or i'll stop," he says sternly. you promptly bring a hand to cover your mouth.

steve licks long, slow stripes up your cunt, flattening his tongue to cover as much as he can, gaging your reaction. your legs squirm but you can't move them much from the restraint the placement of your panties provide. he takes your bud into his mouth and suck at your clit, humming a little and shaking his head. you squeal against your palm and he pulls away, slapping your cunt.

"i told you to fucking stay quiet! you'll get us both in trouble," he scolds. it's a side of him you've never seen before. usually he's just so sweet to you. however, despite that, his tone sends a tingle in your tummy. you nod in obedience and allow him to continue.

he sticks his tongue inside you and it takes everything within you not to scream. he knows what he's doing too. the best part for him is watching you struggle. you wriggle around, desperately grasping at the firm fabric of the couch. he pulls his tongue out and kisses your clit once more.

"s-steve, i feel.. weird," you tell him, moving your hand for a moment.

"'s okay, just let it go. you'll feel better," he promises gently. his mouth encloses around your clit again and he slurps, flicking it rapidly with his tongue.

"ah, ah." you throw your head back and do what he says: release.

"mmm," he hums, lapping up what you give him.

"that was nice," you say once you catch your breath. "i really liked that. what kind of therapy is that called again?'

"exposure therapy," he lies. "how are the thoughts? are they still there?'

"no," you say in astonishment as you notice. "it's like my mind is all foggy right now? will it stay like that?"

"temporarily, we'll have to explore this some more at your next appointment. i'll make sure to bring something you can take home with you whenever those thoughts are disturbing you, alright?"

"alright."

next appointment. your heart soars. and the thoughts are back once more.

[catiuskaa]

silly little promises.

SUMMARY: unspoken promises to stay away from your brother’s best friend might work for some, but not when kim seungmin is said man.

WC: 3.1k

CW: mentions of smoking weed, shotgunning, mentions of (fake)enemies to lovers?, slight pain kink?, use of “puppy, darling, beautiful, master”, fingering (f rec.), protected piv sex, (slight meanie?) hard!dom!seungmin, + artistic liberties regarding use of cursive because yes, and I think that’s all, folks!

PAIRING! smoker!seungmin x reader

[☆★🚭★☆]

Kisses in New Year meant nothing.

You wouldn’t have said this a month ago. Not in a chance, considering you and your loving boyfriend were stepping together into 2024.

Or. Well. You were going to.

Because when you turned around to face your boyfriend in midnight, he wasn’t there. You thought he was in his apartment, resting with a cold.

Oh, no.

He was a couple people behind you.

With someone else.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the party.” A low voice greeted cheekily.

You shoulders tensed up slowly.

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know.” You snickered, smiling politely at the silhouette that was leaning against the fence in the terrace.

That sentence you said was as empty as words could be.

Years after years, as someone who wasn’t really close to their family, the only moment you saw each of your close relatives was in events, like weddings and funerals. Or, in this case, New Years. Yet, for some reason, Kim Seungmin could —and would— always tag along.

Always next to your brother, Felix and him were attached to the hip. And, despite the fact that you had known him ever since you had memory, you needed that sentence, because it would secure a reaction in him.

He would roll his eyes. Like how he had done just now.

And usually, he would do that and go fetch your brother, dropping the ciggarette in the terrace of his shared appartment, stepping on it, staining the stone just slightly each time.

“Well, my grandmother got to live a hundred years.”

Huh? Your eyebrows shot up, almost innocently.

You fidgeted with your rings, hands gripping the fence in the terrace. As a seven-store building, you thought maybe you could focus on the small-looking mundane views.

Maybe like that, he’d go.

But he wasn’t leaving. He dared to get closer, in fact. And that shouldn’t be happening. You bit your lip. You needed to remember the one promise you had intended to keep.

Then your breath hitched, not only because his slender fingers brushed against your cheek, but because you remembered who you had promised that to. To that cheater ex-boyfriend of yours. And, cigarette in between his lips, pink and soft to the eye, Seungmin tucked a stray hair behind your ear, and you grasped the fence with force, your knuckles white.

“I can’t trust a man like that.” Your ex had said long ago, struggling to justify himself as to why you shouldn’t get too close to Seungmin. “He looks at you… differently.”

“You know how she did that? How she got to live up to a hundred?” The man in question asked in a low voice, tempting you to go forward, to break the unspoken promise of you not going close to each other.

“Smoking?” You muttered humourlessly, licking your lips, staring at his.

Seungmin snorted. “Oh, no, puppy.” Your entire body shivered. Blinking, slowly, not daring to believe what was happening before your eyes.

But it was real. And you knew it because Seungmin suddenly grasped your cheeks with one hand.

“Minding her own damn business.” He smirked, blowing the smoke on your face.

You started coughing, and hesitated as if to push him away and leave, slam the door close and celebrate New Year somewhere else instead of a party filled with friends of others.

“But I think,” he smiled slyly, bringing you back from your thoughts as he licked the small piercing in his lip. “I think you should try it.”

Your eyes widened at his words, your mind wandering away. Would the piercing be cold? How would it feel on his lips?

How would it feel against yours?

“S-smoking?” You let out in a huff, feeling heat creep up your body. He nodded.

“But…” doubt tinted his tone, his hand not leaving your chin, the grip uncomfortable at first but now relaxing against your skin.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to break that old promise.

Not when Kim Seungmin was related. And not when what you had promised meant not getting… acquainted with him.

After all, he had to make you regret it, right?

“Problem is… I only have this one.” He stated, waving the lit cigarette in his hand. “Unless… you don’t mind sharing.”

He had to make you regret that, for once, you had chosen that sad excuse of a man over him.

Your mind started to turn fuzzy, feeling Seungmin’s lean figure slowly cage you against the fence, his free hand sneakily heading to your waist, stroking down ever-so-slowly to your hip.

Biting your lip, you forced yourself to stop looking at his face, and threatened to burn marks on the necklace that creeped from between the top buttons of his black shirt.

Your cheeks heated up again.

“So, what’s it gonna be, huh?” He scoffed funnily, voice tinted with mockery. “Can a goody-two-shoes like you handle—“

But he stopped talking, because you took the cigarette from his hand and inhaled, siren eyes locked on his, who widened at the sight of you, eyebrows shot up, his features masking contentment.

He liked where this was going. He liked that you had broken the promise. He liked it when he heard that you had slapped your ex in front of everyone in the crowd. He liked how, right then and there, you grasped his face, your nails pressing crescent moons on his cheeks. Painful, but oh, so good.

