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incognit0slut · 3 days ago

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A little death

Softcore In which you provoke his jealousy, and he learns a lot more about himself.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 8.3k…. yeah Content: Jealous spencer, bratty reader, dom!spencer, fingering, edging, overstimulation, squirting again (do NOT look at me i am just a girl), and voyeurism if you squint bc someone overhears them a/n: don't you just looove it when they match each other's freak

Spencer doesn’t get jealous.

Jealousy, he believes, requires a certain level of entitlement. He’s never really had that. Never let himself believe he owed anyone’s affection, let alone their attention when his romantic history is threadbare at best, sparse enough that he could count past relationships on one hand and still have fingers left untouched.

Even calling them relationships feels generous. Fleeting moment of interest sounds more accurate, a handful of clumsy encounters that never made it past the shallow end of connection. False starts, quiet exits. Nothing solid or lasting. Certainly nothing that ever made him feel like he had the right to be possessive — not since he learned, in the cruelest of ways, that love and loss could be spoken in the same breath.

So no, he doesn’t get jealous. He’s never been presumptuous enough to think that someone could be his to lose in the first place.

Yet what he feels right now is something uncomfortably close to it.

It’s inconvenient, very uncharacteristic of him. And when he catches himself spiraling over things that defy reason, he attempts to pin it down with logic. The empirical part of his brain would call this a reaction to perceived threats to his social attachments. A primal response encoded in his DNA for survival and mate retention, which is nothing more than an evolutionary glitch. A relic of human competition.

A defense mechanism.

A biochemical reaction.

But knowing the terminology doesn’t stop the twist in his stomach as he watches the pretty curve of your smile settle on that overgrown boy scout of a man.

And you’re not even his.

Not in any official capacity. Not in any way that grants him the right to feel this way. Still, there’s something aggravating in the notion of another man soaking in your attention.

"I'm serious," a confidently smooth voice declares.

His gaze flicks to the side, just enough to catch Detective Palmer standing a little too close beside you. The same man who had spent the past two weeks slipping in offhand flattery towards your way whenever the opportunity came.

Unprofessional would be a strong adjective to describe what’s happening in this tight space when there’s technically nothing wrong with a little friendly praise. But Spencer has seen enough human interaction — has studied enough human behavior — to know the difference between a compliment offered in good faith and one laced with ulterior motives.

Motives that aren’t as pure as they appear. Surely, you see it. You must see it. He refuses to believe that someone as sharp as you is oblivious to the way Palmer’s shoulder barely brushes yours under the guise of casual proximity. But then you tilt your head and let out the loveliest laugh. A sound Spencer has never been on the receiving end of.

And his vision starts to blur.

“No, you’re not,” you chide. Teasingly, he notes. A hand on your hip, the other clutching a file. You’re currently in the middle of clearing out the desk everyone has been using for the past couple of days.

“I am,” Palmer counters. “Think about it. Steady hours, less travel. You wouldn’t have to worry about flying all over the country.”

“I don’t mind the travel.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice to have some stability?”

“Stability?”

“And a place where your work doesn’t get buried under a mountain of paperwork.” He cocks an eyebrow. “You’d be able to focus on what you do best without all that bureaucratic red tape.”

“Well, I happen to like politics,” you say, slipping a another document onto your growing pile.

“No one likes politics,” the man scoffs lightly. “People tolerate it, and I don’t take you for the kind of person who enjoys tolerating things.”

The prickling sensation burns behind his eyelids now. Spencer can’t decide whether it’s from his contacts settling uncomfortably out of place, or if he’s forgotten to blink while listening to this nonsense. It gets even worse when you shift your weight, subtly pushing your hip against the edge of the table.

He can’t tell if the curve of your mouth is leaning toward a smirk or a frown. “I’m actually more patient than I look.”

Palmer clearly sense an opening. “Patience is one thing, tolerating missed chances is another. Especially when a better opportunity presents itself.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what you’re saying is I should quit my job and settle down in a quiet little town where, oh I don’t know, you’ll take all the credit for my work?”

Even your sarcasm seems to delight the man. “Not at all,” he grins widely. “I’m saying I’d make sure you get all the credit you deserve.”

The stack of papers in his grip slaps against the table with a deliberate thud. Two sets of eyes snap toward him. One pair burning a pointed hole into his skull, and the other narrowing in awareness that someone else is very much listening to the conversation.

Spencer keeps his head down.

“We should discuss this somewhere else,” Palmer proposes, eyeing him once more before shifting his attention back to you. “Tonight. Over dinner.”

His reflex betrays him. His head lifts before he can stop it, eyes finally landing on the man he’s been stubbornly avoiding.

And he immediately wishes he hadn’t. Because Palmer is… pretty decent to look at. Polished. Light, neatly trimmed hair, sharp cheekbones, and a confident set to his jaw that speaks of someone who’s never had to work too hard to hold attention.

He also seems young. Not inexperienced, exactly, but young enough that the difference is painfully noticeable. Young in a way Spencer can’t help but acknowledge, with the easy confidence of someone closer to your age than his own. Closer to the kind of man he imagines people expect you to be with that it would be easy to find you together in one of those chic little restaurants this town probably prides itself on.

But you’re awfully quiet, and he wonders if even half of his existence resides in your mind right now. He finds himself waiting for your answer too, against his better judgment, as he sweeps up stray papers and photographs scattered along the surface.

“Unless… you have someone waiting for you back home?”

His fingers press into the worn edges of the papers and skirts around the table. A quiet shift in orbit as he walks just within the edges of your periphery.

Your gravity pulls him without permission, an invisible thread compelling him into alignment. A cautious step left, another hesitant drift to the right. By the time his shadow spills gently across your shoulders, he isn't sure you’ll acknowledge his presence — or if you’ll pretend not to feel anything at all.

“So, do you?”

You clear your throat, then offer Palmer a shrug.

“No, I don’t.”

He quickly falls off your orbit.

“Perfect,” Palmer chimes, extremely pleased with your answer. “I’ll pick you up at Seven.”

Spencer crosses the short distance toward the door as your eyes follow the taut muscles of his back.

“Sure. Seven it is.”

He stalks out of the room without a word.

Time is supposed to be constant. Linear. A dependable, predictable stream moving forward at exactly the same pace. But it starts to feel uneven after he left the precinct. Minutes stretch themselves thin while seconds snap by in disorienting bursts, turning the hours into something unbearably long and frustratingly fast.

At five fifteen, Spencer steps into his hotel room and heads straight for a cold shower, hoping the water might wash away the tension clinging to his skin. It doesn’t.

At five forty-seven, JJ calls him about the team heading to the local bar for one last night out before flying home tomorrow. He politely declines.

At six twenty-two, he opens War and Peace he had stuffed into his bag for the trip, but the words slip past his focus.

At six thirty-eight, he gives up entirely, his feet pulling him into restless loops across the carpeted floor.

By six five zero hour, he’s already knocking on your hotel room.

It takes exactly forty-two seconds before the latch clicks and the door swings open — then he forgets how to speak.

You’re standing there in a blouse and slacks he’d seen you wear earlier this week. Nothing is out of the ordinary, yet somehow the familiarity feels different. A few buttons at your neckline remain undone. Your hair is styled differently, and though he doesn’t fully grasp the concept of makeup, he notices how your lips are a shade warmer.

There’s no question in his mind that your beauty has always captivated him, but then his eyes catch on the delicate stretch of skin along your cleavage, and suddenly his mouth turns sour.

A deep scowl knots between his brows. “You’re really going?”

Your chin lifts up at the judgement in his voice. “Excuse me?”

“With Palmer. You’re actually planning to go?”

Silence, then you square your shoulders.

“Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”

He does. In fact, he has at least half a dozen reasons that are all perfectly logical and justified, but there isn’t a way to voice them without sounding like a jealous fool. So he settles for the simplest objection he can manage.

“You barely know him.”

You’re clearly not impressed by his argument. “He seems nice.”

“You think he’s nice when he’s trying to sell you the idea of staying here?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what he has to offer.”

He can't decide which is worse. The thought of you entertaining another man or that you might actually be considering something bigger than that. A different job. A different city. A whole different life, one that unfolds without him in it. There is no mistaking the tension carving itself across his face.

“Why are you doing this?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Why do you care?”

His breath pulls in sharply through his nose.

A fairly good question, and he can’t think of an answer. At least not one that wouldn't cross a line you've both silently agreed not to cross. He knows the rules with you — he helped make them. Casual. Unattached. Simple in theory, but infinitely complicated in practice. You don’t owe him the space you take up in his thoughts.

If anything, he’s the one who owes you. For letting things be what they are even when it doesn’t always make any sense. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he started taking everything for granted, or when he stopped wondering if you’d stay and started assuming you would.

He realizes how precarious that assumption is. The notion carries his feet forward until he looms over you, close enough to feel the gentle warmth rising from your skin. Close enough to remind him it’s been nearly a month since he’s spent any real time in your proximity. A month defined by long, relentless cases and a tension that hasn’t faded since the night he confronted you for stepping too close to danger.

A danger he thinks hasn’t exactly passed. Not entirely, because the risk isn’t concealed in some reckless threat. It’s in this room.

In the careful distance between your bodies.

In the doubt that lingers between unspoken truths.

In the quiet hesitation of his next breath.

“Because it’s late,” he decides to answer, “and you don’t really know this town.”

A flimsy excuse. One so weak that even he feels embarrassed the second it leaves his mouth.

Your lips twitches. “I think I’ll manage.”

“You don’t know what he’s expecting.”

You fail to hold your disbelief with a tiny scoff. "And you do?"

He knows nothing for certain, only what he suspects when he lets his thoughts stray too far. What he does know is that he’s never been good at expressing his feelings without making it sound accusatory or desperate. And with aggravating clarity, he realizes he’s already toeing that line. The thin line he crosses meekly as he makes the decision to close the door before he can think better of it.

An audible click echoes in the room.

He sees a myriad of emotions travel through your pinched expression. There’s a slight tightening around your eyes, a faint crease forming between your brows. Still, he closes the silver of space between you, drawn by a need he can’t quite articulate and tries to quell your confusion. Skims a wide palm over your arm with more weak excuses on his tongue.

“He’s not good for you.”

Neither is he.

“He doesn't deserve you.”

Neither does he.

It’s irony in its purest form, laid bare unapologetically in its cruelty. He knows he doesn’t have the right to say this. That if he was any better than any other man, any less selfish, he’d be the one stepping aside. Although he’d argue that logic has never done much to stop him when it comes to you.

And you look as conflicted. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards. Stop is all it would take for him to put back the distance. He’d call it a night and walk back to his room even if it left him wondering what he could have done differently.

But the tension in your stance unravels in quiet increments, each taut line of muscle easing under the rough pads of calloused fingers. Though your body relents before your mouth does. That much is clear. Stubborn is the tilt of your chin, the way your lips part to let out words that contradict the softness he feels beneath his hand.

“It's dinner,” you assert. “I can handle myself.”

Your voice comes out softer than expected, and he would pull back if you weren’t leaning toward him a fraction closer. So he hums agreeably in a way that isn’t agreement at all and trails his hand upward, unhurriedly in its journey, until it brushes the base of your throat.

Warm breath fans over his face when he thumbs over your pulse. “I mean it.”

"Mhm.”

He can tell there's very little resolve left in you. Your eyes are hooded, depriving his lips of the attention they were given. The last shred of defiance that kept you upright is gone.

“You do realize you have no right to act like this,” you manage, aiming for composed but landing somewhere closer to breathless. He treats it like permission to flush his body against yours.

“I know.”

"You can’t just… walk in here and go all alpha male on me or whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

The term feels absurd the moment it leaves your mouth.

“I’m aware,” he slowly replies, tries to soften his tone.

“You also need to let go of this ridiculous idea that you get to make any decision for me.”

He acknowledges that too, of course. Although it hardly feels like a decision when your body’s already answering for you, leaning closer despite your stubborn protests. His thumb drags along the side of your neck, right over the place where your pulse kicks the hardest.

“Should I leave then?”

He will if you ask him to, without a doubt.

He’ll question his own sanity if it comes to that.

But after painstakingly long seconds, after watching the resolve slowly dim from your dainty eyes, you gradually shake your head — to his utmost delight.

He selfishly grabs your jaw and kisses you.

There’s no time for pleasantries. No time for careful touches when every nerve in his body has been screaming your name.

His lips part like he’s been holding his breath for too long, slotting his tongue against yours while hindering your movements with fingers holding your cheek, which is unnecessary because you give in without hesitation. Wholeheartedly, like you always do. Surrendering to the rhetorical desperation of a taste you haven’t had in a month.

