#at this point i just have to assume hes got some kind of humiliation kink because why would he willingly put himself in these situations

[dollfacefantasy]

Playing to Win

pairing: stepdad!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your new stepdad isn't much older than you, yet he has the audacity to ask you to call him daddy?

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dubcon, daddy kink, humiliation kink, spanking, praise/degradation

word count: 4.3k

a/n: i got a little silly hehe. this is technically my first commission. if you’re interested, check out my ko-fi. as always i appreciate the support, smoochies.

this is my first commission written for my beloved @nexysworld. without her, this would never have come about. she's a great writer and such a sweet person. you all should go check out her blog if you haven't already.

“You want me to call you what?” you ask incredulously as you stare down the man standing across from you.

“You heard me,” Leon says with no sense of teasing in his voice.

You laugh in his face, a cruel, unabashed laugh. You could not believe his audacity to ask you to call him daddy. 

Technically, he was your new stepfather, but it was comical to you to even acknowledge him as such. He was right around your age, only a couple years difference, no way in hell were you going to call him daddy.

You had been open with your mother about your displeasure over Leon’s presence in your life. You called her a cradle robber and a cougar but to no avail. She continued her relationship with him; a young, bright eyed, rookie cop who always thought he knew best.

He wasn’t the problem so much. Sure, he was kind of annoying, but he was also pretty cute. He was funny, and if these were any other circumstances, you could see yourself and him getting along great, even being friends. Generally, he was nice to you, maybe a little over friendly if you were being honest. It always seemed like he knew something you didn’t, but you assumed that was just his nature.

“You’re funny, Leon,” you taunt, “Seriously, good joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” he corrects you and folds his arms over his chest, “Now that I’m taking a more serious role in your life, I expect you to show me some respect.”

“Oh, you do?” you laugh, “Leon-”

“Daddy,” he corrects.

You almost can’t speak, stunned to silence by the nerve of him. Was he doing this to annoy you? Was it supposed to be funny? Because there’s absolutely no way he could be serious about this.

“We are almost the same age. You realize this, yes?” you ask, enunciating the words slowly to get your point across, “I’m not calling you anything but your actual name. And maybe not even that cause you’re pissing me off, and I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“All this attitude, sweetheart, and for what?” he says as approaches you, “I’m not asking you to run a marathon for me. All I want is to be addressed properly.”

You scowl at the pet name. He brings a hand to your face, stroking your cheek with his knuckles before you swat it away.

“What is your problem, Leon?” you say angrily and shove him away, “Is this some fucked up fetish of yours? Like it’s not pathetic enough you’re fucking a divorced woman twice your age, right? You have to feel in control of me too to get it up?”

You laugh at him again when he responds with a glare. Rolling your eyes, you walk closer to him and get in his face.

“Aw, did I hurt daddy’s feelings?” you mock in the sweetest tone you could manage, giving him puppy dog eyes and putting emphasis on the title he was so obsessed with, “I’m so sorry daddy. Please don’t be mad at me.”

You’re about to laugh again before Leon spins you around so you quick the motion nearly gives you whiplash. Your back is flush against his chest, and even though you were teasing, your little performance clearly had some effect as you could feel his dick, now half hard, against your ass. It causes a small flash of heat in your belly that you try to pretend didn’t happen.

“Listen up, I’m not going to tell you again, baby. You do what I’m asking you, or we’re going to find another way to get it through your pretty little head,” he says.

His grip was firm. Despite his usual officer friendly persona, he could obviously be serious when he wanted to be. It didn’t shock you. You knew he was fit and could be intense. You’d caught him working out with his shirt off, sweat dripping down his muscular back while ‘Kim’ by Eminem blasted in his airpods. You tried to deny it, but it had left you feeling a little hot under the collar for the next few days.

You squirm in his hold, but he keeps your wrists pinned to your lower back. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, send me to my room? Ground me?” you say as you try to wriggle away.

“Oh no, we’re past that. You want to be a brat, I’ll handle you like one. I’ll put you over my knee and smack that cute ass until it’s raw, and you understand who’s in charge around here,” he says.

“You’re gonna spank me?” you shriek. You thrash harder in absolute shock. “No way! Are you fucking crazy? My mother will kick your ass.”

“Your mother isn’t here, babe. I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” he says. His fingers only tighten on you, digging into your flesh. An arm loops around your waist and starts pulling you over to the sofa. “Maybe she’ll be grateful that someone’s finally trying to teach you some manners.”

Even though you knew he was in shape, he was much stronger than you thought. He sits down on the sofa and folds you across his lap with no real effort. You’re secure there too, unable to get to your feet or away from him. You still try though, flailing your limbs about and bucking your hips.

“There, there. Let’s calm down, honey,” he coos, now clearly taunting you. He rubs the swell of your ass over the tight dress you were wearing. “Just tell Daddy you’re sorry, baby. I’m not a bad guy. I’m willing to hear you out.”

You don’t even respond. You pound your fists against his leg while kicking your feet.

“Poor baby. There’s no reason to throw a tantrum,” he says in the most condescending voice you’d ever heard. He gives you a light warning tap on the ass. “Just tell me what I want to hear, and Daddy will make it all better, give you all the kisses you need until you’re back to being a good girl.”

He was driving you fucking wild. Your body was taut with anger while your mind ran wild with frustration, not only at him, but at yourself. You could feel your panties getting sticky with arousal as he spoke down to you.

“Shut up, Leon!” you say and continue struggling.

His hand comes down again, cracking a little harder against the supple flesh of your ass. You suck a sharp breath in. It didn’t hurt yet, but it stung. Anymore force behind the swing of his palm and you knew he could fulfill his threats of marking up your ass.

“You wanna try that again, princess?” he says, “I’ll give you one more chance.”

“No! I’m not calling you Daddy you sick fucker! I-”

A loud slap echoes through the room. That was the smack you were scared of. So hard you could feel the burn beneath your skin. There was absolutely no doubt about his strength now. He lands another two, one on each cheek, drawing whimpers from your throat.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, “I’m sick of the whining and the back talk. I’ve given you more than enough chances to fix your behavior. I’m done playing nice with you.”

In a quick motion, he yanks your skirt up to bunch it at the small of your back. You squeal out “Leon!” but it makes no difference. Again, you attempt to wriggle away. All it does though is give him a view of your ass wiggling around in those cute panties you wore. The ones he had seen peeking over the waist of your jeans.

He lays more lashes to your skin in rapid succession. You wriggle slightly and involuntarily whine. Your ‘stepfather��� felt no guilt though. Partially because it was all part of the plan, partially because he could see the light purple fabric between your thighs darkening with arousal. Plus, the pathetic noises spilling from your mouth only made him want to work harder, rip more sweet cries from you. He continues cracking his solid hand against your bottom, sending ripples through the soft flesh. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your eyes start to water, and your bottom lip juts out into a quivering pout.

“Oh, look at that sweet face,” he coos, taking a break from spanking you to stroke your cheek, “I know it hurts, baby. But it can all stop once you decide to stop being a stubborn little brat.”

He punctuates his statement with another swat. Your body jolts forward at the contact, head falling forward to hang in shame. You hate yourself for playing into it, but you can’t stop the automatic response that exits you in a humiliating whimper.

“I’m not a brat.”

“Oh you’re not? Could’ve fooled me,” he responds. He cracks his hand against your cheeks a few more times before giving you a break and rubbing the sore skin.

“I’m not. You’re just… you’re just mean.”

The words tumble from you in a pitiful cry, physically hurting you to say something so pathetic. To show such weakness when he was being such a prick. You shut your eyes, and a warm tear falls down your face. That only made you feel worse, making you want to cry more. A vicious cycle you couldn’t break out of when all your mind could think of was your stinging flesh and his patronizing voice.

“I’m being mean to you? Aw baby, after all the things you said, you think I’m the mean one?” he mocks.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper out without really thinking about it.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, sweetheart. You know what I want,” he says.

What’s supposed to be a groan comes out as a frustrated whine. You shake your head weakly and open your eyes again. His fingers slip beneath your chin to lift your face to look at him.

“Just say it. Say it and it will all be over. We can get on to helping you feel better,” he says.

The pain radiating from your ass, now glowing red, was almost enough to make you give in on the spot. But you could hear it in his voice. He was so fucking smug, having so much fun watching you cry and shift around in discomfort. You couldn’t just let him win.

So you shake your head defiantly, sniffling as your watery eyes connect with his in a stare. You immediately regret your decision because the amused glint that forms his eyes lets you know that he enjoys the resistance more than your submission. The corners of his lips tick upwards into a slight smile. Now it’s his turn to shake his head and mockingly tut at you before swinging his forearm and blasting your sore flesh with the heel of his palm.

You cry out, the noise strangled with despair. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to restrain the louder sobs that were bubbling in your throat.

“Just give in, sweetheart. There’s no need to act tough for me. Do what I know you want to, and say the word,” he orders, his words coming out low and slow.

You know you should, but god, you don’t want to. It’s like your most basic instincts don’t want you to either. You have to think through it, force your tongue to conjure the word and expel it from your lips.

“I’m sorry… Daddy,” you whimper. A couple more tears leak from your eyes. The humiliation that mounts in your chest is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. But as the heat rises to your cheeks and clouds your mind, making you feel dizzy, you feel a deeper sense of heat spreading out in your lower belly. And it only gets worse when he starts in on you again.

“Oh, that’s my girl. Such a good girl when you want to be. I knew you could do it,” he coos, “Say it again for me, baby. Least you can do after being so cruel.”

At this point, you figure you’d already said it once, so what’s one more time. You say it again if for no other reason than to stop his harsh blows from raining down on your sensitive skin.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you cry.

“That’s right. I know you are, honey. I know you don’t mean that stuff. You just wanted some attention, right? Wanted some time with Daddy all to yourself,” he says as his hand comes up and starts stroking your hair.

You weakly shake your head. You weren’t acting up because of that. He was being an asshole. That’s why you were acting up. Or were you even acting up? Your reaction was justified, wasn’t it? All the attention on you mixed with the shame boiling in your head makes it hard to think through this stuff.

“Oh, are you shy? Don’t wanna tell the truth?” he coos with a cruel chuckle. One of his hands rubs your aching ass while the other trails up and down your thigh soothingly. The latter hand slowly creeps to the junction of your legs. “I know that’s what it is, doll. I can feel it.”

As he says that, you feel fingers petting the damp fabric that conceals your cunt. You take a sharp breath to which his chuckle grows into a short laugh. He presses his fingers against the cloth, and you can tell immediately that even his movements are done in a way to mess with you. His digits drag against your panties, not giving you the pressure you need on your clit. You squirm awkwardly in an effort to find a better angle and not feel the soaked garment cling to your folds.

“Feeling a little impatient?” he teases.

You nod, any remaining shreds of dignity you have slowly being peeled away. You just couldn’t resist. The potential pleasure that’s just out of reach. The heat of his thick cock against your hip. His voice, like soft velvet slipping over your mind.

“Well honey, show me you can ask nicely, and I’ll be happy to help you out. Won’t even make you wait, we can get right to what you really want,” he says. His tone sounds slightly more genuine here.

“Pretty please, Daddy,” you force out. Your eyes cast down in shame as if you’re studying the pattern of the living room carpet.

“Pretty please what, babydoll?” he says, the teasing returning for a moment.

“Pretty please… fuck me,” you squeak.

He smirks, his victory written all over his face.

“Woah, listen to the mouth on you,” he tuts, “Normally, I wouldn’t let that kind of language fly, sweetheart, but I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.”

His hands squeeze your waist and flip you over on his lap. He wipes away your tears with his thumb and presses a kiss to your forehead, that stupid smug expression on his face the entire time.

The next move is guiding your body onto the couch. You whimper as your back meets the cool leather. He pays that no mind and instead lifts your hips and tugs your skirt and panties off in one motion. You notice in your peripheral that he takes a souvenir, shoving the light purple underwear in his pocket.

After giving your ass a firm squeeze, his hands drift up and pull your shirt off. His eyes fixate on your tits, his soft hands coming to cup them and flick his fingers over your nipples which were beginning to perk up.

“No bra? I guess I should’ve expected that from you,” he chuckles as he continues fondling your soft breasts. The touch relieves some of the building pressure, the weight in your chest just begging to be squeezed and massaged. He watches the pliable flesh move beneath his fingers before giving your nipples a quick pinch and moving to undress himself.

He doesn’t waste any time, his clothing pooled on the floor in mere moments. He gets on top of you. Large hands hook behind your knees, angling your hips upward. Your legs come to rest on his shoulders as he grabs his cock and swipes the tip through the slick that had collected between your thighs.

“So fucking wet, I didn’t even need to warm you up,” he grunts as he pushes the tip in.

You bite your lip, unable to stop the whine it brings out of you. He exhales with amusement, and his free hand goes to your face to rub your cheek. It was only the tip so far, but you couldn’t even deny how good it felt. And while he moves with a purpose, he draws out this first thrust as long as possible. He inches it in, going as slow as he can. The pleasure he gets just from watching you squirm with desperation is clear in the way he looks down at you.

“There we go. Just what you need. Daddy filling you up. Gonna make you a good girl from now on,” he coos and drags his thumb over your bottom lip. 

Without even thinking, you open your mouth and flatten your tongue against the digit before wrapping your lips around it. You suck on it gently, softly moaning as your saliva coats his thumb.

At this point, it’s physically impossible for him to look more pleased with himself. Honestly, it seemed like he took more enjoyment from watching you slip farther into his grasp than he did from the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him.

Once he’s all the way in, completely buried in your warm, wet embrace, the hand that had been guiding his cock slides up. He gently thumbs your clit, grinning as your sweet mewls become the slightest bit louder.

He begins dragging himself in and out, savoring the feeling of your walls gripping him, sucking him in. It seems you only clamp down harder as he plays with your pretty little bundle of nerves. He keeps toying with it as his hips work back and forth.

Your eyes flutter, becoming half-lidded with the smooth stream of pleasure flowing through you. You whimper and whine while still sucking on his thumb. He started to repeatedly tease pulling it out before pushing it all the way in, nearly gagging you.

“So precious, aren’t you?” he whispers, leaning forward.

Your thighs are now pressed to your chest. His cock so deep it reaches places you didn’t even know about. He picks up the pace a bit, balls smacking against you with each move. To your dismay, he removes his thumb from your mouth, dragging it down and smearing spit down your chin. Your disappointment is only momentary as he’s quick to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

His soft lips move against your wet ones while he continues pumping deep. Your head swims with the pleasure he provides. Everything becomes a soft warm haze as he toys with your clit and stretches you out. The gentle kisses combine with the tender feeling of his warm skin sliding against yours.

“Gonna have to do this every time you get bratty, baby. Keep you dumb on my cock, exactly where you should be, making sure you don’t get outta line,” he grunts, eyes closing as a wave of pleasure hits him, “This all you needed, just some time with Daddy.”

You nod lazily, all hopes of keeping a resistant exterior up gone out the window. “More kisses, Daddy,” you mumble as you connect your lips in a messy kiss.

He chuckles at the lack of resistance left in you. He returns your nod and indulges you. His tongue slips into your mouth, meeting your own as you make out.

It’s all so good. You can’t get enough. Everything is him right now. It’s all for him. You know you’re getting close and so does he. He can feel the way your pussy rhythmically constricts around him. It’s working him closer too, but he can’t let it end yet. Not before he gets to the final step.

His movements become strategic. You’re teetering on the edge, getting enough pleasure to keep you whining and clutching at him, but not enough for that final push to heaven. Just one more stroke in the right wave, and you know you could get there.

While your head continues to fog up from his efforts, he pulls away from kissing you. He nestles his head in between yours and the couch cushion.

“You know, honey, now that we’re seeing eye to eye, I think I should let you in on something,” he whispers, hot breath fanning across your ear.

“Mmm, what?” you ask. You were only half paying attention, too caught up in the heat of the moment.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while, sweet thing,” he rasps.

“Really?” you ask, unsure why he was bringing this up but choosing to go along with it in your dreamy state. He had been dating your mom for a while, so maybe he had this little infatuation for longer than you thought.

“Mhm, earlier than I think you know,” he says with a nip to your earlobe.

“That’s nice,” you murmur and nuzzle your face against his hair, breathing in his scent.

“Aren’t you curious when? When was the first time I saw your pretty face? The first time I wanted to slide into this tight pussy?” he murmurs.

“When?” you ask. You tried to feign interest, but fuck, you really just wanted to cum.

“I remember it, clear as day. It was at a party, you remember that guy from high school who had the 3D tv in his basement. It was at his house. You were down there, looking so fucking cute, talking to some douchebag. And I heard you talking to him. About Fortnite,” he says.

You just nod and moan. You honestly didn’t even remember that he went to your high school, but you didn’t really care at the moment. It still felt so good, him drilling in and out of you. You just couldn’t help but wonder why he thought now was the time to bring this up.

“You told that guy your gamer tag. But I realized I also remembered that name. I had played a match with you before. You beat me, stole my victory royale,” he says with a soft laugh.

“Umm… ok,” you reply, totally lost and not just because your mind was all cloudy from being railed into the couch.

“Tell me, honey: do you remember the name rookiepillz?” he asks.

“No?” you say. Was this really the time for this conversation? That was all you could think. But before you could voice your complaint his hand starts rubbing your clit again with even more pressure than before. All words in your throat tangle up into a string of whimpers.

“You should. I sent you a message after that game. Told you ‘I’m gonna fuck you and your mom sweaty,’” he says with a particularly hard thrust, “Well, look at us now.”

You listen, absolutely lost, until the dots start connecting. You turn your head to look at him, not believing this was real. You did remember that message. It made you and your friends giggle for the next hour, created an inside joke for the next few years.

“No way,” you say. You try to keep your voice even, but despite his insane words, his cock was still hitting just right, “Rookie- fuck! Rookiepillz?”

He puts in a couple of those strokes that hit just right, brushed all your sweet spots, filled you up the perfect amount. All the while his thumb rubs your clit in tiny, quick circles. You couldn’t hold on. A sharp cry leaves you as you gush around his cock. You grip the couch for support as your body rolls with the rush.

“Yes way, sweetheart. Rookiepillz,” he grunts.

When most of the high has finished and you’re starting to come down, you open your eyes and look up at him with disbelief. He’s grinning, so satisfied that he’s gotten the last laugh.

“Wha- you’re… you’re fucking insane… literally why would you remember that? And why would you take it so seriously? It’s Fortnite!” you moan, still feeling the aftershocks of your release.

“I play the long game, baby, and I play to win,” he moans as a strained expression washes over his face. He snaps his hips a few more times before slamming in all the way with one final thrust. “This is my ultimate victory royale.”

With that, he empties himself inside you, hot cum flooding your cunt. You whimper yet again. It still felt good even if you just found out his motivation behind all of this was borderline psychotic.

He pumps in and out a few more times before pulling out. His chest puffs with deep breaths on top of yours. Both of you lay together in silence for a few moments. What had just happened? You could barely even comprehend it. Instead of driving yourself as crazy as he is by dwelling on it, you shove him off of you. You get up and start putting on your clothes again.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you say.

He laughs and sits up on the couch. “Don’t act like you didn’t have fun, baby,” he says while stretching, “You were such a good girl for your daddy.”

Your eyes widen and cheeks burn with embarrassment at his teasing. God, why had you ever said that? Now that you weren’t all worked up, you just wanted to go back in time and kick your own ass for even thinking of giving in.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

He stands up, still laughing and clearly on top of the world with his “victory.” You smooth out your outfit as he starts putting his own clothing back on. He holds up his belt and cracks it teasingly.

“Watch your mouth, there’s still time before your mother gets home. That sweet ass might not have enough marks,” he taunts.

You shoot him a glare before storming out of the room.

“Oh come on, babe. If you’re not into that, maybe we could play some Fortnite?” he calls.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Your ride is here (dark!Ghoap x fem!Reader)

CW and tags: Non-con, poly, group sex, size kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat, forced orgasms, praise, humiliation I really really adore @ohbo-ohno and @ceilidho for their amazing takes on writing dark fics with Ghoap and fem!Readers Word count: 3794 AO3

You were already way too drunk when you got out of the bar. It was an annoyingly loud party, too many people you never even knew – you thought that it would be nice since it’s a nice bar and not some weird tech music club, but it didn’t really matter in the end. You were still wasted, head spinning around and headache already forming with bile in your throat every time you opened your eyes. Your phone is dead, your brain is barely working, and the only thing you wish to do right now is to curl down in a small ball and cry. 

You barely managed to call for an Uber before your phone blinked one last time and turned off – and judging by the fact that the somewhat kinda, big-ish car was the only one in the dim alleyway, you assumed it was your ride. Hopefully, you’ll get home as soon as possible, get a shower, clear your stomach from alcohol slowly brewing into nausea, and fall asleep. 

You’re far too drunk to notice that the driver didn’t even ask for your name when you got inside. 

— H…hey there. You’re my driver, yea? 

You force the words out of your mouth as you slowly duck your head into the car and settle on the backseat before the guy even says anything. He is pretty, somewhat – a weird fucking haircut for sure, but has a roguish charm of a boy you might meet at the nearest gas station shop. You’re way too buzzed to think of him in any romantic way, but he is nice to look at, and you’re staring to the point of being inappropriate. 

He smiles, and you feel your cheeks heating up – probably just alcohol working its way up your system. But he looks nice and probably would feel nice in bed, too – he clearly forgot about shaving for a few days, and you almost think about the way it would feel on your face. Or between your legs. Or just right on your…

— Aye, it’s me. 

You can see his cheeks getting flushed as he stares back at you. The situation becomes slightly more weird with each passing moment, but he taps on his phone, probably searching for a map. You turn your head to look at the blurry image – not like you have any knowledge of the area, transferring here for your big girl job and trying to make your way in the city that couldn’t care less about you or your feelings. 

You press your cheek against the car seat, leaning over to help him. 

— It’s on…yeah, um, Maple 37-12. I think I might have typed the address incorrectly on the app. 

— Thank ye, lassie. 

He quickly turns on the map to head over to your house, and you smile, happy about your management skills even as you’re still drunk as hell. You allow your head to fall on the backseat headrest again, closing your eyes just for a second. It’s a long ride home, and you already regret every decision that made you go to this fucking party. 

The driver is chatty. 

Really fucking chatty. 

— So, where do you work? Ye shouldn’t be up in that hour. 

You grumble something in the answer, not wanting to speak too much. Your brain isn’t built for this kind of pressure right now. 

— Yer boyfriend goin’ to pick ye up? 

You slightly wince at the words, another reminder of how utterly alone you were. Of course, if you had a boyfriend or even some close, responsible friends, you would ask them to help you with a ride home – you never trusted public transport at this hour, and uber is often varies between a last resort and a stranger danger on wheels. 

— Don’t have any. 

Your brain is far too drunk to even comprehend why you didn’t just lie that a mysterious boyfriend will meet you. Somehow, the expression of the driver – he called himself Johnny with such a beautiful boyish smile that it made your toes curl – made you feel dizzy and light in the head. God, you don’t want to act like a high school sweetheart, but all of those drinks made you feel lonely. 

— No way. A wee bonnie like ye shouldnae be alone. 

You lick your lips, trying not to sound too miserable. You’re failing. 

— I’m focusing on my career. 

He actually laughs at that, and you feel even more embarrassed. 

— Career? How does that work out for ye? 

You just grumble at the answer, not wanting to bury yourself even deeper. Truth be told, it’s not what you expected when moving to a new city – you don’t know anyone, don’t have any friends here, your life has started from a blank point, and there is really nothing for you to do besides trying to connect with some uptight work buddies in a grimy bar. 

Driver says something else – just general questions, something about the weather. Silly jokes that make you snort and reconsider your sense of humor – he is really nice for a cab driver, and you kinda want to just listen to him talk over and over again. You kinda just want to close your eyes and sleep, but you suddenly realize that you need to charge your phone in order to check the payment – you don’t think you have enough cash in your purse, and you don’t want to make the driver’s life even more miserable. He must be low on money to work at this hour, and you kinda feel bad enough to leave him a big tip after all of this, especially if you would end up throwing up all over his nice, big car. It's suited for some brutal man from war movies, not an Uber driver. 

— Hey, sorry. Can I charge my phone for a bit? 

He smiles even more, getting you the required cable – you plug your phone finally, for the first time in the past few minutes, seeing your home screen again. God, this is late hours – you never got home at this time before. 

The car takes an unexpected turn, and you swing your head to look at the window – you don’t recognize the area. Of course, the road was dark, and you lived far away, but even with your blurry mind and hazy memories of the street you moved to,  you knew this wasn’t right. The driver is nice and all, but you feel like he made a mistake by relying only on Google Maps. You hope he made a genuine mistake, at least. 

— Um, sir? 

— Aye, lassie? 

He looks so innocent it immediately drops you off guard. You lean closer to him, a phone still in your hand – you were trying to refresh the Uber app quite a few times already, but it somehow never showed you the price you were supposed to pay for the trip – and try to sound as chill as possible. No use in making a scene, you both are tired, and he probably wants to get done with you as soon as possible. 

— I think you took a wrong turn. My street should be on the right side. 

— Didnae think I did. 

— What do you mean? My home isn’t…

The app blinks, and you look at it, trying to concentrate on the obscenely bright screen, punishing your eyes for simply having those. You lick your lips, blood running cold. 

You stare at the “Your driver will be here in 5 minutes”. With a description of a car that couldn’t be more different than the car you were in. 

With the driver, whose name wasn’t even remotely “Johnny”. 

***

Soap wasn’t intending to bring a girl home. What he intends is to find a nice chip place near the bar he and Simon used to go to together and then bring something home to eat because, of course, Lt came home before him, and his cooking skills are almost as bad as his jokes. Simon is a mad dog that will probably eat anything provided and isn’t against chewing on his shoes in case of an emergency, but he doesn’t want him to do this off-deployment. 

Johnny literally just wanted to buy some grub, get it home warm, and take off drinking beer and watching some mindless shit on the TV. Preferably with Simon by his side because their relationship cannot be defined by any labels, and he as a nice fucking ass. 

Well, turns out random drunk girls who slammed into his car just when he got the takeout bag securely on the front seat have nice asses too. And Soap can’t think of the last time he had his dick smothered by a woman’s lips and not his fist or, somehow, Simon’s hand. 

You’re pretty, drunk, and kinda dumb – just like he loves them. Silly girl, really, what did you expect when your phone is dead and you have no other means of contacting safety. He saw you approaching the car, not even looking at his plate – you probably wouldn’t remember when he would dump you in the morning. Not that he would, of course, pretty dumb girls like you should be protected, and his job is, well, protection itself –  he can drag you to his and Ghost’s apartment like a trophy in his teeth. 

He licks his lips, enjoying the expression of fear slowly creeping on your face. You’re so drowsy, so adorable, he can’t help but smile widely when you’re panicking. You try to open the door, but, of course, it’s child-locked. Fitting for someone who behaves like one. 

The last time he tried to convince a girl to have a threesome with him and Simon, she preferred to just watch them awkwardly jerk each other off. The last time he tried to convince a guy for a threesome with him and Simon, Johnny spent the whole night in the corner, blue-balled and lonely, as the twink preferred to suck Lt until he’d cum like two times in a row. 