And then, his breath tasted familiar. In the midst of the smoke you were passing to him, the mix of flavours crossing one mouth to another, exhaling and inhaling.

You backed off after, but he let out a soft grunt.

“Let me do that right.” Seungmin gulped messily, eyes red.

As if shotgunning hadn’t been enough, his right hand cradled your face, his left pushing himself tightly against you. His fingers traced the contour of your jaw, your breaths synchronized.

“Do it.” You panted, the effects of the certainly-not-tobacco substance reeling in your body, taking them in, making you light-headed. “Please, Seungmin, I—”

Your lips met in a fiery embrace, a collision of longing and intensity. It didn’t start with a tender exploration, but rather a fervent exchange of passion. Time seemed to stand still as both of you lost in the intoxicating rhythm of the kiss, all teeth and tongues.

“Just shut up.” He whispered against your lips. “God, just— fuck.”

Heated sighs escaped between kisses, and every touch sent shivers down your spine as Seungmin’s hands roamed freely over your body, gropping and touching to his heart’s content. His cold hands passed underneath your shirt and you whimpered.

“Ah! S-shit, Seungmin!” You shivered against him, trying to quiet your gasps.

He smirked, his other hand grabbing your cheeks and his thumb stroking your red, swollen and so fucking kissable lips.

“Wait, puppy.” He took the cigarette from your hand, took a draw and threw it to the ground, stepping on it lazily.

The smoke came out of his mouth slowly. “Now, I want you to listen closely.” He started. Your lack of response triggered a tug to your bra, and he slapped it back without hesitation, only a mean smile on his features. You whined, nuzziling your face on his neck, and he licked his lips, enjoying himself.

“Are you listening?” Seungmin snickered.

“Y-yes!” You muttered on his neck.

His cold hand trailed soothing patterns on your back, making you squirm on his grasp. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by his antics.

“Yes, what?”

Slowly you stepped back to look at him, his eyes dark with lust and red due to the weed.

You smiled inocently. “Yes, sir?”

He blushed, but slowly shook his head.

“It’s master for you, puppy.” He kissed you again, unable to resist it for longer. “Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

You accept his outstreched hand without hesitation, a contact that made you crave whatever he was thinking at that moment.

Your heels were not at all helpful to take you upstairs, but Seungmin’s kind heart was there to smile at you as his hands took place in the curve of your waist to help you get up safetly. The silk of your dress felt soft under his slender fingers, your body warm to the touch. Every step you took made your hair swish in front of him and the strong scent of your shampoo invaded him completely, wanting to sink his face in and fall asleep.

It was the first time you were able to get a propper look of Seungmin’s room in his shared apartment with your brother. You had seen the door left ajar before, but never dared to cross, keeping your promise in mind.

“I don’t mind if you snoop, you know.” He chuckled next to your ear.

A sudden burst of attitude came right through you when you smirked, turning around to face him, your hands around his neck, playing with his hair.

Fuck that promise.

“I don’t need to snoop. I can always come back for that.”

Seungmin couldn’t help but smirk, moving and pushing you against the door, locking it behind you. He pressed his hands against it, on either side of your head, and leaned down slightly, towering you even with your heels on.

You couldn’t help but gulp, and Seungmin was tempted to press his mouth against your neck just to tease you after feeling your pulse hammering against his lips.

He was not going to kiss you.

Seungmin decided that, against his first intentions, watching you fight yourself was the hottest thing he had the pleasure to view that whole night, your cheeks in a deep shade of red, thighs squeezed together.

He didn’t really need to start anything. Only if you chose to, you would kiss him. And, even if you didn’t, you’d surely come back for more anyways.

Few people could resist Seungmin, and you were certainly not part of that group.

Your breathing deepened when he leaned forward, letting his mouth linger near the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“You never hated me like you pretended, did you, darling?” He was mocking you, and he so knew it. “Keep in mind— I still can make you call me master. Your silly little promises won’t make me stay too far, puppy.”

He was trying to make you beg for it, for him, for anything, anything that Seungmin could do for you to make you feel better, as he kept making the heat that run through your body take control.

But Seungmin needed to get his revenge.

After all, he had been pinning over you for ages now. It was only fair you had to ask for it nicely, right?

“Is this a joke?”

The muttered question grazed past your lips, and it look like it surprised you just as much as it surprised him.

“I don’t joke about consent, dear.” Seungmin’s serious tone mades concentrating a much more difficult task. Not when his messy hair looked so good, and certainly not with those cute flushed cheeks of his.

For a lack of an answer —at this point it wasn’t about if it was better, because the man had almost rendered you speechless— you bit your lip, now soft doe eyes staring at him from below.

“You know what will happen.” His voice was soft and enticing, tempting you to go forward. “You just have to kiss me, hmm?” He snickered, his hum vibrating all through your body.

Seungmin smirked, pressing his body slightly closer, slotting his leg in between yours, setting his thigh just right.

Just a bit more.

“Say that you want it,” he whispered. “Master can fuck you so good once you do it, yeah? Don’t you want that, puppy?”

The sudden tug at the collar of his shirt and the force that you pulled him towards you with almost made Seungmin lose his mind, his thoughts soaked in a puddle of arousal, much like the one you were feeling that kept growing inside you.

Your lips crashed together, giving in to a craving that had been building up for what seemed likeforever. It wasn't just a kiss; it was like a dam breaking, releasing a flood of emotions that had been held back for too damn long.

The urgency was wild, like you couldn't get enough of each other. Seungmin’s mouth moved hungrily, as if trying to make up for all the times he'd missed out on this.

Your hands traveled to the rim of his shirt, but he whined, separating his lips off you. “N-no, wait.” He gasped, running out of air and not giving any fucks about it.

You had ruined him for good.

“Bed. Now.” He panted at you, your eyes as blown out as his. “You’re gonna be the death of me, puppy.”

Seungmin licked the piercing on his lip, as he took off his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, manspreading. His breath hitched and he buckled his hips unconciously when you sat on his lap, rolling your hips teasingly.

He tutted at you. With a mean smile, he grabbed you by your waist and softly pushed you against the soft fabric of his bed covers. Standing on his knees, he unbuckled his belt, and you happily oogled at his toned body. He wasn’t shredded, but there was no need when all you wanted to do was mark him up in kisses regardless.

You didn’t realize he had taken all his clothes off, left with his boxer briefs, only noticed it after he let his body slot in between your legs, his forearms at the sides of your face so his weight wouldn’t crush you completely.

“Seungmin…”

He chuckled, your hands touring up his lean chest, reaching the nape of his neck.