He tastes like smoldering tension. He tastes of a man fighting a feeling he can't seem to agree with, even as every stolen breath betrays him.

The very breath you drink — humid air thick with shared saliva. Wet in every sense. Glossed on every inch. Your mouth, your teeth, your chin. Spreading a different kind of wetness between your thighs the moment his other hand trails along the waistband of your pants.

He dips his fingers inside, bypassing layers of fabric until your mouth falls open in shock at how suddenly deep those long fingers delve between your folds.

He presses his middle finger inside you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, nipping at his lower lip, and he chastises you by inserting a second finger.

You’re not even that wet. Damp, preferably. Enough to let him in, not enough to mask the awkward stretch. Although that hardly registers when he’s too aware of the tender patch of nerves he knows will have you drenching his fingers in seconds.

You melt against his chest instantly, and it’s very much embarrassing to admit how quickly you always fold for him. One moment you're fighting off his petty arguments and the next thing, your hips undulate to chase friction, grinding down into the curl of his hand with no shame at all. Your pride barely has time to protest before it’s drowned out by the wet squelch of his fingers working you open.

You're being absolutely ravaged. He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can reach, while his fingertips press into your walls as deeply as your pants allow. The confinement barely seems to matter — it’s enough to make your knees buckle, worse when he picks up the pace. Faster than usual, more urgent than his usual rhythm when he asks for sex. He normally takes his time upfront, teases, tempts.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he’s ragged. Focused.

You notice it in the tension of his forearms, the way they flex with each thrust of his hand, how he moves with a kind of voracity that could be mistaken for hate if you didn’t know him better.

But hate is too strong of an emotion to ever explain the scorching jealousy radiating from him.

"Don’t—"

He curls his fingers upward.

"Go—"

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"Don't want you to see him."

Your legs shake, the bones melted beneath your skin as he reduces you to this pliant mess. You don't know what to say to that — you're not even sure it's something you could put into words without making a complete fool out of yourself. So instead you shift, just enough to rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm.

Because that's what he wants anyway. It’s what he’s offering, in the only language he knows. Touch, control, denial. And you’ll take it as long as it distracts you from having to respond to his admission.

But it’s then that he stops moving his fingers, leaving your walls to clamp around them as they fall still.

“Stay.”

You ball your fist in his shirt. “Your hand is inside my pants in the middle of a goddamn hotel room. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can practically feel the tension roll off his shoulders in waves, but then he pulls his fingers out, and a wounded sound slips past your lips before you can stop it.

“Spencer…”

“Come on, let’s move to the bed.”

You’re grateful he’s holding you up, because your legs feel one good shudder away from crumbling. Every step is clumsy and floaty, like your body’s lagging half a second behind your mind, as if sensation is still catching up to motion.

You don’t even remember your clothes hitting the floor, only that his hands were everywhere. Your shirt comes off. Then your pants. The cold air bites your thighs, cool against the heat of your skin. By the time he sinks onto the bed and tucks you between his legs, you’re stripped completely bare.

The soft cotton of his shirt clings to the sweat rising on your back, and you squirm when a certain hard pressure brushes your ass. This isn’t the position you expected to be in, slotted between his thighs while being the only one lacking any fabric at all. But you don’t complain. You melt into the way his large hands slip between your arms to cup the soft weight of your breasts. Your body goes slack as he rolls stiff nipples between the rough pads of his fingers and the smooth press of his thumbs.

You’re nothing short of liquid when his lips brush your ear and tells you to open your legs, a command you follow as easily as breathing. By the time his hand travels between the supple skin of your thighs, you’re already pool of aching heat.

Every nerve in your body seems to funnel down to that one point. Your clit swells shamelessly beneath his fingertips, and the sheer sensitivity makes your head spin. You feel it pulsing, and keeping quiet becomes less of an option when he starts to wet the rest of your sex, dragging his fingers through every swollen ridge.

You shudder when a finger prods your hole.

But he does nothing with it. Just stays there motionless, making you keenly aware of how empty you still are.

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, glossy lips finding the side of his neck, tongue dragging along the skin just to feel the way his throat bobs beneath you. Your way of pleading. A signal he usually listens to. Only this time he leaves your cunt untouched, choosing instead to let his fingers tap lightly on your clit. He saviors the stiffness under the pads of his fingers, how the more he skims them over it, the harder it gets.

You feel quite the opposite.

The scrape of his stubble burns against your mouth, but it’s nothing compared to the spark of frustration curling tight in your belly.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

He is. Even he can admit to that—though he’d rather bite his tongue than call it what it is.

“Define purpose.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t play semantics with me. Is this about him?”

He hates how easily you read him.

Hates more that you’re not wrong.

“Thought we were already past that,” you observe.

He doesn’t say anything, but the tension rippling beneath your lips speaks volumes. You suck the exposed flesh on his neck where his little mole resides.

“What—” you huff, words trembling as starts to l stroke your puffy little clit, “did you finally decide I needed reminding? Is that what you’re doing?”

Is that what this is? He didn’t have an exact definition in mind when he started this. No plan, no clear intent, just the magnetic pull that always exists between the two of you. He was going to touch you the way he always does when he can’t help himself.

But then the coil in his chest tightens again. The image of you with that smug excuse of a man still clung to him like smoke — too much smile handed to someone who didn’t earn it. Which is why his touch became measured, his rhythm a shy satisfaction that isn’t enough to break you open, but close enough to remind you where your body fits best.

His focus leaves your clit and shifts behind you, hooks your legs over his to lock them securely in place with his calves. The slight flare of your pupils doesn’t go unnoticed before he cocks his head.

“What if I am?”

Your smile reminds him of a match just before it lights. “Are you punishing me right now?”

The flame in your eyes sears low, and he’s not sure he should play with fire.

Punishment wouldn’t be the right word for it anyway. There’s no retribution in what he feels. No malice, no need to correct. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do. But you’ve placed the match right in his hand, and if you ask him to strike it, he doubts he’ll be able to stop the burn. It’ll be consuming, a wildfire racing through every carefully drawn boundary to smoldering ashes scattered between your bodies.

He’ll scorch every inch of you with the excuse you gave him until there’s nothing left but smoke and the heat of his name in your mouth.

“Is that what you want?”

You wiggle under the weight of his hand. “You know I’ll take whatever you give me.”

True enough, but what he wants to hear the need blooming along every frayed nerve in your body when you can’t seem to stop yourself from grinding your hips as he trails down your inner thigh.

“Be more specific,” he presses. “Tell me what exactly.”

You huff and try to reach for his lips. “Want you to make me cum, old man.”

A gentle slap falls onto your clit.

“Without the attitude.”

He swallows your gasp as you jolt at the shallow sting. “Fuck—okay,” you mutter, trying to keep a shred of control even as your knees inch further apart. “Will you make me cum?”

“Where are your manners?” He hums, and drags a long finger along your clit with infuriating patience. “I think you can do better than that.”

You groan and let yourself sink further against his chest. “You’re seriously gonna edge me over politeness?”

He doesn’t give you an answer. Just draws another excruciatingly slow circle over your sensitive nub so light it leaves your breath faltering. He counts the seconds in your sighs, measures the quiver of your hips, then meets your increasingly desperate gaze with eyes that fall short of the jeer in your voice, because while your body pleads, he knows you have something sharp tucked up your sleeve to use against him.

And while he’s weak to the way you’ve always twisted him, he’s even weaker to the things you do without trying. The act you play so effortlessly. That faint, practiced whine you let slip just before you wet your lips and bat your pretty lashes.

“Please, Spencer?” You whimper. “Will you please make me cum?”

The sarcasm drips so thick he could wring it from your tongue. He wonders if he should drink every last drop and savor the sweetness that coats your words, but the sudden shrill of your phone cuts through the air, its screen lighting up on the far edge of the bed.

You both glance toward it simultaneously as he presses his mouth to your ear. “Are you expecting someone?”

The laugh you let out is incredulous. “I was until you decided to barge in here and lock me in place.”

His eyes drag over the length of your body tucked between his legs, knees conveniently hooked on each of his thighs. He watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest, how your pulse flutters beneath his palm resting across your collarbones. He’s holding every trembling muscle of you still as his other hand swirls over your aching clit, yet his mind seethes with the memory of why he had decided to knock on your door in the first place.

It’s that flicker of spite that has him reaching for your phone, and sure enough, the word Detective glares at him across the screen followed by that grating name — those syllables that shouldn’t hold weight but dig like splinters all the same.

“He’s probably waiting for me in the lobby,” you jest, and jealousy, he realizes, is something he’s entirely capable of feeling. Even though he’d suspected it all night, no amount of logic can dull the ache that comes with the confirmation.

It isn’t just a primal response encoded in his DNA for mate retention that drives his actions.

It’s far more complex than a mere defense mechanism, woven with threads of genuine emotions that goes beyond the physical.

And biochemistry can’t explain the visceral satisfaction he feels when your body softens the moment he finally buries two fingers deep to the knuckle.

It doesn't account for the way you shudder around him, for the helpless roll of your hips that tells him he's exactly where you want him to be. He observes the tension in your jaw falter, the way your breath catch in a rhythm he now knows as well as his own. But even that doesn’t fully settle the unfamiliar thing gnawing inside him. So he clutches your phone and presses the device into your open palm, even as his other hand remains buried between your damp thighs.

“You should answer it,” he says, voice deceptively calm. “Tell him you won’t be coming down.”

“What?” you heave. “I can’t answer right now.”

“Sure you can, it’s the polite thing to do. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “You’re insane.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not with words. He hooks his middle and ring finger against that unbearably soft spot along your walls, and a choked sound punches out of you before you can stifle it while the insistent buzz of your phone continues to mock you.

“Go on, answer it.”

“He’s—I—” you stammer, trying to summon some coherent protest but your thoughts are hopelessly scattered, all mush and molten heat. A free hand reaches back to clutch at his thigh. “I don’t—fuck, stop doing that. I can’t think straight.”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

The lull that follows is cruel. His fingers slow to a near crawl, and the absence of intensity makes the growing ache so much worse. You roll your hips once, twice, trying to urge him without giving him the satisfaction of words, but he stays painfully still as the ringtone on your phone keeps hissing, then it stops. A brief silence. And just as your heart starts to settle, it begins again, that repetitive chime clawing at your nerves.

You grit your teeth, shame burning under your skin as your shoulders slump.

The word scrapes along the roof of your mouth before you can stop them.

“…no.”

“Answer the call,” he insists, lips pressed on the side of your flushed face. “The sooner you do, the sooner I’ll let you finish.”

You glare at the phone in your hand before lifting the device to your ear, and the moment the line opens, his fingers resume their rhythm. Perfectly timed with the soft “Hello?” on the other end.

You inhale a sharp breath.

“Detective... Palmer?”

Your brows screw in a wince at how your voice pitched higher than intended.

“Yeah, hey, I’m calling to make sure we’re still on for dinner tonight. I’m in the lobby.”

You clench your jaw, swallowing a moan so hard it burns your throat. “I’m sorry,” you breathe out, “I—I got held up.”

“Held up?” Palmer’s voice tightens with worry. “Are you with someone? Everything alright?”

Spencer’s lips skim softly beneath your ear, warm breath ghosting over your pulse just before he plunges his fingers deep enough to send your eyes scattering upward. Your vision blurs, the dimly lit room tilting dangerously around you. You don’t even realize you haven’t responded until he nips gently at your neck with an amused smile tattooed on your skin.

“You might want to answer him.”

You blink hard.

“I—yes. I mean no—I mean…” you gasp, arching sharply as the heel of his hand rolls against your clit in tandem with his fingers. “Everything’s fine. I just… I don’t think I can make it tonight.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching thin as you struggle to breathe evenly.

“You sure?” Palmer asks. It’s hard not to miss the sudden edge of suspicion in his tone, carefully tucked behind forced concern. “You sound a little off.”

You don’t even have the energy to care how obvious you’re being. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away, pressing your forehead into the scratch of unshaven jaw to regain some semblance of dignity. You'd have been embarrassed if you had the capacity for it anymore, but all shame had been bled from you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this pathetic, strung out on the edge of pleasure with someone’s fingers buried deep inside you while another man’s voice lingers in your ear. Your pride, what little of it remains, is dangling by a thread. And pride is the one thing you always thought you could keep intact around Spencer. He’s a smart man, observant. But soft in all the places that made you believe you could stay one step ahead.

Apparently you’d underestimated him. Gravely. You forgot that the same man who knows the weight of every word you’ve ever spoken also knows the weight of your silence, and you’re humiliated by how easily he can reduce you to this pliant mess. Even more humiliated by how badly you want him to keep going while your name abruptly echoes in your headspace.