Johnny knows that if he wants a chance for something other than a sloppy seconds, he will have to accept a quick car fuck, possible kidnapping, and forging marriage documents for a pretty girl he just locked in his car because why the hell not, why can’t a handsome Scotsman just kidnap a drunk girl who mistook him for an Uber driver. 

He stops the car in a more or less secluded area – poor bird, you’re still trying to bump your way out of the door with your shoulder, only risking dislocating it. The car was a fucking tank in disguise, the only thing that could survive Ghost’s driving skills – there is no way you would be able to get it to open without the owner wanting you to. Soap licks his lips, turning to you. Hell bells, you look divine. 

Tears in your eyes, panicked expression, hands curling into fists as you’re trying to get out of your personal nightmare, no matter how drunk you are. Poor baby, he really feels bad for you – you’re so sweet, so trusting, there is no way he was the first guy to ever try to harm you like this. Sergeant might like to think of himself as being more or less in touch with normal people, but when he sees a pretty girl in trouble, he wants nothing more but to become her trouble. 

He opens the car just for a second from the driver’s seat – he needs to get to you, after all, just looking at you, trapped in the backseat, won’t be enough for the throbbing erection he has in his pants. You try to fight him as he heavily lingers on you, almost crushing you under his weight. Car isn’t nearly big enough for someone like him to comfortably sit in normal position on top of you, so Johnny uses one hand to drag you back, deeper into the seat, and the other hand – to unbuckle his belt, proving to be fucking beautiful with his fingers. 

You look so pretty, he can’t help but snap a few pictures for the group chat – dumb idea at first, as he thought, but now he can’t wait for the Captain to see what a pretty catch he has on his arms. The last mission was pretty rough, and they all deserve a pretty thing to cover themselves in fear and tremble under them after they fuck her, one after one. Might even bring you to Captain’s house, show you what a good girl you can be for your daddy if given a chance. 

Soap smirks as he drags his hard cock out of his pants. Your eyes are wide in shock – he might not be the biggest of the group, Lt has the crown rightfully and deservingly, but it doesn’t mean that the Scot is small. Thicker than average, leaking pre-cum already – has been since you first got into the car, all cute and disoriented. He had to waste quite a few minutes driving you as far from civilization as possible without alarming your pretty, dazed head about anything – now he can reap his prize. A part of it, anyway. 

You cry and squirm, trying to fight him off when he pushes his hand into your hair and tugs angrily – you’re simply too fucking weak to be a reasonable challenge, so Johnny only laughs when he can put your fight with a single press on your windpipe. You cough, struggling again – soon enough, you learn to just stop and allow him to lead. Good girl, can be trained so well – you’d make a good soldier if you weren’t so pretty and so vulnerable. 

— Don’t make me break yer nose, lassie. Open up, aye? 

He smiles, too warm for the situation – you don’t understand what you did to deserve this, his hand presses your throat in a tight embrace, and you can’t do anything but squirm and try somehow to use your legs to fight – but oh, you’re far too drunk to do this. You whimper, and your head spins and aches with each hiccup, leaving your lips. Such a pathetic sight to see, you could almost feel bile in your throat as he pressed his cock closer to your lips, smearing bitter liquid all over your closed mouth. 

— Pl…please, don’t do this, don’t… what do you want? Money? I will give you money, or my phone, or…

He groans, the waiting time for this pretty girl is far too long already. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you’re too soft for this – a thought of slapping your face lingers in his mind, but ruining your pretty cheeks won’t be efficient in this case. Johnny tugs on your hair, hoping it will be enough to set you straight – he doesn’t want you to pass out from pain, after all. Already too merciful with just using your throat and now that tight ass hiding underneath your dress. 

Your words are slurred, hazed, your tongue can’t move quite right enough – still too drunk, and lack of fresh air only makes you go dumber by each second. Soap only lets go of you when he is sure you’re far too gone to try and bite him – still, he pushes his two hands in your mouth, opening you wide as you gag and cough. 

— Don’t worry yer pretty head ‘bout it. Just take me, and then we’ll go home. 

He will ride you home, make you ride him, and make you some really nice breakfast later. He will carefully wipe away the damp makeup from your face – poor girl, you’re crying too much and ruined all of your hard work on this skin – and send some pretty pictures to the group. But, hey, he can snap a couple right now. 

With one hand still in your mouth, he awkwardly moves his hips so his cock can point right against your lips – and presses down, making you gag more and more as he slowly but surely pushes his cock inside of your tight, warm mouth. God, this is the heavens – he can’t remember the last time he had such an amazing blowjob from such a cutie. Gaz would fucking love you. 

You’re so pretty from this angle, coughing on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks – Johnny tells you to smile for the camera and snaps a couple of pictures. Group chat was an amazing idea, after all – he can’t wait to share some more cute videos once you’ve settled it. The feeling of your warm mouth on his cock is absolutely divine – you’re tight, probably inexperienced, and he relishes in the fact he might be the biggest cock you ever took in your pretty lips. 

You try your hardest to pull away, but he keeps you close, a hand tugs on your hair again, making you cry harder. Soap is so sorry, bonnie, he will make it up to you later – will eat your pretty cunt sloppily, maybe mess with your ass a bit, making sure you’re all wet and open for the members of his team and their members. He snorts at the thought. smiling as you’re still fighting the urge to puke. 

— Like this, aye? Don’t fuckin’ try to bite me, I don’t want to prick yer teeth off. 

Threat lingers in your panicked mind as he drags his hips back before slamming in your mouth again, his balls slapping your chin with an obscene sound. The drool is leaking down your lips, creating a mess on the car seat – it’s not a problem, really, he will clean it later. Maybe would have to change the fabric of the seating for something less damp if he plans to fuck you in the car more. And oh, aren’t they all planning to do this? 

His phone rings when he was least expecting it – skull emoji on the display. No name, no photo – of course. He must have predicted that Lt would like some of the fun beforehand. Well, Soap isn’t the one to hoard every trophy to himself – even if he really wants to be the first with a pretty girl. 

He loves his team – and they will love you as much. 

He picks up with a smug grin on his face, staring at the screen. His moans become louder, grunts that make your cheeks burn as you just know he is faking it for more theatrics – pressing his phone between his cheek and a shoulder, leaving his friend to listen to his pleasure. Licking his lips as Ghost groans, a familiar sound of an unbuckled belt clanging somewhere in the background. You sob, trying to trash out of his hold again – he only presses you deeper, your nose flattening against his pubic bone. 

— Couldn’t fuckin’ wait, Jonny? Simon sounds tired, angry, jealous even – his sergeant smiles wider, slowly removing the phone from under his cheek and going into video call instead – showing your pretty face, all smothered with pre-cum, ruined makeup, and tears. You look so pretty, so perfect, he moves his hips more to remind you to suck on his cock and not just stare at him like a pretty kitten. He loves you like this, of course, but his dick twitches without proper movement, and Johnny was never the one for patience. Only for bombs, maybe. 

Well, you’re a freaking bombshell, aren’t ye. 

— Sorry, Lt. Dumb thing thought I was her ride. 

The other man snorts. They both laugh – a cruel sound, taunting your ears. You whine and cry, feeling the cock in your mouth pulsating. You try to turn away from the camera, but it’s impossible with a hand still pressing down on your head – you can only close your eyes, poor attempt at saving your dignity. God, you feel absolutely trashed. Soap adores that defeated look in your eyes. 

— And you aren’t? 

— Still a better driver than you, sir. But no, not this time. Can give her a ride, though. 

You hate their laughing, hate the way he is gently caressing your head like you’re a threatened animal and not a living, breathing being. He is being soft with you, like he isn’t forcing his way into your mouth – like he isn’t showing your fucked face to his friend. You hate the way your pussy burns, wet from humiliation, and the soft retirement you’re receiving. Bastard isn’t even thinking of your pleasure, and maybe that’s good. You don’t want to like it. 

— Goin’ bring her home? 

— Aye. Would look bloody adorable on our bed. 

They both snort while your blood runs cold. You hoped, you prayed he would let you go after this – traumatized, but mostly alive and well. You have a job, you have a life, and you can’t be fucking “taken home” to some bastard’s bed while he is using you like a sex toy. You try to squeeze your teeth on his dick, maybe do at least something to make him let you go – but Soap strikes your cheek with unknown anger, making you squirm in his grasp. You sob. 

— Don’t break her yet, Johnny. 

— Sorry. Dumb thing tried to bite me. 

— Doesn’t know any better. Gaz had a special muzzle for dumb girls. 

— Too tight for my dick. 

— Bloody hell, Mactavish. Don’t get too cocky. 

— Never intended to, sir. 

He pushes his dick deeper into your mouth. Your cheek burns from the slap, you can almost feel the bruise forming – and the bastard just tugs on your hair, filling your throat with sticky, disgusting cum. You drink it all, no use in trying to choke yourself on his seed when you’re already set in his hold. 

— How is her mouth? 

— Fuckin’ heaven, Lt. 

— I noticed. You finished fast, even for you, Johnny. 

— I’ll try better next time. Maybe get our dollie off after. 

— Selfish, Mactavish. 

— We all deserve to be selfish. 

Soap has the fucking audacity to wipe your mouth after you finish drinking it all, pushing the remaining cum and drool back on your tongue. He gently patted on your head, then made a small apology for being too rough. Was never his intention. 

— Sorry, bonnie. Don’t try to fight again, aye? You’re too tired to answer, and he just cradles your head against his chest. You whimper and cry, pleading senselessly for him to leave you – he only snaps even more photos of your tear-stained face. God, he can’t wait to bring you home. You’ll look heavenly as a fucktoy for the whole team. 

— L..let me…

— Naw, lassie. Shut up and let me take you where you belong. You’ll love it, promise. 

He kisses your forehead before moving to the front seat again. 

You clutch to the seat in silence, bitter taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. 

[spiralinghours]

“Fading Out” (continuation/installment of “Filth”)

Fandom/media: Saw franchise

Rating: R/18+

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Tags/content/warnings: humiliation/degradation, teasing, name-calling, feeding kink, weight gain… a lot of the same from the previous fic

Summary: A canon-divergent continuation where Strahm is alive and well (and didn’t get put in the cube), but does know Hoffman’s identity. Hoffman, meanwhile, is done with the Jigsaw business, too confused by whatever he has going on with Strahm. Low key teasing continues to happen during work hours, which culminates in Mark experimenting on his own at home.

Author’s note: I was gonna add more to this, but it felt long enough and I got impatient haha. I’m not great at long form/chapters because I get bored by the idea, so there’s no set length, but just know this installment is a filler before I churn out the next part.

Enjoy. Or don’t. Make your choice.

So things hadn’t gone as planned, but they seemed to work out. For the time being.

Strahm had strolled—intently stamped, more like—his way out of the meat plant on the night of those simultaneous games, looking the victor, as he gave the exact story he promised he would (blah blah, came in alone, everyone dead but Hoffman, helped him out of the trap, blah blah blah) and reported that Jigsaw, finally, was dead. That was that.

Jigsaw was dead, in more ways than one. Mark had anticipated carrying out the last couple games as John’s dying wish, taking out anyone who put even a slightly inconvenient kink in the grand scheme of it all. But, the blunt truth was John was gone. Amanda was gone. Jill, while probably wanting to respect John’s will, did not have the heart to play murder games. (And this Logan fella… he was never coming back. He had a whole life. Who cared?) Mark didn’t want to associate with anyone left alive in John’s legacy—his fucked up family.

And with Peter knowing the whole smoking truth of it all with some sick fixation and the potential for blackmail, there was no point for Mark to dig his hole deeper. He would tie up the loose ends and move on.

On a formal, procedural, surface level, tying loose ends also entailed wrapping things up with the feds. It was a whole parade of paperwork, exchanging identical manila folders, making the same public statements to major media outlets, and staying caffeinated into the ungodly hours of the morning to make sure all the stories on record were solid.

It meant Peter was still around, digging through the inner sanctum of the precinct like a mite. He was always lurking, and actually focused on his job, to be sure. But at moments when Mark thought he’d look up and make eye contact, or see him walk through his office door, there was nothing.

It was jarring, in fact, how removed Strahm seemed, given the immense tension and lingering promise of their last interaction. Perhaps it was best left that way. But if anything, despite all else—the wet dreams and fleeting, empty want—Hoffman felt the need to confirm some kind of arrangement given what Strahm knew of his identity.

Yeah, that was all it was. Just business, in that sense.

In a completely random occurrence, in the middle of one of the many days hazing into the next, Mark spotted Peter, alone in what was his and Lindsey’s makeshift office watching something on the old TV. It was the tape from when Mark originally interrogated Jill from however long ago—the one Rigg wracked his brain on, watching it on repeat.

Mark could only assume Peter was looping it for completely different reasons, but he let his crass curiosity get the better of him.

“Hard at work?” Mark sort of muttered as he entered the space, cringing at how stupid and generic it came out.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, not even turning to look. It was as bland an answer as if he’d been offered a cup of coffee.

“My tape with Jill have something we missed?” Mark probed on, tilting his head at how Peter rewound the part where he passed in front of the camera, backside in full view. (‘Jesus, I look like that back there?’)

“Just enjoying the view,” Peter replied, tone unchanged.

What a stone cold prick.

He made an obvious point of pausing the spot where Mark had twisted his torso just enough as he leaned over the table, showing at just the right angle the way his belly hung over his belt, past his generous chest. The blue hue of the tape made even his fuzzy visage look very shapely.

“You’re a sick fuck.” Mark was going for a threatening, undercutting slant to his words, but it fell short into something on edge.

“I’m not doing anything sick, stupid,” Peter finally turned around, looking annoyed for barely any reason.

“Enjoying the view? Yeah?” Mark mocked. “You’re a creep, lookin’ at me like that.”

“Who said I was looking at you? Ms. Tuck is pretty gorgeous.”

Mark was well aware that one of the many skills he possessed was passively getting on people’s nerves until he got something out of the situation. But Peter had out-obnoxioused him somehow. Mark shook his head, lips fixing into a dumb pucker, and started to turn away.

“You look fucking fat in this tape.” Peter’s cold voice trailed behind Mark, smacking him and reeling him back in.

“Excuse me? Fuck you.”

Strahm stood up abruptly and got into Hoffman’s face, his eyes drifting momentarily to the open door to make sure Lindsey or Erickson or even some subordinate didn’t pass by. “Why are you taking that as an insult? Looks good on you, big boy. Say ‘thank you’ when you’re complimented.” A rare, menacing smile cracked across his face. “I like having something to hold onto.” He swatted at Mark’s lower belly, just out there, pushing prominently over his belt buckle and badge.

The TV clicked off and Strahm exited the room without another word. He was frequent with sudden, callous departures like that. It left Hoffman standing there, gears visibly turning behind his eyes and a hand reflexively cupping his stomach where he was just touched.

What the fuck?

—

For the most part, Mark had little awareness of his own body and his overall perception. Outside of his hair and his face, he didn’t pay mind to much. He was just there, just a guy. And, over time, he cared less, living a lifestyle where there was so much stimulation, too much to focus on, too much worry, death and dying at every corner…

He never stopped and realized that people looked at him and just saw a “big guy”, let alone found it attractive. That was the part that alluded him. Like the general public, he assumed the stereotypical thing people wanted to rub their hands over were rock-hard abs and sharp jawlines or whatever. All that to say, Mark felt like Strahm was ogling him for the weirdest reasons.

Late into the night, hours after the little tiff about the tape, Mark was still mulling over what had been said. He knew he was thinking too much on it, but that type of interaction was just too specific and new.

He breathed a bored, unfocused sigh and traced around his house, debating on if he was hungry or just frazzled enough to go to sleep. But a weird impulse seeped into his mind as he leaned towards the former.

In a bit of an autopilot state, lightheaded with a tingle up his back, Mark trudged from one side of the kitchen to the next, alternating between grabbing items from the fridge and the two cabinets. Each “dish” (if the senseless piles could even be called that) merited another garnish or more to add to the taste profile. The remaining four slices of pizza needed more protein, so the egg and sausage leftover from the morning were topped on. But then it needed a dipping sauce, so he had to throw a little ranch in there. But all that became too salty-savory, so Mark made a side salad (which ended up being a mixing bowl’s worth) stacked with croutons, cheese shreds, and chips (because they were spicy, and the whole deal could use a little spice). But then after that, a little sweetness made sense to cut through all the cheese, meat, and sauce, so ice cream came next. But it was too frostbitten to dig a spoon in, so he microwaved the pint… maybe a bit too long, as it ended up mostly melted. But hey, that was just a milkshake, right? So into a glass it went, with some extra milk to thin it out.

He was incredibly hungry, sure—more than he realized—but there was a ping, some kind of creeping inspirational spark that kept him going. There was the idea of Strahm watching him eat this way, maybe even pushing him through it with nasty little remarks the whole time. The condescending “Oink oink” Peter demanded of him from that night in the plant echoed in his head, like an obsession, over and over, unfurling a blackout sort of feeling.

It was over as quickly as it started, leaving Mark in a haze, a little confused at what he just put himself through. He didn’t come—didn’t touch himself or get off or even get super hard—but it felt like he was experiencing “post nut clarity” all the same. There was a hint of shame to it, as Mark recognized how secret and foul gorging himself felt, and how it would be a struggle to hide the results if it kept happening, shifting around slowly with a likely angry and wobbling gut fighting against his pants button.

Peter would be around, and he would see. Would he? Hoffman was curious to know what he would say, how his sharp, dour expression would shift. What catty comments would Peter let burrow into Mark’s dumb, eager brain?

As itch-inducing as the mental image was, Mark’s energy would be reserved for that at a later time. Down for the night, he had slumped into the corner of his small burgundy couch, hyper aware of the way his white undershirt stretched and smoothed out across the expanse of his belly, creasing only at his sides, above his love handles. Every breath was a chore, the shallowest inhales and exhales making him slosh, which eventually set off a chain of hiccups that made his gut bounce uncomfortably.

Letting a hand creep under the tight fabric, Mark ended the night absentmindedly scratching the side if his stomach while some previously-aired episodes of The Girls Next Door droned on his meager TV.

“Guess I’m a pervert too,” Mark mumbled to no one in particular.

[bitchthefuck1]

Kendall Roy has caused me thee most secondhand embarrassment I have ever felt in my entire life and I demand financial compensation

[mercy-burning]

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

[dollslayer]

Artistic Intention

Artist!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve's doing well in his life drawing class, but a new muse throws him for a loop in the back supply room.

W/C: 2,374

Warnings: NO MINORS, p in v smut, unprotected sex, public sex, breeding kink if you squint, swearing

A/N: Hey! I wrote this for @buckyownsmylife 1st anniversary challenge! I love me a good AU so I chose Artist AU+ exhibitionism. Happy tumblr-versary! I made Steve a shy boi in this lol. If you liked this fic pls reblog/comment!! Check out my other fics too! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

It’s 1:45pm and Steve is desperately trying to weave his way through the crowd of people before him. His art folio hits everyone and thing as he makes feeble attempts to apologize to everyone for the bulkiness of the case. He can’t be too apologetic though, he’s running late for his 2pm life drawing class and if he doesn’t make it the professor will close the door in his face.

This is the longest 15 minutes in Steve’s life, he figures. He finally makes it up the steps and jogs up the stairs. His folio hits his leg, he winces but doesn’t stop, he’s only got a few minutes to make it up to the second floor and get himself situated behind an easel. He’s nearly out of breath when he makes it to the second floor and he’s trying to check his watch while running for the door. Two minutes.

Steve bursts through the doors and exhales loudly, he’s not sure he’s ever felt so relieved. His feeling of relief is short lived and quickly replaced with embarrassment as he realizes every pair of eyes in the room is on him. Every pair except for one. The new model for class this week, you slowly turn your head to reveal sharp eyes and a coy smile. He feels himself blush under your gaze and mutters an apology before getting settled in an easel directly in front of you.

He tries his best to focus on getting his paper and charcoals set out in an effort to shrug off the mixture of humiliation and lingering anxiety he had about being late. He feels his heartbeat begin to steady and he lets himself relax a little bit.

“Good afternoon, everyone. We have a new model in class this week, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. She’ll be keeping her current pose for one hour and repositioning for the second half of class. Mr. Rogers, since you had no problem running late I assume you’ll have no problem staying late as well. You’ll clean up after class.” The professor concludes with a short nod.

Steve sighs but nods his head in acknowledgement. He catches you smirking in amusement again at him and he can’t help but to blush all over again. He feels just like he did in high school, embarrassing himself in front of pretty girls. He sighs and picks up a piece of charcoal.

Steve decides to get a proper look at you and almost regrets it when he chokes on his own breath. You’re gorgeous, you’re coy and charming, you’re a muse. He’s still blushing because you’re naked, and beautiful and the feeling of humiliation hits him even more. He’s been in this class before, he knows the models will be naked but none of them had ever caught his attention as more than a subject, none of them were you.

He takes his time admiring your natural curves and appreciates your figure. You are so full of natural beauty, your bare face is perfectly flawed and the sun shining through the window highlights your skin tone. He can see why you were chosen to model for class, you’re perfect. He has to discreetly adjust himself and shuffles his jacket into his lap as he feels his pants tighten. He’s flustered all over again and realizes everyone else is already ahead of him. He puts charcoal to paper and gets to work.

____

As class goes on Steve’s sketch is coming along nicely. He can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time for fear of getting hard again. When he sends furtive glances your way he catches you looking back at him with that smile of yours. He swears at one point you raise an eyebrow at him like you’re amused by him. He brushes it off and keeps drawing.

Class comes and goes much faster than he anticipated. He wants to pack up and get out as quickly as he can when he remembers that he has to clean up the room. He lets out a groan and waits for everyone else to leave. Now it’s only you, him, and the professor who are left in the room.

“Mr. Rogers I’ve got to get out of here, I trust you can put easels away without incident?” The professor asks. Steve nods and the professor turns to you. “Thank you for your work today, you can collect your pay from the front office. I look forward to having you as a model for this class.”

You smile and nod, waving goodbye to him. By now you’ve slipped on a robe and are reaching for your bag but it feels like you’re lingering. It’s just now that Steve realizes the two of you are alone. He swallows thickly, trying not to pay attention to you out of the corner of his eye. He begins to pack away his own drawing but not before giving it one final assessment. He can’t help himself from his own critical eye, analyzing mistakes and appreciating triumphs.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

Steve jumps in surprise, you’re peering right over his shoulder. He’s caught off guard by your presence and also by your voice, do you always sound this sultry?

He swallows and nods before taking a deep breath. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans he turns to face you.

“Uh, yeah. Yes it is. I don’t think it’s very good but I’m trying” He anxiously starts making excuses, assuming you hate it.

But you don’t. You just smile thoughtfully at him and nod.

“It’s good. At least, I think it is.”

“Th-thanks, thank you.”

“Do you always cut it that close or were you just hoping to stay late with me?”

Steve sputters at your boldness. He has to remind himself that he’s not that scrawny, measly kid he used to be. But he can’t help but feel like he is with his sweaty palms and short breaths.

“I, I um, I didn’t realize there’d be a new model. Was kind of expecting the old one. Not- not that there’s anything wrong with you, of course! I, sorry I didn’t mean to imply that, you’re- you’re beautiful too, you’re perfect really, I just. Oh jesus.” He spews the words out faster than his brain can keep up and he’s making a complete fool of himself.

He can’t bear to look at you, so he starts closing up easels and stacking stools. He doesn’t notice you ogling his muscles through his tight t-shirt.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You ask innocently.

“I-, um, yes. I think you’re very beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Steve answers honestly.

He moves some stools to the large supply room in the back of the classroom and you follow him.

“I think you’re beautiful too. And cute. You’re practically falling all over yourself, it’s sweet”

Are you talking to him? He still sees himself as he was back then, having a hard time thinking that anyone would look at him and find him attractive. It’s why he’s so beside himself now. You’re so completely beautiful and self-assured, there’s no way you’re talking to him. He sets down the stack he’s carrying and realizes you’re much closer than he thought. You’re inches away.

“What do you like the most about me? Is it my body? Don’t think I didn’t notice you readjusting your pants at the beginning of class.” You move even closer and Steve thinks you must be able to hear his heart beat because it’s about to come right out of his chest.

Your hands are on his chest and you have to lean up on your tip-toes for your lips to meet his ear.

“What do you say? You and me in this supply room? There’s hardly anyone here. Come on”

Steve feels like he’s dreaming, he has to check if he is. But then your hand reaches for his dick through his pants and he nearly doubles over from the sensation. He’s never been with anyone so brash and confident, your touch leaves a burning trail on his body.

“But- but what if someone comes in and sees?” He says, using every last bit of coherent reasoning he has.

“Isn’t that what makes it so fun?”

Oh, God. You. You. Smiling that devilish smile at him. He was weak in the knees and you took the opportunity to push him backwards onto a spare desk. You pulled him by the shirt collar to meet your lips and he let out a noise of surprise. Steve pushes his tongue into your mouth and lets out an obscene moan. You feel so good. He knew you’d feel good but not this good.

Steve’s large hands come to your waist and venture lower until he has a handful of your ass and grabs. You let out a little moan and nudge your knee between his legs and he grinds against it. You pull back to catch your breath when your hands go to the ties of your robes.

“We’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

Steve doesn’t need to be asked twice as he pulls his shirt over his head. Jeans have never felt so uncomfortable and he’s frantically trying to get himself down to his boxers. He swears he goes slack jawed when he looks back up at you. He’s already seen you naked, he just stared at you naked for hours, but you’re just as gorgeous as before but it’s the way you’re looking at him. Like he’s desirable, almost like he’s a piece of meat. It makes him feel wanted and reassured and he feels himself grow harder.

Your hands slip beneath the elastic of his boxers and slowly slide them down his legs. He can’t help but flush when you let out a small gasp at the size of him. He doesn’t want to get too big of an ego with it but he’s always known he was… gifted.

Before he can let anything go to his head he lets out his own soft gasp as you stroke him languidly. He can’t control his hips as they cant up into your hand. You grab his hand and quickly lead his fingers to your dripping pussy. Steve nearly melts when he feels how wet you are and slides two fingers in easily. He’s pumping them in and out and you let out tiny mewls as you kiss his neck.

There’s no more time for preamble though, you two need to be quick if you don’t want to be caught by some unfortunate custodian. You remove your hand from his cock and he takes his fingers out of your pussy and swears you whine a little. Feeling brazen himself, he makes direct eye contact with you and sucks his fingers clean. You bite your lip and squirm while he revels in the taste.

Reluctantly he takes his fingers out of his mouth and gets up to situate you so you’re sitting on the desk. You spread your legs wide for him and he takes in the sight, committing to memory. Maybe he can draw you like this some time. For now he takes a step closer but falters, remembering one fatal flaw in this whole plan.

“I… don’t have a condom”

You don’t look let down at all, you look excited in fact. Shaking your head, you explain to him.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘m on the pill. I wanna feel you cum inside me”

Steve might pass out before he gets the chance, the way you keep talking with that mouth of yours. He wastes no more time and positions himself at your entrance. He has one hand on his dick and the other on the back of your neck when he looks you deep in the eye and impales you fully in one go.

The moan you let out is pornographic and Steve uses his newly freed hand to cover your mouth.

“We have to stay quiet. Can you do that?”

You nod silently and he removes his hand, opting to grab your hip instead.

He pulls back and begins to start pumping into you. He’s steady at first, trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly. Slowly he starts increasing his speed and the force that he uses is causing the legs of the old desk to scrape against the floor.