“So demanding.” His characteristic teasing tone was back, but completely different at the same time. “Say, if I snuck my hand under that beautiful dress of yours,” he mentioned temptingly, enticingly grinding his hips against yours, “how wet would I find you, puppy?”

So fucking wet. So much, in fact, that you didn’t dare to say. Disgustingly so. You let out a trembling sigh, yearning for the man before you to inch even closer, to eat the space between both of you and make it dissapear.

In a swift motion, Seungmin took your dress off and discarded it, not bothering if it would be easy to find later on. In fact, he thought as his stare ate you alive, that he wouldn’t mind if you never found it again.

He rocked against your centre, just once, ripping a pained whimper out of you.

“Tell master what you want, puppy.” His jaw hardened, reeling in the bubbling emotions that ran through him. “Tell me what’s okay for me to do.”

Seungmin’s thumb grazed the skin of your breast, eliciting a deep moan out of you.

“That’s it, puppy. So good— so good for me.” He gulped, filled with lust and craving.

He took your nipple between his slender fingers and pulled softly.

You let out an unrestrained whimper. Loud. Almost obnouxiously so, and quickly brought your hand over your mouth, cheeks reddening in embarrassment and arousal. Seungmin chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your blushing cheek.

“Keep making those pretty sounds for me. Let everyone hear. Let them hear how good your master makes you feel.”

Seungmin’s hold on your hip tightened, making you aware of his hand there, his other hand continuing further down a similar path, finally reaching your wet folds, pressing just for an instant and then gliding down slowly.

Your lips parted as a moan came out. You couldn’t remember feeling so turned on by someone— ever.

He let out a pleased grunt, his hand leaving your core as his eyes locked with yours just so you’d see how he licked your arousal from his fingers, humming with a smirk.

“All of this for me?” He mocked in a deep voice, much deeper than any instance you had ever heard him.

Unable to form any coherent thoughts in your head aside from the chant that numbed your head—Seungmin, more, Seungmin, mine, Seungmin, master,— he didn’t lose anymore time, his fingers sliding inside of you in a swift motion, making you moan at the blissful sensation of finally being somewhat full, also making you realize that only his fingers wouldn’t be enough for the night.

“Hear that, puppy? Those sticky sweet sounds… that’s all you.” Seungmin kept thrusting inside, adding a second finger and bringing a warm sensation that started unravelling itself, as if it was going to crack you wide open. “All drenched for me, fuck.”

After what could’ve been a few minutes, only hearing your own moans and whines, backed my Seungmin’s pleased pants and the sound of your arousal as he scissored you open, he took his hand away from you.

“Open up.” It wasn’t a question, and it made you whine against his fingers when he shoved them in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. “So fucking delicious, my little puppy.”

So primal, so basic, so hot.

He slid down his underwear just enough so his length sprang free.

“Would love to feel those lips of yours around my cock, but we’ll leave that for the next time.”

He planted a lingering kiss on your lips and a second one on your forehead as he fetched a condom and skillfully rolled it down his length.

He stared at you, going back to his place between your thighs.

“Words, puppy.” He demanded.

You almost choked in your spit.

“F-fuck, S-seungmin, I—“ you moaned as he went crazy, claming your breasts, neck, collarbone, marking you with hard-to-cover-up hickeys. You were his, and it was now as real as it could get, his fingers and tongue outlining your body, memorizing every nook and cranny.

He panted. “Don’t stop talking.”

“S-shit. Yes. Yes, fuck, please. S-seungmin.” You bit your lip, squirming in your place. “I-inside.”

He snickered against your skin.

“Say that like you mean it.”

His hips rocked against your core, pushing his length between your legs, the tip sliding down with every sway of his body until reaching my entrance.

“M-master.” You could’ve sworn you would cry. “Please.”

With a kiss below your ear, Seungmin finally pressed into you, slowly, and it made you moan loudly, the feeling of his cock sliding inside of you in a deep thrust, filling you completely.

“We’re in for a long night, puppy.” Seungmin whined, almost moaning, and it was delicious. “F-fuck…”

He kissed you fiercily, his lips making your body burn underneath him.

“Now, keep moaning how good your master makes you feel.”

~Kats, who wanted to post this before going crazy with overdue homework and future exams! (HELP!)

Almost forgot! Tagging @dumplingsjinson bc their (outstanding, gorgeous) prompts helped me out, so quick, go check them out! hehe<3

[miserableworm]

Hiiii !! Would it be alright to ask for a lyney x reader where he comforts you when you’re sick/period? Thank you <33

★ a/n - thank you sm for the request <3 getting taken care of when not feeling well gotta be one of the best feelings ever so this was pretty fun to write

★ sypnosis - Lyney had a show come up, but your period had other plans for the evening.

★ tags - Lyney x fem!reader, comfort, fluff, period (no mentions of blood), cramps

"I can't go to your magic show tonight," you whisper, feeling a pang of guilt. The discomfort from your period cramps is almost unbearable, and the idea of sitting through a performance seems impossible.

Lyney, who had been adjusting his magician's hat, turns to you with a concerned look. "Oh? And why is that?" he asks gently, though you can see a teasing glint in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to tell him. "It's just... I'm not feeling well. My period started, and the cramps are really bad."

Lyney's expression softens even more. "Ah, I see," he says, nodding knowingly. "Lynette has those too sometimes. Say no more." Then, with a mischievous grin, he adds, "Though I must admit, I thought you might be avoiding my grand finale. It is quite dazzling, you know."

You manage a weak smile and rolled your eyes at him. "As if I'd ever miss one of your shows by choice."

He steps closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and amusement. "Let me take care of you," he says softly. "The magic show can wait."

"Lyney, you can't just miss your show because of me," you protest. "People are expecting you. They'll be disappointed."

Lyney waves a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. The show will go on without me. My assistants are more than capable. Besides, what's more important right now is making sure you're comfortable."

"But Lyney-"

"No buts!"

Before you can protest further, he's already in motion. Lyney heads to the kitchen and returns with a hot water bottle. "This should help with the cramps," he explains, placing it gently on your stomach. The warmth spreads, bringing a measure of relief almost immediately.

"Thank you.." you murmur, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Lyney isn't done yet. He disappears for a moment, then comes back with a small box. "Here," he says, handing it to you. Inside are your favorite snacks and some herbal tea. "I always keep these things ready, just in case," he adds with a wink. "Lynette taught me well."

You can't help but smile, feeling a bit of the heaviness lift. "You really didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"Of course, I did," Lyney replies, sitting beside you. "You're important to me. Besides, magic isn't just about tricks and illusions. It's about making people feel better, making them smile. If I can do that off stage as well, then I'm happy."

"You're so cheesy."