Spoken by someone else entirely.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

There’s nothing but weakness sitting in your throat. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.”

Another beat of silence. Then you feel the pointed brush of his nose along your shoulder before gentle teeth latch onto your skin.

“You should get some rest then,” Palmer continues to press, the same way Spencer’s fingers keeps digging into that soft patch of flesh inside. “I’ll check in on you in the morning.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you still flying back tomorrow?”

“…yeah.”

“How about breakfast—”

The relentless pressure of gruff fingers buried in your cunt sends your heels kicking against the mattress.

“I-I’m sorry, Detective, but I really need to go. It was nice working with you.”

You barely manage to hear his reply before your phone slips from your grip, landing between the sheets with a muted thud. In the back of your fucked-out little brain, you figure the call must have ended by now — surely he would have cut it off. But the timer keeps increasing. The quiet count of seconds continue to tick away unbeknownst to you.

But not to Spencer. He’s keenly aware of the numbers climbing on the screen.

00:50

00:51

00:52

By the 01:00 mark, he’s already made up his mind.

And he’s not proud of it — as to every touch he’s given you tonight. He’ll call this as instinct, or maybe inevitability, anything but what it truly is: selfish.

Selfish in the way he rams his fingers back and forth inside you, the heel of his palm grinding over your clit with unrelenting force. Selfish in the pace he sets himself with. Selfish in how he reads your body like it’s his to interpret, all written in a language only he claims fluency in.

The curve of your spine bows as you lean back helplessly, mouth parted in a perfect, silent “O”. Your eyes are glassy and fixed on the dull ceiling above, as if it might offer some kind of reprieve from the flood of pleasure he’s practically dragging out of you.

And somehow he’s managed to drag you right to the brink without letting you topple over the edge.

You don’t know whether you want to cry or come. Your hips jerk to chase more pressure, more friction, more anything, as your lips part in a desperate sound that’s slurred and barely audible to his ears.

“What was that?”

“Wanna cum,” you gasp around humid breath. “Please.”

He peers at your phone still laying innocently on the bed, the call blinking at 01:24. “A bit louder.”

You choke on a whimper, and for the first time since you’ve tangled your limbs with him for the past few months, your pride isn’t enough to hold you together.

“Please,” you beg, sounding a little pathetic. “S-Spencer—please, need to cum.”

He makes a satisfied sound of his own the moment he feels you leak around his fingers. “Look at that,” he mutters, watching the slick sheen of your arousal coating even to his wrist. “You’re making a mess.”

“Fuck—yes yes, right there.” Your hips buck shamelessly into his hand. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. Please…”

He can’t even if he wanted to. You’re chanting his name over and over again like it’s the only word you know, a mantra that sends ripples of heat low and thick in his gut. His cock throbs painfully against his zipper, but he pushes his own desperate need to the back of his mind, focusing entirely on his fingers plunging in and out of your poor swollen hole until he feels you clench helplessly around him.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this helpless. The sharp edge of your smart mouth is gone, melted away under the rhythm he’s carved into your body. There’s a flicker of something like pity in his chest, because even if he doesn’t feel like the best version of himself right now, he still doesn’t want to push you too far beyond your limits.

So he starts to pull his fingers from your soaked, fluttering cunt.

Or at least he tries. Because the second he begins to slip away, you grip his forearm with surprising strength, pushing him firmly back between your spread thighs.

God forbid he stops now.

He pulls his legs apart just to drag yours along for better leverage, and focuses on the wet hood of your clit. Three fingers stroke in fast motions, the delicate skin folding and bunching while you weakly claw around his wrist. He wonders if you’re still conscious of the noises you’re making, or if the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes have blurred away any sense of awareness. He wipes them off with a slow drag of his lips and savors the way your clit tense even more under the pressure of his hand, the stiff kink of nerves coiling tighter to its limit.

It only takes a few more flicks until your second orgasm tumbles right through you. Wrecks you out completely — back arching, thighs clamping around his wrist in a futile attempt to slow him down. He probably should, you’re already an overstimulated mess of body fluid. Arousal coating your thighs, drool catching at your mouth, sweat beading along your hairline.

Purges of sensation seeps through every corner of your pore, but now he wonders how far he can wring you dry. His stubble scratches your already blotchy cheek, “One more, give me one more.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing.

“Spence—” You croak, slightly pulling back to speak. “I-I can’t—Stop.”

“You can,” he hums, and presses a soft peck to your jaw. “I know you can.”

You slowly shake your head.

But Spencer has been in this position too many times that he understands the precise way your body folds when it’s too much. The lack of safe word you both agreed on tells him you’re still greedy for more despite how far gone you look.

“Red?” He asks, doubling his effort on your clit.

You blink through heavy lids, and he presses his mouth to your the shell of your ear.

“Come on, answer me,” he urges. “I’ll stop if you say the word.”

Your nails clutch at his skin. The press of your eyelashes clamping shut accompanies another quiet sob, followed by a firmer shake of your head.

Your answer isn’t clear enough, he tries to question you again.

“Red?”

The frantic rhythm of your heartbeat kisses your chest, and slowly, very weakly, you guide him back to your hole with a wet sigh.

He can’t stop himself from letting out a torn sound that rumbles in his throat. A noise that feels like it extends from a place so deep it feels unfamiliar. You shouldn’t have this much power over him. Shouldn’t be able to tear down every carefully built barrier and unravel him to his very bones with nothing more than the tremble of your thighs and his name clinging onto your lips. Lips that would normally spit fire are incredibly soft as he chases them with his own.

They’re still burning, nonetheless.

It sears through him the moment your mouths connect, a slow spreading heat that starts in his marrow and flows outward like molten lava, sliding down his arms until it lingers at his fingertips where you’re unduly scorching in his palm.

You feel it too, don’t you? It’s impossible not to with the way his hand glides in harsh motions between your legs, building a friction that’s equal parts brutal and addictive. So addictive that you find yourself chasing a numb, blissful escape in the ceaseless waves of sensations that threaten to wash away every coherent thought.

Your toes curl.

Your stomach tightens.

Speckles of liquid spatters across the sheets the more he drags his fingers through your dripping, swollen cunt, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.

He greedily swallows each gasp in his mouth, tastes your pleasure in every pant.

“Oh fuck! Fuckfuckfuck—”

A sudden rush spills over his hand. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot into the thighs of his pants where your legs are still slung over him. He couldn’t care less about the fabric sticking to his skin, or the growing discomfort of wet clothes when it’s nothing compared to the discomfort written your pinched brows. He’d actually think you were slipping into another dimension from the way your features crumple if it weren’t for the ghost of a smile curling lazily at your mouth.

He slightly leans back and studies your profile. You’re clearly out of it, but there’s no mistaking the ecstasy etched into every line of your pretty face. A little strange, given everything he’s done to you. Even more out of place is the slurred compliment you offer after a long, dreamy sigh.

“You’re getting too good at that,” you mumble, cheek softly pressed to the ridge of his shoulder blade.

Your voice is uncharacteristically sweet, but he can’t let it stroke his ego when he catches the black screen of your phone lying forgotten on the bed. A quiet unblinking thing, and guilt starts to curl in the space where pride tried to form, souring any sense of satisfaction before it ever fully sinks.

He absently runs a hand along your inner thigh and swallows the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

It earns him a puzzled frown.

You try to blink the drowsiness from your eyes, unsure if you heard him right or if your mind is still swimming too deep to trust the shape of words. But the tight pull of muscle beneath your cheek gives him away, which deepens your confusion because an apology doesn’t seem to belong here. Nor does it fit easily with the usual rhythm of wandering hands and biting retorts that define your interactions.

“Where is this coming from?” You ask.

He hesitates, his hand resting loosely on your thigh, then lets out a long exhale. “I’m not sure when the line cut off.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a high chance he heard… most of it, or enough to know that you’re not alone.”

It’s your turn to play semantics with him. “Define high chance.”

“Somewhere between eighty and ninety percent.”

That’s an oddly specific high range. It’s precise enough to make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on.

Your eyes touches his, so close now you can see the enlarged pupils eating at the brown irises. You might think what you’re doing is profiling, but you know it’s more about noticing the little details you’ve come to memorize over time. The subtle shift in his jawline, the tension at the corners of his lips. The patterns are familiar they make his thoughts almost transparent.

And somehow you can read his mind, though you need to confirm if what you’re sensing is mutual, if the unspoken words you’re catching are the same ones circling behind his glossy eyes.

“Were you aware the call kept going the whole time?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and the pause alone feels like an answer on its own. Your brows rise sharply.

“So it was intentional.”

“No. Yes.” He looks away. “Maybe?”

You don’t say anything at first, save for the slow breath you draw in through your nose.

You try to vivisect your own mind while he sits uncharacteristically still, attempting to determine why the possibility of him leaving the line connected doesn’t disturb you as much as it probably should. Why, despite the implications, part of you isn’t shocked.

The answer eludes you, buried perhaps deeper than you care to dig. You’d already tasted the bite of his jealousy long before he stepped foot into your room tonight. Felt it in the taut set of his shoulders whenever Palmer so much as looked at you when the three of you shared space. Even after he’d folded you into his arms and wrung a quake of orgasms from your body, you could still sense it humming under his skin.

But the extent to which this jealousy has driven him to is what baffles you. It’s as startling as the faint thrill fluttering traitorously through your heart.

You huff out a short, disbelieving laugh. “All because he asked me out to dinner?”

It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, guides your legs together until your knees touches and rakes his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Two apologies in one night — a record, as far as he’s concerned.

Yet it feels like he’s only skimming the surface of what you deserve.

The intricacy of your relationship has always defied easy definitions, but even in the mess of it, he’s never stopped respecting you. While he often questions your judgment or disputes the way your opinions cut so differently from his, you’re nothing less of smart, and perhaps this is where your clever mind finally puts a stop to this nonsense. Drawing a line he’s long since blurred.

He wouldn’t even blame you. He’d decide the same outcome if he were in your shoes. After all, he knows he’s too much of a burden, too wired for disaster to offer you anything but chaos. And no matter how tempting chaos can be, it never leads to anything good.

Goodness, as he’s come to accept, is far from his reality.

Tonight only serves as another proof of how right his presumption is.

The dampness from his wet slacks slides across even wetter sheets as he moves, a clammy sensation that replicates the sweat beading along his palms. His arms loosen from where they’d caged you in, falling away with a hesitant drag until he finally touches your gaze. Your eyes are already honed in on him, but there’s no trace of animosity in those sharp depths. No shards malice. He doesn’t even discern any hint of anger. Your face is soft, head tipped the slightest degree, but it’s the faint curl of your lips — the barest hint of a smile — that truly undoes him.

Along with the trace of fingers placed over his heart. He’s sure you can feel its wild rhythm beating through the thin fabric.

“Thought jealousy wouldn’t look good on you,” you slowly declaim, thumb idly tracing little circles around a button. “I’m starting to believe it does.”

His throat scrapes like sandpaper.

He doesn’t know what to make of that. Your fingers worry a stray thread over the seam of his shirt like you’re stitching together all the wrong parts of him as if it makes them right. It’s disorienting, and he can’t decide whether your soft words and even softer touch align with the conclusion already forming in his mind. A conclusion so unlikely that it twists every time he tries to pin it down.

Because if you truly accepted his jealousy, it would mean his worst impulses weren’t entirely unwelcome. It would also validate the possessive instinct he’s buried to claim you as his. And that, in turn, would feed the dangerous notion that he’s entitled to you in ways he has no right to be.

But you’re still smiling, and he’s just a man. A man whose logical brain stands no chance against the delicate curve of your mouth.

The right course of action would be prying the truth between those softly spoken words. Wisdom dictates caution, but fear grips him more fiercely than the cold hand of reason ever could. Terrified that one wrong placed question might send you retreating behind walls he’s only managed to breach, and that dread pins his tongue to the roof of his mouth, holds him in silence as he rides the comfort of your satiation like it grants him the access to stay.

Again, he’s selfish.

Yet it’s a ruinous habit — one that slips over him as easily as breath. Too easy to indulge when you’re letting him with no objection.

You don’t even flinch when he gathers you onto his lap.

Not a single word of protest when his lips touches your hair.

"She sought death on a queen-sized bed." A Little Death—The Neighbourhood

#lou writes #♾️#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid smut

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rivendellrose · 2 days ago

Text

THIS. Look, I'm 42. I became a docent at the local art museum several years back, and I'm also the administrator of a local nonprofit whose membership skews heavily older, and it is a JOY to hang out with all these older people who are in a later part of their lives than I am. And now, thanks to some effort (and also because I'm older), I'm seeing that we have people younger than me in both groups, and that's a joy, too. But these older people are amazing.