Your hand reaches and grabs his ass, pushing him deeper into your pussy. You feel so tight wrapped around him with no barrier and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. You’re trying to keep your moans quiet when he kisses you to silence them all together. He’s trying with all his might not to cum before you do.

His fingers find your clit and he starts rubbing it in tight circles. You have a harder time keeping quiet and you’re squeezing him like a vice. The friction on your clit and his dick hitting your G-spot perfectly is causing your eyes to roll in the back of your head.

“‘M gonna cum, please. Please don’t stop” You beg. Steve feels a wave of power surge over him now that you’re the needy one.

“Go on then, I’m not far behind ya. Wanna feel your pussy cum on my cock.”

With a few moments more he has you seeing stars and you claw at his back and pull him close to you. He continues on in his movements and starts pounding into you in earnest chasing his own release. All you can do is hold on for dear life.

Steve makes one final thrust before he’s cumming deep inside you. The rush of warmth is welcome to you and you kiss his jaw as he tries to catch his breath. The only sound being both of your heavy breathing. Hopefully no one heard you.

Steve can’t believe what just happened. He met a gorgeous girl and she propositioned him in a public place all in the span of two hours. He realizes just how far he’s come from who he used to be. He looks down at you, your noses touching.

“So, what’s your name?”

[topaziraphale]

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

    “Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

    Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

    “Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

    “Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

    “—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

    “—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

    “Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

     In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

    “Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

    “What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

    Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

    “Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

   “I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

    There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

     “I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”    

      Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

    It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

    They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

    But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

     As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

    “Crowley?”

    Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

     “No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

    The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

    “I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

    “It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

    Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

     Cried out, cried out.

    Aziraphale did hear him.

    And now he’s asking about it.

    Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

     “— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

     You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

     Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

    “No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

    “You’re sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Truly?”

    “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

    “Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

     He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

    Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

------------------

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

[panicinart]

🔞 Nsfw alphabet 🔞

☎️ OG Billy Lenz ☎️

It's time for some Chaotic Rat Gremlin

Also side note I'm at the moment reader the novel and ngl I changed a few things since it didn't fit his character very well. I'm not that far with it but I hope I did a good job with interpreting his character :)

A = Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

☎️You know that feeling were you're really tired but got some extra suppressed energy, so you just kinda stand there in hell? That's him.

☎️Billy doesn't know if he should run around naked and do his usual rat gremlin stuff or fall asleep so hard like someone drugged him with something.

☎️Either way it's going to be a ride, because you're gonna need to catch a naked rat man running around before the sorority sisters come, or your whole bed is drenched in drool.

B = Body part (how is their body build? any favorite body part of them and their partner?)

☎️A fucking twunk, he probably was more of a twink before he met you because bitch only got small amounts of food and not that many opportunitys to build up muscles.

☎️Billy has a bit of a biceps, back muscle, and leg muscle but that's really it. He also doesn't have a lot of hair mostly a bit on his chest, crotch area and a small hair trail that bairly connects those points. If he goes all out he is also able to grow a bit arm and leg hair.

☎️Honestly I feel like this gremlin is proud of the little chest hair he has, so he really likes that area. He sometimes squeezes his man milkers and you cannot change my mind on that.

☎️Billy LOVES his s/o's thighs and chest! Big, small, doesn't matter their great (especially the thighs, their a gate way to something great).

☎️With the chest it is more of a thing that he thinks is funny, his grabby hands sometimes poke, squeeze and lightly slap them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

☎️Doesn't produce a lot of cum, but it is STICKY. The cum is very white, and kinda like chewing gum. It comes in spurts and god help him this man can shoot a load meters away, he shoot his load more then he can count into his eye, and also yours.

☎️He also produces A LOT of precum

☎️It doesn't have a lot of taste, maeby a bit on the sour / bitter side???

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, do they have a dirty secret?)

☎️Billy has some kinks (???) that aren't really good for him, for example he would beg to be humiliated but after the act he will be a sobbing mess, be angry or thinks all the things his partner told him are true. Basically self destructive tendencies that he let's out with sex in an unhealthy way.

E = Experience (do they know what they're doing?)

☎️Surprisingly he kinda knows what he does, were did he got that info?? Who knows, Billy certainly can't remember, (probably watched some people geting it on or stole a porn magazine).

F = Favorite position (which position(s) do the like the most?)

☎️All positions are great positions as one confused and wise attic gremlin sayd.

☎️But in all honesty it depends on his mood so here are his top 5 in no particular order:

Kepper

Stick figure

Grasshopper

Counterblow

Valedictorian

G = Goofy (are they more serious or do the like to clown around?)

☎️This man has a hard time staying serious, there are rare moments were he stays focused while being on the mission to go to pound town. Most of the time you hear him giggle, snorting and sometimes saying random one liners that he pulls out of his ass that don't make sense to you, but he still laughs like he heard the funniest shit in the world.

H = Hair (any hair down there? How do they groom it?)

☎️The hair is quite thin and a bit curly, it's a good amount of hair but not a forest, because Billy doesn't take care of it the hair it is all over the place and can look a bit overwhelming.

☎️Billy doesn't really groom it and since it's the 70s, he also doesn't shave it

I = Intimacy (how are they during sex in a romantic aspect?)

☎️He is generally not the romantic type so don't hope for rose pedals and lit candles.

☎️When he is in a more lucid state he will give your face small and sweet kisses while he giggles happily with a manic undertone.

J = Jack off / Jill off (how do they masturbate and how often?)

☎️Before he met you? Probably almost daily. The pumps are fast and eager without a rythm and really messy.

K = Kink (any kinks?)

☎️There is almost nothing he wouldn't try at least once, Billy is an adventurous and curious guy, so I keep it down to a hand full.

☎️Dirty talk, it's either messy game with words that he repeats like a broken record or really fucking good, not in a poetic way but the filth that comes from his mouth is GOOD. But he often does it when he is more unstable, be a bit more careful around him especially if the words become messier and messier.

☎️Breeding, not in a way of wanting children, god no don't let this man near kids, he is scared of them and they are scared of him, but more in a way of wanting to see you stuffed with his cum. He may not produce a lot but he got the Stamina for that, the only question that lays in the room is, if you can keep up with him.

☎️ We all know that he is really into voyeurism, it doesn't even need to be sexual he just likes watching you. If you give him a small show he will vibrated with anticipation and pounce on you immediately.

☎️Phone sex, do I need to say anything more?? It's thrilling for him and sometimes it gets paired up with a bit of roleplay (unintentionally most of the time) , the whole act is also a great way to tease him. Just don't do it too much, he can take a bit but it's a fine line of a horny Billy and an angry Billy.

☎️There is still so much more but god dammit I will be here forever.

Edging, overstimulation, Pegging, Thigh jobs, geting his hair pulled, praise and many more!

L = Location (were do they like to have sex?)

☎️The thought of fucking you everywhere is really alluring but he mostly does it in the bed and attic. He doesn't want to risk getting caught and honestly the thought alone that people could be near gives him anxiety.

M = Motivation (what turns them on/gets them going?)

☎️Everything, you could just walk around and he could pop a boner. The guy is just really unpredictable and his moods can swing erratically which influences his horniness a lot.

☎️But if we assume he is in a more stable mindset where is squirrel brain isn't high on sugar here are a few things that always work;

Soft and sensual touches on arms and thighs

Teasing/slight tickling with fingers on the back of his neck to the end of his spine

Showing a bit more skin the usually and having direct eye contact that lingers a bit longer then the norm

Any close contact to his crotch area, the man will jump on you like a dog

N= No (what's a turn off/they don't want to do?)

☎️Getting too violent, it's more of a safety thing for your own health. He can quickly slip in a dangerous mindset, ESPECIALLY at the beginning of the relationship and I doubt you like to be the moaner's next murderer victim.

☎️Billy can't stand brats in bed it irritates him, or just any kind of attitude.

☎️He also doesn't like it if his s/o dirty talks back, when he does it it often doesn't register in his mind, so if his lovely partner does it, it kind of disgust and displeases him greatly.

O = Oral (do they like to give or receive? How is their skill? How do they react during receiving?)

☎️He LOVES to give oral, Billy could die between your legs and honestly, that's the way he wants to go. He also wouldn't say no to a blowjob and would get ecstatic with the offer (if he didn't ask demanded first).

☎️But sadly Billy isn't that skillful, he makes a lot of sloppy noises and purposely makes a mess, spit, your juices and possibly his cum will be splattered across your whole crotch area and thighs.

☎️He does well alright tho, it isn't anything special but the way he has his grabby boney fingers grab at your body restlessly and his tongue tasting every corner makes it up for any lack of knowledge he has. His tounge is also really long.

☎️You think he stays still when you go down on him?? Oooooh no, god you might have to tie his hands up. They would grab anything they can get, cushion, objects your hair ect, and the guy will pull and squeeze it like his live depends on it.

☎️He also will buck his hips into you and straight up face fucks you, ya need a lot of strength in your arms and hands if you want Billy to stay still. Also the noise he makes? For some it can be really hot but for other a huge turn of, he chokes on his own spit and the moans can sound really animalistic and loud. Either gag him or let everyone know you get hot and heavy with him. That is if anyone is in the house.

P = Pace (how is their thrusting? Hard, fast, deep ect)

☎️He goes FAST, like a bunny in heat, so you better be prepared to have some bruising from his violent thrusting.

☎️The thrust are also relatively hard but 0 rythm.

☎️ His dick also sometimes just slips out, it happened a few times that he also completely missed the targed and rams his dick full speed to your ass (and continues like a champ).

☎️And if your afab he probably "accidentally" buries his junk in the wrong whole.

Q = Quickie (do they like Quickies, if yes how often?)

☎️Yes god he loves them, he often uses them to get rid of extra energy or pent up emotions and there is A LOT , (just be a bit careful with the emotions, maeby talk it out (if you manage to have a reasonable conversation with this rat of a man) what he feels and why he wants to do it, safe words is also a good idea).

R = Risk (any risk their willing to do?)

☎️Fucking you in a room while the sorority sisters are right next to it, he would be so drowned in the bliss that he forgetshis anxiety, but if you are able to comfort him afterwards do it. He often slips into a bad and sometimesaggressivemanic state untreated. (Again,it's a mess if you don't want to get caught, gag the man).

S = Stamina (how long can they go? How long do they last?)

☎️Bitch can go all night, no joke he recovers fast and his hunger for you has no end. He may take small breaks in between the rough fucking, but I'm gonna tell ya his grip on you is like steel he won't let go of you.

T = Toys (any toys they like? If yes, what toys do they like on themselves and on their partner?)

☎️He think's their funny and definitely will mess around with them. Use as many as your kinky heart desires he will follow lead.

☎️On him? Great he waits eagerly on the bed almost jumping from the spot because he is so excited. He loves vibrators and nipple clamps, but collars are good too!

☎️On you? Lord have mercy on your poor soul because you didn't know what's coming for you. Honey you got a big storm coming. But please teach him how to use them and what feels good and what not or else he will stab your insides with a dildo.

U = Unfair (are they a tease? How do they react if teased?)

☎️Billy goes always straight to the point, but sometimes he teases which often happens without his intentions.

☎️The whole thing gets even worse when he goes down on you. This man has bairly any cohesive thoughts what makes you think that he can concentrate for a solid minute. While he is doing it his mind is already somewhere else, which makes him stop for a few seconds or slow down, or not giving the right spots the attention they need. So your agonizingly lay between the almost orgasmic feeling and under stimulation.

V = Volume (how loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

☎️Not necessarily LOUD but people will know what's going on (if you go down on him it's a whole other thing).

☎️The noises he normally makes is strangled / chocked up moans, groaning, giggling or straight up laughing and some mumbling that you for the most part don't fully hear.

W = Wild card (random nsfw headcanon(s))

☎️Billy has a thing for submissive and innocent people, it is more fun to see them react to his vulgar and partly extreme behavior. The way the Yelp when he gives them a rough handling or spurts out the most filthiest thing makes his blood boil. It just something of corrupting someone innocent, sweet and well mannered to something that can only be described as a human mess is making him more feral then he already is. Bonus points if they are covered in his cum and drool.

☎️If somehow you both manage to a a healthy relationship this man will go down your pants faster then the speed of light. And Billy gets quite upset if you say no to him.

☎️Likes to suprise his s/o with him wanking it in front of you in the worst time you can imagine. Ho? Your bringing in the groceries and are in a hurry because the ice cream will melt? Suprises Billy blocks the doorway and rubs his dick violently while having direct eye contact. If you manage to walk past him he will follow you around trying to put your hands on his dick, or even try's to get a blowjob out of you. If not well then his hand and your thighs or ass will do the job too!

☎️Loves to bite and suck on your neck it's also something that gets him going like nothing else, nobody know why but it does.

X = X-ray (what's going on under those clothes?)

☎️Not exactly fat, but he got something packing, around 6.5 inches in length and 5.3 inches in girth. The man is cut and got some thin veins here and there.

Y = Yearning (how high is their libido?)

☎️High, just say your into the mood from another room while having a mouth full of stuff and the man will go crashing down the attic before you finish your sentence even tho it was bairly understandable on what you sayd.

Z = Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep?)

☎️It's always different one time he is knockout in a few seconds the other night he was awake for another 4 hours, it just depends on how much gymnastics you both needed to make and how bad his manic episode is.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask.” Chapter 11 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // epilogue

Summary: Spencer and Reader haven’t been able to spend the kind of time together that they’d like to. When they finally have the chance, they’re all to eager to take advantage of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Female Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.8k for Chapter 11 

Content Warning: Smut. Pure smut. Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, femdom, pegging, bdsm themes, slapping, spitting, degradation, mild humiliation, the usual for the series. 

A/n: For those of you that don’t want a cheesy epilogue, this is it for our love birds. I just want to thank you all for sticking with me on this massive undertaking. Your messages have meant everything to me.  The epilogue will be out tomorrow. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

-- Chapter 11 - I love you too -- 

The wonderful thing about working with my boyfriend is that even when we were away on cases, we got to spend time together.

It was just never the kind of time I wanted to spend with him. I had told Spencer in the beginning that I had always viewed our BDSM sex scenes as just a part of our sex life. I was fine doing things that weren't in the realm of the dominant and submissive relationship. I wouldn’t trade sleepy morning sex with my boy for anything. And even when we were away on cases, we were still able to do some things.

But, while I'm as sex-positive and progressive as the next person, I just couldn't put a strap on or a butt plug in my go-bag.

We’d only had that one weekend together at my apartment, but I was ready for more.

And I think my boy was too.

--

“Alright, once we touch down in D.C., I need everyone to submit their paperwork for the Wilcox case,” Hotch told us while our plane was fast approaching Virginia. “That case goes to trial next week and the ADA needs to make sure everything is set.”

Morgan scoffed from his place across from Rossi. “I mean, I feel like it’s a pretty open and shut case anyway, Hotch. She all but admitted to it!” Emily was nodding, not looking up from her book. “Plus, the only work they should need is the profile y/l/n came up with.”

I felt Spencer tense beside me; I placed my hand on his thigh in an attempt to calm him. “It was a pretty solid profile, Morgan,” I said easily.

Morgan’s eyes kept jumping back and forth between me and Reid, a smirk turning his lips up. “I just wanna know, in this little relationship, who is calling who ‘Daddy’?”

I could feel Spencer flush beside me, but I maintained my composure. "I don't think either of us has called the other Daddy, have we, Spence?" I looked over at him, quirking one of my brows. Come on, baby. Don’t take his bait.

My boy cleared his throat. “N-not that I remember.”

I nodded, my gaze never wavering from his. “If you want me to call you daddy, just ask.” I shot him a wink before I turned around to face the rest of the team.

Rossi and Emily looked equally amused, JJ looked horrified, Hotch looked like he had never experienced any sort of human emotion. Morgan looked like it was his birthday. "Na-uh. In Nebraska, you said men have called you daddy.” He pointed his finger at me, then gestured back and forth between Spencer and I. “So, how bout it, Pretty Boy? Have you called y/l/n Daddy?”

I should have learned to never underestimate Spencer Reid.

“She hasn’t asked me to call her daddy, but I would,” he said simply. “She prefers Ma’am, though.”

A choked laugh bubbled out of my mouth a few moments before a roar erupted from the rest of the team.

I was smiling so wide I was worried my face would split in half when I felt Spencer’s fingers lace through mine.

--

I was still laughing when I unlocked the door to my apartment later that night. “I will never forget the look on Morgan’s face for as long as I live.”

My boy chuckled behind me. “I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of that one.” He shut and locked the door after we walked inside, dropping his bag right beside mine. “At least he has stopped asking me if I’m a virgin.”

Turning, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders while his hands settled on my hips. “There isn’t a part of you that’s a virgin, Spencer Reid. I’ve seen to that.” His smile delighted me to my core. “Why did you say ‘ma’am’?”

He laughed softly. “I love Morgan like he’s my brother, but if I heard him call you Miss, I might try to fight him.” I pressed a kiss to my forehead when I laughed. “He’d kick my ass, but I’ve had my ass kicked before.”

I stood on my tiptoes, bringing my lips to his in a soft kiss. “I love you; you know?”

“I had a feeling.”

I scoffed, pulling away. “You’re still a brat.”

He just nodded in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you a question?"

I turned around from my place in front of the fridge, giving him an eye roll. “Shoot, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly. “Was that true? What you told Morgan? Has someone called you daddy before?”

"Oh, yeah, once," I confirmed with a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I break during sex scenes because sex is objectively funny. But…to this day, I have never broken out of my dom mode faster.”

Spencer walked into the kitchen, accepting a bottle of water from me. “So, it wasn’t planned?”

I snorted. “No, not at all. I was pegging him, and I said…something, I don’t even remember. But he just moaned out, in this very high-pitched voice, ‘daaaaaaddddyyyy’.” I was laughing in earnest now. “I don’t have a problem with daddy kinks, at all. I wouldn’t even mind if someone wanted to call me daddy. It was just unexpected. And I was still a baby dom. I didn’t know what to expect yet.”

Spencer regarded me thoughtfully. “I’d call you daddy.”

“You would?” I grinned at him while I moved to stand in front of him. “Well, I appreciate that, my love. But, right now, I just want you to call me Miss.”

His breath caught. “N-now?”

I nodded. “If you want. Or, we can wait til tomorrow. But I’m going to fuck you, Dr. Reid.”

I heard the whimper leave his throat. “Can it be now?”

“Needy boy,” I murmured. “Go into my bedroom. Take off all your clothes and kneel by the left side of my bed. You’re not to look at me until I tell you.”

Spencer scrambled to my bedroom, much to my amusement. I took my time putting the water bottles away, thumbing through my mail on the counter.

I wanted him squirming by the time I got in there. I started undoing the buttons of my shirt while I made my way down the hallway, but not before I stopped to get something out of my bag.

Such a good boy, I thought when I saw him. His clothes were put neatly on the chair, his eyes were downcast, his palms resting on his thighs. I made no move to acknowledge him; instead, I went to the chest at the foot of my bed. I could feel the tension radiating off of him, but his eyes stayed on the floor.  

I removed my pants, leaving me in just my bra and panties before I went to stand in front of him. “Look at me, Dr. Reid.”

His eyes moved up my body slowly, and I reveled in the groan I heard. I may have been expecting this, so I wore my favorite underwear set. They were black and lacy; the panties hugged my hips low, and the bra made my tits look fantastic. I reached out to brush my fingers through his hair. “Do you like how I look, Dr. Reid?”

"Yes, Miss."

I tugged on his hair slightly, pulling a whimper from him. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Dr. Reid?”

“No Miss,” he muttered, licking his lips.

“First, I’m going to make you lay on my bed while I put my pussy on your face.” My fingers continued to scratch along his scalp. “And if you eat my pussy well enough, I’m going to fuck you. And if you make me cum, then I’m going to have you on your hands and knees for me.”

His eyes were wide, his pupils blown with lust.

“Lay on the center of the bed, Dr. Reid.” He moved so quickly I’m surprised he didn’t fall over.

I got on the bed more leisurely, straddling his stomach before I started to drag my center up his body. Spencer had been hard since the moment he looked at me, but I wanted him to be a desperate, whimpering mess.

“Miss,” he murmured. “Your-your panties are…”

Slap.

“Did I tell you to speak, Dr. Reid?” My hand stung with the force of the impact. “You’re my little fuck toy, do you understand? You only do what I tell you to.” I pinched his face in my hand. “You haven’t earned my pussy. So,” I mumbled, leaning over him, bringing my face above his. “You’re going to use that pretty mouth of yours to lick me through my panties. Assuming you can do that right, and I get wet enough, I might let you really taste me.”

He nodded frantically. “Open.” I spit into his mouth, he swallowed it instantly. “You’re very dirty Dr. Reid.” With that, I brought my body all the way up. My hands gripped the headboard while I lowered my panty covered pussy to his mouth.

His first lick was hesitant, his tongue running over the lace softly. “This isn’t going to get you anywhere Dr. Reid.” I let out a sigh, moving my hips off his face. “Do you want to eat my pussy?”

“More than anything,” he moaned.

“Then fucking act like it.” I lowered over his face again and to my delight, his response was immediate. He sucked the lace into his mouth, wetting it before he released it. His tongue massaged against the fabric, rubbing directly against my clit. I let out a breathy moan. Always the quick study.

My hips were shamelessly rocking against him, I could feel his frustrated groans against my panties. “What’s wrong, Dr. Reid? Do you want something?” Come on nervous boy, beg me.

“Please,” he breathed in a broken plea. “Please let me taste you, Miss. I need it.”

I pretended to consider him for a moment before I moved off of his body. His cock was hard against his pelvis, the head weeping with precum. His fists were balled up at his sides; his entire body was tense. Slowly, I hooked my thumbs in my panties, pulling them down.

“Is this what you want, Dr. Reid?” I said, running my fingers over my drenched lips.

"Yes, Miss. Please.”

Grabbing the headboard, I swung my leg over his head again, bringing my pussy just above his mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth than Spencer attacked my pussy. His mouth felt like it was everywhere all at once. I felt his tongue spear into me before it circled my clit. He opened his mouth and covered my entire pussy, sucking softly, causing my hips to buck.

“Fuck,” I moaned, grinding against his mouth. Your mouth is a fucking treasure, baby.

Very reluctantly, I pulled off of him when I felt my orgasm approaching. His head lifted up off of the bed, trying to follow me. I smiled down at him. “As much as I love that pretty mouth, I want to cum all over your cock, Dr. Reid.”

I moved off the bed to the chest again. This time I grabbed 3 different things. I tossed the first two on the bed while I kept the other in my hand. “Do you know what these are, Dr. Reid?”

He nodded, biting his lip.

“Put your arms up.” He put his arms against the bars of my headboard, moaning softly when my handcuffs clicked in place. I moved down his body, pressing a kiss to his mouth, tasting myself on him. “Now, just think about how hard that pretty cock is going to get every time you see those at work.”

Spencer whimpered loudly. “Those are your w-work ones?”

I nodded, grabbing the butt plug and the lube before I settled between his thighs. “That they are, Dr. Reid. And I have to say, they look very nice on you.”

His teeth dug into his bottom lip when I pushed his legs up and apart. “We’ve talked about this, baby,” I reminded him, giving his thigh a sharp slap. “I’m going to have you face down in this bed while I fuck you. Don’t be embarrassed now.”

Once it was coated in lube, I started pressing the plug into him. It was slightly larger than the one we had used previously, and that’s because I wanted to use a bigger cock. I smirked at him when he groaned while I started fucking the plug into him. Pushing inside a bit before pulling back out.

I leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his inner thigh. My teeth bit down on that skin right when the butt plug was seated inside of him. He let out a strangled moan, his back arching up. ‘Fuck, Miss. Fuck.”

My tongue flicked over the bite mark, soothing the skin. “That’s the plan, Dr. Reid.”

I moved my body over his, lining up my drenched pussy above his cock. My eyes were on his face when I slowly began to lower myself onto him. We’d never had traditional sex while he had a butt plug in; and I was very excited to see how my boy reacted.

My pelvis met his hips when he bottomed out inside me, my hands braced on his chest. “Fuck, baby. You have such a nice cock.” I started to rock against him slowly. “Such a nice cock on my little fuck toy, isn’t that right?”

“Yes Miss,” he breathed out, his eyes shut tight. “Miss, you feel so good. I…I’m close…”

Slap.

“No.” My voice was hard as his eyes snapped open. “Fuck toys like you don’t get to cum until their miss says so, is that clear, Dr. Reid?” I rose up, sliding up and down his cock, my fingers ghosting down my stomach until they found my clit. My other hand tugged the cups of my bra down. “You may have other people out there convinced that you’re not a dirty, needy, little thing. But I know better.”

My fingers sped up against my flesh, my other fingers pinching and rolling my nipple, as I sought out my pleasure.

“You’re nothing but a needy fucking slut, isn’t that right, Dr. Reid?”

His words were strangled, his eyes fixed on my pussy taking his cock. "Yes, Miss. Fuck, Miss.”

“Good boy,” I said softly. “Such a dirty fucking boy. Now, hold still while I cum all over you. Can you do that, Dr. Reid? Can you be my good boy?”

Spencer’s head was thrashing on the pillows when my pussy finally clamped down around him. I threw my head back, my vision going white. “Fuck!” I worked my hips desperately against him, seeking every ounce of my pleasure.

Once I came back down, I collapsed against him, pressing open mouth kisses against him. His teeth caught my lip, tugging me to him while his tongue slicked over my own.

“Such a good boy,” I mumbled against his mouth. I reached out to grab the keys to my cuffs, releasing him. I inspected both of his wrists, kissing the indentations softly. “Now, I want you to turn over for me. Can you do that, Dr. Reid?”

I knew he was still uncomfortable; things were still new to him. It’s always your choice, baby.

My darling boy just nodded. “Yes Miss, I’ll do anything for you.”

And I you, Spencer Reid.

Moving off the bed, I returned to the chest, picking up my harness before I selected the 8-inch dildo attachment. I looked back up on the bed, taking in the mess I had made of Spencer Reid. His ass was in the air, the base of the plug clearly visible. His cock hung heavy between his legs. His fingers were gripping my sheets tightly.

“Normally,” I said, moving behind his hips. “I’d want you to suck my cock before I fucked this tight little ass.” I slowly started to pull the plug out. “But, since you were such a good little toy, I think you’ve earned this.”

Spencer moaned loudly. “Thank you, Miss.”

I couldn’t control my smirk. You’re a natural at this, my darling boy.

Lining my dildo up against his asshole, I slowly started to pitch my hips forward, one hand on his ass, the other at the base of my ‘cock’. “Look at how well you take cock, Dr. Reid. You’re just pulling me in. Such a filthy fucking boy.”

I started a slow rhythm, still not having entered him fully yet. “Fucking- fuck, Miss. Please!”

“Please what, baby?”

He groaned, partially in embarrassment, partially in desperation. "Please fuck my ass, Miss. I need you to fuck me, please.”

“All you have to do is ask, Dr. Reid.” My hips thrust forward, my pelvis meeting his ass. “Such a pretty fucking boy.”

I started to move in and out of him, my eyes fixed on how he was taking the dildo. “It’s a shame that you’ve never had a real cock fuck you, Dr. Reid. You look so fucking pretty like this.” My motions sped up. “But, you’re my pretty boy now.”