As you sip the tea, Lyney begins to tell you stories about his adventures and mishaps with Lynette. His voice is soothing, and soon you're laughing despite the discomfort.

"But really, Lyney," you say, interrupting his tale about a mishap with disappearing doves, "you should go. The audience will miss you. They'll be wondering where their favorite magician is."

Lyney raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Y/N? Because if you are, it's not working. I can be quite stubborn when I want to be."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No, I just don't want you to get in trouble or disappoint your fans."

"Trust me," he says, leaning in closer, "the only person I care about disappointing right now is you. And I know you need me more than they do at this moment."

Before you can argue further, he pulls out a deck of cards and begins performing a series of close-up magic tricks right there. His fingers move with mesmerizing skill, each trick more astonishing than the last. For a while, you're completely absorbed, forgetting about the cramps entirely.

Seeing your smile, Lyney gets up and performs another trick. This time, he makes a coin appear from behind your ear and then disappear in a flash of light. As you clap softly, he bows dramatically.

"And for my next act," he says, reaching into his pocket for another prop. But when he looks up, he sees your eyes closed, your breathing even and peaceful.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Was I that boring?" he murmurs playfully.

Quietly, he tucks the blanket more snugly around you and stands up, careful not to wake you. Stepping closer, he gently places a kiss on your forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Y/N. "

requests are open <3

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Shame(less) - Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Requested: No

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x f!reader; Adrian Pucey x f!reader

Summary: y/n feels ashamed for cheating on her boyfriend with Mattheo, but the same couldn't be said fo the dark haired boy.

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Cheating, slight cursing

A/N: It was supposed to be a drabble but oh well. I really don't like how it turned out, but I might write a Theo version if people ask. Comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated :) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @chelawrites @isntthatsweetiguessso @aegon-andaemondtargaryenslut18

Christmas break was over, and it was time to go back to Hogwarts. It meant going back to the same routine, taking your meals in the Great Hall, going to class, doing your homework, having fun with your friends in Hogsmeade and also spreading time with your boyfriend, Adrian. The prospect should have made you happy, and you should have been looking forward to seeing him, but you just couldn’t. Not when he would be here too.

After arriving at the castle, you met Pansy in the Slytherin common room. You two hugged warmly, and talked about your respective holidays. You did your best to focus on what your best friend was saying, nodding at her words, but you could feel your heart beat fast with anxiety, and your eyes kept taking glimpses around in case Adrian or him came in. After a moment, Pansy left to go unpack her bags, and seconds later, you jumped as you felt two hands on your eyes.

“Guess who?”

“Adrian!” 

With a small laugh, he took his hands off your face and put them on your hips instead as you turned to face him. He bent a little to kiss your lips, and you tried to feel something, anything, but you didn’t. Only shame that you felt something - felt so much - when it was another man’s lips that were on yours. 

“Had a good Christmas? Did you like my gift?”

“Yeah!” You said, trying to sound normal. “It was nice to see my parents, and I really liked your gift, Adrien, it was really beautiful. Thank you. How was yours?”

“Good, good,” he said with a nod. “I liked your gift, as well. But, I have to admit I missed you, babe.” He sighed and continued with a softer voice, “I’m sorry for how I behaved before the break, I…I didn’t give you much attention, and I regret all our fights. Can I start making it up to you?” he finished with a hopeful small smile.

“No”, you should have said. He was right in everything he said, and you had seen couples from school break up for less than that. 

“Okay,” you nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

He kissed your cheek, and you forced your lips to form a smile. 

“I, uh, I have to go unpack my back,” you said.

“Oh. Sure. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Remaining silent, you gave him a nod, and his hands left your hips as you detached yourself from him and walked to your dorm, hoping that staying alone for a moment would allow you to pull yourself back together and finally make the right decision. With a heavy breath, you opened the door, expecting to see the room empty, but there was somebody here, sitting on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised, and you already knew who it was - he was always there. 

Mattheo Riddle. In the same house and same year as you. For years, he was just a classmate you didn’t interact much with, except for strange, silent stares that started in your fifth year. Nothing changed when you started dating Adrian, but one night after a fight with him, Mattheo found you all alone, in tears, and sat down to listen to you. Things had escalated, and ever since, you felt nothing but shame and fear that anyone would find out. You tried to avoid him after, to convince himself that it was a mistake. However, if you felt shame, it wasn’t the case for Mattheo. After that night,  and kept staring at you in class, during meals, and especially when Adrian was close to you. And as if it wasn’t enough, he kept trying to spend time alone with you, and eventually succeeded, leading in more “accidents”, as you called them, more shame, as well as less and less affection for your boyfriend and more and more for feelings and shameful desire for the dark haired boy in front of you. And it definitely wasn’t helping that he also kept trying to convince you of his feelings for you and to leave Adrian once and for all.

He raised his head when you came in, and you quickly closed the door behind you, quietly locking it. Your heart started beating faster, and you leant on your door, not daring to get closer. 

“Well, hello, love.” 

You felt your cheeks - or maybe your whole body - becoming hot, and gulped. 

“You can’t be here,” you said with a shaky voice. “What if someone saw you coming in?” 

“Nobody has seen us so far,” Mattheo answered with his usual carelessness you both hated and felt drawn to. “Why would they see me now?” 

“Mattheo, you know perfectly what I meant,” you retorted. “Plus, what if Adrian saw you?” 

Mattheo rose from the bed, and slowly started walking towards you. 

“Speaking of your little boyfriend, I saw you guys before you came in.” His brown gaze hardened like it always did when the topic was Adrian. “It nearly took everything in me to not break his fingers for touching you.” 

“Mattheo,” you sighed. “He’s my boyfriend. He has every right to touch me.” 

Staring at you, Mattheo had a smirk that did not reach his dark eyes and tilted his head. His face was now inches away from yours, and you tried as much as you could to not breathe his perfume. 

“And do I have the right to touch you?” he said in a low voice.

Not waiting for an answer, he brought one hand to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb and now looking at you like he had been for a few weeks - with love. 

“Mattheo, please…”

He closed his eyes and brought his nose to your cheek, his thumb still caressing it. “I’ve spent three weeks in hell not seeing, touching, or kissing you,” he whispered. “I fucking need to feel you, love…Even just a kiss…”

One of his hands still on your cheek, the other went under your shirt, and when he started kissing your neck, you knew you were done for. Your body was as hot as ever, and you felt shivers down your spine as well as your body craving Mattheo’s touch. You sighed, and as he brought his mouth to yours, you kissed him back, putting one hand on his back and the other on his neck. He immediately deepened the kiss, and his hands grabbed your legs to put them around his waist. 