Some of the art museum docents I work with are in their 70s, even their 80s, and they're full of life. They're going on trips, they're volunteering at their grandkids' schools, they're introducing visitors to art and taking DEI training and studying new artists and art works every month, and it is thrilling to hang out with them.

Also, selfishly, the docent group is one of the only places where, at 42, I'm treated as one of the fresh young things. That's awfully nice.

But the best part is looking around me and thinking, "Oh yeah, I have time. I don't have to stop. I can just keep right on going."

Hang out with older people. Hang out with younger people, too, if you're coming into the middle like I am. But hang out with people older than you. It's a great way to keep your perspective.

you have to stay alive. you're going to be such a beautiful middle aged freak. young freaks will see you in the street and know that things can be okay.

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jj-one · 1 day ago

Text

2:09 AM.

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

your boyfriend’s feeling extra needy for you tonight, and who were you to say no?

pairing: han jisung x reader, established relationship genre/tags: fluff + smut, marking, somnophilia, slight dubcon, soft dom!jisung, fingering, piv, unprotected s*x, slight breeding kink words: 2.0k

[ note. ] — this is a revamp of a fic that i’ve wrote months ago but i actually never posted it on this acc sooo yeah. ik i usually write ji as a sub but him as a dom hits different too >.<

The moon looks extra beautiful tonight. Streaks of pale light bleeds into the sheer, ivory curtains— it’s soft, milky glow cascading over your shared bedroom. It was mostly quiet, aside from the whirring hum of the ceiling fan and faintly audible breaths from his left side as Jisung temporarily rose from the tangled sheets.

It’s already past 2 am, sighing out in annoyance when he checks the time that’s flashed on his phone screen. He couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep no matter how hard he tried, only growing more frustrated as he’s been attempting to do so for the past hour or so.. His eyes greeting the wall with nothing but empty blank stares, sleep was deemed impossible to obtain by now and as many times he closed his eyes they still wouldn’t remain permanently shut.

He rolls over in defeat once again. Facing to the left of him was the most precious, angelic little being he’s ever seen, casting his view over to his sleeping beauty of a girlfriend who’s peacefully dozing off into dreamland. Oh, how he’s always been so envious of your ability to fall asleep in an instant.. you were just the sleepiest girl that could easily try and catch a nap just about anywhere. But oddly enough— he always found that quality of yours to be quite endearing.

Jisung could simply stare at you all day with no complaints. He couldn’t help but admire the way you looked in any state you were in, even whilst in your deep slumber. In his eyes, you were the true embodiment of perfection. Looking adorable as ever with your hair splayed all over the pillow, clutching onto your favorite stuffed animal that you always went to bed with.

Though he was unable to physically fall asleep, he surely was mentally exhausted. His brain still a bit foggy, dreading when it’s time to get up in the morning for work when he’s so badly craving a part 2 of the 3-hour fuck sesh you both had the night before.

A trail of faint markings were embedded into his chest— some that were barely noticeable on his neck and several scratches left on his back from the aftermath; recollections of your pretty moans echoing throughout the room made his cock stir, getting uncontrollably horny all over again.

Too bad you had to be asleep..

It’s like the universe is punishing him, taunting him for some unknown reason. Not only can’t he fall asleep, but now he’s plagued with all kinds of other sinful thoughts and it’s only fueling his insatiable desire for you. The more he thinks about it, the more sexually frustrated he’ll become.

He could easily take care of this ‘problem’ of his by doing it himself, right? Sure.. but it won’t be nearly the same. He needs to touch you, feel every inch of you, have you under him with your face all smushed in the pillows as he fucks his cock deeper into you.. or he could simply eat you out until you begged for him stop like he did last time.

Either way, all he wants is you.

He gets closer, reaching over to brush some strands of hair out of your face, smiling to himself when you snuggled up into his hand— still sound asleep. Your lips smack together a little, body shifting underneath the covers, completely oblivious of what’s going on.

Jisung slowly lifts up the comforter, revealing your pretty figure, the thin, slip dress you wore leaving little to the imagination. It’s silky fabric riding up as you tossed and turned during the night, completely exposing your lower body. He bit his lip at the sight behold him, wanting nothing more in this moment is to grab your thighs and have them spread open for him.

He’d do many ungodly things to you if you were awake right now..

He tried to be good, letting a few minutes pass by. He tried to ignore it— this ache in his chest, in his cock, and in his hands that won’t stop twitching with the need to touch you. Jisung feels like the worst kind of man for staring at you like this, hard as hell, desperate, breath shaky from the way your body torments him without even trying.

But then, he remembers the late night confession you gave him a few weeks ago. When you were half asleep, talking in hushed whispers while tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I’ve always had this fantasy… where you fuck me in my sleep. Like.. I’m just lying there and you can’t help yourself. You’re so needy you wake me up with your cock inside me.”

Jisung nearly choked on his own saliva when you said it. Eyes wide, brain malfunctioning.

You even giggled afterwards like it was nothing, teasing, “you’d never actually do that though, would you?”

But he knew by the way you were looking at him. You wanted it.

And tonight— he’s weak.

As his hand shifts underneath the hem of your nightgown to caress your thighs, he tries convincing himself that this was as far as he’ll take it.

“Fuck..” he whispers to himself, brows furrowed. “What’re you doing, Jisung…”

He leans down, kissing your bare skin. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs against you.

But your soft sigh as you turn slightly— it’s encouragement enough, and as more delicate kisses are planted to your shoulder, slowly working his way up to your neck, how you’re lying there so pliantly for him. It only makes him want to do more, see how far he can take this before you actually do wake up.

He’s gotten a bit overtly comfortable now as he traveled to your upper body, leaving no surface of you untouched. He’s fondling one of your breasts with his free hand, the pad of his thumb softly grazing over your nipple. You don’t make any sudden movements— still blissfully unaware of what’s happening.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your shoulder, stifling a groan when he grinds his clothed dick against your ass. He’s back to holding your waist, but that didn’t last very long before he gets distracted by something else.

Eventually, he found his fingers inching closer to your core, circling your clit over the thin lining of your panties. He hissed at the feeling of how wet you are, even while you’re asleep your body subconsciously adheres to him, as if it knows who it belongs to.

“Just a little…” he mutters, voice laced with guilt and temptation.

He slid the extra layer of fabric to the side, collecting more of your arousal before plunging one of his fingers inside, watching with hungry eyes as it disappears in and out of your dripping cunt. The sounds of your wetness only making him more painfully hard, rutting up against you like a dog in heat and he’s absolutely shameless about it at this point. All he wants is to bury his cock between those soft, pretty thighs of yours..

It’s only a matter of time until he finally caves in. And it wasn’t long before he found himself rubbing his cock along your folds and caught his tip in your entrance, sliding in with ease from how soaking wet you are. You make a soft, unconscious noise, hips shifting closer. Your cunt clenches tight around his cock, warm and slick, and he nearly moans out loud from the feel of it.

“God- how are you always this tight?” He grunts out, pressing soft kisses into your neck as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his eyes scrunched shut as he sinks into your heat. “You’re not even awake and you’re already making me lose my mind…”

He grips you tightly but not enough to leave any major bruising, he’s still gentle with you, keeping your hips flush against his as fully bottoms out, too deep in concentration to focus on anything else. He barely even notices when your eyes cautiously flutter open, a gasp slipping from your breath when feeling the unexpected intrusion, your warm walls pulse around him, adjusting to the stretch.

You let out another small noise. It might’ve been a moan, a word, or his name, whatever it was— it was the least bit coherent. You were still drowsy and disoriented, but once the initial shock wore off you found yourself relaxing into him again; bathing in his warmth, letting his desires roam free.

Jisung kept groping your tits as he fucks you from behind, lightly twisting your nipple to make you even more delirious for him. You simply could do nothing but lye there and take it, fighting the urge to fall back asleep mixed with the overwhelming pleasure that he’s giving you.

“Baby..”

You stir against him, lazily grinding against him to match his movement. Your sleepy voice sounding much cuter, and a lot more innocent than the actions he’s performing.

“Yeah?” He rasps, voice thick with desire, never letting up on his ministrations, his hips snap back and forth, this time with a little more force— but remains gentle with his words. “Is this.. okay?”

He might’ve been a little late with that question.. but nonetheless, you still appreciate the sentiment of it. You simply respond to him with a hum of compliance, feeling in a state of euphoria as you arch into his touch, feeding off of all the soft praises he’d whisper in your ear. You’d do anything for Jisung, not because he was just your boyfriend, but because it’s him— you trust him more than anything in this world. There were no limits when it comes to your love.

“Cum inside, please,” you desperately whine, your cunt cinching around his thickness when he repeatedly thrusts in your sweet spot.

You felt so needy for him. You always did. Even as you’re getting dicked down by him right now you still call out to him— begging for more. A mutual neediness amongst each other.

“You really wanted this, huh?” He breathes out, voice breaking. “Me waking you up with my cock already inside you? No warning. Just full, stretched, dripping…”

You moan helplessly, nodding.

He laughs— breathless, disbelieving. “You’re so fucking dirty.”

“You were already so wet before I even touched you. Like your pussy was waiting for me.”

His pace quickens. The sound of skin slapping echoes faintly in the room, muffled by the sheets. Every thrust pushes you further up the bed. You gasp and try to stifle your moans in the pillow, but it’s no use.

“Look so pretty when you’re all fucked out like this,” he growls, one hand grabbing your hip, the other fisting your hair and pulling your head back. “Maybe I’ll make this a habit.”

You whimper something incoherent to that, and he chuckles darkly.

He shifts his angle, hitting deeper, harder. Your body jolts with each thrust, legs trembling now.

Jisung could feel himself nearing the edge, and your pleas for him to cum inside was only making his high approach faster.. he sighs, “Wan’ me to give you a baby? Make you a mommy?” It might’ve been a question but he already knew the answer, he didn’t need to hear a response.

“Yes, please..” you manage to say as tiny whimpers and moans fall from your lips, attempting to catch your ragged breaths.

You don’t care about the consequences that come with your decision, you’ll bear those repercussions later. For now though, all you want is for him to milk every last drop of his cum inside you.

“It’s okay baby, just let go..” he talks to you with the sweetest, honey laced voice, coaxing you through your orgasm, “I got you… I got you.”

Your mouth flew permanently agape, in a cloud-like haze as your own orgasm washes over you, all while at the same time having your insides plastered with thick, white ropes of Jisung’s cum.

Your whole body is shaking but you’re brought a source of comfort when several fleeting kisses saturate your back, leading them up to your neck once more to litter faint love bites. You’re left feeling more exhausted than you were before, cuddling with your boyfriend who seems to also be just as worn out as you.

Before drifting back to sleep, you hear a soft-spoken exchange, almost undetectable when he mumbles the words against your skin; but you could still make out exactly what was said.

“I love you.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung scenarios #skz fluff #han jisung fluff #han smut #han x reader #han jisung x you #skz fic #skz fanfic #han jisung drabbles #skz drabbles

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himasgod · 2 days ago

Note

I think requests are open? So you know that feeling of devastating elation when a person you thought was dead turns up? And I’m not talking about like an hour after whatever incident they thought took you. It’s been DAYS. They thought you were dead for DAYS. They were hardcore MOURNING when you show back up.

If you can, I’d love to see your take on this, either the point of reunion or the aftermath, where they are definitely overprotective (for good reason). Or both, I ain’t gonna limit you. You’re free to use whatever character(s) you want =^^=

LEONA X READER

Where you have been missing after an accident for days

It's been five days since a Spelldrive explosion during an unsanctioned match in Savannaclaw. You were playing with some Savanaclaw students when you decided to use a spell you'd read in a forbidden book in the library. It was supposed to have worked out. You’d gone missing in the smoke and wreckage. No one found your body. The only thing left was your broken magic pen — and Leona hadn't slept properly since then.

art credits to kura_usagi217 on twitter <3

Savanaclaw was quiet in a way that didn’t feel natural. No fights. No roars of challenge echoing from the training yard.

Leona sat, slouched low in one of the worn-out chairs, a bottle of untouched water beside him and Ruggie pacing nearby.

“You gotta sleep at some point,” Ruggie muttered. Again.

“You’re not gonna be able to do anything if you collapse.”

Leona didn’t answer. He hadn't answered that question the first time.

Or the second. Or the fiftieth.