When he didn’t respond, I reached out and grabbed his hair, pulling harshly. “Isn’t that right Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Miss. Fuck. I-I,” his voice was pleading. “Miss, please.”

I kept my grip on his hair, my hips now pounding into him. “Touch your cock for me, pretty boy. Jerk your pretty cock off while I fuck your tight little ass.”

His right hand moved down to fist around himself. His upper body was only supported by his left arm and my hand in his hair. “There’s my good boy,” I praised, keeping my pace up. “I like fucking you like this, Dr. Reid. The only problem is, I can’t be the one to make that nice, pretty cock cum. So, I think tomorrow I’ll have you bounce on my cock again.”

Spencer was moaning loudly now. “Miss, I’m going to cum.”

"Cum for me, Dr. Reid." I pressed a kiss against his back, a moment of gentleness in such a rough, beautiful act.

His face dropped down into my pillow and he screamed. Spencer Reid screamed while I pounded into his ass, his hand jerking his cock quickly, cumming all over my bedsheets.  

He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I worked myself out of him, still giving a few pumps to help prolong his pleasure. When I was sure he had come down completely, I pressed another kiss to his back. "You did so well, Spencer."

I hopped off the bed, unhooking my harness and hustling to the bathroom. I returned with a wet rag and some ointment for his wrists. Spencer had all but collapsed on the bed.

“You did so, so well, Spencer,” I praised, wiping the lube from him. “Can you turn over for me?”

With a groan, he flipped his body over slowly, his eyes glassy but focused. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

I smiled at him, pulling his wrists into my lap. “I didn’t have the cuffs on tight, but you kept pulling,” I teased.

Spencer just smiled; his expression blissful. “I love you so much.”

His soft words made emotion rise up in my throat. “Not half as much as I love you, Spencer Reid.” I pressed a kiss to his sweaty brow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I feel…I feel fine, it’s not like last time but I-I still feel like I need to be near you.”

“Good,” I said pressing a soft kiss to his lips this time. “Because I always want to be near you.”

I hopped off the bed, reaching my arms for him. “Can you come shower with me? I got you very dirty.”

He chuckled tiredly but let me pull him into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm before I got inside, tugging Spencer in after me. We stood under the spray together, arms wrapped around each other for several long moments. He needed to be with me just as much as I needed to be with him.

I almost felt guilty for how happy I was in that moment. How could one person feel this? What have I done to earn having this miraculous man in my life?

“You’re wrong, you know,” my boy mumbled against my hair.

“Beg your pardon?” I said, pulling back to squint at him.

Spencer was smiling at me. Really smiling. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, happiness radiating from him. "You said I didn't love you half as much as you love me. That's simply untrue," his voice was grave, with just a hint of teasing.

I poked his side. “This isn’t a fight you’re gonna win, Doc.” Pulling away from him, I reached for my shampoo. I squirted some into my hands before I passed it to him. “You should just start leaving stuff here,” I said, giggling when he put some of my citrus shampoo into his hand.

“I don’t mind. I like smelling like you.”

My laugh was cut short when I lifted my arms. I hadn’t realized how stiff my shoulder was until I reached up to begin washing my own hair.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, having seen the grimace on my face.

“Yeah, Doc. I’m just a little sore.”

Spencer frowned. “Turn around,” he instructed. I obeyed his request with a roll of my eyes, surprised when I felt his fingers on my scalp.

“Are you washing my hair, Spencer Reid?”

He made a noise of affirmation before he reached for the shampoo again. “I’ve never washed anybody else hair before,” he said softly. “Let me know if I mess up.”

My heart squeezed while his fingers massaged my scalp. “Impossible, Doc.” I felt his lips press against the back of my neck a few moments later, signaling that he was done. Once I opened my eyes again after rinsing my hair, I saw my boy’s eyes clouded in sadness while he stared at me.

I didn’t have a chance to ask before he made his thoughts clear. His hand lifted to my chest, his fingers pressing against my collarbone, tracing the shiny new skin of my scar. “The moment you got this was the worst of my entire life,” he whispered, his fingers ghosting over the raised skin. He pulled me to him, engulfing me in a hug that only he could give. “I was so afraid to lose you…but I didn’t think you were ever really mine to begin with.”

I felt tears prick in the corners of my eyes, causing me to hold him to me tighter. “I think I’ve always been yours, Spencer.”

He chuckled, pulling away to look down at my face. “Then why did you make me wait so long to have you?”

“You should have asked me before Nebraska,” I teased.

Spencer’s hands came up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “Now that I have you, I hope you know I’m never letting you go again. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Forever and ever, my darling, nervous boy. You wonderful, wonderful man.

--

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[mercieshana]

What’s up, doc?

Teaser: Visiting your gynecologist suddenly turns sexual?!

Characters: You x Jungkook 

Warning: Doctor Jeon!!!! This contains just a bit of daddy kink, some fingering + oral and lots of imagination. This here is all about (Y/N)’s pleasure.

Word count: ~1.8k 

Note: If you want a pt.2 just let me know. My request box is open for a bunch of requests (Corona has given me time)!! It’s boutta be 4am, but i just whipped this up real quick, so excuse my typos! It has been a while since i last uploaded and i apologize! I am in desperate need of inspiration so hmu if you have a story idea!! Much love, enjoy and stay safe!! 

Read pt.2 here

Visits to the gynecologist were usually very unpleasant. I mean how would you feel having to sit on this weird and humiliating chair and spread your legs embarrassingly far apart to have your genitals inspected? Yeah, not great! Just the thought of having to visit the gynecologist always had you feeling uneasy and self-conscious. This time the visit was different though, as there was a young and attractive doctor that greeted you at the door, as you walked in to your appointment.

“Umm, is Mr. Kim not here?” you asked, looking around the white, sanitary doctor’s office for your usual doctor.

“Hi, you must be (Y/N)! Mr. Kim had something urgent to attend to, so he is not here at the moment. I’m filling in for him,” he explained, nervously running his large hand through his dark, shiny, and healthy-looking locks.

“O-oh, okay,” you replied nervously with your heart pounding in your chest.

“Oh! I forgot to introduce myself! I’m Jeon Jungkook! Feel free to just call me Jungkook,” he shot you a smile, showing off his pearly white teeth, as he extended his right hand.

“N-nice to meet you Jungkook,” you shook his hand and realized how tiny your palm was compared to his.

“Let’s sit down in the office for a moment, so I can get to know you a bit before the checkup. I wouldn’t want you to be too uncomfortable,” the corner of his mouth turned up as he opened the door, so you could enter the office before him. The office was quite spacious and neat. White and grey were the two most dominant colors and there was a white door that lead to the inspection room which you had already been familiar with. He kindly pulled out the chair for you, allowing you to sit down with ease, while taking his own seat behind the desk.

“Alright, (Y/N)...Ah, it’s okay if I call you that isn’t it?” he asked, making sure it was alright for him to call you by your first name, even if it was already a little late for that.

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled cordially, but also nervously.

“So how’s everything?” he questioned, clicking around the computer screen with his mouse.

“Everything has been fine. I’m just here for a routine checkup,” you stated, your hands resting between your thighs. Somehow it was really hot down there and Jungkook in his sexy white coat wasn’t helping.

“Alright,” you saw his head appear from behind the monitor, “So I’m guessing you have a boyfriend. Are you on birth control?”

You chuckled. Was this his way of seeing if you had a boyfriend or was it just that he was trying to make you more comfortable before checking out your body? Well, whatever it was you found it amusing.

“Yes to the birth control,” you laughed, “and no to the boyfriend. That position is still vacant. Why? Are you interested?”

Your witty comeback surprised not only him, but also you, because your checks turned a rosy red after those few words slipped past your lips.

“Maybe,” his low voice rumbled through the room. You could feel your heart beat in your throat. His reply was so unexpected and it had you biting down on your bottom lip.

“So, (Y/N), I am assuming you are familiar with how the checkups work? I see here that you are still rather young and I just want to make sure,” he said with care.

“Yes, Jungkook,” you paused, making sure to look into his eyes, igniting some kind of fire between the two of you, “I do.”

“Okay then,” he smirked, “If you would be so kind as to follow me to the inspection room then.”

He got up and made his way towards the white door. He was tall and muscular and you could also tell he was quite cocky and full of himself, but that sort of turned you on. Jungkook watched you anxiously get up and walk into the other room, your sudden burst of courage completely disappearing as he closed the door behind you.

“(Y/N), please undress right over there and then come sit on the chair,” he pointed the corner that had a curtain hiding it, before sitting down in his chair at the other end of the room.

You entered the space and closed the curtain behind you with your heart beating like crazy. Would he notice that you were wet and he was turning you on?! Of course he would! How were you going to explain this?! Hey doc, you’re so hot I wanna sit on your face?! Fuck, (Y/N)! Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Suddenly, the red curtain opened and there he was, standing there in all his glory with a concerned look on his face.

“Are you alright? You must not have heard me calling you,” he explained as you gave him an anxious vibe.

You were tightly holding on to your dress that you had worn as it was more comfortable and simpler to get in and out of when you were visiting the gynecologist.

“(Y/N)?” he extended his strong right hand to touch your cheek, probably to make sure you weren’t feeling hot or having a fever of any sort and a slight squirm escaped your mouth. Jungkook froze for a moment and you nearly died of embarrassment! Your body temperature made you feel like you were on fire. You had never been this horny, but also scared and excited at the same time. The sound you made was still echoing in Jungkook’s mind, his hand now slipping down to your neck and then down your right arm.

“You need help undressing, don’t you, babygirl?” his sudden change of voice and character startled you, yet it excited you further.

“Don’t be shy,” he smirked while unzipping the back of your dress. His touch felt electric and gave you goosebumps.

“I’m your doctor. I’m here to check you out and make sure you’re feeling okay,” he let your dress fall to the ground and your heart was beating so hard that you thought he might be able to see it in your chest. You watched his amused face as he was admiring your body that was still partially hidden by a matching bra and panty set, but that was perfect as Jungkook enjoyed unwrapping his presents.

“Come on now, (Y/N). I have to feel your breasts to make sure that there aren’t any lumps of any kind, so be a good girl and take the bra off for daddy,” he stated dominantly and the wetness in your panty’s seemed like it had to be drenching the fabric or leaking down your legs at least. You hesitated for a moment, but ended up doing what he said. For some strange reason, you wanted him to see your boobs and you wanted to feel and experience his touch. A hungry gaze covered his face the moment you rid yourself of your bra and let it fall to the ground to meet your dress. Jungkook’s hands instinctively darted out to caress the soft skin of your breasts, drawing circles around your pink nipples with his long fingers, earning a tiny moan from you. Before you knew it his mouth engulfed your left, erect nipple, so - in his words - he could “feel for the lumps a little better” and by this time you were holding on to him for support. This doctor sure knew how to make you feel good. Your core felt like it was on fire and you pushed your legs together for some kind - any kind - of friction. It seemed like Jungkook took notice, because a moment later you were resting on the inspection chair, your legs spread embarrassingly wide apart with Jungkook’s face hovering above your core, as he toyed with your sexy panty’s. He sniffed them erotically, making you even hotter, before discarding them on the floor.

“Now, let me make sure everything is okay down there,” he announced, turning his attention back to you, and not even a second later you felt his long digit enter your tight, wet core.

“Hmmm, it’s so tight,” he bit his lip as he stared into your eyes, sending shivers of pleasure up and down your spine.

“Let me make sure everything is in order right here,” he curled his finger up and carefully massaged your g-spot, causing your fingers to dig into the material of the inspection chair, as well as forcing you to throw your head back in enjoyment with a loud moan.

“That’s the spot, huh?” he smiled deviously, as he kept massaging it to gain more and more reactions from you.

“Let me make sure it all tastes fine too,” and before you could even protest you felt his tongue licking at and circling your clit.

“Oh, Jungkook!” you whined, as he pushed another one of his digits inside of you with his tongue still going to town on your clit.

“No, call me daddy,” he growled just like a hungry beast, pushing yet a third finger into your sweet walls.

“Ah, daddy, fuck!” you whined, bucking your hips with the desire for more. Jungkook, as if he could read your mind, got up from his chair and latched his lips around your nipple, with his thumb now substituting his tongue that was on your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers were still moving inside you. You almost couldn’t take it. The pleasure was nearly overwhelming and when Jungkook started to attack your neck and leave behind his marks in the form of tiny red bruises while muttering the dirty things he wanted to do to you in your ear, you lost it.

“Ah~!” with a loud moan you were sent over the edge, your tight pussy convulsing around Jungkook’s fingers. Beads of sweat had formed on both of your bodies and for a moment both of you were just focused on regaining your breath. After the two of you had calmed down a bit and Jungkook had removed his fingers from between your legs you noticed the angry erection that was straining against his tight, black pants. Immediately, a smile was plastered on your face and you got up from the chair to put your clothes back on. As you were sexily and seductively slipping your underwear back on, you asked Jungkook in a bent over position: “Hey doc, do you think I’m okay or is something wrong with me?”

“Hmmm, it still seems to be awfully wet down there,” his manly voice echoed through the room, “I think you need a more thorough inspection... at my house.” 

Read pt.2 here

[akvtsuki-ari]

Sweetheart (Ch.1)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM and bunch of other kinks but nothing sexual in this chapter lol. Sub!Spencer and Femdom!Reader 

Length: 5.3k 

Authors Note: this is hands down the most self-indulgent shit ive ever wrote but do i care? the answer is no dsjk  but this that series i had planned where the reader introduces spencer to proper BDSM and all that. hoping to make this fic kinda informative also lol. also im uploading this fic on ao3 as well. also no tags for this fic bc its really specific and ill probably be writing for it for a while! sorry about that

Plot Summary: Spencer Reid just wanted to be.., well, you know. He doesn’t expect to find much when he signs up for a BDSM dating website but somehow he manages you and he couldn’t be more delighted

Spencer Reid was certainly a lot of things. He was a lover of the arts, someone who had a particular affinity for 15th-century literature, a magician at best, a theater nerd at worst, and a teacher when life called for it. He loves the world even when it's really dark and he loves sleeping in even more. He loves his friends and they love him too - even when they pretend that his random facts annoy them. Spencer Reid was a friend, an FBI agent, a genius with an IQ of 187, and a son to a mother he loves wholly. He was a lot of things and for the most part - he knew a lot about what he really loved to do. He supposed that it's been like that his whole life.

It's not everyday that he discovers something new about himself. About everything else? Always. He loves to learn, but about himself? There's never all that much on the frontier.

It's hard to say, because of that, when Spencer discovered he was a sub. It's difficult to pinpoint a specific time and place, or even how the pieces got put together. He just remembers how it felt when it hit him, like a freight train going 100 miles an hour into a concrete wall. Or a plane crashing onto an island. Or like a fly hitting the glass panes of a delivery truck. He remembers the feeling when he was deftly reminded of this fact. Spencer Reid was a sub - through and through and he wasn't really sure what to make of it.

Surprisingly to most of his direct peers, Spencer wasn't a virgin. He'd had sex with 2 people who he'd been kinda friends with at some point, but it always got a little weird after that. The second time though, the girl ended up choking him a little bit when she got off and Spencer thought he had died. Not in a bad way, more in a "I'm so turned on by this I feel like I've genuinely gone to heaven," sort of way. He didn't think it was possible for a sexual encounter to make him feel like that but it did. It didn't stop after that either, which was the most agitating part. 

Spencer doesn't consider himself a sexual person. Sex is about intimacy and companionship, and hopefully love when he finds that someday. Sex isn't necessarily about pleasure but that wasn't an easy lesson to learn.

Spencer just wanted to understand - so like any great genius he participated in thought experiments. It's normally a female superhero/supervillain that crosses his mind (he has an affinity for Poison Ivy), and he just kinda imagines what it would be like if they did what she did. The choking turned him on, but it wasn't enough. Through that, he figures out that he had more than a choking kink and that he was more than a little interested in a partner having complete access to him. He thought about it for weeks and the getting off was working for him but he couldn't get the fantasy out of his head. He wanted more - he wanted someone to fulfill his wishes.

It was too much for him to ignore. Those months of being able to hold off through masturbating are over and he's just sorta itching. Aching to act on those impulses with another person who can give him what he needs, and he doesn't want it to be transactional. Maybe it's too ideal to want a partner out of such an endeavor but was it so wrong? To want real affection and romance from someone who could also overpower him wasn't a crime and he'd be damned if he pretended to want any less. Spencer was just searching, even if it was rather desperately. 

So, when Spencer finds himself on a BDSM dating site and he feels like his life is in shambles, he can only blame himself. It's not something he'd normally do but he's getting a little more than relentless about it but he also just wants to see what's out there. He's so out of it was it happens, it felt like he was being possessed as he made a fake email and wrote out his account information. Definitely blaming it on possession, he thinks. 

It's too late to go back, as he scrolls through tons of profiles of rather intense looking people. He's not surprised, this is where people go to express themselves. They're entitled to that, it just sucks since he's just not ready for such levels of intensity. He wonders if he's in too deep yet, but he figures he'd hit that mark a long time ago and keeps scrolling through profiles. There wasn't much to go off of, many people not choosing to use photos for the sake of anonymity, which was good for Spencer. He clicks onto his own profile, reading his own bio carefully.

USERNAME: DOC187 

SUB/ SWITCH / DOM 

M / F / O

FETISHES: N/A

BIO: Interest in a dominant female companion. Completely inexperienced.

Spencer feels ridiculous, but he doubts anyone would even message him. He doesn't have much on his profile and he keeps things short for that purpose. He wanted to stay as low to the ground as possible - more curious to explore what was going in the world than to find anything legitimate. He scrolls through hundreds of profiles, mostly of people who were BDSM vets looking for new connections or fun. Some people catch his eye but they don't match his interests so he doesn't bother.

Except, one profile. The bio was beyond interesting to Spencer.

USERNAME: MISS—LILAC

SUB / SWITCH / DOM 

M / F / O 

FETISHES: Sadomasochist, Degradation, Humiliation, Pegging, Overstimulation, Edging, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Mutual Masturbation, Dacryphilia, Shibari/Gags/Bondage, Wax Play, Impact Play, Breath Play, General Sensation Play, Discipline, Collaring, Begging. Willing to try most things. 

BIO: Interested in submissive males of any experience level. Helps if you're interesting and like to read and watch indie films. Looking for genuine connection and plenty of good banter. Curly hair is nice too. lol.

Before Spencer can think about it for too long his mouse clicks over that stupid little message button next to your profile. Spencer shakes his head at his own existence as he types you a message. Says you're online right now, but Spencer's sure he won't get a response for a while.

DOC187: Seems I fit who you're interested in. I even have the curly hair.

Spencer chews on his nails anxiously before he sighs at himself. He has no clue what's gotten into him belle before he can think he sees your 3-dotted bubble pop up. He feels his body wracked with nerves.

MISS—LILAC: I'm guessing you like to read and watch indie films too?

Spencer smiles. You seem interesting and the fact that the two of you were just talking normal was making Spencer happy.

DOC187: Indeed. I'm a sucker for 15-century literature and anything in Russian and foreign language. You?

MISS—LILAC: 15th century huh? I'll assume Chaucer. And Russian? You're interesting, doc. I'm more modern and English, hope you're not deterred.

Spencer smiles, surprised that you recognize an author as niche as Chaucer. He shakes his head at your commentary. He almost forgets that both of you are on a BDSM dating site and the irony doesn't escape him.

DOC187: Deterred? Never. I think you're rather interesting too, Miss Lilac.

MISS—LILAC: Ever the gentleman doc. I'm hoping you won't run away if I ask you more personal questions.

Spencer swallows. He types back quickly.

DOC187: What kinds of questions?

MISS—LILAC: If it's okay, you're real name and what you do. My names Y/N, and I'm a florist. I live in DC and I love romance novels.

Spencer smiles. He appreciates you laying down the path for him, knowing the stakes.

DOC187: My names Spencer and I work for the FBI. I also live in DC, and I love magic.

MISS—LILAC: Magic? I'd love for you to show me sometime.

Spencer swallows. Part of him feels like it's a stupid idea to ask you out so early but if you asked, he'd likely say yes. He decides to wait it out.

DOC187: I'd be more than happy to show you.

MISS—LILAC: I suppose you could send me a video but that's not the same as seeing the magic in real life, now is it?

Spencer is smiling like an idiot at this point. He shakes his head a little, jittery.

DOC187: Infinitely better live, I would say.

MISS—LILAC: Seems like I've found an excuse to ask you on a date then. Saturday's work for me but I'm sure it depends on you, FBI man. Before that, I'm gonna drop my number and I'll be expecting your call. (XXX-XXX-XXXX)

Spencer giggles. It's a little out of range for things he's used to doing, giggling aloud for someone else is certainly new. Spencer picks up his phone and dials away, anxious to call you but excited nonetheless. He heard you pick up the phone and his heart catches in his throat.

"Hello?," Your voice is smooth, and a little bit lower than he was expecting. It sounds pretty.

"Hello, Y/N," Spencer says back. He heard you laugh on the other side and can't help the way his heart flutters.

"Lovely to talk to you doc,"

"Still Doc? Not Spencer?" Spencer questions. You smile on the other side of the line.

"Doc seems to fit you. But, for the sake of formality, hello Spencer,"

"I like Doc too, but it feels like I should have a nickname for you as well. Only seems fair," Spencer says laughing quietly.

"If it's your prerogative you can call me Miss Lilac, or just Miss but..." you trail off for a minute. Spencer squints.

"Miss is a title, you know? Doesn't seem fair for you to call me that when I haven't earned it from you yet. I'm sure we'll get there but for now you can just call me Y/N," you say softly. Spencer blushes bright red, his voice betraying him as he speaks.

"O-Oh, well um - where does the name Lilac come from? Normally people go with their names when it comes to stuff like that," Spencer says shyly. He heard you laugh on the other side of the phone and blushes again, grateful you can't see him.

"I love the language of flowers and flowers themselves. It's a way to speak that not many people know - but I like the meaning and look of lilacs. White lilacs represent purity, so that was a bit of irony, but light purple lilacs mean first love," you say carefully.

"First love?," Spencer asks. You bite your lip for a moment.

"I joke that BDSM is my first love since it's such a big part of my life. Not as big as some but not small for certain. It gave me much needed confidence so I joke that it was my first," You say lightly. You hear Spencer giggle on the other side and you smile.

"What about your username? Any significance to DOC187 that I should know of?," you readjust your seat on your couch as you talk. Spencer grows a bit embarrassed.

"I normally introduce myself as Doctor Spencer Reid for work, not a medical doctor but I have three PhD's," Spencer admits. You raise your brows but hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Very, very impressive doc. What about the 187? It could be a plain ol' number but my guess would be otherwise,"

"That's my IQ, actually. I don't think intelligence can be boiled down and quantified like that but I couldn't think of anything else," Spencer explains.

"So you're a certified genius with 3 PhD's? To say I'm impressed is an understatement. Anything else impressive you'd like to tell me before I totally pick your brains," you say a little shocked.

"You wanna pick my brains?," Spencer asks. You wanna laugh at the irony of such a silly question from such an intelligent man but you refrain.

"Who wouldn't?," you say incredulously. Spencer smiles shyly.

"The only other thing is that I can read 20,000 words per minute," Spencer says trying to deflect. Your jaw dropped before but it manages to unhinge a little further.

"There's a lot to get to know about you Doctor Reid,"

"I'm sure it's the same for you," Spencer replies.

"Guess we'll have to find out won't we?," you say smiling.

Damn, Spencer got lucky. Hopefully he'd get to find out soon

_____

"Reid, are you listening?," Derek's voice snaps Spencer out of his entranced state. His smiling expression snaps up to look at Derek who looks a little exasperated.

"Sorry, what was that?," Spencer asks back. Derek puts down the case file they were working on. They had just finished a case and needed to complete some paperwork before submitting it for review and to be used in court. The job was given to him and Morgan and Spencer was evidently distracted.

"Alright, kid - what is up with you? All case you've been checking your phone non-stop and spacing out, all smiles and giggles. C'mon now kid, seriously. You got a little lady at home waiting for you or is there something else I don't know about?," Derek interrogates. Spencer doesn't really know what to make of it, though it's not really in his interest to hide you, it hasn't really come up with anyone on the team yet so it was proving difficult to decide what to do. The smile on his face manages to appear again as he starts to think about you, the tips of his ears red.

"Reid," Morgan says again, with a small look of irritation.

"Her names Y/N," Spencer blurts out faster than he can't think. Derek gives him a huge grin, holding his hand out to dap Spencer up. Spencer just looks at it confused for a second before getting the memo.

"'My man," Derek says chuckling. Before Spencer can continue Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia walk in. Hotch is the only one missing, and Spencer's a little grateful.

"What are we celebrating in here you guys?," Prentiss asks first. Spencer goes to say something to move away from his sudden confession but Derek is quick to cut him off.

"Our boy genius over here got him a little lady," Derek announces. The whole team erupts in questions and Spencer wants to bury himself.

"Congratulations, Spencer!! How long have you two been dating?," Prentiss asks.

"You guys are so dramatic. It's only been two months but no first date because well..." Spencer trails off. JJ just nods her head.

"Duty calls, I'm guessing" JJ finishes. Spencer nods deflated hearing Emily draw a breath between her teeth.

"That's tough, Spence,"

Just as Spencer goes to give a response back he gets a text from you that makes his day a little better. It's a selfie of you at work, a picture your employee must've taken of you in a room full of new flower deliveries. You're giving Spencer a toothy grin as you hold a bunch of gardenias in your hand.

Y/N 🌸: *image attachment* 

Gardenias// You're lovely + Secret Love <33

Spencer cannot control the way his whole face bunches up in a smile, as if there's no one else in the room with him. Everyone just looks at him surprised, Garcia giving him a side-eye.

"How can you guys trust this stranger? We don't even know who she is! I haven't even run any background checks on her," Garcia complains. Prentiss nudges her side.

"I don't know if it matters - look at how hard he's smiling over there," Prentiss says. Garcia reluctantly looks and can't help but sigh.

"Okay well he seems really happy but still! We don't even know her," she pouts.

"I'm sure we'll meet her soon," JJ snickers at Spencer's lovestruck expression. Derek leans over Spencer's shoulder and raises his brows.

"Is that her, kid?," Derek asks. Spencer nods, simply staring at the picture you sent. Derek whistles when he sees you - you're genuinely stunning and he's surprised to say the least.

"Hot mama, pretty boy - how'd you manage that?," Derek asks, dumbfounded. Emily rolls her eyes.

"C'mon Derek, I'm sure - oh wow," Emily leans over Spencer's shoulder to see you and is met with the same reaction. JJ and Garcia are quick to follow thereafter, both looking equally as surprised.

"She's..." JJ trails off. The rest of the team just nods as Spencer grins ear to ear.

Spencer 🐻: Beautiful, as always.

Spencer ignores the rest of the team as they look at each other in disbelief.

Y/N🌸: Me or the flowers, Doc?

Spencer🐻: Both, but mostly you.

"Wow, Spencer you're really -" Prentiss starts

"You're whipped, kid. I mean seriously whipped," Derek finishes, nodding in agreement. JJ can't help but smile, giving Spencer a small pat on the back.

"She seems lovely, Spencer. How'd you two meet?," JJ says. Garcia stands around looking rather suspicious. A blush creeps onto Spencer's neck as he's reminded of how you two met.

"Online," Spencer says shortly. No one decides to question it, and Spencer thanks every god he can think of.