“I can’t fucking stand the thought of you being with him,” he mumbled between two kisses. “I can’t stand the thought of not being the only man who gets to touch and kiss you, the only man who can call you his…”

He suddenly stopped kissing you, leaving you breathless.  

“Leave him, y/n. Or I’m gonna go crazy. I could give you…Everything. Everything I have.”

All lust had disappeared from his eyes, leaving only desperation, and love. 

“Fine,” you whispered, feeling incapable of saying no to him. “I’ll leave Adrian tomorrow.” 

Mattheo smiled, and you felt his relief. He gave you a loving kiss before looking at you again, this time with a mix of both love and lust.

“Now that it’s settled and you’re fully mine forever, how about we make up for the time we spent apart?”

You smiled and kissed him, the feeling of shame not disappearing in the slightest. 

Want to be tagged? Just use my Ask-Box!

Masterlist

[leviscolwill]

— dad!jude bellingham headcanons !

pairing: dad!jude bellingham x fem!reader

req: could you write dad!judebellingham ml <3

note: i tried writing headcanons because i feel like my writing is very 👎👎🍅🍅🍅 at the moment, i hope you'll like it still !! reblogs are VERY appreciated since the tags are in a silly goofy mood right now #useless 😝🤪

tag list: @ceofmercedes &lt;3

it's well established on judeblr that he is a girl dad, so girl dad it is

i think he would spiral a bit over the fact that you're growing a whole human being in you

he would say random shit like “no but do you feel her legs grow ?”

and you're like 😐😐😐 of course not

but the poor boy is just clueless 😪

he would always remind you of how you're the most beautiful woman on earth, even when you're crying your eyes out because ron fell off his chess piece in the philosopher's stone

now,, i think we're all well aware he would spoil your daughter rotten

getting her new clothes or new toys whenever he passes in front of a store because “she might need it one day”

but !! he would never let her turn into a “daddy i want a squirrel” kinda girl

you would both make sure she's very well mannered because he is very aware his parents' education played a big part in who he is today

i feel like being strict wouldn't be a problem for him either

yk being the eldest in his family, he wouldn't be swayed by your girl's pleading eyes when she acts wrong

he would 100% cry on her first day of pre-school (it's the cancer in him)

and he would try to drop her / pick her up from school as much as he possibly can with training and stuff

if you speak another language, you'd learn it to your daughter and use it to talk shit about jude 🤭

“have you seen what he wore today ?” “yeah daddy's shirt is very ugly”

in my case she would say quoicoubeh to him

i feel like he'd get so frustrated and start sulking amd pouting before your daughter reassures him

okayy bc it's spooky szn rn 😋

family matching costumes !! (call it corny 😡 i do not care)

monsters, disney characters or the adams family... he'd have soooo many ideas

he'd go trick or treating just to eat all the sweets

playfights with your daughter for their girl's attention

“it's my mommy !”

“oh yeah ? but mommy liked me before, so i'm the number one in her heart”

“it's not true ! mommy tell him he's a liar”

you can only roll your eyes because he really has beef with a whole child ???

but he's just a kid himself !!

everytime she gets to see uncle jobe she's overly happy

and jude would smack the back of his head when he says a bad word

(like he's not the one to curse at home yk 🙄)

is it a bad thing i think he would secretly hope your daughter has a bad dream so she'd have a good excuse to sleep in between you both ?

because he would

just to cuddle with her

then he regrets it when she wakes him up early in the morning

when she grows up he would be soooo invested in her school's dramas

like, actually asking for updates during dinner like he's dan from gossip girl

“what do you mean ben is dating his ex's best friend ?? he's such a di... bad person”

he'd be so gassed whenever she would wear his shirt (especially at school)

like you got all these clothes but chose this particular england shirt ? 🥹🥹

(as if half her wardrobe isn't his jerseys from every club he's been at)

(+ jerseys he exchanged with other players and signed jerseys by football legends)

he would sooo show her off to his teammates

“yeah my girl knows how to read now” 😎

and show every picture of her EVER

even the embarrassing ones

100% would introduce his friends as uncles

“say hi to uncle gio” (🫠)

now hear me out bc i think it's my favourite idea

he would totally look up hairstyles tutorials for your babygirl and try them out

once he gets the hang of it, he would never stop finding new ones

and since he doesn't have a sister, he would go to his mum for advice

on hair, but also girl stuff so he can pretend he already knows it all in front of you

you'd also go to his mum to advice tho, because being a parent (especially a mum) is never easy

and she would gladly share all of them with you

when you get into fights with jude your girl would always try to make it better

“dad says he's sorry”, “mum said she's not mad anymore”

of course you both know she's lying but somehow it always works ???

so your relationship is the prime example of what she's looking for when she grows up

and she secretly hopes she gets to love her s/o just like her parents love each other (too corny now ?)

anyways jude would treat you both like his little princesses, and he's so so so grateful he gets to live a lifetime with you two

or maybe more than two who knows 🚶‍♀️

[velvetm00light]

Drunken Confessions

gif: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: drunk&dom!Spencer Reid x sub!Female Reader

Summary: After a night out at the bar, Spencer drunkenly tells his coworker, Y/n, how he feels about her. She's shown the side of him no one knows as they go to his apartment together and show each other exactly how they feel.

Warnings: Alcohol, PinV, fluff, coworkers, domxsub, smut.

A/N: First attempt at a one-shot. This honestly went in a different direction than I actually planned for and I'm not mad about it. I hope ya'll enjoy. ;)

GLASSES CLINK NOISLY AS the Behavioral Analysis Unit team of the Federal Bureau of Investigation cheers each other over the too small wooden table inside their favored bar for after-work drinks. They had just gotten back from a particularly gruesome case and all agreed to try and let loose for the night. They even managed to get their innocent boy wonder, Dr. Spencer Reid, to tag along.

Music thundered around the bar, y/n's feet feeling the vibrations through the hardwood floor beneath her. It was almost impossible to hear each other over the music, so they all had to result to either yelling or not using their words at all.

JJ basically jumps from her seat and yells across the table, "time to dance!" Y/n, Emily, and Penelope wasted no time rising from their seats and rushing onto the dance floor, the boys decidedly choosing to stay at the table.

Emily has made the point multiple times before that they reason they all choose not to dance is most likely because they're embarrassed of their dancing skills and it might just kill them to make a fool of themselves in front of strangers. Even though Morgan swears he actually dances like a "sex god" per his own words, he is perfectly fine sitting his married ass down and sipping on a nice cocktail.