His gaze was fixed on the shattered fragment of your pendant, the one you'd worn every day. The one they’d found in the wreckage of that cursed spelldrive field five days ago.

They had declared you missing.

After the third day, Crewel used the word "presumed."

But Leona didn’t. He didn’t say anything.

Not when Crowley offered to hold a memorial service.

Not when Azul offered condolences in that too-polite tone that always made Leona want to punch him.

Not even when Ruggie found him, head bowed in the sand behind the dorm, fists dug into the earth like he was trying to bury the grief with his own hands.

So now, on day five, he sat in the lounge. Not waiting. Just not moving. Just breathing. Barely.

At first, he didn’t look up. Just assumed it was Ruggie returning from another failed search sweep. Then he heard a voice.

“Leona?”

Everything inside him stopped. He turned.

And there you were.

Dirt-streaked and limping, one arm pressed against your ribs, your uniform torn. There were scratches on your face, blood all over, too-slow and weak breath.

But your eyes. They were bright.

Alive.

He stood so fast the chair crashed backward behind him.

You flinched.

And then he was there.

His hands grabbed your shoulders, a little too hard, like he couldn’t convince himself you weren’t a mirage.

“Where the hell—” He roared. “Where the hell have you been?”

You tried to speak, but your throat tightened.

“I— I was trapped,” you managed.

“The blast threw me into the ravine behind the field. My magic was gone, I couldn’t climb out. I screamed for days—”

He pulled you into his arms so fiercely you gasped. You didn’t even get the chance to finish your sentence.

He held you against him like he could squeeze life back into your body. Like maybe if he held you hard enough, the days would reverse, and none of this would’ve happened.

His voice was muffled against your hair.

“Five days.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I know.”

“I—” He pulled back just far enough to look at your face. His eyes were bloodshot. And wet. Leona Kingscholar was crying. Just enough to shine.

“You left me. And I couldn’t even follow.”

“But I am back.”

And he closed his eyes like that was the only thing that mattered anymore.

You fainted right then and there.

You woke up in the infirmary with the strange smell of healing potions in your nose.

Your body ached in places you didn’t even know existed, but you were alive. Safe, and warm. And Leona was there.

Curled in the chair beside your bed, his head tilted back, mouth slightly parted. One leg was propped up, and his arms were crossed over his chest —out of tension.

He hadn’t slept much, but this was the first time you’d seen him close his eyes since your return.

You shifted slightly, and instantly—

His eyes snapped open. Alert. Focused.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He sat forward.

“You’re awake. Good.” His voice was low, roughened by disuse.

“You need to drink something. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m fine, Leona—”

“You’re not.” He reached for the pitcher beside you and poured you a glass. When he handed it to you, you noticed the tremble in his fingers. Your heart hurt at the sight.

“Leona…”

He set the glass down. Didn’t meet your eyes.

“It was my fault, again. Should’ve known it wasn’t safe. Should’ve stopped you using that damn spell.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I let you out of my sight. I trusted that nothing would happen to you.”

“You couldn’t have known—”

“I should’ve,” he snapped, louder than before. His ears were pinned flat. You squeezed his hand. There was silence.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose.

“I’m not letting this happen again,” he muttered. “From now on, you don’t leave campus alone. You don’t use fucking secondhand spell tech. You don’t skip meals or run off to go ‘train in peace’ like some hero. You tell me where you are. Every time.”

“That’s a lot of rules,” you said, trying to soften the moment.

“Damn right it is.”

“A little overprotective, don’t you think?”

“I thought I was gonna have to bury you, I haven’t even told you how I feel yet.”

“...You mean—?”

“Don’t make me say it right after I thought you were dead,” he growled, looking away. “I’ll say it when you’re not half-doped up on potions.”

“Okay. Deal.”

#leona #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar angst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst x reader #twisted x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader angst

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nekonaps0 · 19 hours ago

Text

Excuse me… SIR?! Pt3

✦part1 part2

✦characters: first years

✦gn!reader

✦the boys suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

✦you guys really loved the “You are NAUGHTY!!” Series so what if we switch it up and the boys gonna surprise you this time!?👀

Ace Trappola

You were sitting together on the couch in ramshackle, and you reached for the popcorn in his lap. His voice was calm, smug even:

“Careful where you reach, babe. Unless you’re trying to grab something other than popcorn.”

You freeze. Arm extended. Soul leaving your body.

“Ace! WTF?!”

He grins wide, clearly loving the way your face goes up in flames.

“What? Can’t a guy have a little fun? You're the one digging around down there~��

You throw a cushion at him. He cackles and dodges.

“You are unbelievable!”

“Aw, come on, It was a joke! You’re cute when you’re all shy like that. I should say stuff like this more often.”

Help. He will say worse next time!!

Deuce Spade

You were patching up a small scrape on his arm, being all sweet and gentle, when he accidentally dropped this line:

“I think I’m developing a condition. Every time you touch me, my heart does… weird things. Like—like I’m overheating. Down there.”

You paused. He paused.

“W-WAIT! NOT—NOT LIKE THAT—!! I MEANT—MY STOMACH—NO—MY LEGS—WAIT—!!”

You stared in shock. He was melting. Blue hair fluffing up in panic.

“I-I’m not trying to be weird I SWEAR!!”

You burst into laughter, and he just buried his face in his hands.

“Please forget I said that. Or kill me. Either works.”

Jack Howl

You were play-wrestling with him, something you always did, until this time he pinned you down and said, dead serious:

“You keep letting me win like that and I’m gonna start thinking you like being underneath me.”

BOOM.

Silence. You stared at him, wide-eyed. He blinked.

“...What?”

You just kept staring.

“Wait. Did that sound… oh. Oh.”

He stood up immediately, face red, ears flattened in embarrassment.

“That came out wrong. I meant in a battle sense—! I wasn’t—!!”

You started laughing.

He groaned and covered his face.

“Stop laughing—! I didn’t mean it like that!!”

Now you’re both flustered idiots.

Epel Felmier

You were helping him fix his uniform collar after he’d come back from spelldrive training, all windblown and flushed. He grumbled, face pink but still trying to act cool.

“You’re fussin’ over me like we are married…”

You laughed. “Well, someone’s gotta take care of you.”

Then he smirked. That dangerous, Epel-is-up-to-something smirk.

“If I say I want a reward for lettin’ you baby me… would you sit in my lap or would you ride it?”

You choked.

“EPEL! WHAT THE HELL?!”

He grinned, clearly proud of himself.

“Heh~ I knew I’d get that look outta you. Who’s blushin’ now, huh?”

You tried to scold him, but he was too proud of himself.

Sebek Zigvolt

You were helping him clean his sword when you jokingly called him your “knight in shining armor.” He turned dead serious, chest puffed with pride, and declared:

“If I were truly your knight, then I would ravish you like in the human romance stories!! Wait—NO—I MEANT—!!”

You choked.

“RAVISH?!!”

Sebek turned red all the way to his neck. He started waving his arms like a malfunctioning NPC.

“I meant protect!! Protect!! CURSE THESE HUMAN WORDS!!”

Lilia was laughing so hard in the background you could hear it through the walls. You were wheezing. Sebek was panicking.

“DISREGARD THAT STATEMENT! I AM STILL A CHASTE AND LOYAL KNIGHT!!”

He will never live it down. You’ll quote it back to him every time he tries to scold you.

..............................................................................................................................

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caseyscraftycorner · 3 days ago

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I understand the fear, and this is the case for some people, but as a person who married my high school sweetheart....this isn't always true. it really depends on the relationship, and the issues you present are not unique to relationships that start young. Change and growth are constants throughout life, full stop. There is no age where you will know who you are going to be for the rest of your life. Marrying someone is saying "i want this person by my side, hopefully forever". That decision does not ever really become less permanent.

context: we started dating when i was 15 & he was 16. We got legally married the summer i turned 23 & he turned 24. We are now almost 30.

We have grown and changed a lot in the 13-ish years we have been together. In fact, it was easier to deal with things like escaping my abusive family, understanding my gender identity, developing a severe mental illness, and my step-father dying of a terminal illness, because i had this solid, stable person that i loved beside me the whole way.

Marrying him wasn't a punishment, i have experienced things without him, and i'm certainly not frozen at age 15. i am a very, very different person than i was, and so is he! Why would we be "frozen"? Why would our relationship be "frozen"? We continue to grow, to encourage each other to grow. Our relationship is like any other relationship. It just has a longer history than most of our peer's relationships.

sometimes what you want out of a partner changes, and that is not restricted to youth. sometimes your partner changes away from what you want, and that is not restricted to youth. A relationship is two people deciding to work together, and that means open, earnest communication. If you have that, and especially if you've had it for a long time, then what's the problem?

can you fall into a relationship and get stuck and never grow? Sure, and its probably more common when you're young! But i also watched my father do that exact same thing from ages 26 to 36, and then again in his late 30s. it can happen at any age.

Marriage doesn't make sense for everyone, it doesn't make sense for every relationship. but i don't think there is anything inherently bad about marrying your high school sweetheart -- you just have to be more intentional about it, and probably a little lucky.

i’m sure it works for some people but the thought of marrying your high school sweetheart from your little hometown without ever experiencing anything without them sounds like a punishment for some unforgivable and inhumane act you carried out in a previous life

#@prev yah same like #we met later than u two #(high school)#but genuinely he is the one who encouraged me to do a million things i never would have had the courage to #as long as you have earnest open communication and have proven your relationship through hardship...whats the problem?

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misctf · 2 days ago

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There's this straight guy at my job that has just the juiciest ass. it's a shame he's straight if only he was a bit more open minded he could put his assets to good use

"Dude! I can't believe they closed the gym next to my place." You overheard Alec saying one day, "Where am I supposed to go now?"

Alec... god why did he have to be straight? Good personality, killer smile, and an ass that was truly wasted on a straight man. If you had an ass like that... or if any of your hook-ups did... You couldn't help but let your fantasies run wild. Shame about his gym though... but than an idea popped into your head.

"Aw man, that sucks about your gym closing," you said, and before you could second guess yourself, you blurted out, "Hey, I actually have a great gym recommendation if you're looking for a new place!"

Alec raised an eyebrow curiously, "Oh yeah? What's the place called?"

"It's called Flex Fitness, downtown near the park. Really nice facilities, good crowd... and it's super LGBTQ+ friendly too." you added casually, gauging his reaction.

Alec's eyebrows shot up and he hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"LGBTQ+ friendly? As in..."

"I mean, yeah, it's popular with the gay community." you confirmed with a shrug, "But seriously, it's an awesome gym regardless."

Alec looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged, "I mean, I guess I'm open-minded enough to try it out. Can't hurt, right? As long as the equipment is good." He flashed you a grin, "Thanks for the tip, bro. I might check it out this weekend."

You couldn't help but smile. Maybe you'd get to catch a glimpse of him working out. The thought made you smile- guess admiring from a far would have to do.

____________________

The following Monday, as you walked into the office, you did a double take when you saw Alec. He wore a fitted short-sleeve polo shirt that clung to his muscular torso, showcasing his toned forearms and biceps. His pants were also much tighter, highlighting the curve of his ass and the thickness of his thighs.

"Morning!" Alec greeted you cheerfully, turning to face you fully. The movement made his pecs strain against the fabric of his shirt, "How was your weekend?"

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your gaze from roaming over his newly accentuated physique.

"Uh, hey man. Weekend was good. Yours?"

"It was pretty great actually," Alec said, leaning back against his desk, "Started going to that gym you recommended - Flex Fitness? Holy shit, it's amazing. Top notch equipment and the atmosphere is dope." He flexed almost imperceptibly, making his biceps pop, "I've been hitting it hard and I think it's already paying off. What do you think?" Alec asked with a playful wink.

You felt your face flush as you struggled to maintain eye contact with Alec, your gaze continually being drawn to the way his clothes hugged every sculpted inch of him.

"Y-yeah, you're looking great man. Love the haircut" you managed to stammer out, "The gym must be really good for you."

Alec grinned, pleased by your reaction, "Just the haircut?" He smirked and punched your arm playfully, "Between you and me, I think the 'gay-friendly' vibe is pretty cool too. Makes me feel... appreciated, you know?" You nod lamely, "Anyway, got to get back to these reports. I have a date with Amy later and need to get out of here on time."

____________________

Later that night, while browsing social media aimlessly, your thumb scrolled past the familiar blue logo of Flex Fitness and immediately stopped dead in its tracks. Staring back at you from the screen was none other than your coworker Alec, fresh from a workout session judging by the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

"Welcome to our newest member @aleclikes_lifting and thanks for this AMAZING post-workout selfie!" read the caption beneath the photo, "Check out that body - look at THAT ASS, amirite guys? 🍑 We're so lucky to have this hunk join our family at #FlexFitness. Give it up for the BEAST!"