"Have you two FaceTimed yet? How can we know she's not, I don't know - catfishing you? Or scamming you in some other cyber criminal way?," Garcia sounds distressed. Spencer gives a small smile.

"We fall asleep over FaceTime every night," Spencer admits. Penelope's expression falls, and Prentiss gives a smile.

"That is disgustingly cute," JJ says laughing.

"Okay, well - I'm still running a background check on her," Garcia says stubbornly "But, I'm happy for you,"

"Thanks Garcia," Spencer mumbles out as he texts you again.

Y/N🌸: I wanna see you, love

Spencer blushes red as he reads your message. The word love makes his whole face hot.

Spencer🐻: I can't take a selfie for my life

Y/N🌸: You're with your team aren't you? Get them to take a picture of you.

Spencer wants to fold away, not ever really being the picture type, but how could he ever deny you.

Spencer🐻: How could I ever say no to you?

"Hey guys, can one of you take a picture of me for Y/N?" Spencer asks embarrassingly red. The whole team sends him a look of surprise.

"I'll take it Spence, try not to look as uncomfortable as you do right now," JJ says. The whole team refrains from laughing as Spencer gives an awkward smile. He thanks JJ who hands him back his phone before texting you again.

Spencer🐻: *image attachment* You owe me one

Y/N🌸: you're stunning as always. hadn't seen you in so long I almost forgot what you looked like.

Spencer🐻: stunnings an interesting choice of words.

Y/N🌸: I said what I said, doc. 

Spencer can't help but do a little giggle, that causes the whole team to give him a look. Morgan just shakes his head, shrugging. Emily, JJ, and Garcia just look at each other before the room draws into a subtle but comfortable silence as Spencer just smiles, totally unaware of how whipped he happened to look. He didn’t seem to mind either way. 

___

"How was work?," Spencer asks over the phone, kicking his shoes off as he looks into his fridge for something to eat. He hears you sigh on the other side of the line.

"Busy today - wedding season is coming up so tons of calls for centerpiece designs and costs. It's going well though, business couldn't be better," you say, clearly tired yet content. Spencer gives a small smile and feels relieved that things are going okay for you.

"That's really good. I'm glad you're feeling alright," Spencer replies. You ease into the couch as you talk to Spencer, relaxing by the second. 

"What about you, FBI man? You have an okay day?," Your voice is full of a gentle concern that Spencer appreciates.

"Yeah, just paperwork and JJ said that we shouldn't have any upcoming cases this week to be worried about so I have the weekend off," Spencer says without thought.

"Have any special plans for the weekend?," you say cheekily. Spencer, still not having caught on, shakes his head for a second.

"No, why?,"

"Hm... well - would you like to go on a date with me then Doctor Reid?," You ask, giggling. Spencer's eyes widen in realization as he facepalms for a moment.

"Wow, I didn't even think... yes - yes I would love to go on a date with you Y/N," Spencer says laughing at his own misfortune. You shake your head instinctively, but the growing smile and even further growing adoration makes it hard to sit still.

"Hey, Spencer," you say, butterflies filling your stomach.

"Yeah?"

"I really like you,"

____

Saturday comes quicker than Spencer can really understand. You told him not to worry about what the days plans would be but he can't help it. Anxiously awaiting you in front of the cafe that the two of you were supposed to meet at, in a part of town Spencer hasn't really seen before. You said that you'd lead the way and the irony isn't lost on him.

"Spencer?," Your voice is small, as you call out to what you think is Spencer Reid. Of course, you'd seen him before but to see him in person like this was still so unfamiliar. His head shoots up, eyes searching for you. He's delighted to have found you, certainly that was true as he walks towards you. Your arms envelop him in a friendly hug and he can't help but find himself sinking into. You smelled sweet, like fruit and flowers (which makes sense, the more he thinks about it)

"Lovely to finally meet you, Y/N,"

"Same goes for you, doc. Would you like to be informed of our plans for the day, or do you prefer the element of surprise?,"  You ask smiling. Spencer laughs at your question.

"Details would be appreciated, but I get the feeling you're not gonna give me those."

"You're right! It's a trick question, since it's a surprise. But, promise it'll be good,"

"I'll take your word for it then," Spencer says with a small smile. You hold your hand out for Spencer which he accepts, locking his hands with yours. The affection makes him feel full of warmth, as you lead him away for the day you had planned for the both of you.

___

Spencer underestimated how well you knew him. He really, really did. It's hard to explain since Spencers been on a date before but this was so profoundly different. He's a little touched, but beyond that he's just.. surprised? Every date he'd been on before this, he'd have to play the gentleman but it never seemed like the other person was interested in just him. It was always casual small-talk over dinner, or a mid-day coffee date or something else that just felt mundane but this was beyond Spencer's imagination.

The first place you took him was a bookstore - which was in Spencers mind already a winner for best date he'd ever been on. You walked inside with him and told him he had to pick up a book for you and you had to pick up a book for him and to say his heart absolutely fluttered would be an understatement. He picked up up a copy of "The Screwtape Tales," by C.S. Lewis for you, and you gave him a copy of Shel Silverstein's "Where The Sidewalk Ends." For you, you got a glimpse to see what Spencer's sense of humor was and you gave Spencer a piece of your childhood. Both equal but opposite forms of intimacy. The only thing was Spencer had to wait to read his book because it's relatively shorter than yours and he reads 20,000 words per minute.

The next place you took Spencer was an indoor butterfly garden. Does he have to explain why that's a good date? He heard you talk about all the scientific names for the different flowers and why they attract butterflies and he wasn't sure he could crush any harder on you if he tried. A particular moment sticks out to him on which a butterfly landed on your shoulders and just stayed there like it didn't want to leave. Spencer's eyes were fixated on it the whole time - and he had never wanted to be a butterfly in his life before but he figures there's a first time for everything.

The last place, where the both of you were at now was just a small coffee shop, locally owned and supported by the community here. You told Spencer that when you started up your shop, you'd come in here to work on big orders before you'd expanded enough to have employees. Spencer admires your work ethic, much more than he could ever anticipate as he sits down at a small booth, totally covering the both of you as you return to the table with a little plate of banana bread and two iced coffees. Spencer pouts as he looks up at you, watching you flash him a grin.

"I could've helped you carry this over," Spencer complains gently. You roll your eyes.

"Maybe next time doc," you say softly. You hold back your commentary often on the date, and Spencer pretends not to notice for your sake but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wanna know. You always had something sly to say but you'd kept it from him so many times now he figures it's better if he didn't ask.

Spencer looks at you as you push a plate of banana bread towards him. He looks at you with curious eyes before reading your clearly excited face and laughs. He picks up a piece and examines it, before taking a bite. If it tasted as good as it smelled then he would be more than obliged.

The involuntary moan that escapes Spencer's throat makes you choke with laughter. Shit, you weren't kidding when you said this was the best banana bread in the city. Spencer just looks up at you like he's about to cry with joy as you double over in giggles.

"I know," You say softly, taking a bite yourself eyes filling with joy "I ordered some more for us to take home - you're welcome," you say with confidence. Spencer smiles because that is genuinely thoughtful, but it was more endearing to see you pretend it wasn't. He just shakes his head, a blush arising to his face as he looks at you. You're staring at him with intent. He quirks his brow at you in question.

"I had a good time today, Spencer" You say warmly. You only called him Spencer when you were saying something affectionate and a bit serious. He gives you a toothy smile.

"I haven't been on very many dates, but this was easily the best one I'd ever been on," Spencer says honestly. You grin ear to ear, hands carefully holding Spencer across the table, running your thumb over his knuckles for a few seconds. You couldn't say for sure whether it was too soon to ask him to be your boyfriend, but you'd be damned if you said it didn't cross your mind.

Spencer was mind-numbingly unaware of what good boyfriend material he was, but beyond that - what good submissive boyfriend material he was. It was driving you nuts, but you knew this was all new for him and you didn't wanna freak him out. Even when guys say they're interested in being submissive, they're still often times uncomfortable with you being fully dominant. Dominant in public and in bed, if you will. You wanted to pay for dates, and buy him flowers, and make him feel special too - at least on the occasion. That role came naturally to you, that let me make you feel owned type affection that only a dominant person can give. It scared men off - out of relationships, and you totally got why - but you liked Spencer too much as a person to risk iit.

Spencer holds your hands together, gathering your attention. You looked at him spaced out and he gives you a look of concern.

"You okay?," Spencer asks. You nod, chewing your lip in debate of whether or not you should express your concerns. Spencer just tugs on your hand and looks at you intently.

You sigh, looking at Spencer softly.

"I'm okay I just really like you," you say a little exasperated. Spencer laughs but is filled with relief.

"I'm glad to hear that. What else is on your mind?,"

"I really like you - like in an, I want you to officially by my boyfriend way and I hope it's not too soon but I'm just, worried I guess," you say nervously. Spencer can't help the way his heart beats in his chest when he hears you say boyfriend. God did he want to be your boyfriend.

"What're you worried about?,"

"I'm worried about freaking you out. I can be a lot since I'm... you know?," You say nervously. Spencer looks at you  to continue.

"I'm more than just dominant in bed, and for a lot of guys it's not their thing and that's their right but I like you so much. I really don't want that to happen if I ask you out now and you realize that it's not for you," you say in clear upset.

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. You were worried that he was gonna freak out over that? That you were too dominant for him? It feels like such a silly concern but the expression on your face tells him you're speaking from experience.

"I mean, it's all kinda new to me but, well - I do like how you treat me? It's a nice change, I can't imagine myself getting tired of it, or of you. I really like you too," Spencer tried his best to reassure you without totally embarrassing you. You smiles at Spencer but your face is still full of doubt.

"If that ever changes, I'll tell you but I'd really like to call you my girlfriend," Spencer finishes. You can't help the warmth that spreads in your stomach at the offer. You just nod, looking up at him. You stand and walk to Spencer's side of the booth, sliding in next to him, leaning your head into his shoulder for a few while seconds. You sit back up, and Spencer turns to you.

"Hey, doc," you say softly. Spencer hums in acknowledgement.

"Can I kiss you?," you ask softly. Spencer chews his lip and nods, looking down at your lip. You're wearing lipgloss and it makes them look pretty - you are so pretty to Spencer.

Kisses are their own language, Spencer figures. The way someone kisses you can tell you a lot about who they are - so, when you put your hands on the side of Spencer's face, pulling him closer to you with such care and adoration - Spencer can feel what you were referencing earlier. The word Miss rings out in his mind, the way you pay attention to him with your hands. He feels your lips press against his, slowly gliding your fingers in his hair, thumb brushing agains the side of his cheek. Your other hand rested on his inner thigh and he has to think about anything other than that not to get hard. Spencer didn't get how much he'd been thinking about touching you until you'd do with no hesitation and he lets out a small whine. You pull back and Spencer has to catch his breath.

His lashes blink up at you and you're absolutely beaming.

"You're cute baby,"

Baby? Spencer wants to cover his face when you say it. You kiss him again and he can't help but feel flush.

You were Spencer's girlfriend and then some and he couldn't be more happy.

[howdoyousleep3]

no need to ask me

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Andy Barber x Lance Tucker

Summary: “That was quite a scene there, baby. Made a bit of a fool’a yourself wouldn’t you say?” What the fuck? “What? How long have you been sittin’ there like a creep?” Andy takes another couple of steps, closes in with broad shoulders, crosses his arms. “Long enough to see that pitiful display of what I assume was flirting.” 

Words: 6.3K

Tags: Daddy Kink, Feminization, Humiliation, Spanking, Desk Sex, Spitting, Light Dom/Sub, Crying, Rough Sex, Little Prep, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Hair Pulling, Spanking

This isn’t my normal softness so please read the tags! I hope you enjoy the filth! 

Lance tends to like Fridays. He pushes his gymnasts harder because it’s the end of the week, more people are in and out of the gym so he can show he knows his shit a little more, and let’s be completely transparent—Lance feeds off the attention. He’s worthy of said attention, knows people are aware of his status, knows people find him hot as fuck whether they like it or not. Fridays are the days where Lance feels good, feels powerful, feels of value.

He’s spent the day working with his own girls, focusing on things beyond the basics; they’re passed that shit. They needed to work on sharpness and sticking landings and fuck if they couldn’t understand just how to make things tight. They did alright, nothing like he could do, but he feigned exasperation and disappointment nonetheless to get under their skin a little bit.

The moments where he wasn’t meeting with his own athletes he spent on the outskirts of the floors. He loved how even his presence rubbed other coaches and players the wrong way, how he didn’t even have to open his mouth to get under other people’s skin. That made actually opening his mouth and spouting off taunts that much sweeter. When he wasn’t on the outskirts of the floor, he spent his time working his charm on the front desk girls, the few coaches in the office.

He wasn’t genuinely interested in these chicks, but flirting was fun and if he got some pussy out of it that was just a happy accident. He knew what his smirk did to people, knew that if he licked his lips just the right way and paired it with a look up and down, he might have a chance. It’s been a long day, one of his few full days, and the people around him are busy closing the gym down. He’s in the middle of working his shot with this pretty blonde (Amanda? Miranda? He can’t remember and can’t find it in himself to care) when—

“Andy?”

Lance’s glance to his right leads him to catching an out of place crisp dress shirt out of the corner of his eye. Andy is seated in the waiting area meant for parents, ankle of one leg resting on the opposite knee, arms spread onto the backs of the chairs on either side of him, suit jacket tossed into the chair next to him. He looks casually out of place in this gym, looks infinitely better than Lance does in his tracksuit. Well, maybe not better but he looks like belongs back in his office or in a courtroom. He looks good.

“Hey, baby,” Andy purrs, tilts his head a little as he says it, and Lance is immediately on alert at his tone. It’s an odd tone, like a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a little bitten off. Add that to Andy having never shown up to his place of work has him feeling on edge. That edge hardens slightly when Lance realizes his predicament: he’s propped up onto the front desk counter and has been staring down the shirt of AmandaMiranda for the past ten, fifteen minutes.

How long had Andy been sitting there?

“What are you doing here?” It comes out much more harshly than he intends for it to, so much so that the girl behind the front desk takes it as her cue to leave. He’s upset with himself and his tone for maybe half a minute before he starts to think about how uncalled for it is for Andy to show up unannounced, for him to sit there and watch Lance like some sort of creep.

Andy’s eyebrows raise in an unnerving move and he responds with a cool, “You’re not happy to see me?” That isn’t fair. Lance is always happy to see Andy, always excited to see the older man, still gets a few butterflies in his chest, his stomach, but he needs to play it cool. He can’t come off as eager, needs to give Andy the chase that everybody else gets. He scoffs at Andy’s words, looks around as he deepens his lean on the front counter, hip cocked.

“I mean you’re not the worst thing I’ve ever seen come through those doors I guess.”

Andy doesn’t look impressed, gives Lance a look that conveys just that, leaves him on shaky ground as the last few to leave walk past them. Someone asks Lance if he’ll lock up and he brushes them off, says it’s no big deal, tells them he can handle it. Andy doesn’t take his eyes off Lance once. He didn’t realize how much he depended on those few short minutes with other people in his presence, other people in the building with him and Andy, until they’re gone.

It’s unnerving.

Andy Barber isn’t Lance’s type. He’s a rule-follower, a suit, never raises his voice, a man, but he’s got pretty eyes and hands that Lance loves to feel tight around his thighs and the juiciest bottom lip he’s ever found. After running into him enough at his lawyer’s office (Lance doesn’t want to talk about it) and exchanging flirty glances, Andy made a move and asked Lance if he wanted to go get a drink.

“Yeah sure—what the hell?”

Andy was a little older than Lance and, even though they were wildly different, they got along well. Lance found that he could be more of himself with Andy, let loose a little more, found that Andy could keep up with his banter. Lance would have never guessed that Andy was the kind to fuck on the first date but when a hand slid up his thigh under the cover of the table and a pair of lips found that fucking spot under his ear, he was pleasantly surprised.

They’ve gone on a handful of dates, met up for drinks and gone to see a few movies, but Lance keeps coming back for the sex. He doesn’t let people fuck him often, but Andy Barber is one of them. Andy works out to keep his body right and tight, keeps him fit, knows how to work it to give it to Lance good, an easy 7/10. He lets Lance get a little rough (could give it to him a little rougher if Lance is critiquing), lets him be on top, and it’s great but no amount of a good fuck makes it acceptable to show up unannounced at his place of work.

Before Lance can say anything else, Andy is standing, closing the distance between the two of them slowly. Lance swallows audibly.

“That was quite a scene there, baby. Made a bit of a fool’a yourself wouldn’t you say?”

What the fuck?

“What? How long have you been sittin’ there like a creep?” Andy takes another couple of steps, closes in with broad shoulders, crosses his arms.

“Long enough to see that pitiful display of what I assume was flirting.”

That’s uncalled for. It leaves Lance feeling even more off-kilter because Andy has never been mean to him and he’s pretty sure that’s what this is. Lance’s feathers are more than ruffled. He wants to say more, wants to spit his gum in Andy’s face, but the other man is standing toe-to-toe with him now and there’s a tight hand on his chin.

Ouch.

“You tryin’ to shoot your shot with her? S’that what that was?” Andy’s breath is hot on his lips, grip tight on his chin, and Lance’s brain stutters to a halt somewhat. Andy’s never touched him like this. He can’t think straight, can’t even remember what was happening a few measly minutes ago, and Andy is shaking his chin sharply.

“I asked you a question. You wanted to fuck her?”

Lance’s body goes simultaneously cold and hot. He was somewhat interested in fucking her, but he isn’t used to those words coming out of Andy’s mouth, him seemingly not being a crass person whatsoever. He’s almost certain his mouth would drop open if it could at the other man spitting out the word fuck. He feels that in his toes. He doesn’t think, just speaks, chooses to bite out, “Why? You wanna watch?”

He doesn’t expect Andy to bite out a chuckle low and deep in the back of his throat, tries not to flinch when he leans forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Lance’s mouth.

“Wouldn’t be much to watch, sweet boy; if it were the three of us in one room, you’d be gettin’ fucked by both of us.”

Lance’s breath stutters. Andy has only pulled out sweet boy a few times and Lance has tried his hardest to ignore the way it makes his chest pull tight. He’s no one’s sweet boy; he’s a man and he is no ones. He hates the way his chest aches and pulls tight yet again at the straightforwardness of Andy, how he says that Lance would be getting fucked no matter the situation.

He absolutely hates how unopposed and indifferent he feels about that idea.

Even through the feeling of his cheeks burning he’s rolling his eyes and punching out a laugh that’s trying too hard. He’s uncomfortable, hot and bothered and on alert, but when Andy steps forward with him, presses him back into the desk, his chuckle dies into a whimper in his throat.

“Could fuck her if I wanted, easy,” he says with all the strength he can muster up, tries his hardest to jut his chin out to prove his point more but then Andy is smiling down at him and that’s infuriating.

“Yeah, know you love to strut around dick first but that’s not what you really want is it? What you really like is to be pushed down and fucked until you’re screamin’ for it. And don’t lie to me, sweet boy, because I’ve fucked this pussy enough to know what it likes, what it needs.”

The noise he lets out is betrayal at its finest, a slutty exhale, a shocked little noise. His pussy? He’s—

“Don’t have a pussy,” he manages to grit out, shaking his chin free from Andy’s grip, but it’s no use, not when Andy’s other arm wraps tight around his lower back. There are warm lips on his cheek, his jawline, and he hates how much he loves the feeling of that fucking beard on his skin, hates how in-control Andy feels tonight. When said lips reach his ear he snarls pitifully when Andy sucks on his earlobe, feels that hand around his back drop down to his ass.

“Sweetheart,” Lance hates how his stomach clenches up at Andy’s barely detectable voice, “Know this is a pussy ‘cause I’ve fucked it.”

A few of Andy’s fingers press and rub tight right up against his asshole, right through his tracksuit, right there behind the front desk of his gym, and Lance fucking whimpers. He isn’t sure if it’s Andy’s unprecedented words or that fact that his dick goes hard as a rock at the other man’s touches, but either way he lets out far too feminine of a noise than he’s comfortable with.

“Does she know you like getting’ fucked too? Does she know that I can make you gag for it, make you squeal for a good dickin’, too?”

Fuck.

Lance brings his hands up to shove at Andy’s broad muscular thick chest, doesn’t know what else to do in reaction to the other man’s words, doesn’t want to think about how achy his dick is in his pants. Andy chuckles, seemingly full of them today, moves and takes Lance’s shoves like they’re nothing, like Lance isn’t a powerful man himself, and it’s an unintentional low blow.

Their physical banter escalates to Lance finding himself face down and pressed into the desk, Andy’s hand tight between his shoulder blades. He feels the fight in him leave, feels the pool of arousal fog up his brain some, at the pressure of Andy’s crotch, his dick, pressing up against his ass. His cheeks heat up exponentially when he hears the other man let out a throaty groan, squirms as Andy grinds and rubs in tight to Lance’s backside.

“Does she know that you love it when your Daddy fucks your sweet pussy?”

“Oh shit.”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, doesn’t mean to make it sound like it was punched right from his chest, but that’s exactly what happens, exactly what it sounds like. Andy has never referred to himself as…that…before. How did Andy know? Did Lance let it slip during any of the times they were fucking? He swore he had buried that part of him deep deep down, hadn’t let anyone find it, but here is Andy Barber of all fucking people yanking it out from the shadows.

“Ohh, look at that,” Andy purrs, hand between his shoulders sliding up to squeeze at the back of his neck, “Y’went all soft on me just from that one word, didn’t you? Mhmm, such a sweet slutty boy.” Lance’s fingers go tight on the edge of the desk and attempts to use any amount of strength he can muster up to push up, off the desk and out of such a vulnerable position, but all that does is grind his ass back into Andy’s dick more, make him squirm.

He puts up somewhat of a valiant fight, will continue to bicker no matter what, but when he feels the warm length of Andy’s front press against the line of his back, he crumbles on the inside. There’s a hand in his hair, gliding through the back, but then it’s yanking, pulling his head up so Andy can better whisper into his ear, better get his point across.

“’Cause I’m your Daddy, aren’t I? Bratty slut like you needs someone to keep you in line, keep you sweet. Isn’t that right, Lance?”

He wants so badly to moan out loud, wants to give in to the side of him that wants to tell Da—Andy—that he does need someone to keep him in check, does need someone to be sweet for. He swallows a few times, breathing so labored some exhales come out as whimpers, and Andy’s hand in his hair goes taut in a warning.

“Ngh, yes yeah, sure,” is what Lance spits out while he does what he can to wiggle under Andy’s body, but that only makes him harder, makes his core burn hot with the strength and size of the other man. Teeth hit the hinge of his jaw, a generous nibble that makes him gasp, and Andy’s voice has a harsh edge to it when he says, “Fuckin’ say it.”

Lance is enraged, is fired up, but the urge to give in is stronger, to say what he’s always wanted to say. He hates how much he loves the sting of his scalp and the sting on his jaw, hates how much he loves the way he feels overpowered, wishes it were all in a different setting. It’s all love and hate but he’s whimpering nonetheless, hears himself grit out, “I need a Daddy.”

“Yeah? And who’s that?” Goddamnit.

“S’you,” he mumbles, “You’re my Daddy.”

The sweet little kiss he gets to his cheek is something that burns through his body straight to his toes, somewhat of a sour preen. He despises the way his body feels after even the smallest amount of immediate gratification, that honey sweetness pooling on the back of his neck. He huffs anyway, right in time for Andy to lift himself off his backside, reach for the waistband of Lance’s pants.

Lance is up for some freaky shit, trying out different positions and in different rooms in the house, but when Andy goes for the top of his track pants, yanks them halfway down his ass, Lance is protesting. It’s not even a worthy attempt, a humiliated noise and a push up off the desk but there’s a hand on the back of his neck, an unwavering one, and another hand smacking tight against the exposed skin of his ass. It’s a shock, makes Lance gasp again, makes him stretch the line of his body as the piece of exposed skin throbs.

It’s too good.

“Quit it. You think I’m not gonna teach you a lesson? You think your Daddy isn’t gonna show you what he thinks of you tryin’ to get your dick wet right in front of him? It’s time you learn your lesson.”

Lance has never once been as turned on as he is right now in this moment. Being a brat is who he is, is ingrained in his core, but he knows better than anyone that’s only because no one’s ever been able to deal with him, has never been able to step up to him. Andy Barber of all people was not someone he expected to rise to such a challenge and knock it out of the fucking park and then some.

Doesn’t mean Lance is done fighting.

As soon as his pants and underwear hit the floor he’s whining out a pathetic, “Andy, listen I—” but gets only those three words out before there’s another smack coming down on his ass but this one has a bite to it, is all palm and no holding back. It makes Lance’s toes curl in his shoes.

“You goin’ stupid on me and all I’ve done is pull your pants down? Huh? Who am I to you?” Lance breathes out his answer, a little gritty, a soft, “D-Daddy,” still not feeling comfortable saying the word in such a context and outside of his head. He gets another smack on his ass, the opposite cheek, a squeeze on both cheeks that makes him whimper, one and then the other. He in no way could have anticipated Andy’s next words.

“Show me where Daddy fucks you. Show me that slutty little hole.”

Lance isn’t even moving and he feels dizzy in the head, is horizontal but feels like he’s gone vertical too quickly. He knows what Andy wants, what his words mean, but he would never spread himself open to show anyone his asshole, not even Daddy.

“What? You think I haven’t seen your pussy before? You think I don’t watch that greedy little thing eat me up each time we fuck?” Andy’s hands grip his cheeks as he speaks, pushes and pulls them apart rather roughly, mimics the exact movement Lance recognizes from when they are in bed together. He hadn’t even made the connection before, a little muddled, and the back of his neck burns hot in realization.

Two palms squeeze tight, makes Lance hiss, before Andy is demanding again, “Show me,” and Lance does. He brings his hands back, feels them shake as he grabs at his own ass, pulls his cheeks apart. He hears Andy take a few steps back, wants to sink through the floor but also tilt his ass up at the satisfied noise the other man gives him. It drips down his spin like honey, pools at the base of his cock. He wants to sneak a hand under himself, wants to wrap it around his own dick, wants to come already.

“S’that where Daddy fucks you?” Lance’s fingers dig into his skin, makes it hurt, makes that burn more than the one of shame when he whispers, “That’s where…w-where Daddy fucks me.” He can’t even stop himself from his whisper turning into a breathy whine, almost everything out of his control at this point. He’s on shaky ground now, entirely out of his element, and he feels like he’s dreaming. There is no way for him to anticipate Andy’s next move because this entire experience is unprecedented. Lance has never felt so visible before, so broken open and just seen before.

Which is why he has no warning whatsoever when Andy brings a couple of fingers down to his hole, his pussy, rubs at it like he fucking owns it. Lance bites his lip, bites it hard so he doesn’t let the other man hear his shout, his noise of surprise and pleasure.

“You think she knows you got a pussy too? But that Daddy has to spend time gettin’ yours all wet before he can fuck it?”