The girls waste no time getting down to business on the dance floor as the boys at the table talk, well, more like yell, amongst themselves. Despite only having a single drink, in which he is currently still nursing, Spencer finds his eyes gluing themselves to y/n. The way she gracefully moves her body to the rhythm of the music, the flow of her hair behind her, stray pieces already beginning to stick to the nape of her neck and shoulders.

"Earth to Reid."

Spencer's attention snaps away from y/n's mesmerizing moves and stares at Morgan. A heat creeps up his neck and into his cheeks, feeling like a kid caught red-handed.

"Go dance with her. You're oogling her and I won't be surprised if you started to drool had I not said anything." Morgan was reveling in the fact that Spencer finally couldn't deny what the entire team pretty much already knew, a smirk on his face as he tilted his head in y/n's direction.

"Absolutely not!" Spencer cried, already feeling the second hand embarrassment. His too long limbs cause a great deal of trouble every time he's ever attempted to dance. He can't imagine making that big of a fool of himself in front of the girl he's been developing a crush on ever since she joined the Bureau.

"You've got to take life by the balls, kid. How do you expect her to know you're pretty much in love with her, if you tell her?"

"What? I'm not in love with her," Spencer argues, knowing damn well his actions rat him out as a total liar.

"Fine, have a few more drinks and then let me know how you feel." Morgan gets another round of drinks and pushes two new, full rum and cokes in front of Spencer. "Try not to take an hour to drink these, kid."

Deciding he could actually do with some liquid courage, he downs the first drink. The instant burn of the heavy handed pour sliding down his throat causes a war within his stomach and he instantly regrets it. He's not used to alcohol and alcohol definitely does not tend to agree with him. But hell, who is he kidding? He might be better off getting so drunk he finally tells her how he feels and doesn't remember doing it to save him from the embarrassment likely to follow.

Y/n and the girls are in the middle of a pretty heated dance battle together when Spencer stumbles onto the dance floor.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is wonder boy coming to dance with us?"

The women immediately stop their dancing and turn towards where the man himself is carefully weaving through the crowd towards them. "I thought I might join you guys,"

"Please do!" Y/n shouts over the music. The women instantly resuming their dancing and Spencer immediately feels at ease. He's unsure if it's the multiple rum and cokes he downed just a few minutes ago or if it's because the women begin dancing like lunatics without a care in the world. He joins in without hesitation.

They all dance the night away together, y/n and Spencer laughing with each other as they sing and dance together, him spinning her across the dance floor, and on occasion them getting so close he almost took the risk to kiss her.

As the night gets darker, the bar gets emptier, and swear pours down their entire bodies, they finally make their way back to the table.

"You looked great out there, kid." Morgan chuckled, sipping the last of his drink.

"I think this was the best night of my life," Spencer smiled. For a brief moment, y/n and Spencer's gazes caught each other and they shared wide, toothy smiles. The tension between them so palpable you could cut it with a knife. As if realizing it, the rest of the team says their goodnights and leave y/n and Spencer to their own devices at their littered table.

"I'll drive you home," y/n suggests, fishing into her purse for her keys as they make their ways toward the parking lot. "Before you ask, no I'm not drunk. I haven't even been able to touch a drink most of the night because I was obviously too busy getting down and dirty."

Spencer smiled down at her, "Thank you, I would appreciate that very much."

They climb into her car together, and Spencer instantly heats up at the proximity and the fact that they're alone. As she starts up her car and focuses on pulling out of the bar parking lot without hitting drunk pedestrians, Spencer is compelled by the very essence of her. His eyes greedily roam over her from her lush, lip glossed lips to her sweat slick hair sticking to her neck, to her perfectly formed nose. He drinks in each and every one of her features, truly unable to find a single flaw on her.

The short, red dress she's dressed in hugs her curves perfectly, her long legs teasing him as they move back and forth from gas pedal to brake and back again. Desire courses through his blood and feels as if it might boil him from the inside out if he doesn't act upon it.

"You know what's crazy?"

"What, Spence?"

"I've had a crush on your for years and I've been way too scared to tell you." He bursts into a laugh and y/n's breath catches in her throat. She doesn't even consider allowing herself to believe he's telling the truth, because out of all people, why her?

"You're drunk, Spence."

"You know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts."

Her whole body tingles as her grip tightens on the steering wheel. Her core feels molten at the desire pooling at the bottom of her stomach as it has been all night. Even when he was dancing like an absolute goof, he was still the hottest man she's ever seen in her life. The entire night, all she could do was wish the moment would last forever, Spencer spinning her across the dance floor, their faces being inches away from each other. She almost gave in and kissed him every single time she could feel his panting breath on her face.

"I mean it, you know. Ever since you joined the Bureau, I've just had this...pull to you. You're seriously the most mesmerizing, brilliant, generous, exquisite woman I've ever met in my life. I ache to be near you every single time you leave. I ache to kiss those beautiful lips every single time you talk, or when you bite your bottom lip when you're nervous, or when we'll sometimes accidentally get so close to each other it almost just makes sense to grab you by the chin and kiss you."

Y/n is dazed after his revelation. Her heart begins to beat so rapidly in her chest she swears it might just burst through her ribs and out of her body completely. "I-Are you sure you're not just drunk, Spence?"

"Oh, I'm drunk. But I'm just saying the things sober me would have never said in a million years," he smiles at her. She catches his gaze for a moment, wide-eyed and absolutely dumbfounded, before quickly returning her gaze to the road in front of her. "I was always afraid you would never feel the same, and I guess the suffering of never telling you how I felt was a better option than telling you how I felt, you not feeling the same, and then our entire friendship is ruined. I don't think I could bear losing you."

"Spence.." Y/n chokes out. "Let's talk about this inside."

She swiftly pulls into a parking spot outside Spencer's apartment and they both rush inside. As y/n shuts the door softly behind her, she whirls around and almost slams into Spencer.

Before she can do anything, she's backed up against his apartment door, his hands above each side of her head, trapping her. "This doesn't make you uncomfortable, does it?" He asks softly.

"No," y/n manages to breathe out.

"Good, then hopefully this doesn't either."

Before she can ask what he means, he greedily crashes his lips into hers. A small moan escapes her lips as he takes her bottom lip between his teeth and tugs roughly. The opening of her lips gives Spencer the chance he was hoping for and she readily accepts his tongue as hers dances along. The kiss between them is greedy and hungry, the built up tension between them finally snapping.

She's pushed completely into the wall by Spencer's towering body. He bends down slightly, reaching for the back of her legs. He pulls her off the floor, and wraps her legs around his waist without breaking the ensuing passionate kiss.