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the notification pop up - Alec had commented on the post! With shaking fingers, you clicked to read:

"A huge THANK YOU to everyone at @flex_fitness for making this straight boy feel SO welcome and accepted! 🏳️‍🌈💖 Never thought I’d love working out this much! Hope you like my post-leg day selfie."

His comment was flooded with likes and supportive replies from the gym’s followers, many expressing how happy they were to have him there, some expressing they were hoping to see more of him soon…

____________________

It was a day later when Alec approached you at your desk. His clothes seemed tighter. His perfect ass straining against his dress pants.

"Hey there stud!" Alec greeted you brightly as he approached your desk. You couldn't help but notice his eyes seemed off... glazed over... no gears turning behind them. "Gotta say, sending me to that Flex Fitness was the best thing you ever did for me!" You blinked in shock, noticing how Alec swayed his hips subtly as he leaned against your desk, "Girl, I have NEVER been treated like royalty before. The whole vibe is ELECTRIC!" Alec gestured expressively, seemingly high on his newfound fitness fame, "They took me in, loved on me, praised me… I feel like a whole new man!" His tongue clicked disapprovingly, "Too bad none of these uptight prudes here appreciate perfection when they see it!"

"Alec are you...?" Suddenly, as if realizing how he sounded, Alec's eyes widened and you noticed his eyes shift... no longer glazed over.

"Whoa... that was... I don't know what came over me, man." He ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered and confused, "I gotta... I gotta go. Something's not right, I feel all..." Alec shook his head vigorously, as if trying to clear it. Without finishing his sentence, he turned on his heel and hurried away, leaving you stunned and perplexed.

____________________

Late that evening, as you mindlessly scrolled through Instagram, another post from Alec caught your eye. The image was a close-up shot of his bare ass, perfectly rounded globes on full display. He wore a tiny pair of pink briefs that left little to the imagination, the thin fabric disappearing between his cheeks.

"Shoutout to @flex_fitness for helping me embrace my true self! Alec wrote in the caption. Something big is coming soon… stay tuned! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈"

As you read further, your eyes widened in shock. Alec had tagged Bare Essentials, a popular local gay strip club, in his post! Scrolling through the hundreds of thirsty comments, one stood out:

"Damn girl, you finally come out and play on our side? 😜 Are you, like, actually gay now or what?"

Alec replied instantly: "Duh sis, OBVIOUSLY! Couldn't hide this fabulously gay ass any longer. 🍑 Time to let my freak flag fly at Bare Essentials later! Who wants to be my first dance partner? ☺️🎉"

Your eyes widen. Was this real? What the fuck happened? You quickly text Alec asking him what the happened. Awkwardly congratulating him on coming out. Within seconds, he replies.

"Thank you for everything. I owe you big time for introducing me to Flex Fitness. Turns out, it helped me discover my TRUE self! 🌈 I'm officially out and proud now. Quit that boring job and ended things with Amy. She didn't deserve the real me anyway. I want YOU to meet me at Bare Essentials tomorrow night, 10pm. Let's celebrate together, cutie!"

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Something was wrong... there was no way... yet you couldn't help but pull up Alec's latest thirst trap. Taking in the sight of his impressive ass. Fuck...

____________________

The next evening, you nervously entered Bare Essentials, your heart pounding as you navigated the dimly lit hallway to the locker room. You pushed open the door and spotted Alec immediately, hunched over in front of a locker.

"Alec? Is that really you?" you sputtered, hardly recognizing your formerly strait-laced coworker. The piercing... the tattoo above his ass... the slight stubble...

Alec spun around, a brilliant smile spreading across his face, "I'm so glad you came!" He enveloped you in a tight hug, his bare chest pressing against you, "I know, I know, it's a lot to take in. But I feel so free, so alive!"

He turned slowly, letting you drink in the changes. The new piercings glinted in his ears and a tattoo adorned the smooth skin above his pert ass.

"I got these yesterday, to celebrate my new life. My authentic self." Yet you noticed his eyes were glazed over again... this time more evidently... not a single gear turning in that brain of his...

Alec shimmied into a glittery G-string, the scrap of material barely covering his manhood.

"So, whaddya think of the new me? Ready to watch me slay on stage?" He winked salaciously, striking a pose.

"Alec, I..." You do your best to keep eyes from glancing down at that incredible ass, "Something isn't..." But the words die in your throat as he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"After the show, I'll find you. My place is close by." His voice dripping with lust, "Now, what were you gonna say?"

You gulp, your dick straining in your shorts, "No-nothing... I..." His lips collide with yours and you stifle a moan as you lean into the kiss.

"See you later..." He breaks the kiss and winks.

You can only watch as he saunters away to the stage. His ass jiggling with every step. Something was wrong. Something wasn't right. But later that night, as he threw you into bed, you weren't going to ruin the moment.

#male tf #male transformation #personality tf #mental change #straight to gay #gay hypnosis

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featherspiral · 2 days ago

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why Asriel? I mean I really like Asriel too, I am just curious on why you personally like him so much.

I dano ur gonna have to ask 10 yr old me on this one

yeah idk man essentially I just think if the very experience of playing this game and it's major themes were translated into a character study he is the ultimate subject <- (this is why hes my fav but this is also now my thesis for the derailed rambles below)

(this is about to be VERY nonsensical and all over the place)

no but for real. I actually kind of find it difficult to put into words just whyyy it is I like my favorite character (at any given time) so much... it definetly helps a lot that I have that nostalgia from 9 years ago but if I were to play undertale for the very first time today he'd absolutely still be my favorite. I think he's pretty much one of (if not) the best video game villains ever, particularily because his story could not work and exist in other media forms. at least to nowhere NEAR the impact.

obviously you hear a lot about how he acts as a mirror to you as the player, which yes holy peak. my god perfectly done. but the part that REALLYY sells his character to me, and my favorite aspect of this, is how the game essentially baits you into falling down the exact same path he did (and probably even faster than he did) by just.. promising more. its a short game, not so short you don't have to be invested, but not long enough for you to actually feel totally and fully satisfied with just one playthrough.

undertale is completely designed for replayability- it reads you up and down and fully anticipates that you WILL play this more than once. assuming the route of the average blind player is neutral -> pacifist -> genocide, if you were receptive to the game and, in a sense, played along and took this world and the characters seriously, neutral will probably leave you with much to be desired. it let's you get attached to these characters, but ends so unsatisfyingly. makes you wonder what would happen if you chose differently, especially with flowey (the little guy of the hour) coming in and goading you on to a pacifist ending (which you also learn later that this is part of his oh so evil scheme to keep you around forever). and if your receptiveness let you actually find yourself caring about the ending these characters get, you WILL replay the game to see it through and get the good ending.

ultimately in the pacifist ending toby fox decides to spend a solid 20 minutes making you feel really sorry for asriel, only for him to then be the only character you cannot truly give a good ending. and usually, most people (ive seen) are just shocked at how emotional this little game made them feel and how much they realized they cared about these little guys. and even though you did all that to get the good, preferable ending, you boot up the game again because you dont really want to let those emotions you just felt go. and flowey is there to ask you NOT to do it, because, isn't this what you just fought to stop him from doing?? and it's something he no longer wants- he's stopped seeing chara as the only possible vehicle to his own (self defined) redemption, and hes divorced that projection of the "perfect friend" from frisk, choosing instead to see them as not only their own person, but someone else he needs to let go.

your inability to let this world (that you've expressly chosen to take seriously) carry on in its most desirable ending is what will eventually lead you to try and milk all the possible content out of it, to the point of killing everyone you possibly can just to see what will happen. obviously that's wording it pretty dramatically (i literally replay geno all the time for funsies and i like to fight sans LOL) but I'm just trying to ham up the point that this is practically BAR FOR BAR what flowey says as he recounts how he came to be so bored and apathetic.

it was your own love for the game that made it stop feeling "real" to you, as the more you replay the game, the more dialogue you skip through, the less you truly engage with it. it's kind of an endless cycle of ever diminishing returns to try and replicate how it once felt. (does this sound awfully familiar to that little guy still is this sounding like that guy to anyone else)

I also think he's just kind of funny he's such an edgy little 10 year old man. everything flowey says and does is so irrevocably tied to who he is and the relationships he had and the fact that when he died he was a little kid being influenced by the most emo human to ever step foot on mt ebott LOL. also I feel like when people look at my page they'd probably instantly assume I think "asriel > flowey" but that quite literally means nothing to me that is a chai tea moment like I know everybody has their own interpretations but for me personally i feel that flowey cannot exist as his own character without acknowledging that he's asriel and how that constantly affects everything about him (as hes pretty much his own foil on purpose) and asriel without flowey is just not so much an interesting character to me.. I just think (and again!! everyone has their own interpretations!!!) (ik people like 2 argue ab this) that the most (personally!!!) compelling way to read him is as one singular, linear person. because like thats what he is. he didn't come back as a flower and immediately hop on that murder sauce, the game just intentionally simultaneously shows you both the very beginning and the tail end of his villain arc without you even realizing you are seeing two ends of the same person's life. I'm losing track I think hahao

yeah anyway I like him ibguess I dunno

#undertale #asriel #flowey #this might be indecipherable ive been up all night #and also its obv not comprehensive #like i could totally go on #and ive already talked ab him and chara in prev posts #so this is just ab him essentially

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hard-core-super-star · 2 days ago

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keep it confidential, you make me feel special [W.Maximoff + K.Bishop]

pairing: domme!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x kate bishop

summary: wanda's the infamous editor in chief of a prestigious magazine, you're her executive editor and kate's your newest, annoying, assistant. what could possibly happen when she stumbles into wanda's office at the wrong time and finds out you two are more than co-workers? nothing good.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS GO AWAY! -> established dom/sub dynamics; office sex; power play; fingering; grinding; finger sucking because my hand slipped; praise kink go brr; mommy kink go brr; slight voyeurism [kate is a bit of a perv and a peeping tom]; technically triple [legal] age gap?; someone needs to notify HR lmao; R goes from not wanting kate around to wanting to top her which is valid, i think; no threesome yet tho

wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: HI! i rewatched the devil wears prada a few months ago and this random idea came to mind and i just could NOT stop myself from writing it. and trust me, i tried 😅 i have no idea if anyone will be into this AU but i wanted to explore R in a different role than usual. but because of who i am as a writer, that will come in part two which i hope will be up sometime next week. wanda x kate HAS to be the rarest rareship but oh well, my hand slipped. anyway, please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be added to the taglist. for now, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

Your steps are hurried as you make your way to Wanda's office, ignoring her assistant and her warning that the older woman is busy. You know damn well she's not busy, considering the not safe for work texts she'd just sent you.

Surprisingly, that's not what has you so hurried, though.

You push open her office door, straightening up as her gaze falls on you. "Do you need something?"

Instead of instantly replying, you shut the door behind you, making sure the windows are fully covered before standing in front of her desk. "Out of all the applicants, you chose the Bishop girl? I said I wanted an assistant, not a pet."

Even though she knows exactly what you're talking about, she still raises her eyebrow just to see you shrink into yourself. "Excuse me?"

You stand your ground as your stubbornness wins out over your fear of disappointing her. "Oh, come on, Wanda, there's no one around."

"That still doesn't mean you can forget your place," she replies, her no-nonsense tone taking a stand.

Instead of asking for forgiveness, you simply roll your eyes and cross the space between you. Wanda's hands land on your waist and she helps you up onto her desk before sliding her chair closer until she's between your spread legs.

"I'm serious, Wands," you try again. "Why her?"

"Because I said so," she responds, clearly teasing you. "And she was the best candidate."

"I seriously doubt that," you scoff. "What were her qualifications? Eating from a silver spoon all her life?"

"Behave. Why are you doubting me so much?"

Even though you're still a little annoyed, you force yourself to swallow said annoyances briefly. The last thing you need is to get into an unnecessary argument and earn yourself the silent treatment until tomorrow.

"It's not about doubting you," you reply with a sigh. "I just don't understand what your plan is."

The smirk on her face should tell you all you need to do, but you're far too distracted by her hands on your thighs to notice. "You don't need to understand, darling. You just need to trust me. I have no doubt the two of you will get along very well."

Her suggestive tone isn't lost on you, and yet you choose to ignore it. Maybe it's because of the trust you implicitly place in her or because her hands begin wandering, and she leans up to kiss you, and every thought in your head disappears.