The back of Lance’s neck burns hot yet again, feels the skin of his neck and cheeks go tingly at the flush he knows for a goddamn fact is there and building. It’s bad enough to admit that he has a Daddy and a pussy but for Daddy to talk about his pussy? It’s almost too much but “too much” goes right out the fucking window as soon as there are warm palms covering his own, as soon as he hears Andy spit, angry and loud right—

“Ohh,” is all Lance can wail, doesn’t bother with being quiet this time, not when Andy just spit on his pussy, not when thick fingers rub said spit around in circles. His balls feel achy and tight, he wants to come, but Daddy’s fingers almost feel better, rub in a motion that makes him want to spread his legs some more. He hears Andy’s chuckle, a dark deep noise, and it adds to the eroticism and forbidden nature of the entire situation.

Andy spits again, this time thick and slow from above and Lance has to screw his eyes shut tight, has to stop himself from shivering as he feels the glob of saliva trickle down his balls. Andy makes it messy, makes his pussy all slick and ready, teasingly presses the tips of two fingers hard against his opening. Andy rumbles, a noise that Lance realizes is something he’s heard before as well but in an entirely different context, just like the ass grab.

Andy steps forward again and Lance feels the heavy weight of his cock smack and rest right in the crack of his ass, right on his pussy and he can’t help but—

“Fuck, oh…”

He hadn’t even heard Daddy take his dick out, hadn’t heard the telltale signs of a zipper, nothing, but he knows what that is. This action is one that makes him tilt his hips back, is one that makes him physically plead for what he can only hope is coming at this point. Andy smacks at his hands, pushes them away, and Lance flings his arms forward and scrambles and pushes at papers Lance couldn’t care less about.

“You think she’d still get wet for your dick after watching you cry for your Daddy’s cock?”

Lance sniffles on instinct, checks to see if he’s truly crying even though it most definitely sounds like he is, feels like he is. He almost doesn’t care if he’s crying, not with the feel of Daddy’s cock not fucking him, simply resting there where he should be fucking. He forgets he was asked a question, too distracted to answer, gets a pinch of the ass for his troubles.

“N-no, Daddy.”

“No? I don’t know, sweet boy—you look awful pretty cryin’. I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock from seeing you break down and give into me. She might get all wet from seein’ it too.”

“Please, p-please,” Lance hears himself say and it’s pathetic, how whiny it is and how it comes from the back of his throat. He doesn’t even know what exactly he’s begging for, but he does know he wants Andy to give him a few fingers, to split him on his cock. He knows he wants to get fucked even if it does mean right here and right now, wants it so bad.

Andy lets his cock slip and slide along his ass crack, hands back to squeezing at the meat of Lance’s ass, lets Lance feel how hard he is. It’s devastating, makes him let out another set of whimpers, makes him turn his cheek into the desk more.

“Get specific, boy,” Andy taunts, grabs for his own cock and smears the fat head of it around the opening of Lance’s pussy, all warm and slick with spit. It makes Lance dizzy.

“F-fuck…fuck me, Daddy, please.”

The noise Andy gives him in response is all throat, all chest, deep and warm and it prolongs Lance’s dizziness, makes him curl his fingers into the papers beneath him. There’s pressure and skin on skin and spit and then there’s nothing, nothing at all and a whine slips between Lance’s lips.

“You want a finger or two? Huh? Not gonna loosen you up too much, want you tight for Daddy, want you feelin’ me for a few days. You want that?” And fuck him, he does, nods his head and cries for it, whimpers, “Uh-huh, yeah yes. Yes, please.”

The finger that slides into him is shocking. Just like he didn’t hear the zipper of Andy’s pants, he does not hear the packet of lube being torn open, but feels it coating said finger. Lance’s breath stutters in his chest, lets out a hefty exhale, one that is akin to a wail. It slips and slides in and out of him without much mercy, all business. It’s a relief but it makes him hungrier, makes him want more.

He doesn’t have to wait long, a second finger sliding smoothly in alongside the first, making him bite out a hefty curse. Daddy’s fingers don’t stop, don’t slow, scissor and press and slide against Lance’s walls in such a way it has his eyelids heavy, has them drooping.

“Look how sweet you get for your Daddy, how sweet you can be when you shut your fuckin’ mouth and listen. Should have put you in your place weeks ago.”

And Lance just nods and drools, all he can manage when Daddy’s thick fingers fuck in and out of him in a pace and angle that makes his gut curl, makes him moan like the helpless animal he feels like. The hand on the back of his neck slides down his jacket, the line of his spine, a soothing gesture that Lance eats up. Andy is right—they should have been doing this for weeks, for the entire time they’ve known each other. Lance has needed a Daddy, has wanted a Daddy, needs—

“Daddy…”

Andy pulls his fingers free, smears a little more lube around his pussy, shoves some inside and gets him good and wet.

“Yeah, baby that’s right. You just keep sayin’ it ‘cause that’s what I am isn’t it? I’m your Daddy. Daddy isn’t even gonna use a condom, gonna mark you up real good on the inside because he can…”

Lance barely hears the other man’s words, not when his cock is pushing against his rim, pressing in and taking the breath right out of his fucking lungs, his chest. He scrambles, it’s so much, Andy murmuring, “Lemme in, honey come on—let your Daddy in…”, a hand running up and down his back, taking a home in Lance’s hair. He tries his hardest to relax, to lay there and take it, but he wants to squirm as he thinks it’ll make it easier on himself.

It doesn’t.

He thinks Andy tells him to breathe but he can’t be sure, can’t even see out of his eyes with how furiously they water up. He spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, confined by his pants and underwear around his ankles, hears himself shout, moan, curse. Daddy powers through, slides into Lance’s body at a snail’s pace, presses into his little pussy like he fucking owns it, bends and verbalizes just that.

“Want you to think about this, about how this is my pussy, every time you wanna leave your fuckin’ lane and make eyes at somebody else. This is my pussy. Daddy owns this pussy.”

Lance wails, feels his lips tremble as he does so, but he’s nodding his head, has no fucking clue why he decides to repeat and sob out, “Daddy owns this pussy!”

He both wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life but also wipe it clean from his memory.

When Andy’s clothed thick thighs meet the bottom of his ass Lance feels like he’s deepthroating Daddy’s cock, feels it all throughout his body, wiggles on it and can barely find it in him to breathe. Lance feels like he’s going to combust. He feels Daddy’s hands on his sides, running up under Lance’s jacket and shirt, like fire against his skin as he is blessedly patient and waits for Lance to adjust.

Andy bends down again, presses hot little kisses up the column of his neck, on the skin behind his ear. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty pussy now,” is all the warning he gets before Andy is pulling his hips back and pressing forward again. It isn’t an alarming rate, no slams or yanks, but fuck is it gutting. It’s a brutal pace right from the start, one that has Lance gasping like a fish out of water, like he’s clinging on for dear life. Andy’s cock is heavy in his pussy, so big, spread him open and wide each time he presses back in. It has Lance pushing up onto his toes, has him curling and arching his neck, has him stretching the line of his body against the desk so he can better feel.

But it’s so much, just barely enough that has Lance a little hysterical, a little upset at himself for wanting to feel more. His legs are spread just enough to where he can feel Daddy’s balls smack against his own, the tap and slide sending little sparks up his spine. He almost wishes he were looking up at Andy, wants to see Daddy’s face, but he would never ask the other man to stop, not now.

“Gonna buy you some sweet little panties, Lance. Gonna make you wear them when you come to work and when…when you walk by this desk and remember how I fucked you so hard you cried your little dick’ll be all wrapped up in the panties Daddy bought you.”

Lance sobs. He’d do anything Daddy wanted him to do, wants someone to tell him what to do so he can be good.

“And you’re such a little slut you’d get hard each time you passed this desk, oh you’d get so hard so fast, wouldn’t you, baby? Yeah?”

The hand in his hair comes to life, Andy’s hand spanning almost the entirety of the back of Lance’s head and fuck that’s hot. What’s hotter is his hair getting tugged on, getting pulled up and up and up until Lance has no choice but to follow with a set of whimpers until he’s vertical. The hand in his hair swaps its position for one around the front of his throat and that’s—

“Oh fuck, Daddy.”

The hand that isn’t wrapped around the column of Lance’s throat digs into the meat of his hip, holds him steady as Andy continues to rock into him, bounces against his pert ass. Andy Barber is a man of consistency, a man of passion, and it shines through each and every time the two of them are together in such a way. Lance has never encountered such devotion and focus when fucking someone else and he whole-heartedly has not been appreciating it nearly as much as he should have been.

He hasn’t been appreciating Andy Barber as a person as much as he should have been.

The other man purrs into his ear, pulls Lance away from his untimely thoughts, the hand on his hip running up the curve of Lance’s back, shirt rucking up as he moves. The lewd sticky sound of them fucking, the slaps of skin and the squelch of Lance’s pussy getting wrecked, sounds like a goddamn concert in this empty gym, sounds like it’s performing for a crowd of thousands. Lance loves performing.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get’chu all bent up in all those positions you’re always bitchin’ about, put your money where your mouth is. Bet you’d look sweeter than sin with your feet curled behind your head beggin’ for my come…”

Lance sees stars.

Lance doesn’t beg, or at least he thought so, but he’s so consumed with the picture that Andy paints for him in his head that he knows for certain he’d beg Daddy to come in his pussy. In fact—

“Ohh, Daddy please…”

Andy curses, harsh like the bite on the gymnast’s shoulder that follows, staggers forward with Lance right in tow until Lance has to bring his own arms forward to hold them shoddily up against the desk. His pace quickens, deepens, how Lance doesn’t know but god he had no idea Daddy had been holding back on him. He mewls, feels his dick jump with every thrust Daddy gives him, so fucking full. The bend in his back, the arch, deepens and curls as Daddy presses him down, down, by the hip but the hand on his throat doesn’t waver.

It’s a test, a test of said flexibility.

“Should have known the mention of my come would make a slutty boy like you lose his fucking mind.”

His fucking mind lost its way long ago, back when Andy asked him if a girl knew he had a pussy too. His breathing strains from such a position, head bent back so far that when he looks up, he’s look right up at Daddy. Lance shouts, sputters, as soon as he sees that face and that beard and those eyes.

Lance might be in love. Or maybe that’s a side effect of how thoroughly he’s getting fucked right now.

He doesn’t even recognize the swirls and build of his own orgasm until his eyes are closing, no use for them staying open when Andy brings his lips and presses them messily into Lance’s upturned forehead. He can’t remember the last time he came on someone’s cock alone, no attention to his dick by either party, and it’s shocking, has him gasping, has him sobbing.

“Daddy! Daddy I’m—”

“Fuck, pretty boy—already?”

“Uh-huh, please I…please lemme come!” Lance doesn’t recognize his own voice, begging and pleading aside. It’s strained, high and feminine. Lance has never heard it like that. Andy’s fucking into him so deeply, with so much power, that he’s having trouble holding the two of them upright. Daddy doesn’t seem to care, will fuck him right through the floor if that’s where they end up.

“You come sayin’ my name, you hear me? You come tellin’ me who I am, Lance. Who am I to you?”

Lance’s whole body clenches up as he shouts, “Daddy!”

“Come.”

Lance has never listened to anyone without some sort of fight. He bites back, sasses back, obeys no one, but when Andy Barber—Daddy—tells him to come he fucking comes. It’s a miracle within a miracle and Andy fucks him through every second of it. Every shake and tremor and, quite frankly and embarrassingly, scream. 

He knows Daddy can feel the noises he makes, the screams and wails, on his hand on Lance’s throat as the tumble from his mouth. He knows Daddy can feel the way his pussy clenches and trembles, physically begging for the other man’s come, by the way he growls about it in his ear. This orgasm feels like a layered relief like nothing Lance has ever felt, like with every wave, each ebb and flow, he feels more like himself than he ever has.

Daddy comes before his orgasm is even over, grabs for Lance with both hands, both arms, groans into the skin of his neck. It’s like Daddy’s orgasm prolongs his own, like the significance of never having anyone before his Daddy come in his pussy makes him almost come again.

“Fuck, baby s’pussy is so good, goddamn so good for Daddy isn’t it?”

Andy has always been someone who is vocal when they come, someone who holds Lance close, pulls him in tight, gives him some teeth, some bites. This is no different but is more amplified than normal. Andy puts his entire being into this orgasm, squeezes and holds onto Lance like a treasure. His mouth doesn’t part from Lance’s ear and he finds himself smiling that he gets to hear all of Daddy’s noises right there, so close, so feral.

It makes him feel invincible, that he did this.

Lance has been worn out before, has had workouts and competitions, the fucking Olympics, but nothing compares to the fatigue he feels when that last ragged sigh leaves his body. He knows he is going to feel this for days but that’s the point he guesses. He clenches down around Andy’s cock, is greedy for a moment that literally ended mere minutes ago.

He gets a smack on his ass for his troubles, a chuckle into his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Andy mumbles into his neck before kissing the underside of his jaw, giving him a little squeeze.

“You gonna get this ‘fuckin’ brat’ some dinner or what? Got calories to make up for here.”

Andy laughs this time, no chuckle, and it has a new ring to it. Lance likes it.

“Oh how quickly we forget our manners when we’re not gettin’ fucked. Even though I’m literally still inside of you.”

Lance wiggles his ass back into Andy’s crotch, clenches a little more, ignores the jump in his gut when he feels how hard Andy still is.

“M’sorry, D-Daddy,” he whispers, taking a chance and saying that word outside of the context of fucking. Lance still likes it and so does Andy, purrs a little when he hears it.

“S’my boy. Let’s get you some dinner. Won’t even clean you up, let you go messy. You want that?”

Lance hates how much he wants that...

[dovechim]

free delivery not included (m)

➾ 7.1k

➾ summary: the premise is simple, really. you’ve been wanting to have a baby ever since you and your husband got married three years ago. Dr Kim Namjoon is the top fertility specialist in town who boasts a 100% success rate. the thing is, your husband has given up on trying to have children, so you find yourself visiting Dr Kim Namjoon in secret, only to realise that his methods are slightly unorthodox. 

➾ warnings: mentions of infidelity and cheating, use of medical equipment (speculum), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), impregnation, creampies, unprofessional behaviour from a medical professional, dirty talk involving humiliation

➾ a/n: a long time ago i said i was doing a fic for every member with this breeding kink and i didn’t know what i was getting myself into... a long time later, here is namjoon’s part :”) huge thanks goes to @jimlingss for as usual hearing my ideas out and hyping me up to write. i’ve been struggling with trying to like my own writing again but having kina’s support really meant a lot. of course, having all of you patient enough to wait for me is a huge motivating factor as well. without further ado, enjoy :) 

Nerves are fluttering in your stomach as you take a queue number from the receptionist and seat yourself in the waiting room. This is most definitely not where you’d ever expect yourself to end up. Casting a quick glance around the room, you surreptitiously turn your wedding ring around so that the diamond on it is hidden and less conspicuous. Everyone else in the waiting room is here with their spouse; you are the only one alone and its painfully obvious.

“______?” The voice comes out of nowhere and jolts you out of your self-conscious worrying.

You spring out of your seat and nod to the receptionist as she directs you to the door at the end of the hallway. Feeling multiple curious eyes on your back, you read the sign on the door before knocking.

Dr Kim Namjoon

Fertility Specialist

“Come in,” a pleasant, timbre voice answers and you slip inside, only to be greeted by a man in tortoiseshell glasses, his blonde hair pushed off his forehead. He motions for you to sit down with a welcoming smile, and his warm presence already puts you a little more at ease.

You smile nervously at him as you take your seat in front of him, adjusting your skirt and tugging it a tad lower to avoid any form of eye contact with the handsome doctor.

“So, _____, what can I do for you today?” Dr Kim smiles as he rests his forearms on the desk, leaning forward. When he smiles his dimples are so prominent that it takes your breath away a little. 

You can feel his attention focused on you, and for some reason this makes you even more nervous, so you drop your gaze down to your hands in your lap, absentmindedly playing with your wedding band in order to keep your nerves at bay. But then you remember that you’re also drawing attention to the fact that you’re married and here without your husband, so you immediately cover your left hand with your right. It’s too late though, with a tiny glance up, you catch Dr Kim’s gaze on your hands in your lap.

Clearing your throat, you pray that he doesn’t ask too many questions. “I-I’m here with concerns. A-about my fertility. I want to have a baby.”

Dr Kim chuckles pleasantly. “Well then, we’ll see what we can do about that. Just some questions for me to get a better sense of where you are in your journey to have a baby. How long have you been trying to get pregnant?”

He whips out a yellow legal pad and a pen to begin taking down notes, and without his piercing caramel eyes on you, you relax slightly; your heartrate slows down and the room in general feels less stuffy.

“I’ve been trying for three years,” you say in a near whisper, automatically wincing for the onflood of sympathy that you’ve come to expect whenever you tell someone about this.

But Dr Kim only nods once as he notes it down. “I see. And have you gone for any medical checkups in the past year? Anything of interest regarding your medical history I should know about?”

“No, I’m all clear,” you are now watching his fountain pen glide across the pages of his notepad with grace and ease, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes travel to the slim grip of his fingers.

“What about your… partner? That is, I’m assuming you have one,” Dr Kim looks up briefly to give you a smile.

“He’s also gone for tests and checkups,” you lace your fingers tightly together, thinking about your loving husband. “But the doctor said there’s no problem with either of us. I just… I don’t know why it’s taking so long. We’re both so desperate… I’mso desperate to have a baby.”

Your voice cracks slightly as emotion wells up in you, and you take a deep breath to center yourself again. “Dr Kim, I heard that you’re the top notch fertility specialist in town. My husband has lost all faith in us ever having a baby so he’s given up hope… he doesn’t know I’m here today. Please, can you help us?”

Dr Kim finishes his notes with a flourish, then he puts down his pen and looks up with a reassuring smile. “First of all, ____, I deeply sympathise with your struggles over the past three years. I know how incredibly emotional and difficult it can be to face such issues, and especially over such a long period of time. You are a very strong and determined woman to come here alone today without your husband. It shows that you don’t give up hope for something that you truly want, and for that I really admire you.”

His words take the tension out of your shoulders and sets you more at ease. You’d read articles about this man online, seen pictures of him even, but in real life he looks even more suave and breathtaking. Every single action and word of his is fuelled by a quiet confidence, a professionalism that is warm and reassuring.

“Over here, we have a 100% success rate with all of our procedures,” Dr Kim goes on. “We are proud to be the first fertility clinic that carries our own supply of sperm curated from our sperm bank.”

“Th-that’s amazing, Dr Kim” you nod as he hands you a brochure, but your eyes are fixed on his handsome smile.

“Please, call me Namjoon. I hope you can be more at ease with me. I want all my patients to think of me as a close friend,” Namjoon pushes his glasses up. “I can definitely help you with having a baby… but first I’d like to ask you what approach you prefer to take.”

You hesitate as you turn over the brochure in your hands. “Approach? What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I have several suggestions to help you conceive,” Namjoon says as he points to a list of options on the back of the brochure. “Firstly, IVF. In Vitro Fertilisation, a popular but very costly procedure that can take up to one year to show results. Seeing as you mention your husband not wanting to try any more medical approaches… I think it would be difficult for you to convince him to commit to this.”

“No, you’re right,” you sigh as you read over the estimated cost stated on the brochure. “Not only that, we just don’t have the means to afford that kind of procedure right now.”

Namjoon nods in understanding, and he directs your attention to the next option on the page. “No worries, let’s move on. The second option we have here is sperm donation, the most popular option for most of my patients. This treatment requires a healthy egg, which you definitely fit the requirement of. Like I mentioned before, we have our very own sperm bank here in the clinic, and once you make your decision, after a brief checkup, you can choose to have your first donation as soon as today. That is, if you’re deemed to be ovulating and fertile, of course.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Today? But that’s so soon! I mean, I’d love to see results as soon as possible, but my husband…”

“Ah, yes, he doesn’t know that you’re here, does he?” He shakes his head slightly in apology. “Forgive me if I’m stepping over the line here, but from a medical professional’s perspective, seeing as you and him have been trying to conceive for three years, it might be that your egg and his sperm simply aren’t compatible. If the both of you have gone for fertility checkups, and nothing abnormal has shown up…”

Namjoon’s voice trails off, and he looks at you to gauge your reaction.

“Actually…” your voice is hesitant as you meet his gaze. “I’ve come to that same conclusion myself. And before I came here today, I told myself to be open to the idea of getting sperm from another man. It’s just that… I don’t know how he would take it. Obviously he might not be very open to the idea, so that’s why I came here today without telling him.”

“I see.” Namjoon’s face is completely expressionless except for the muscle that jumps in his clenched cheek as he leans back in his chair. “Do I take it that you wish to receive a sperm donation today? Without your husband knowing?”

His question lingers in the air for a few moments. Your husband can’t possibly blame you for doing this. You’ve been trying for three years with no luck. Maybe it just wasn’t fated for you to have a baby with him. Why should you be deprived of the experience of motherhood just because of fate?

“He really, really wants a baby too,” you say, fully aware that you’re not answering his question. “If this goes on much longer, if I don’t get pregnant soon… he might end up leaving me for some beautiful, young and fertile twenty something.”

“I highly doubt that,” Namjoon shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Excuse me for being inappropriate, but any man who would leave someone like you is an idiot. You’re far too gorgeous for that to happen. And from what I can tell, you’re a strong and determined woman who knows what she wants too. It would only be a loss on his part, believe me.”

His smooth words and charming smile only make the butterflies in your stomach worse. “Dr- Namjoon… you’re used to complimenting women, aren’t you? Is that how you became the top fertility specialist here?”

He lets out a loud chuckle. “My patients feel right at home with me, and what can I say? I know women… intimately. Women like you deserve to be told how beautiful they are, and you deserve to be treated right too.”

Namjoon’s double entendre makes your heart pound in your chest. “You know… you really remind me of my husband. He could sweet talk his way into anyone’s life. That’s pretty much how I fell in love with him… and that’s why I’m worried. A charming and sweet man like you must definitely have a lot of women fawning over him.”

For the first time since the appointment began, you see Namjoon blush a little as he glances away for a moment. It seems like he is not used to being on the opposite side of receiving compliments, but the shy side of him is absolutely adorable. Namjoon pushes his glasses up on his nose a little, and he scratches his neck.

“That’s a wonderful compliment, thank you,” he manages to smile professionally, but only just. “I’m sure your husband knows how lucky he is to have such a wonderful wife like you. But if you’re really worried about that… let me help you. Personally, I want to make sure you have a nice and healthy baby, one that looks just as beautiful and is as kind as you.”

Elation lights up your face as you reach forward to grasp his hands involuntarily. “Thank you so much, Dr Kim!”

Namjoon holds both of your hands in his as he stands, motioning you over to the chair in the corner. “I’ll just do a quick checkup to determine where you are in your cycle right now, and then we can discuss options for the sperm donation. There’s a gown on the back of the chair, if you could just slip off your bottoms and put that on? I’ll give you some privacy.”

Namjoon draws the curtain and leaves you alone to change. Once the curtains are drawn, you slip off your pencil skirt and underwear, putting on the gown that comes down to your knee. When you’re done, you call out to Namjoon again, and he parts the curtain.

“Just hop up there for me will you?” Namjoon holds out his hand toward the chair.

You feel his hand on your waist helping you into the slightly high chair, and he directs your legs into the stirrups that go on either side. Namjoon’s warm hands secure your legs in a comfortable position as he checks in with you frequently. Your legs are now spread wide, and you are aware that your gown has ridden up all the way to your upper thigh.

“When was your last period?” Namjoon is washing his hands over at the sink and pulling on some gloves. He grabs a large container of what you assume must be some kind of lubrication before he pushes a wheeled chair over.

“Um, about… two weeks ago?” You hazard a guess, confirming after you check your period tracking app on your phone. “Exactly two weeks ago.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Namjoon raises his eyebrows in surprise. “That means you could be ovulating right now. I’ll know when I examine your cervix and your discharge, but let me just take a quick blood sample and send that off to the nurses just to be sure.”

He comes over to your side and takes your wrist gently, cleaning your skin with an alcohol wipe before drawing a vial of blood from your arm in the blink of an eye. It doesn’t even hurt, considering the fact that you are deathly afraid of needles, because all through it Namjoon keeps your attention on him with his gentle and soothing voice, and that charming smile of his.

“Let me get that sent off…” Namjoon is frowning in concentration as he scribbles something onto a label and sticks it onto your blood sample before he parts the curtains. A second later he is back again, and he positions himself in between your legs, a gentle touch on your calf. “Results should take about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, let’s see what’s going on here, shall we?”

“That fast?” You comment in surprise. From this angle all you can focus on is how the handsome doctor looks in between your legs, and his warm touch on your skin. “Wow. Technology sure is advanced these days.”

“Sure is,” Namjoon laughs in agreement. “Now just relax for me… I’m going to part your lips now and take a look.”

You can feel Namjoon spreading your lips with two fingers as he peers closely at you, and a heated blush is on your cheeks. You feel extremely exposed in front of this handsome doctor, even more so as his fingers brush across your slit, and you realise that he doesn’t even need any lube at this point. You’re about to hastily come up with some explanation as to why you’re this wet all on your own, but Namjoon saves you the trouble.

“Very nice, there’s some clear discharge indicative of ovulation,” Namjoon smiles as he gently collects some of it on his gloved fingers, showing it to you. “See how it’s so stringy? When I pull my fingers apart it doesn’t break easily. Kind of looks like egg whites.”

You feel his fingers part your lips again and this time, they are probing at your entrance.

“I’m going to slide two fingers in this time, it’s going to go deep so that I can feel your cervix. Tell me if you feel any discomfort, alright?” Namjoon smiles at you before his head disappears between your legs again, and two of his long, slim fingers enter you.

His fingers might have looked slim just now when you were eyeing them, but when they’re deep inside you, you feel a stretch that isn’t uncomfortable, but definitely something to get used to. Your instinct is to clench your walls around his fingers; at this point you just want him to stroke that special spot inside you. You can feel that you are drenching his fingers with your arousal, so there’s no pretending that you aren’t turned on. It must be because of your ovulation that you’re this horny just from getting an examination.

“Relax, you’re clenching really tight around me,” Namjoon’s voice comes off as a relaxed laugh, and you immediately make an effort to relax. “Has it been some time since you had intercourse? You feel really tense.”

“Um, no it hasn’t,” you say truthfully. “My- my husband and I had sex just this week. A few days ago.”

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums under his breath as he withdraws his fingers a tad. “Then you must be naturally tense. I need to examine your cervix, so I’m going to use a speculum. It might feel a little cold and the stretch might hurt a little, but bear with me.”

Namjoon pulls his fingers out, and your breath comes out all at once at the loss. He turns around and ducks out to grab the needed equipment, returning a moment later with a metal contraption. You’ve had speculums inserted before at previous checkups, so it’s no big deal.

He pours some lubrication onto the part that will be inserted in you, and you try your best to relax for him. With one hand on your inner thigh holding you steady, Namjoon slides the speculum into you, and goes deeper until it nudges at your cervix. Then, he starts to turn the screw on the side so that it begins to spread your walls open slowly, until he gets a clear view of your cervix.

Being spread apart like this and allowing someone else that isn’t your husband to see the most intimate parts of you only adds to the overwhelming rush of arousal that you feel right now. On one hand you feel incredibly immature, having a crush on your fertility doctor and wishing he would just help you with your problem personally, but the more primal part of you argues that it’s perfectly reasonable. This man right here is tall, fit and good looking, he’s smart on top of all that. Why shouldn’t he be the one to give you a baby?

“All looks great here, you are most definitely ovulating, _____,” Namjoon’s voice brings you back to the present. “Cervix is soft and open, so a donation today will greatly increase your chances of success. But we can discuss that more in detail when you’re more comfortable.”