She feels his body move beneath her as he grinds up into her. A whimper escapes from her and passes into Spencer's mouth which only causes him to grind against her center again, his arousal evident.

She removes her arms from around his neck and fumbles for his belt. She swiftly unbuckles him and pulls out his hardening length. She slides her hands slowly up and down, teasing small moans from his lips.

Before she can even react, he's pushed the hem of her dress up to her waist. He finally breaks the kiss and says, "How wet do you think you'll be for me?"

"Why don't you check for yourself," she purrs, attacking his lips, their tongues once again battling for dominance.

He groans at the pleasure and the desire in her reply, wasting no time pulling her panties to the side and sliding a finger between her lips. "God, you're so wet for me," he breathes in her mouth before tugging on her bottom lip once again.

He removes her hands from him and slams her hands above her head, his hands on her wrists to keep her from budging. "Are you going to take it like a good girl?" He murmurs.

"Yes," y/n manages to get out.

"Yes, sir," he scolds.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl."

Without another word, he lines up underneath her and gently pushes into her core. He can feel her throbbing against him as he eases into his movements. "Oh my god," she whimpers. Spencer releases her swollen lips and trails kisses down her jaw and neck as he thrusts hungrily into her, his hands solid against her wrists.

He releases one hand from her wrist and commands, "Do not lower your arm."

"Yes, sir."

He lowers the neckline of her dress, exposing her breasts taut from the desire coursing through her. He sucks on the skin of her breasts, leaving his marks along her chest. He takes her nipple into his mouth, using his tongue and teeth to play with it, perfectly mixing the right amount of pain with her pleasure.

He pounds into her harder as he works her nipples. Her rising climax becoming almost unbearable.

"Don't cum unless I give you permission."

"But-"

"You heard me."

"Yes, sir."

Y/n's body moves in tandem with his as if their bodies unconsciously know this dance together between their sweating bodies. His thrusting doesn't cease or stutter, the euphoric feeling of him perfectly hitting her aching spot sends her eyes rolling.

"Please," she chokes out. Her head pushed back against the door, her back arched off the door as if instinctively reaching out for Spencer's body. Spencer releases the nipple in his mouth and returns his ravenous gaze to hers.

"Come for me, baby."

Their lips join together again as he pumps harder, the both of them chasing their releases. She can't help but cry out at the ecstasy that overtakes her as she falls over the edge, Spencer following with his own.

Y/n's entire body trembles against the door, both of their breaths heavy and mixing with each others.

He lets her down gently from the door. "How about we take a bath and wash up," he suggests, need written all over his face. Y/n nods, her legs threatening to give out beneath her.

Spencer helps her into the bathroom, smiling at himself for being the reason she can barely walk. He wastes no time getting a bath started and they lower themselves into the tub without waiting for it to completely fill up.

She moans as the hot water soothes her muscles.

"Relax all you want right now because I'm not done with you yet."

[thebiggerbear]

So Close

Summary: You meet Colter and Russell at the morgue to help them gain access. Had you known how this was really going to go, you might have pushed Colter's call to voicemail.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader; Russell Shaw x FBI!Female!Reader

A/N: I have zero idea what this is. My muse demanded I type this out after watching the morgue sneak peek scene and at this point, I'm giving her whatever she wants. I have never seen this show, know nothing about the characters and any relationships they may have or their background stories, only vaguely know what the premise is, and I'm waiting to see the episode like everyone else. And yet, the muse still put me to work. She can be so brutal sometimes.

I wouldn't call this speculation for 1x12 because I have no idea what's happened before it yet. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Full text in italics is dialogue from the morgue scene.

Warnings: mention of dead body; angst

Word Count: 2096

Sequel | Series (please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the series or any future Russell or Tracker works)

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

This work was recc'ed by @winchestergirl2 here.

You met Colter and Russell Shaw at the morgue, telling them that you were only doing this one small favor and that was it and only for Colter. Colter, as always, understood. Russell, not so much.

The older man turned to look at his younger brother. “I thought you said she’d be a big help to us on this one.”

Before Colter could answer, you narrowed your eyes in Russell’s direction. “I’m putting my job at risk helping you,” you snapped.

And still just as infuriating as ever, he gave you a smile, that teasing gleam in his eye. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N. You are looking…” He worked his fingers into the all-too familiar gesture of approval, giving you a glance over. 

“Go to hell, Shaw.” You spun on your heel and started marching towards the building. “Let’s go,” you barked. “We’re on a timeclock.” 

You never looked back to see if they were following you but you heard Colter mutter not too far behind you, “You mind not pissing her off until after we get to see the body?” 

“Yeah,” Russell quietly agreed, sounding far more serious than he had a moment ago. As a matter of fact, he sounded a little down, which made you wonder what was really going on. You already knew of the strain between the brothers so them working together was odd in itself but Colter hadn’t given you details when he called you and you hadn’t asked for them. You hoped this case they were working had nothing to do with anyone who Russell might… You forced away the thought and renewed your focus on the task at hand. You weren’t here for anything pertaining to that. You needed to keep your mind clear, and your eyes and ears open. 

Once you were all inside, you noticed an older woman sitting at the reception desk. You were about to walk in and pull your badge, ready to lie your ass off and give your official spiel when Russell held a hand up. “I got this,” he assured you both, before waltzing right in. You and Colter exchanged a look before following him.

The woman glanced up briefly and saw you all approaching before going back to her computer. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi, um…” Russell glanced down at her nametag as Colter moved to stand next to his brother, sporting a small smile. “Yolanda. Well, that is—that’s a beautiful name.” You slowly shook your head and crossed your arms. He was seriously going to try to charm his way in? Well, this ought to be fun to watch.

You weren’t surprised when she barely spared him a glance before going back to typing.

And of course, that didn’t deter him one bit. “Sadly, we, uh, we heard about Len Claimans. Recently deceased and, uh, we just need to see the body.”

That caught the woman’s attention as you expected it would. She immediately turned to face him and slipped her eye glasses onto her head. “What for?”

“How do you like working here?” You nearly smirked at the increased pitch in Russell’s voice, betraying his attempt at bullshitting and also a small case of nerves. It was almost as if he’d never lied before. Funny that. 

From Colter’s expression as he watched this trainwreck up close, he had to be thinking along the same lines as you, but more so wondering why this was even being attempted with you standing right there.

“Huh?” Russell continued. “I get a good vibe from you, you know. Kind eyes — helpful eyes, I like that.” You bit your lip to keep from saying something you shouldn’t. Russell had never been what you would call a good flirt, but he certainly was dialing up the charm to try to compensate. 