Your argument is forgotten for the rest of the day (thanks to Wanda's skillful fingers) and you almost forget about Kate's existence.

Except, she shows up at the office, bright-eyed and smiley, two days later.

The mere sight of her makes you want to roll your eyes, but you force yourself to behave for Wanda. As much as you hated the solution, you were in dire need of an assistant and if the Bishop girl was your only option…well, you hated to admit it, but she was better than nothing.

Especially if having her around kept you from getting in trouble with your partner.

Despite your hesitations, the first few days were fine.

Kate was surprisingly good at listening when she wanted to be and her weird charm made her the best candidate for going out to fetch your lunch. Sure, it was a little juvenile to make her your errand girl, but what else was an assistant for? Your duties as editor-in-chief were overwhelming most days, thanks to how much of a perfectionist Wanda is, and an errand girl was exactly what you needed.

You hated it but…it turned out the Bishop girl wasn't the worst person for the job. Even you could admit that.

It certainly helped that she seemed to be quite…enthusiastic around you. You wrote it off as her being excited about finally having a job after being a trust fund baby all her life.

That became harder to do, though, when you saw the way she acted around Wanda.

The blush that stained her cheeks, the constant stammering only to ramble on about something completely unrelated to the topic at hand, the way she fidgeted with her hands when no one was looking. It was far more amusing than it should have been.

You were hardly the right person to judge considering the heart eyes you constantly threw Wanda, even at work. It wasn't like your relationship was forbidden, even if HR probably wouldn't be happy about it, but the two of you still preferred to keep things discreet. Not simply because of the nature of your relationship, even though that was a big part of it.

While your promotion to executive editor had come before getting romantically involved with Wanda, people still talked. She already faced so much adversity, you hardly needed to add fuel to the fire.

Maybe that's what made Kate's reactions so damn endearing. She was you if had allowed your real feelings to slip through the cracks all those months ago.

However, when you brought up your observations to Wanda, her reaction wasn't what you expected.

The two of you were in her office, far past 5 PM, sharing a bottle of wine and pretending like you were actually editing the newest batch of stories sent in by the writers for next month's issue. When the silence started lingering, you brought it up.

"I think Kate's got a crush on you," you say with a grin far too big for the topic at hand.

Wanda meets your eyes over the rim of her glass. "Me? Oh, darling, you're far too intelligent to be so oblivious."

Her words only serve to confuse you and you try to ignore the warmth in your cheeks as your head tilts to the side. "What are you talking about?"

She allows herself a laugh as she sets her glass down and pats her lap in invitation. You waste no time in following her wordless offer, the tension in your shoulders already starting to lessen. Her hands land on your waist and she pulls you in as close as physically possible.

Once you're settled on her lap, she speaks again, her eyes glancing behind you for a second. You assume it's her being overly vigilant as always so you pay no mind to it. "Darling, Kate is embarrassingly head over heels for you."

If her grip on you wasn't so tight, you would have squirmed away out of embarrassment. "What? That can't be true."

All she does is smile, her hands rubbing up and down your sides. You're not sure if she's trying to distract you or not, but your thoughts get scattered all the same. "Trust me, detka, she doesn't care about this place enough to be doing all your biding."

Slowly, the wires in your brain start connecting. The process is slower than normal, though, thanks to the wine in your system and Wanda's hands on your body. "Then why'd you hire her?"

Instead of answering, she simply continues her slow exploration of your body. Even though you know what she's doing, you can't find it in yourself to care. Especially when her hands slip under your shirt. "You keep questioning me and you'll end up over my lap with a sore ass."

It's technically a threat, and yet your hips move against her before you can stop them. Wanda catches you, of course. She's far too attuned to your body and the way it reacts to her words, even when you don't want it to.

Whatever her plan is, it's working perfectly. As usual.

And while you could sit there and take it, you much prefer to be a brat about it. Like always.

"Are you going to actually do something or just keep talking?" You ask, grinding against her firm thigh.

Her eyes shift again, that smug smirk marking her features once more. "But you like it when I talk you through it, don't you?"

Before you can answer, one of her hands moves up and she slides two fingers into your mouth. It's unexpected, but you respond instantly all the same.

Her other hand remains on your waist, guiding you against her thigh. It should be embarrassing you much you want her. How needy you are that even the briefest touch gets you so desperate.

Instead, it feels fucking incredible.

"Don't worry," she murmurs, pushing her fingers in deeper just to take in the face you make. "I've got you."

Her words are meant to be comforting, and in a way they are, but more than anything, they give you the permission you need to let go. To stop thinking so damn much after a day of nonstop work and worrying.

Wanda sees it. She always does. And even though she could tease you about it, a part of her always longs to take care of you. It's hard for her to trust anyone, let alone want them around. It's different with you, though. It's always been different.

She slips her fingers out of your mouth only to slip them down the front of your trousers, a wicked glint in her eye shining as she finds the wetness staining your panties. "Already, darling? Did you miss me that much today?"

"I always do," you reply, walking the line between vulnerability and desire.

"Oh, I know. You just need me that much, huh?"

Despite the question, she gives you no time to actually answer. Instead, she slips her fingers under your panties to tease your clit.

The contact makes you jump, your hips conflicted about whether to move away or closer. Wanda makes the choice for you, though, squeezing your waist while her fingers slip inside your cunt.

You clench around the intrusion, head falling back as the pleasure moves up your spine. The sight of bared skin only makes the older woman move closer, her lips latching onto your neck. She knows better than to actually leave behind any hickies, despite how badly you both want her to.

She doesn't give you any time to think about that, though, because all your focus is given to her fingers pistoning in and out of you. Her pace is just fast enough to keep you gasping for air in between moans yet slow enough to feel her knuckles grazing against your walls.

"Wanda-" You gasp, your hands blindly griping her flexing biceps as she works you up effortlessly. Well, almost effortlessly, if the way her muscles move beneath your hands is anything to go by.

"Nice try, sweetheart," she mutters as she grazes her teeth against your pulse point. "Just because we're still at work doesn't mean you can forget your manners."

You whine despite yourself. "Please, mommy."

"Much better."

Your reward, besides the sweet praise, is her thumb toying with your aching clit. Your hips buck against her hand as you chase after the release slowly building. It's almost unfair how quickly she gets you to this point.

Then again, it's a much better alternative than when she gets into a sadistic mood and edges you over and over again only to ruin your orgasm and leave you spent and shaking on her expensive sheets.

Today, it seems she's in a much nicer mood because she keeps her fingers moving. "Do you want to cum, baby?"

You nod instantly, the condescending tone in her voice making your brain melt. "Yes, mommy! Please."

She trails a few kisses down your throat while her thumb toys mercilessly with your clit. It's almost like she's waiting until your whole body starts trembling to give you the command you crave.

"Alright, sweet girl, let go for me."

That's all your body needed to hear.

Your orgasms crashes into you all at once, pulling you down until all that's left is the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through your core. You can feel Wanda smiling against your skin as she slows down her movements, not stopping until she's sure she's wrung out every drop of your release.

You shift away from her when the feeling of her touch grows to be too much and she relents with a quick kiss to your jaw. "Good girl. You did so well for me, sweetheart."

All you can do is hum, your body already slumping against her. She chuckles at the action as her fingers find their way back into your mouth.

You're halfway to a much needed nap when Wanda shocks you awake with one simple sentence.

"If you're going to keep staring, you might as well come in, Kate."

Her free hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you against her even though all you want to do is run away. You've never let anyone except Wanda see you like this and you're not exactly thrilled about changing that right now. But, her embrace is still warm and if she takes care of the brunette's bad timing on her own, maybe it'll be fine. At least she takes her fingers out of your mouth to save you the embarrasment.

"I'm so sorry, I realized I forgot to drop off some paperwork and I assumed no one was here and then I saw you guys and-"

"And you decided to stop and watch instead of leaving." You don't have to be looking at her to know the smirk the older woman is wearing. "I didn't realize you were such a slut, Kate."

Wanda's voice lacks the harshness you had been expecting, but a brief glance toward the younger woman tells you she doesn't realize that. It's…cute, in a way. She looks like the most flustered deer in headlights you've ever seen and it weirdly works for her.

Kate opens her mouth a few times, trying to form words but failing miserably. The sight makes you giggle which makes Wanda glance down at you.

None of you seem quite sure of where to go, you just know Wanda's not mad and you're coming around to Kate's presence. Especially if being flustered means she's not talking all the time.

"Kate, if all you wanted was to be topped by Wanda, you didn't have to get a job here," you pipe up.

Your words seem to stun the room into silence and you shift enough to be able to watch the brunette's face turn an even deeper shade of pink. "I didn't- that's not-"

"It's not?" Wanda's eyebrow raise is almost inbedded in her tone. "You're not a good enough liar to try right now."

For a second, it looks like Kate is ready to run away from the conversation. But after a beat of silence, she rolls her shoulders back and straightens up, her chin held a little higher. "That's not why I applied to work here…and it's none of your business who I want to be topped by."

"It's both of us, isn't it?"

Wanda's question makes the brunette's confidence fall flat. "I...well, yes."

Despite the blush on her cheeks, her words are loud and clear. And they make you freeze long enough to realize Wanda was right.

Which just complicates things even more.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

Wanda comes up with the answer for that question before you can even blink. And before you know it, she's inviting the brunette to her place, a seductive promise of "working things out" is the only hint either of you get about what she has up her sleeve.

You ask her about it at least ten times after Kate leaves and the two of you start packing up to go home. She doesn't answer, of course, and you force yourself to behave and be patient even though the mere thought of the brunette being allowed into your private world makes your heart pound in your chest…and your cunt clench around nothing.

Maybe the Bishop girl isn't so bad after all.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x you #kate bishop #wandakate #hailee steinfeld #elizabeth olsen #avengers fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu imagine #wlw fic #writing #hawkeye

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sydwritess · 1 day ago

Text

You Want It, You Got It

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Summary: You and charles are out on a coffee date before your self care day. When charles finds out another man bought you your drink. He instantly tries to prove himself as better.

Second Person POV

You and Charles were in a local coffee shop, having a quick little date before you went of on your self care day.

"I'm going to get a drink before we head out." You say, the both of you standing from your table.

"Okay." He says, reaching in his pocket, pulling out his card and handing it to you.

You smile and playfully roll your eyes, taking it as he walks outside.

"Hi, can I get a dragon fruit refresher, please?" You ask the cashier. She nods and starts getting the drink together.

An idea popped into your head, pranking Charles before you leave. The cashier hands you your drink, you pay and make your way outside to Charles.

"Hey." You say happily.

"Hey, happy you got your coffee?" He asked, grabbing your hand.

"Yeah! Some guy even offered to pay for it. Isn't that sweet?" You say, taking a sip of your drink.

"Wait... what?"

"Yeah, I told him I had a card but he said no pretty girl should pay for her own drink. That's like the sweetest thing ever." You say, pretending your melting just talking about it.

"Who is this man?" He asks, stopping in front of you, facing you.

"Oh I'd don't know."

"And you excepted it?"

"Yeah! He was so nice!"

"He offered to pay for your drink when you had my card."

"Yeah, I guess." You said, biting your tongue trying to laugh.

"Mon amour, you don't need some man to pay for your drink when you got me right here." He says gently, looking in your eyes.

"I will pay for everything you ask me to. Don't throw yourself at some man for a drink." He says. That's when you burst out laughing.

"What- what is so funny?"

"You. You're too sweet. It was just a prank baby." You say, putting a hand gently on his face.

"That's rude." He says, his frown cracking into a smile. "I'm still better though."

"I know you are." You say, gently kissing him.

"I am going make sure you know how much I love you." He says.

"Oh really?"

"Really. I will pay for everything you do today." He says.

"No you won't-"

"Yes, I will. Did you forget I'm an f1 driver? I make millions!" He says sarcastically, with a small laugh.

"Oh, right, of course." You saying, matching his energy.

"Right, so what are we doing today?"

"Charles, you're not spending your money on me."

"I never said anything about that. I want to see what your self care day involves bébé."

"Okay, fine. First, I'm getting my hair done." You say. He nods in approvement and and grabs your hand, walking along with you.

You both reach your hair salon in a quick time. It was a small singular studio. You open the door, Charles following in right behind you.

"Hey T." You say.

"Y/n! Good to see you." She says, walking up to you and hugging you.

"You can go sit over there, I'll get your color ready." She said. You nodded and sat in the chair.

"Your dying your hair?" Charles asked, pulling up a chair next to you.

"Yeah. I usually get it black." You say.

"How did I not know this?" He asks.

"Your to busy 'making million.'" You tease.