“What do you mean? I’m perfectly comfortable with a thick metal rod in me,” your joke makes him laugh as he places a hand on your inner thigh, closing the speculum and removing it from you.

With some tissue he cleans you up, wiping away some of the lube and your arousal that had smeared on your inner thigh. His gesture feels so intimate and personal that you can’t help but feel the intense desire to feel his fingers without the rubber gloves, or to feel something else of his inside you.

Namjoon glances up as he disposes of the tissue. “I’ll give you a moment, I’ll just be outside and we can discuss the sperm donor that you want.”

He slips out of the curtains, and you pull down the gown, fanning your hot cheeks as you wipe the beads of sweat from your face. Getting down from the chair carefully, you push aside the curtains, leaving your skirt off as you sit in the same chair.

Namjoon is looking through a document. “Good news, the blood test results are in. You are, in fact at the peak of ovulation now. You came at just the right time, ____.”

“Can I really get a donation right now?” You ask as Namjoon turns to type something into his computer, having shed his rubber gloves.

“Of course! In fact, as your doctor I would highly recommend you do it today. If not, you would have to wait until next month,” Namjoon says. After a moment’s consideration, he adds on, “and since you told me you and your husband just had sex recently, it would be reasonable to convince him that it is his child you’re carrying.”

There is a weighted pause as the consequences of what you’re about to do sinks in. You’re at a fertility clinic, ovulating and about to receive a sperm donation from a complete stranger. Then you’re going to go home and in a few weeks, tell your husband that you’re pregnant with his baby.

You take a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll do it today. What are the options for sperm donors?”

“Here at our clinic, we use fresh sperm samples, we never freeze them. This is to allow for maximum success rate for our patients. I can open up the database of donors that we currently have fresh samples from, and you can take a look and choose from there,” Namjoon says as he types at his keyboard, scrolling through and clicking a few times. There is a slight frown on his face as he opens a few files.

“Is something wrong, Namjoon?”

“No, no, it’s just…” Namjoon pauses to type a few more things and hits enter with a look of frustration on his face. “It’s very strange. Somehow, our database only has one donor right now. I’m not sure if this is an error, because we ensure that we have at least 20 donors at any one time…”

“Who’s the one sperm donor?” You ask out of curiosity.

“It’s a Jeon Jungkook, 50 years old with a Bachelor’s Degree at… Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry…” Namjoon looks at your troubled expression and clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I thought so too. Let me just make some calls and check if there are any other donors.”

The normally cool and composed fertility specialist looks a little frantic as he picks up his desk phone and starts to dial a number, but then you put your hands over his.

“Namjoon, it’s okay. I decided which donor I want,” you give him a confident smile as he looks up in surprise, slowly putting down the phone.

“What? You want… a 50 year old man?” Namjoon shakes his head in confusion. “Who graduated from Hogwarts?”

“No. I want you to be my sperm donor, Dr Kim.”

A shocked silence settles in between the two of you for a moment as Namjoon’s eyes widen. “B-but that would mean… your husband. You don’t want him to know right?”

“That’s right. I want my husband to think the baby is his. But in reality, it would be your baby,” you withdraw your hands from Namjoon’s and sit back in your chair. “To be honest, Doctor, I’ve been attracted to you the moment I walked in. I want my baby to be as smart as you. I hope you can give me a baby boy that will look exactly like you.”

Before the doctor can say anything else, you go on.

“You said you only use fresh samples here at the clinic right? Without any freezing,” you recall his words from earlier. “It’s just… today is the perfect day for me to get a sperm sample,” you direct your gaze at his lips with a small sigh as you say this, completely committed to your role now. “I don’t see why we should let this opportunity go to waste. You can give me a fresh sperm sample right here and right now.”

“_____, I- I don’t know what to say… your husband…” Namjoon fumbles over his words; he has trouble looking you in the eye. “A-are you saying you want me to inseminate you? Is that really what you want? Tell me.”

You stand up from your seat and make your way around the table so that you are standing beside his chair. “Yes, Doctor. I want you to give me the baby my husband couldn’t. I want to have yourbaby.”

You slide your body into his lap, feeling the crisp material of his dress pants on your thighs as Namjoon’s arms circle your waist to help you sit on him properly. His thighs feel firm under you, and his mouth is now dangerously close to your neck. You can feel his body is tense under yours, a sharp intake of breath at your words.

“Is that so? What an unfaithful wife you are.” Namjoon admonishes you, and his breath ghosts over your skin. “Asking another man to give her a baby. Tell me, has anyone other than your husband fucked you before?”

“No, not even once,” your breath is speeding up now as Namjoon caresses your waist tenderly, bidding you to spread your thighs slightly to get more comfortable on his lap. “I love my husband. I really do. But I just want a baby so bad. I’d do anything.”

“Who am I to deny such a beautiful woman the experience of motherhood?” Namjoon hums under his breath, kissing the skin just behind your ear. “If a gorgeous woman such as you says she wants a baby, then it’s my duty not only as a doctor to obey… but as a man too.”

“Please…” you can feel your thighs getting slick with your arousal, and Namjoon helps you onto your feet.

“We have to do this the proper way, to ensure maximum success rate,” Namjoon directs you to the chair again, and draws the curtains firmly shut. “Thankfully, you’re my last patient today, so we can take as long as we like. By the time you walk out of this clinic, you’ll definitely be pregnant.”

You lie back in the chair with his help, not missing the way his hands are soft and gentle, making sure your head is supported against the headrest, and your legs are comfortably spread in each stirrup. From your vantage point, you can see Namjoon begin to take off his white doctor’s coat and reveal his white dress shirt and black pants underneath, but you stop him.

“Doctor, please keep it on,” you say, reaching out to grab his wrist. “I always had a thing for the whole hospital fantasy.”

Namjoon relents, turning around as he palms the growing bulge in his dress pants. “Does your husband know about this… fantasy?”

“No,” you answer truthfully as your eyes drop to take in the tent at the front of his pants. “No, he doesn’t know. Doctor, why don’t you make yourself more comfortable? It looks like you haven’t been able to… let go of some tension for a while.”

“What would your husband say if he saw you now? On your back with your legs spread… about to get a baby fucked into you by her fertility specialist,” Namjoon tsks under his breath as he situates himself between your legs, stroking your thighs softly. “What a pretty pussy too. Just begging to be eaten.”

“He- he would never find out,” you gasp and your back comes off the chair as Namjoon’s head disappears in between your legs, and you feel his tongue against your inner thigh. His fingers spread your lips again the way he did before, and then he is giving you open mouthed kisses directly against your clit, making your thighs shake and tremble.

You can’t see anything with the gown in the way, so with one hand you push it up to your waist. Namjoon’s blonde hair in between your thighs greets you, but the man himself is busy stroking his tongue against your clit, your juices all over his chin.

“So fucking sweet. I must say, I’ve never had the privilege to taste any of my patients before, but I bet you’re the sweetest of them all,” Namjoon places his thumb on your clit in slow circles, making eye contact with you before his tongue slides into your pussy.

Watching your fertility doctor eat you out like this must be a dream, you feel as if you’re in heaven especially when Namjoon switches to suckling your clit, and pushes two fingers deep in you. His fingers are long and nimble, hitting your sweet spot exactly right, and the delicious friction from his mouth just about sends you over the edge.

But just before you feel the knot in your lower belly snap, Namjoon pulls away with a satisfied smile, licking his lips and wiping the back of his chin with his hand.

“No cumming yet. You’ll conceive better if you orgasm with my cum right up against your cervix.” Namjoon knows exactly what a tease he’s being as he begins to unbuckle his belt, lowering his zipper and feeling the immense pressure against his cock subside just a little.

The sight of his cock awakens your desperation all over again. He is blessed both in length and girth; you surmise that the fertility specialist must be just as excited to give you a baby as you are, seeing as his cock is already fully hard. You feel a flutter of nerves as Namjoon strokes his cock and positions himself in between your legs. Trying to remember how big your husband’s cock is so that you can compare it to Namjoon’s is futile. All you can concentrate on is Namjoon as he fondles your clit, pushing three fingers inside you to prepare you.

“Please, doctor,” you push your hips toward him as a protest. Your eyes lower to his cock, already red and leaking, wishing you could wrap your hand around him and feel how warm and heavy he is. “It’s been so… hardfor me to have a baby. Please help me and my husband.”

“Don’t worry, just lie back and let me do all the work,” Namjoon pushes his underwear down, giving himself a few strokes and hissing in pleasure. His cock is engorged and angry, precum already dripping from the tip onto your inner thigh.

You can feel the head of his cock nudge against your lower lips, and your stomach tenses in excitement of finally feeling him inside you. “You feel so much bigger than my husband… fuck. A cock like that is sure to give me a baby… not like my pathetic husband.”

Namjoon places his hands on your thighs, hooking them around his waist as he begins to push the tip of his cock into you. The expression on his face is strained, his jaw is clenched at your words. The lubrication of your arousal and his precum allows him to slide in easily, but the stretch makes you wince and Namjoon swears under his breath.

“Fuck, such a tight pussy. I suspected so when I examined you just now, but it seems like even the speculum couldn’t loosen you up enough hmm?” Namjoon pauses for a moment to give you time to adjust, even though he’s barely even an inch deep. “Looks like your useless husband hasn’t been fucking you properly, or else you wouldn’t still be this tight.”

“Please fuck me properly then,” you hook your ankles around his back in an attempt to get his cock even deeper. “Show me how much better you are compared to my husband. When he fucked me I could barely even feel it.”

“Oh, you’ll feel this one alright,” Namjoon agrees with a laugh and a deep thrust of his hips that sends his cock halfway into your depths. Your walls are stretched to accommodate him, but you only urge him on, anxious to feel him all the way. Namjoon accedes to your whines and withdraws just a tad, then fucks you deep until he is buried balls deep in your pussy.

Namjoon leans over the chair to smooth a strand of hair out of your face as he presses a hand to your abdomen. “See this? I can feel my cock all the way here. Could your pathetic little husband do this?”

The veneer of professionalism is gone now as the filthy words begin to pour from his mouth. His hand is on your lower belly, where there is a slight bump from his cock being so deep inside you, and you gasp when he brings your hand down to feel it too. Never have you been penetrated so deep before, and yet the thickness of his cock leaves you almost breathless as Namjoon applies a light pressure on your lower belly.

“This is where I’ll be when I cum,” Namjoon strokes the soft skin of your belly. “Right up against your womb. Giving you a nice load of fresh sperm. Unlike your husband, I am perfectly healthy to fuck a baby into you. No pathetic weak shots of cum. No, my loads are so thick, you’ll feel every spurt against your soft, ripe little cervix.”

“Fuck me please,” you are begging, the torture of just feeling his thick length embedded inside you without even moving is getting to be too much. You attempt to push your hips against him just to feel some friction, but Namjoon’s strength pins you down to the chair. “Give me a baby.”

Namjoon pulls out and sinks back in so fast that your thighs twitch around him, hugging him closer and begging for him to go deeper and harder. Slaps of skin against skin begin to echo around the room, and soon you can feel how wet you are, dripping down your ass and completely soaking Namjoon’s heavy balls that are slapping against you.

“Yeah? You want a baby?” Namjoon’s thrusts are heavy, punishing, as if you deserve it for being such and unfaithful wife who would ask another man to give her a baby. “Whose baby do you want? Your husband’s?”

His cock seems to be splitting you apart. Your pussy is crying for relief, yet you want more of his brutal fucking. Every thrust brings his cock head right to the entrance of your womb, tapping your cervix gently as he reminds you where his cum will end up. When you don’t answer, Namjoon stops thrusting as a punishment.

“Tell me, whose baby do you want?” Namjoon asks again, rubbing his thumb against your clit and making you cry out. “You want your husband to give you a baby?”

“No!” You scream, body thrashing under him, and legs tightening around his slim waist. “I want yours. I want your baby, Doctor Kim.”

Satisfied with your answer, Namjoon resumes thrusting, abandoning his grip around your thighs as he circles your slim waist with his hands to pull you onto his cock. “This flat belly is going to be so round. Even after you’re pregnant, you’re going to keep coming back here aren’t you? Because you can’t resist a good fuck, and no one other than me can give you that.”

“Please, pl-ease,” you voice is barely there, your throat is dry. “Please keep fucking me. Even after you give me a baby.”

Namjoon chuckles as his cock sinks in deep, and he feels your walls flutter around him. “I’ll consider it after sales service for my best patient.”

You can feel your orgasm right there, just out of reach. Your clit is swollen and abused, throbbing just for a little friction that would send you over the edge. Fucked out and completely at his mercy, Namjoon places your legs back on the stirrups, spread wide as they can go as he continues with his punishing thrusts.

“Consider yourself lucky, _____” Namjoon’s thrusts are faltering as he swears under his breath. “I haven’t jerked off in nearly two weeks. You’re getting a huge load today. I hope you’re ready to get pregnant.”

You watch his sweaty face as he pushes his hair off his forehead, glasses slightly askew. His cheeks are rosy with exertion, and you want nothing more than to kiss his plush lips. “I’ve been ready for the past three years, Doctor. I want it. Give me all your cum and give me the baby I always wanted.”

Namjoon seems to want to say something else, but decides against it as he devotes the rest of his energy into his thrusts, pumping his cock in and out of you as you feel him start to twitch against your walls. The composure on his face is slowly slipping away as he pants hard against your skin, leaning over to support himself on the arm rests on either side of you as he fucks you good and deep.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t hold off much longer,” Namjoon is panting hard as he groans with exertion and pleasure. “Here it comes. Ahhhh, fuuuuck. Take it all. Take all my fucking cum!”

You gasp as he buries his cock to the hilt, feeling him hit your cervix hard one last time as he explodes. Rope after rope of warm cum drenches your womb, and you can feel his cock pulsing as he gives you every drop of his seed. After the first ten or so strong pulses of semen, it starts to slow down a little, and Namjoon thrusts in and out gently, making sure the last few spurts of cum still get as deep as possible.

It feels so wet and warm that you can’t help but relax as your pussy tightens around him to drain him dry. You can’t tell if Namjoon filled you up so much that you’re already leaking his cum, or if it’s just your arousal. Namjoon is still lazily thrusting away in your pussy, and his slower, gentler pace feels nice, but not quite what you need to reach your own orgasm.

After a minute or two, Namjoon slowly pulls out, making sure none of the cum escapes your pussy. He immediately reaches for a setting on the chair to tilt it backwards so that your hips are escalated slightly, and he secures your legs in the stirrups, making sure they’re still spread.

“We doing okay?” He comes over to stroke your hair and wipe away some of the smeared mascara on your cheek.

“I’m fine, doctor,” your eyes are closed and you are savouring the feeling of being warm and full of cum. Your pussy is still throbbing.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” Namjoon’s voice is soft as he moves away, fully aware that you haven’t cum yet.

To your surprise, a moment later you feel something metallic being inserted into your pussy again, and you open your eyes. Namjoon is back between your legs, and you realise that he’s putting the speculum back inside you and widening it so that he can see your cum drenched cervix once more.

“Just making sure you absorb all of that cum,” Namjoon reassures you with his ever gentle, reassuring hands on your skin. “Close your eyes and enjoy yourself, _____. Let me take care of everything.”

Namjoon positions himself so that he can see the flood of white cum coating your insides, and the pool of his semen just lying there. Your cervix is doing its best to soak it all up, but a little help wouldn’t hurt. Stroking your thighs gently, he places his thumb on your clit and rubs it in circles at the pace he knows you like, and sure enough, your body tenses up and your legs shake in the stirrups.

“You’re so close aren’t you?” Namjoon keeps his voice low, reaching for a medical sample jar that he had used to catch all the cum that spilled out when he inserted the speculum into your swollen pussy. He unwraps a sterile syringe to draw up the rest of the cum inside the jar. “Just need a few strokes to cum. Good girl. That’s my good girl… just relax and cum for me.”

His fingers speed up over your clit, and his eyes are drawn to the fascinating sight that is your cervix. With every tightening of your walls, your cervix is expanding and contracting, greedily swallowing down all of his cum so that the pool of semen inside you grows less and less. When you orgasm with a small whine of his name, toes curling and thighs shaking, Namjoon squirts the contents of the syringe into your womb, emptying it thoroughly as he drops a kiss on your knee.

As you calm down from your orgasm, Namjoon watches to make sure the pool of cum inside you is more or less swallowed down by your greedy cervix, before he unscrews the speculum and eases it out of you. He glances up at your face and your eyelids are droopy, chest rising up and down slowly as he helps you get your legs out of the stirrups and places them together on the chair.

“You did so well, that’s my good girl,” Namjoon comes around to kiss your forehead and stroke your cheek. “I think that’ll do it. Just rest here for a few minutes.”

“Come here baby,” you stretch out your hands for a hug, and Namjoon obliges. “How was that? Was my acting good enough?”

“Almost too real,” Namjoon admits with a laugh. “You really got me worked up there with that whole ‘my husband doesn’t know’ thing. When I said surprise me, I didn’t expect you to come up with such an elaborate scheme. I mean, you really went all the way with that roleplay!”

“So you were really shocked to see me walk in here?” You let go of him with a devious grin on your face. But then another though occurs to you. “Wait. 50 year old Mr Jeon Jungkook from Hogwarts? Did you make that up too?”

“Unfortunately I didn’t make that donor up. I think it’s a real error in our database. Probably some stupid young punk who wanted to make a quick buck and troll us at the same time…” Namjoon sighs as he shakes his head and adjusts his glasses, mumbling to himself about the calls he needs to make and the people he needs to sack. A second later, he frowns. “You’re lucky that you really are my last patient. And the whole ovulation thing- did you plan that too?”

“I thought you would have noticed since you got a notification about my ovulation on the app… but this morning you just left for work like normal,” you sit up in your chair and face him, watching his face dawn with realisation.

“Wait, that means… do you… really want to have a baby with me?” Namjoon takes your hand in his, barely able to conceal his excitement. “You’re finally ready?”

“We’ve been married for almost three years so if I don’t pop out like… ten babies for you, people are going to be doubting your capabilities,” you shrug nonchalantly, but there is a genuine smile on your face. “I’m doing it for the sake of your professional career, that’s all. And also, it’s nice to have a qualified specialist taking care of me for free.”

Namjoon is still shocked at your revelation, but he sees right through your wry comment. “I guess not everything in roleplay has to be just pretend. I’m Dr Kim Namjoon after all, and I always keep my promises.” He puts his arm around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head, one hand resting on your lower belly. “I might get you pregnant for free, but I charge for delivery.”

[kandisheek]

So Kinktober is fast approaching and I've realized that I never really compiled all the fics and kinks I've already written for Kinktober into a list. So here it is, my Kinktober 2018 masterpost (two years late but what can you do). The 2019 one will follow in a few days, the 2020 one at the end of Kinktober this year. Have fun reading!

Against a Wall: on AO3 Summary: The serum allows for some pretty creative sex and Tony gets to reap all the benefits.

Angry Sex/Hate-Fucking: Don't You Dare Assume on AO3 Summary: In the end he couldn't even remember what he said, just that it ended in Rogers slamming him up against the wall, crushing their mouths together in a painful kiss.

Aphrodisiac: on AO3 Summary: Steve gets hit with some sort of sex pollen. It must be the universe's idea of a joke to let Captain America die from horniness and make Tony his only chance at survival.

Asphyxiation: on AO3 Summary: Tony just wants to know how long he can hold his breath. That's all. Really.

Bath: on AO3 Summary: Tony was reckless enough to get seriously hurt and now he has to pay the price. Bath time with Steve. Oh joy. (It really is, though.)

Begging: One Little Word on AO3 Summary: Stark men don't beg. Too bad Steve didn't get the memo.

Bonds (Empathic): on AO3 Summary: Tony could feel Steve in his head and it wasn't even half as fun as he would've expected.

Cock-Warming: on AO3 Summary: Steve wakes up warm and he wakes up hard. Tony knows an opportunity when he sees one.

Cock Worship: on AO3 Summary: The serum had more than one unforeseen side effect. Tony really should have expected it.

Costume: Costume Party on AO3 Summary: Steve should have known nothing good would come out of Tony playing dress up. Especially if Nat and Clint got their hand in it.

Cuckolding: on AO3 Summary: Steve is used to sharing everything with Bucky. It's a good thing Tony is totally on board with that.

Dirty Talk: on AO3 Summary: Steve's away on a mission and Tony misses him. He finds a solution to the problem.

Distant/Distracted Sex: on AO3 Summary: When Tony answers the phone Steve already has his cock down his throat. And once he's there Tony has no intentions of stopping him, not even for pretentious business partners.

Feet: Foot For Thought on AO3 Summary: The sex they're having is already awesome, but there's something Tony has always wanted to try with Steve.

Food Play: Dessert Art on AO3 Summary: Steve's mom always used to say 'Don't play with your food'. She might've had a point.

Frottage: on AO3 Summary: They never made it to the bedroom.

Fucking Machine: That Fucking Machine on AO3 Summary: Steve shouldn't be so surprised that he'd come up with this. Seriously, he was Tony fucking Stark and it'd be a cold day in hell when he'd let someone best him at building a machine. ANY type of machine.

Humiliation: on AO3 Summary: Steve is shaking with anger after a failed mission. Luckily he knows exactly where to find the right person to calm him down.

Masks: on AO3 Summary: Tony knows the suit is sexy. He just didn't think Steve would agree so enthusiastically.

Mirror Sex: on AO3 Summary: Tony has watched his own sex tapes, he knows what he looks like when he comes. Steve seems adamant about making him repeat the experience though.

Orgasm Denial: Carrot and Stick on AO3 Summary: Tony has never done well with being denied anything. So Steve takes it upon himself to teach him some restraint.

Overstimulation: Keep Going on AO3 Summary: Steve doesn't really see the appeal, but if Tony wants this... who is he to deny him?

Sensory Deprivation: No Sight Nor Sound on AO3 Summary: Ever since the serum Steve has relied on his heightened senses. Having them taken away doesn't seem all that enjoyable. Tony shows him that it can be.

Size Difference: on AO3 Summary: Tony wouldn't have thought that he'd ever enjoy feeling smaller than somebody else, but here we are.

Sleepy Sex: on AO3 Summary: Tony gets the best kind of wake-up call.

Smiles/Laughter: Laughter and Smiles on AO3 Summary: Tony never thought he'd hear Steve's laughter again. The reality of it is much more painful than he imagined.

Sounding: on AO3 Summary: Steve wants to try something new and Tony is always happy to provide.

Sthenolagnia: on AO3 Summary: It's fucking ridiculous. Tony is almost fifty, he's way too old to still discover new kinks.

Swallowing: Swallow on AO3 Summary: Tony was going to have words with whoever thought it would be a good idea to introduce Steve to turtlenecks.

Tickling: Tickle Me This... on AO3 Summary: Tony has known about his weird kink for years, but he never counted on Steve finding out about it.

And the bonus fic where I chose the kinks myself: Final Round on AO3 Summary: When Steve gets hit with alien slime and goes on a rampage Tony learns some things about the lengths he's willing to go to keep Steve safe.

I'm gonna challenge myself again this year to only write kinks I haven't already tried my hand at in previous Kinktober fics. If you're interested in that, you can find me on AO3. I'd love to see you there!

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Requested and written for @vfordii’s birthday which was...back in December. So...not quite six months late, but at least I had a good excuse XD I ended up writing a first draft before my hospital stay, and then had an EVEN BETTER IDEA while I was convalescing and then had to write a whole new “first” draft, which was at least supposed to cover some of the other draft and...THINGS GOT OUT OF HAND.

“Why, Kiki Seiran.” The drawl alone turns her veins to to ice water; it’s only the strength of her spine and the grit of her teeth that stems a shiver. Or a right hook; Kiki’s always been a bit mixed up with her fight-or-flight. It’s what makes a good ranger. “As I live and breathe.”

She’s tempted not to give him the satisfaction of being noticed-- he doesn’t deserve hers after the stunt he pulled-- but he’s perverse enough to find that sort of behavior encouraging, as if getting under a woman’s skin was some prelude to foreplay.

“Hisame Luigis.” Her teeth chomp down on the last syllable, strangling the hiss she wants to make it. A snake like him deserves to be greeted in kind, after all. “I wouldn’t expect to see you here.”

Not after the last time, she doesn’t say, because despite her personal feelings, her father didn’t raise her to start a fight-- just finish them. Which she already had, sending Hisame scurrying out of the shatterdome with his tail between his legs.

(Must be hard for him to sit in that helo, Mitsuhide rumbles, standing close as they watch it take off, sound muted by the thickness of the windows. She spared him a raised brow, and he grinned. The way his ass must be smarting.

He gets a laugh out of her. She hadn’t thought it possible, right then.

Spurned by both the drift and you, he clucks, shaking his head. He’ll need medical to give him an ointment or something.

She’d been embarrassed by the whole thing, by being made a woman instead of a ranger in front of all her colleagues, years more experienced than she, and she’d thought she’d never recover, never get over the humiliation, but--

Well, she’s never heard her partner be uncharitable before. Might as well enjoy it. Maybe they can give him something to get his head out of his ass too.

Nah. Mitsuhide turns back to the window, eyes fixed to where the helo hovers in the skyline. I think that’s a chronic condition.

Kiki coughs on a laugh. The foot in his mouth certainly is.)

The line in front of them shudders, then trudges forward, and Kiki braces herself. His personality might be as thrilling as the scum on the dome’s flight deck, but he’s a ranger, just like her, plucked from a PPDC family whose illustrious history is only outstripped by her own and maybe the Wisteria’s. She’ll have to face him-- quite literally-- at some point, and it might as well be now.

Besides, it’s been five years. People change. Hisame may not be his father, nor his brother, but he could at least be tolerable now.

She dares a glance behind her, and it’s the same infuriatingly handsome face that smirks back at her, only this time he fills out his flight suit better. He might be less boyish around the edges, but it looks like insufferable douche isn’t a stain that comes out in the wash.

White teeth flash at her from between smirking lips. “I was invited.”

She somehow manages not to balk, not to say, I didn’t realize we were scraping the barrel for the dregs.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here either,” he admits, insinuating his tray beside hers on the rail. “In the mess, I mean. I would have though General Seiran’s daughter would merit better fare than the grunts.”

The rim of her tray wobbles beneath her grip. These people would die for him, die with him, and he calls them grunts.

“What can I say,” she says, turning to him with a smile drawn thin, plate outstretched for dinner, “I can’t resist some good old shit on a shingle.”

She has the distinct pleasure of watching the color leave his smug little face as a healthy heaping of the caf’s beef stroganoff plops down on her plate. If only he hadn’t been so eager to dog her heels, he might have noticed just which line he got in.

“Yum yum,” she adds, because she’s never been a woman to shy from twisting the knife. “My favorite.”

“Ah, of course,” he manages faintly, handing over his own plate. “You have always struck me as a woman of...simple pleasures.”

“Simple pleasures,” she agrees, “and unmovable opinions. Enjoy your time in the dome, Luigis.”

She doesn’t add, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. He’s a smart boy-- he knows how to read between the lines.

“I don’t know how you eat that.” Zen eyes her stroganoff warily, nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t think the recipe has changed World War Two.”