Too bad the charm didn’t seem to be working. Yolanda’s eyes immediately transferred to Colter. “What’s he talking about?”

Colter shook his head and turned to look at her. “The body might be connected to the disappearance of another man,” he explained. You noticed Russell glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye and you arched an inquisitive brow in his direction which made him immediately focus on Yolanda again, nodding along as his brother talked.

“Oh.” Yolanda looked regretful for a moment before going back to her computer. “I’m sorry, but unless you’re family, I can’t let you back there.”

Knowing this was the point Colter needed your intercession, you began to step forward but immediately froze when Russell snapped his fingers and spoke up. “I didn’t mention.” He gestured between him and Colter, giving Yolanda a smug grin, almost as if he had finally found the ruse that would work. “Cousins.” 

If you could have facepalmed right there without anyone seeing you, you would have. Wow. How was he so bad at this? And why didn’t he just let you do the talking? Or his brother for that matter?

Yolanda huffed out a breath of impatience. She was clearly done with this conversation and quite frankly, so were you.

Russell suddenly leaned forward. “We just-we just need a minute. Or two, you know? I promise we won’t disrupt a thing and then afterwards, maybe, uh, go grab a drink or, uh, somethin’ somethin’.” This time, you did briefly cover your face with your hand. This was just beyond embarrassing. Why did you agree to help these two again?

You could not believe what you were hearing and neither could Colter. You watched as he stared at his older brother before he decided to give it one last ditch effort and played along, turning a strained smile onto the woman.

And as expected, Yolanda finally reached her limit. “No. Sorry.” She got up from her chair and walked away.

Russell let out a disappointed breath. “That was so close.”

“No,” Colter rightfully disagreed.

You’d now reached your limit as well. Stepping forward, you loudly cleared your throat and came to a stop next to Russell. Yolanda turned to look at you, wondering what was coming next from the circus act that had apparently decided to roll into her office this afternoon. You gave her your best professional smile. “Hi there. I’m Special Agent Y/L/N with the FBI.” You slipped out your badge and held it up for her to see before putting it back into your pocket. “My associates here are correct. We’re currently investigating a missing persons case that may be connected to Mr. Claimans’ death. I’m going to need to take a look at the body as well as the autopsy report.”

Yolanda, clearly not believing anything you were selling today, stared over at you, unimpressed. “Do you have a warrant?”

“I can have one sent over to you in the next hour,” you lied. “But right now, we’re on a bit of a timeclock as I’m sure you can imagine.”

She glanced between you three, thinking it over. Russell and Colter looked back and forth between you two.

“Let me see that badge again.”

You grabbed it and handed it to her as she walked over. She studied it and then gave it back to you after a moment. “Ten minutes,” she decided. Both of you ignored Russell’s little smack to the counter and triumphant grin mixed with a quiet “I knew I liked you” in Yolanda’s direction. 

She looked bored. “That’s all I can give you.”

You gave her a nod of gratitude. “That’ll be plenty. Thank you.” 

She nodded and passed next to you to lead the way. You glanced in Colter’s direction and he nodded his thanks. Russell turned to you, his grin all but gone now, the serious tone from before back. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Sure.” He gave you the beginnings of a grateful smile, his gaze never leaving yours. You could feel yourself being sucked in, almost as if there was a strong magnetic force trying to pull you back in. There was so much going on behind those eyes that looked almost as if they were pleading with you for something — something that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to give. You were still putting yourself back together, trying to repair the damage that his chaotic whirlwind had caused.

Colter quietly cleared his throat and it shattered the moment, and for that you were grateful. Especially when you noticed Russell had been discreetly moving closer to you. You moved away a bit, making Russell’s jaw tighten and his eyes harden, and started after Yolanda. “We should go,” you told Colter, happy to look upon him once again while you regained your bearings. “We’ve only got ten minutes and I really don’t need an ass chewing from my supervisor because your brother has no game.” 

Colter smirked and followed after you. Russell’s jaw dropped and he appeared alongside you once more, keeping pace with you. “I have game!”

“No, you don’t,” you snorted, keeping your eyes straight ahead, unwilling to look at him.

“Yes, I do. It worked on you once upon a time, didn’t it?”

You leveled a menacing glare on him before turning to look at Colter on your other side. “Why did you ask me to help you again?”

Colter pressed his lips together and decided to keep quiet, focusing on waiting for Yolanda to open the door to the morgue. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Russell leaned closer and murmured to you, “I do, too. And Y/N, after we get out of here, why don’t we go grab that drink I talked about? Just you and me? We can talk and catch up.” You turned your wide eyes onto him. Was he serious? He shot you a charming grin but you could also see the tiny gleam of hope in his gaze.

You ignored the familiar scent of his cologne as it wafted over you and you tamped down the painful memories it induced.

Colter looked like he would rather be anywhere else right then. You wished you were anywhere else right then. You turned your eyes forward, refusing to look at him anymore, not wanting to see any part of his reaction to what you were about to say. “You’re both on a timeclock, remember?” You asked quietly. “After we get what we need, you should go to the spot that's next on your list or immediately chase down any leads. As for me, I have to get back to work.”  You then surged ahead, standing right behind Yolanda and stepping into the room when she opened the door.

After a moment, you heard the brothers enter behind you and Colter muttered to Russell, “You good?”

“Yeah.” You nearly closed your eyes hearing that tone that you were starting to hate once more. “So close.” This time, when he echoed the words from before, there was no false bravado attached to them, no playfulness or humor, only what you detected as regret. 

This time, Colter didn’t say anything in response. Both brothers joined you and you all watched as Yolanda selected a drawer and slid it out. Feeling Russell next to you, you swore to yourself that this would be the last time you would take a call from Colter for a long time. While you liked the younger Shaw, it was the older Shaw you didn’t want to chance running into ever again. 

You stared ahead as Yolanda unzipped the body bag, tensing as you felt the sleeve of Russell’s jacket unintentionally brush against you. So close? Too close.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Russell watching you intently, his expression serious and that regretful look in his eyes once more. You forced your gaze back to the woman reminding you of your ten minute window, refusing to allow any sympathy for the older man on your left. You hadn’t been the one to ruin things between you; you’d only been left to pick up the pieces. You were done feeling sorry for Russell Shaw. 

You took the report Yolanda offered to you before she left and began flipping through it, skimming the text, as Colter took a closer look at the body. From your peripherals, Russell stared at you a moment longer and then moved to stand next to his brother, their backs to you. Sadly, a familiar sight of the man you’d once loved. You blinked away rapidly forming tears and went back to reading.

As much as you hated to admit it, Russell had been right. So close indeed.

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