She slides into the last available seat, so close she nearly elbows the jaeger mechanic next to her. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Mitsuhide hums on her other side, and she feels the rumble in her elbow, warm and pleasant. Kiki’s not a fan of eating at the designated meal times-- Zen’s the one that likes to see and be seen by the adoring masses, not her-- but being crushed in like sardines does have its perks, sometimes.

Zen opens his mouth-- to complain, she assumes, since he habitually gripes about the mushrooms being too fragrant for his taste-- but she sweeps in before he can get a word out with, “Luigis is here.”

His jaw drops. Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his milk.

“Hisame Luigis?”

As much as she would love to rag him, to say what other Luigis is there?-- it’s a valid question. With a general for a father and a ranger for a brother, any one of them had a better reason to be here than Hisame did. Too bad; teasing Zen was the best entertainment she could get in the dome.

“What does he think he’s doing here?” His arms fold tight over his chest. “Did he not get humiliated enough the last time?”

“Well, you know,” she drawls, scooping up a forkful of her dinner, “for some people it’s a kink.” While he’s sputtering, she adds, “He says he was invited.”

Mitsuhide frowns into his stoganoff. “Invited?”

“By who? My brother?” Zen shakes his head, emphatic. “Last time he was here, Izana was happy to see the back of him.”

She shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

“But who else could?” Mitsuhide sits back, thoughtful. “There’s not a lot of people who could go over a Marshal’s head, not even here.”

Kiki shovels a bite of beef into her mouth. “Garrack.”

They both sit back at that, uncomfortable. “But for what?” Mitsuhide presses, sounding strained. “He hasn’t piloted a jaeger outside of the simulations.”

“And they can’t be trying to put him in one.” Zen shoved peas around on his plate, mullish. “The neural handshake’s only meant for two, and with Hisame’s ego taking up the second chair, I don’t know how anyone else would fit.”

She can’t help but grin at that. “Maybe they’re making a three-pilot jaeger.”

“Wasn’t China working on something like that?” Zen’s expression turns speculative, distracted. “Something...Typhoon wasn’t it? Triplets were piloting it.”

“Crimson Typhoon,” she corrects, “based out of Hong Kong.”

“Right, and then Japan said they could seat seven.” He shakes his head. “Good thing nothing came of that. Sounds like a disaster from start to finish.”

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” she agrees.

“Maybe it’s a single ranger jaeger,” Mitsuhide says, and she nearly laughs until she realizes he’s serious.

“Single ranger?” she echoes, dubious. “Can’t be done.”

“Or they’d be tiny,” Zen scoffs, waving a hand. “There’s no way you could pilot a mech as big as Rex all by yourself.”

“Can’t be that then.” Kiki’s mouth quirks. “Hisame Luigis could never suffer being smaller than anyone else.”

Mitsuhide flushes a red so deep it looks painful, studiously applying himself to his dinner as if it might make make him less noticeable. Too bad being six-foot-fuckable and a head taller than half the folks in the mess didn’t lend itself to invisibility.

Zen grins, smelling blood on the water that for once isn’t his. “Right. We all know that’s for-- ah, fuck.”

Kiki takes in his wide eyes, his pinched mouth, and twists her chin over a shoulder. Her stomach knots just think that snake could be right behind her, knowing she still talks about him and inferring all sorts of idiotic encouragement from it, but--

But she only sees a bright red bob lingering over by the chafing dishes, sticking out like a buoy on a choppy sea.

She frowns. Shirayuki was usually cause for excitement, or at least Zen making an ass of himself trying to impress her. There should be a sudden, manic search for stories sedate enough to tell but funny enough to entertain, since the good doctor apparently labored under the misconception that Zen was intentionally witty, and didn’t just bumble into cleverness completely by accident, but today--

Today there’s a lean body that curves beside hers, a slim question next to Shirayuki’s bright exclamation. It’s The Asshole.

Or at least, that’s what Zen calls him. The jury’s still out for her.

“What’s he doing here?” Zen grumbles, churning rice across his plate.

Mitsuhide takes in a breath, measured, and says, “Waiting for you.”

Zen glowers, hunching over his dinner. “I know that. I mean, what’s he doing here with Shirayuki?”

Kiki glances over her shoulder, watching as The Asshole bends down, Shirayuki laying a hand on his shoulder as she yells something over the din, and doesn’t say, flirting.

She shrugs. “Seems like Shirayuki can handle him just fine.”

He glares. “I know that. She just shouldn’t be around a jackoff like him.”

Mitsuhide sets his jaw, and oh, she can read every word he won’t say like it was printed across his forehead: We don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a jackoff. He’d never say it-- and not just because Mitsuhide didn’t truck with words like jackoff and douchebag-- but because he knew to wait until Zen was listening. Which he wasn’t going to now, not with his hackles all raised because the Asshole was in the same room, daring to breathe the same air.

Kiki doesn’t have the same compunctions. “Do we even know if he’s a jackoff?”

Zen sputters, dropping his fork in consternation. “Of course we do! He acts like one every time I walk into the room.”

She glances at Mitsuhide, and his gaze is already darting away. If he isn’t going to point out Zen’s probably earned it, it’s definitely way above her paygrade.

“Every time! Calling me master and reminding me he’s at my beck and call and awaiting my leisure,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I bet he’s over there right now, telling her I’m getting high-handed or something. Like I’m keeping him here to jerk his chain.”

Kiki lifts a brow. “Aren’t you? Izana isn’t going to let him out of the dome until you--”

“I know what he thinks,” Zen snaps, “and it’s not happening. My brother is just going to have to get used to the idea.”

Her brows reach even higher. Izana Wisteria didn’t get to be the youngest Marshal in the history of the PPDC by being the first one to flinch.

Mitsuhide clears his throat, pointed. “And you plan to keep him waiting the whole time?”

Zen blinks. “What?”

“The Asshole,” Kiki clarifies when Mitsuhide balks. “While you’re playing your game of chicken with Izana, he’ll be waiting. Right here. In the dome. Making...friends.”

They all look toward the bright splash of red hovering at the edge of the mess, tray in hand. Shirayuki’s face lights when she sees them, hand half-raised--

And falls. Kiki doesn’t need to look to know what sort of face Zen is making, not when Shirayuki spins so suddenly away, hooking her hand around The Asshole’s arm and steering him away.

“I’m not drifting with him,” Zen says, shoving his tray away from him. “I’m not.”

“Good,” Kiki hums, mouth quirking at a corner. “Be a pity for him to leave when he’s getting along with Shirayuki so well.”

Zen glares at her, mouth pulling thin. “I’m not hungry. Enjoy yourselves.”

She’s supposed to be asleep. Or at least, that’s what the dome’s light pattern it trying to tell her; when she turns on her lights, it’s set to the soft night-time glow.

Shirayuki explained all that once, in her patient, bubbly way: bodies are supposed to use natural light to tell what time it is, and living in a bunker with no windows is one of those things that throws off its entire groove. The mood lighting is supposed to help, subtly dimming and brightening so their brains get the signal that it’s time to sleep or time to work.

Kiki flicks it off with a grimace. It’s a nuisance.

Darkness settles over her, the only light the painfully bright display on her alarm clock. 1:17. She lets out a huff, rolling onto her back. Definitely should be asleep.

Still, it won’t come. Hisame Luigis is here, sauntering around the dome when he has every reason to be a world away, annoying anyone else. Before today she would have said there wasn’t a single thing that could lure him to the site of his own humiliation, but now-- now she knows there is. And what it is--

Well, that’s enough to keep anyone up at night.

She sits up, swiveling to put feet on the floor. Something is happening; it’s one thing for Luigis to be here, gunning to relive all his old mistakes, but he’s not the only new face in the dome.

Her fingers clench around the edge of the mattress. Rex Tyrannous has been sitting in its box for years; Izana might say that getting it into the fray is a priority, but he never picked more than one or two recruits out of the graduating class to try, never seemed to be more than tacitly interested with how they did.

But now, now, he’s flown the whole coast to get this asshole to the dome. An asshole that doesn’t seem to want to be here any more than Zen does.

Kiki levers herself up, reaching for her clothes. Something is happening in the dome, something big.

And she knows better than to wait around to find out what.

There’s only ever been one place in the dome where she can clear her head. It’s too bad that someone’s had the same thought; as she approaches the door the the gym, Kiki can already hear the grunts of exertion coming from inside.

She swallows a sigh, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. It’s better when she has the mats to herself, when it’s just her and her thoughts and the burn of her muscles, not interrupted by the groaning of men who want to impress her--

Good thing this one doesn’t. As much as she wish he might.

Mitsuhide has his back toward the door, and she has the perfect view of the way his muscles coil as he brings his staff up, of the way they shift into sharp relief under his skin as he strikes down with an overhead blow. It’d brain anyone who didn’t block it, but with no partner he brings it up short just inches from the mat, muscle quivering with control.

It’s a sight Kiki never gets tired of. She’s half-tempted to leave her worries behind and just enjoy the show, but--

“You’re up late,” he says, breathless, rising out of his stance. Searching eyes turn toward her, his mouth down-turned with concern. “Everything all right?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs, tossing him a towel. “No Zen?”

He grunts, snatching the cloth with one hand. “He went to go talk with Izana earlier.”

Kiki grins, sauntering over to where the staves are propped against the wall. “Ah, so you sent him to bed?”

His mouth twitches at a corner, but he shakes his head, saying, all too serious, “He needed some time to cool off.”

She hefts a staff into her grip, testing it’s weight. “I’m assuming this is Asshole-related.”

Mitsuhide lets out a sigh, and they don’t need to be in the drift for her to know he means, what isn’t?

He’s already in his first stance when she steps in front of him, waiting for her to strike first. She should mix it up, try to wait him out, try to lure him into making a mistake early in the bout and riding the moral boost to victory, but--

Well, Kiki hates to disappoint.

Mitsuhide’s a big man, a practical giant, but he jumps over her sweep with a nimbleness that always stuns her. She may drift with him, living inside the corners of his mind, but she can never anticipate his speed. The way that man can move the incredible mass of his body verges on superhuman.

The butt of his staff taps her side, so soft that it’s only her pride that stings. “That’s one for me.”

She lets out a huff, shuffling back, out of his range. “The last one.”

He shrugs, but she can see the smile he tries to hide in his shoulder. “If that’s what you think.”

This time, she’s more cautious, circling the mats, advancing where he retreats. He’s more wary as well; dark eyes fixed to her, watching where she shifts her weight. He catches her first blow, and her second-- light taps, staves clacking together as soft as kisses-- but her third catches him on the thigh, and he laughs.

“One to one,” he tells her, stepping back. “Should have seen that one coming.”

She hums, mouth curving in a smirk. “You should have.”

The go back to their corners, and her body is humming with victory, alive as she watches him shift into stance, and she says, “So, do you know anything about him?”

Mitsuhide blinks, head tilting, and she clarifies, “The Asshole.”

“Ah,” he grunts, more from catching her first blow than surprise. “I can’t say I like him, but that assessment seems...unfair.”

She barks out a laugh, dodging his swing. “I don’t think Zen’s concerned about being fair.”

His mouth pulls thin, and she blocks a hit that leaves her arms vibrating. “Unearned, then.”

She nearly gets a hit on him, throwing off his staff and going for his side, but he steps back, right out of her range. “He doesn’t want to compromise.” 

“This isn’t about compromise anymore, it’s about survival.” She ducks under his follow up, a swing that probably would have left a real shiner on her shoulder. Sloppy on his part; he’s usually so careful. “He doesn’t want to trust anyone.”

She dances out of the way of a jab. “No one does in a jaeger.”

“But all of us would try,” he presses, strangely emphatic as he blocks her strike.

“We would,” she agrees, testing his guard. “If I was down, you would drift with Zen--”

His guard drops, just slightly, and it’s like the heavens are parting since right there, right there is where she can tap him--

And she does, so hard he stumbles back, unprepared. She can only stare for a moment, watching him breath heavily, head hung.

“Don’t say that,” he manages after a long moment, voice too raw.

Her fingers tighten around the staff, and she shrugs. “It could happen.”

His eyes fix on her, too intense too dark. “It won’t.”

She knows better than to tell him it’s not their choice, that every time they go out it’s a roll of the dice whether a kaiju takes them under. It’s not what a man like him needs to hear, not when his last station was up in Anchorage, so near the rift.

“Besides,” he says, shoulders straightening as he composes himself. “I should be more worried about you drifting with Luigis if this knee of mine gives out.”

She frowns. “I’d rather be eaten by a kaiju.”

“Well, that would be the other choice,” he informs her brightly, sliding into his stance. “Two-to-one.”

“I know the score,” she snaps, sending a hit to his legs, a sweep he easily sidesteps. “That better not be the reason he’s here.”

Mitsuhide raises a brow. “Back up?”

She smirks. “That you’re getting old.”

“I’m younger than Izana!” he protests, trying to hook his staff around her knees. She jumps over it, missing the timing on the stomp to keep his bo on the floor.

“And he’s sitting behind a desk,” she replies, enjoying herself far too much. “Maybe it’s time for you to push some paper--”

“He has other reasons,” Mitsuhide grouses, retreating as she advances. “Not because he’s old.”

“They can’t be thinking he’ll drift with Zen,” she reasons, “even if this asshole doesn’t work out, he’ll never agree to it.”

Mitsuhide hums absently, fending off her advance, and she presses. “Right?”

“R-right,” he answers. “Zen really only wants one pilot--”

His staff takes her right in the side, and she’s not ready, stumbling to the ground. With a huff, she sits on her ass, shaking her head. “And it’s not any of us.”

“No,” Mitsuhide says with a grin, offering her a hand up. “It’s not.”

She takes it, levering up to her feet and brushing herself off.

“You know...” Mitsuhide’s face takes a wistful bent, almost thoughtful. “Way back, when Atri--”

Kiki perks. She’s been at the dome a long time, but Atri predates even her, here and gone before she’d even stepped foot on the tarmac.

His lips wrap tightly around his teeth, stopping the words he means to say. “Never mind. Two-two. Next is match point.”

She smirks. “I hope you don’t mind losing.”

He smiles, stepping back into his stance. “Not to you.”

When Izana had mentioned they were hiring on a therapist, Kiki had been skeptical, to say the least. He’d gone on to expound on the newest data, how rangers and support staff alike were suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress at higher and higher rates each year, how having an individual focused on the mental health of a dome had reduced the number of accidents in the hangar and fights in the mess, but--

It’d been clear: Garrack was the one twisting his arm on it, and Izana never got in a fight he couldn’t win.

Kiki’s been in the PPDC her whole life, even if it wasn’t in uniform, and among them, stoicism was less a personality trait and more a way of life. If you didn’t have your emotions on lockdown, if your mental vault didn’t have tighter security than Fort Knox, a drift could break you into pieces. It could break your partner into pieces. She’d seen it happen before, dozens of times.

Talking all that out nicely on a couch didn’t really fit with the aesthetic. Or so she’d thought, until she met Shirayuki.

“Thank you for coming,” the good doctor says brightly, taking tea Kiki offers. “I mean, for inviting me! I’m sorry, I’m just so used to, um...”

Kiki can’t help but smile as she takes her seat, cup warm in her hands. It’s not hard to see why Zen likes her so much, not when she’s flushed just from that little slip. “I understand.”

Relief blooms across her face. “Oh, good! It’s nice to not be drinking alone in my office, for once. I mean, tea! Drinking tea! Oh...”

Kiki smothers a snort with a sip of her tea. “I know what you mean. Though honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if I had to listen to Zen’s problems.”

Shirayuki looks as if she might protest, trying to come to the rescue of her patient, but she must catch her wry tone and the smile lurking at the corner of her lips, because she just stops. “From what I understand, you already do.”

Kiki stares. “You’re right. I should start insist on being paid.”

A laugh bursts from Shirayuki, so bright and earnest it surprises her. “I’d listen to him anyway, but--” she leans in, dropping to sotto voce-- “it does help, sometimes.”

She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her, but it’s worth it to see the way Shirayuki flushes, two bright spots on the apples of her cheeks. “Thank you for coming. There’s not a lot of women in the dome, and it’s nice to just...chat, sometimes.”

“I agree!” Shirayuki tells her eagerly. “There’s more women in K-science than on the deck, but still-- it’s nice to just have a cup of tea and not have to listen to Suzu talk about his numbers.”

Kiki raises a brow. “Suzu’s invited to your girls’ tea?”

“Well.” She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea. “We don’t really have girls-only outings. But if we did, he’d invite himself, and then talk exclusively about his algorithm. The only thing that gets him to stop is Yuzuri--” she coughs, flushed-- “anyway, this is far nicer.”

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t provide better tea service.” She nods at the offerings on the table: buttery crackers with hard cheese, and cookies so crunchy they’re more like hard tack than a treat. “I asked the kitchen if they could make scones, and I’m not sure the cook even knew what one was.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki sets down her cup with a clatter, wincing at the sound. “This is perfect, really. When you first asked me to come I was afraid that Zen had asked you to-- ah--”

She claps her hands to her cheeks, mortified. “Never mind. This has been a pleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Kiki smothers a grimace as she sets down her own mug. “You thought that Zen asked me to talk to you about--”

“Obi, yes.” She spins her cup slowly, as if looking for anything to keep her hands busy. “I know he doesn’t like him. He’s been...vocal about that.”

To put it lightly. “We don’t know anything about him. He’s concerned.”

“I understand that.” Her mouth curves in a wry, almost chagrined smile. “And I understand that being in the dome doesn’t really allow...typical professional-patient relations. But it would be nice if his concern at least took into account that I’m an adult who can make her own decisions.”

Kiki takes a sip of tea to cover her grimace. It’s a fair assessment; there are times where she’s sure Zen doesn’t even remember that his therapist has a doctorate in psychology, let alone is an authority in her field.

“Besides,” Shirayuki sighs, dunking a cookie in her tea. “You could say that about anyone. It’s just that you can say that about Obi especially.”

“You must know all about him,” Kiki presses, leaning in just the smallest amount. “Since you have access to everyone’s files.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki shakes her head, hair splaying over her shoulders. “I can’t access anyone’s files unless they consent to treatment. Or, at least, not unless I’m given an emergency override by the Marshal.”

“Oh. Huh.” She settles back in her chair, stymied. “Well, I suppose that makes me feel better.”

Shirayuki blinks, eyes wide. “You didn’t think that I had...?”

Read her file and formed her opinions already? It’s what Kiki would have done, coming into a situation as hostile as the good doctor. “You had to pick your patients somehow.”

Her cheeks flush, differently this time, two angry splotches that spread from jaw to temple. “Treatment is voluntary,” she reminds her firmly. “And even if I could read every record, I wouldn’t. Even with my patients, I prefer to have them tell me something in confidence rather than scrolling through a file. Trust--” she fixes Kiki with an earnest look-- “is the most important currency I can earn in my line of work.”

It’s a good sentiment, and an honest one, but Kiki hums, unconvinced. “But you’ve looked at Zen’s haven’t you?”

Her mouth pulls into a guilty grimace. “I-- I hadn’t, not at first. But when Izana told me he was bringing someone into the dome to drift with him, and that they were going to need to be reintegrated, I, um, well...”

Kiki raises a brow. “You looked.”

Her chin drops to her chest, chagrined. “I...did. I thought he might have...” She hesitates, finger once again rotating her cup on the saucer. “I thought it could have been Atri.”

Her hand tightens on her mug. Atri. The second time she’s heard that name this week. “Is that so.”

Shirayuki sighs. “We’ve been working for months, but Zen just...doesn’t choose to talk about it.”

Funny, how no one does around here.

“Which is fine!” she continues, breathless. “But if Izana was going to bring him back, then--”

Kiki nods. “Then you needed to know who he is.”

“Exactly.” Her shoulders drop in relief, the tension leaving her body on a breath. “I mean, especially if Izana was going to have me treat him--”

“Atri?” She blinks. “You thought he would want you to treat Atri?”

“Well, he, ah...” Shirayuki leans in, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “He asked for my help.”

“Izana.” She’s a broken record, just repeating everything the doctor says. “Izana asked you for help. Specifically.”

“I know.” Shirayuki shifts, just as uncomfortable with the thought. “He told me this was a-- a special case.”

A special case. “So he must have given you access to his file, then. If it’s so...special.”

“Well, yes.” She fiddles with her cup. “Parts of it, at least. But Obi doesn’t seem interested in therapy--” no, Kiki can’t help but think, just the therapist-- “and, ah, it felt...too intrusive to look.”

It probably wouldn’t have done her any favors making friends either, but Kiki knows that’s a thought best left on the hangar deck. “Parts of his file?”

“Oh, um, yes.” Her eyes dart around the room, as if she half suspects Izana would be lurking just around a cabinet. Fair, considering the thing that man knows. “He only had authorization to open up the vitals to me. Everything else was classified. Even his birthday!”

Classified. Kiki take a sip from her mug. “How interesting.”

“Kiki.” Her father’s voice is as comforting as a warm blanket and hot milk, just the thing she wants to hear at the end of a long day. “What a surprise. We just had our weekly chat--” she can hear him flipping through his datebook-- “not even two days ago.”

“I need to ask you something.” She tucks the phone deeper into her shoulder, turning her back to the group of young pilot-wannabes that swagger through the mess. She’d love to do this where there was more privacy, but it’s the only place with reception in the whole dome, unless she wants to explain to K-science what she’s doing. “A favor.”

“Please,” Father sighs, pained. “You know I don’t keep track of that. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Kiki bites down on her lip. It’s his job to take care of his rangers, to make sure there’s no kaiju to wipe out Seattle, and as much as he’d been her dad too-- there was only room to do one job well.

“There’s a file I need you to look at,” she says, voice pitched low, watching the idiots horse around at the window. Must be fresh off the deck if they’re that cocky this close to open water. “Personnel. I’ll send the information over to you.”

“Oh my,” he hums, far too amused. “Should I let Mitsuhide know you’re looking at another man?”

She only manages to half smother the grunt out of her throat. “Just let me know what you find, all right?”

“Of course, princess.” Her teeth grit down until he adds, “Good hunting.”

Izana’s mouth curves as she enters his office, amusement only growing as she drops into the chair across from him and glares across the wide expanse of his desk.

“Ranger Seiran,” he drawls, sitting back, fingers laced on is lap. “To what to I owe the pleasure?”

“Obi,” she says. “Who is he?”

His lips tip into a smirk. “The next co-pilot of Rex Tyrannous, once my brother gets over himself.”

“Don’t do that.” Her knuckles blanch where they clench her knees. “Not with me.”

“No.” He grows serious. “Not with you. But come now,” he raises a brow, “surely you can find out what you need on your own.”

She lets out a long breath, fingers twitching where they lay. To think, she had longed for a sibling, even knowing the Wisterias.

“Ah, I see,” he hums, all too pleased. “Your father couldn’t get you what you needed.” His teeth flash from behind his lips. “Now, now. If that’s the case, you can’t possibly think you’ll get anything out of me.”

“No,” she admits, grudging. “Not about that.”

That intrigues him. “Oh my, then what would bring you all the way here for a visit?”

“Hisame Luigis.”

All the humor drains from him, his back stiffening against the chair. “He hasn’t bothered you.”

It’s not a question, it’s a promise, and some part of her eases. “No, he hasn’t. Why is he here?”

Izana tilts his head, letting the thick shadows in his office obscure his expression. “That is need-to-know information, Ranger Seiran. “

“And I don’t need to know?” she demands, and even shadowed, she can see how his mouth pulls, pained. “After the last time, you don’t think I deserve to know?”

He stands, pacing to where a large painting sits on his wall. “It’s Confidential.”

She grits her teeth. “I see.”

As she stands, he inhales sharply, and she turns.

“Come now, Kiki,” he murmurs into the space between them. “You’re a clever girl. It’ll come to you, if you think about it.”

She lets out a long breath. “I don’t think we have time for that.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing for it to go to the source.

Not much may be known about this Mystery Asshole, but Kiki’s observant, and he’s been on her radar from the start. And if there’s one thing she’s noticed: he doesn’t like people.

Not that he’s rude; oh no, he only vents his spleen in Zen’s direction, which even she can admit is well-earned. But if he’s got a choice between a full mess and an empty gym, she knows exactly which one he’ll choose.

Which is how she finds him, back pressed to the bench, lifting with no spot in the middle of a deserted gym.

Her mouth pulls thin. Only an idiot would risk it, but then again-- it’s not like anyone would offer to help him, not when they could end up on the bad side of at least one Wisteria. These rangers might all talk tough about facing kaiju in the raging Pacific, but one harsh word from Zen and they’re all chicken shit.

With a grunt, she slides in above his head, hands out and ready. “You’re some mystery,” she says, ignoring the way he gapes at her, “aren’t you?”

His jaw snaps shut, mouth pulling into a grimace. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”

She lifts a brow. “You’re a ranger, but no one in the whole dome’s ever heard of you.”

He does a single rep, racking the barbel with not a single sign of strain. “I hung up my flight suit a long time ago.”

“There’s people here who can list every pilot since Mark 1,” she scoffs, “time isn’t the issue.”

“I didn’t distinguish myself,” he explains, wry, rolling up the bench, grabbing the towel from behind him. “One run wonder, you know.”

She crosses her arms, watching as he towels off the rigid bristle of his hair. “Your file’s so confidential not even generals can access it.”

“Ah, well.” He cocks a brow from under his towel, mouth rucked up in a grin. “Did someone make daddy try?”

It’s not until her knuckles crack, harsh like gunfire in the empty room, that she realizes she’s clenched her fists at all. The Asshole only gets more smug. “Maybe I just value my privacy.”

“You lost that by coming back here,” she tells him, tight, as he stands, unfurling half a head taller than her. Still, she didn’t get on the flight deck by being cowed by a few inches. “Not just anyone gets offered a seat in Rex Tyrannous.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” He slings the towel around his neck, turning toward the door. “As soon as the prince deigns to let me in his head, we can all go home.”

Kiki is a Seiran, a name that commands respect in every dome in the Pacific. Conversations end when she says they end, and no one has ever put their back to her.

But this Asshole just starts to walk away, like she isn’t a general’s daughter, like her mother didn’t save a whole city, like she’s some rookie straight out of the academy.

“Hey.” She grips his arm hard, fingers wrapped like talons. “I’m still--”

There’s no warning; one minute she’s got a hand on him and the next she’s on the ground, jaw radiating pain like the heart of a jaeger. She lifts a hand to it, and oh, that is gonna leave one hell of a bruise.

“Fuck.” Obi stares down at her, those strange gold eyes wide and jaw slack, horror etched in every line of his face. “Jesus.”

She gets to her feet, knees wobbling beneath her. Asshole didn’t kid around when he laid one on you, that’s for sure.

“Hell,” he hisses, hands hovering around her, like he can’t decide whether to help her or ignore her. “Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t even--”

Okay, that’s enough.

She’s smaller than him, lighter built, but she knows how to pack enough wallop to send him stumbling back. Her knuckles sting-- he’s got a hard head for a boy with such delicate cheekbones-- but it’s worth it to see his face ruck up in confusion, to see him cradling his own jaw.

“All right,” he laughs after a long moment, shaking himself out. “That’s fair.”

“It is,” she agrees, stepping up to him. “But it was my fault. Let’s try this over. I’m Kiki Seiran.”

She thrust out a hand, and he just stares, like he think it might bite him. Fair enough; her other one is still red from where she hit him.

“Right.” His own hand envelops her own, giving it a good firm squeeze. “I’m Obi.”