"Right. Of course." He says, smirking. Just then T comes over and starts working on my hair.

"So, what's been up? Haven't seen you in a while." She says, looking at you through the mirror.

"I've been really busy actually. Work and everything. Apparently I have a new boyfriend to, so that's nice." You say, you can see Charles looking at you out of the corner of your eye.

"Oo, girl you need to spill the tea now." She says.

"Well, my dear, just fantastic boyfriend, who is acting all innocent over there, thinks I have a new boyfriend. But it was a prank. So yeah." You trailed off.

"Oh yeah, I did that to my man one time... didn't go well." She mumbled at the end.

"See, and I'm sure whoever her boyfriend is was also, pretty upset." Charles said.

"Yes he was. But it was worth it." T said.

"So what's going on with him?" You ask.

"He broke up with me."

"What? Why?"

"I have no idea. He just ghosted me." She said sadly.

"Ew. What a weird thing to do."

"Right?"

"I swear." You say, taking a sip of your drink. "Men are so... just about themselves, it's unreal. It's like, I'm sorry you have a big glass-made ego?" You joke.

"Right! Like seriously." She says. Charles looked dumb-founded from his chair.

"Don't worry babe. Not about you." You say, slightly looking at him. He nods with a smile.

About and hour later, after letting the color settle, and washing it out, your back in the chair, going over your haircut.

"So, what are we doing with it?" T asks.

"Just cut the dead ends off." You say.

"Okay, and what about the style?"

"I was thinking like four small braids here. Like Dutch braids." You say, pointing to the top of your head. "And into a high ponytail."

"Cute, I love that." She says happily. She grabs her scissors and quickly cuts your hair, taking the dead ends off as needed.

Once she got done with that, she started parting and putting gel in your hair, and starting the braids. She quickly got done with them, put your hair up into a ponytail and did the last finishing touches.

"You all set." She said, walking over to the counter.

"Thanks. This looks great." You say, walking with her.

"That'll be 280.00 today." She said. I look over at Charles to see his eyes widened as he takes out his card.

"You sure you can handle it? That look gives it away." You tease.

"Of course I can." He said, handing his card to T.

"There, your all good. Have a great day." She smiled. You said your goodbye's and left the salon.

"Two-hundred and eighty dollars. I practically get my hair done for free!" He says, pointing out into the open.

"That's because your mom does it for you." You laugh out.

"Right, but still. You should get her to do it." He suggested.

"I love your mom, but no." You say.

"Fair. Where next?" he asked.

"I'm getting my nails done." You say.

"Okay." He said. You both walked through town, getting to the nail salon.

"Are these like the people we see in America?" He asked.

"Almost. Eric's nice. You'll like him" You say.

"Eric? Like... a guy?"

"Yes a guy. don't worry. He's married."

"Right, of course." He says, a small smile appearing on his lips.

"Don't be jealous. It's okay." You say, grabbing his hand.

"I never would be." He says.

You eventually got to the nail salon. Walking in to see Eric and his client in there, again a single person salon.

"Hi y/n. I'll be right with you." He says, checking out his last client. You nodded and went to his chair while he was at the register.

"Okay girl, what are we thinking today?" He asked, coming to sit down across from you.

"A long, square, black French tip with like a red line at the top, like at the start of the black." You say, he nods and get's to work. You see Charles looking at you from the couch by the window.

You lean closer to Eric as he takes off the old gel.

"Can you play a prank on my boyfriend?" You ask.

"Hmm, sure." He says.

"Wait, you want the hard gel right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, continue."

"Can you say some absurd price for each singular nail your about to do?" You whisper.

"Girl I got you." He says. He takes around five minutes to get the old gel off and dusts your nails off.

"Okay, so all new hard gel, plus the extension is going to be thirty dollars a nail. Is that okay?" Eric asks, extra loudly. Just then Charles comes up behind your seat.

"Can you repeat that?" He asks, sitting next to you.

"Thirty dollar a nail."

"Uh- I um... okay, yes, that's perfect." Charles says hesitantly. Scratching the back of his neck.

You couldn't help but laugh at him a little.

"No because that's a great price right?" Charles asks. By then, Eric couldn't help but laugh a little to.

"I don't know. Is it?" You repeat.

"Well, I'm not sure." Charles says.

"It's a joke. It's like... well I'm not sure. I just get it done and pay whatever." You say.

"Wonderful. We'll go with whatever you normally price then." Charles says.

"For this, around.... hm, I think 110."

"110! Okay- I suppose it's reasonable." He says.

"Would you like me to pay darling." You ask, looking over at Charles.

"No, no I got this." He says, putting his hands up.

"Whatever you say."

"You seem tense." eric said, looking at Charles.

"Right? You should give him a massage."

"I could, if you want." Eric says seriously.

"No-"

"And give him the happy ending to." You joke.

"What- what is that?" Charles asks.

"Oh you know... the happy ending." You say, he thinks about it and then clocks it.

"No! No I'm okay. I will stay right here." He says, a nervous smile on his face. You couldn't help but laugh again.

Eric started putting on the hard gel, until it was all shaped.

"Okay, put your hand under. Wait until you feel burning." He says. You do exactly that and take your hand back out.

"Burning?" Charles questions.

"Yeah, the UV like sucks out the chemicals from the gel." You say. He nods in surprise.

Eric continued working on your nails, shaping them, soaking them, the whole works.

He finally got done with the polish around and hour later, and you all stood up and went to the counter.

"110.00 today." He said, Charles handed him his card. He paid and we walked out back into town.

"It that all that includes in your self care day?" He asks, grabbing your hand.

"Yes."

"Thank God. I think I went bankrupt." He said, smiling.

"Hey, you offered. You and your millions." You say.

"Don't worry. I have enough money for next week." He says.

"Next week?"

"Yeah. When do you go back?" He asks.

"Every two weeks for my nails, and every month for my hair."

"Oh, right."

"Don't worry. I won't make you pay." You say, stopping with him.

"If I don't pay, then don't let any man buy you your drinks." He says.

"Don't worry. I won't." You say. Leaning into him, kissing him gently.

"Good, and if they try, show them this." He says, pulling his card out.

"Why's that?"

"My name's on it. So they'll know your mine." He says, kissing you again.

"Possessive huh?"

"Protective." He said, grabbing your hand and continued walking with you.

Hey loves! Hope you like this one! Comment to be added to the tag list!

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drachenkinder · 8 hours ago

Text

"Martin?" you ask in horror, recognizing the voice. "Yeah. Long story." It shuffles past and reaches in the cupboard for that ridiculously over sized coffee cup you thought was a gag gift. It takes most of the pot of you just brewed to fill it. It, no Martin, stops, looks at you with your empty cup dangling in your hand, and pours part of the coffee back. Martin pushes aside a too small chair and crouches on the floor. A long feathered tail, the same iridescent purple as the feathered wings sprouting from his back, coils around the clawed bird like feet. He looks no less imposing at eye level then he did when you were looking up at him. He sets his cup on the table, gathers his waist length violet hair and ties it behind his neck with a belt, revealing his naked chest. You stare. Your hand raises and points, and you say without thinking. "You're a girl?" Martin sighs, rolls golden eyes and shakes a head too reminiscent of of those mislabeled Raptors from that popular Dinosaur Park movie. He gestures, "All of this and it's my tits you notice? " Martin lowers his head and laps up the coffee, then wrinkles his lips back in distaste baring a mouthful of fangs. "You bought that bargain coffee again. I told you I'd make up the difference in price to get the good stuff." "Yes." you think. "This has to be Martin. "No one else would become a giant sex changed monster and then bitch about the coffee." "I didn't have enough cash in hand. Uh coffee aside, how did you become... uh.." "Harpy. I'm a Harpy. Or at least I am about five days every couple of months. You know those retreats I go on? This is why. Only the change came a week early this time. Probably work related stress. My cycles are normally pretty regular. Good thing we finished that engineering job for ComNar before the weekend. I'll have to take a week off. I can't go into work like this. I'd be too tempted to bite our boss' head off." You take a moment to imagine Mr. Hawthorn shrieking in terror as Martin's fanged jaws close around his self satisfied face. It brings a smile to your lips. "That's not a bad idea. He's a real asshole." "Beware the Jabberwock, Mr. Hawthorn." Martin says. Despite the sharp teeth, his conspiratorial smile is the same, as is his laugh. All your fear evaporates. That touch of sarcasm did it. Besides Martin is the best roommate you've ever had. Polite, patient, picks up after himself, pays his half of the rent on time and is always willing to listen to your enthusiasms and provide a shoulder to cry on. Given the choice between someone who eats your food, leaves their dirty dishes in the sink, or brings their drunken date home to have a screaming match with at three am, and a nice guy who turns into an eight foot tall, purple, part woman, part bird, and part dinosaur every couple of months, Martin the Harpy wins. Now that you're no longer freaking out, you notice how beautifully Martin's glossy wings and hair and scales reflect the morning light in shades of green and gold over the dark purple base. Even his lighter lavender skin has an opalescent sheen to it. Which sets off those golden nipples on his, more than a handful breasts, very nicely. "My eyes are up here." Martin says with a low chuckle, which sends a shiver down your spine. You meet his eyes and notice his face is more dragon then raptor, and much more expressive. No raptor could leer like that. Nor run a long, slender, scarlet tongue over its slightly parted lips. "You know," You say, "I think we both deserve a week's holiday after this past month. Would you like me to call in for you too? A week's vacation would give you plenty of time to relate all of your long uh, story." "Every inch of it." Martin says, and covers your hand with his. "I was wrong, this is going to be my best morning ever." You can't help but agree. by drachenkinder

You scream, seeing a monster in place of your roommate. "Yeah," it says, staring back, "not my best morning."

#writing prompts #my story #monster lover

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rafesyangel · 3 days ago

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Cw:mentions of drugs, gun is used

It was just another slow Saturday in the house,the golden sun casting a soft glow across the house, You were going from room to room barefoot, frantic, your little pajama shorts swaying with every step Your phone had disappeared , Again.

You had checked the laundry basket, the kitchen counter, under the pillows, even inside the fridge "Maybe I left it in Rafe’s truck…" you mumbled to yourself, chewing your thumbnail nervously

That’s when his voice echoed through the silence, calm but cold

"Why are you buzzing around like a damn fly?" He was stretched across the bed, one arm behind his head, watching you with that bored, tired of your drama look

You paused. Everything inside you paused

And then you saw it , the sparkly baby pink case, the one with the sony angel glued on the back, dangling in his hand Your breath caught in your throat

“Rafe… I..I’ve been looking everywhere. Where did you find it?” you asked carefully, your voice barely above a whisper. You could already tell by the look in his eyes that this wasn’t going to end well

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink

You took one slow step toward him, heart pounding. “Rafe, p-please give me..”

Without a single warning, he stood up.Moved right past you like you weren’t even there His silence was louder than yelling

“Rafe, please…don’t get mad I didn’t mean to..”

Your voice cracked. You followed him down the hall like a terrified little puppy, nearly tripping over yourself.

And then

Bang

You screamed, hands flying over your ears as he lowered the smoking gun Your phone shattered in a mess of pink, glitter, and sparks with a huge hole in the middle laying in the middle of the tile

“You think I’m stupid?”His voice thundered suddenly, slicing through the air  He still had the gun in his hands, eyes wild, chest rising and falling. “You think I’m some fucking idiot?”

Your phone was long gone shattered into pieces on the floor. But now his rage had a new target, you

“Drug test? Seriously?” he spat, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. “You think I’m some crackhead who needs help?”

He let out a low, bitter laugh “Especially from you?”

That one stung Like he meant to remind you just how small you really were compared to him

Your mouth opened but no words came out only a cracked sob Your legs gave up, sliding you helplessly down the wall until you curled into yourself in the corner, crying into your knees

It was pathetic. You knew it, But you couldn’t stop.

Then, you saw them his boots. Right in front of you.

“Stand up,” he barked.

You didn’t move.

“I said…” His voice dropped, sharp and cutting now,

“Stand. Up.”

You barely had time to react before he hauled you up himself, one hand gripping your arm as if you weighed nothing. He placed you on the edge of the table with too much ease, like he’d done it before like he’d always be doing this.

Then, strangely, he softened ,His hand moved to your cheek, brushing aside the strands of hair plastered to your wet face. You were trembling, breath shallow, eyes wide and glassy like a scared little animal.

“You’re crying again,” he murmured, gently. “Why do you always make me do this?”

He leaned in, kissed the tears off your cheeks one by one. His hands were warm. His voice, suddenly, sweet.

“I don’t like what you turn into when I’m not watching, baby”

And just like that… You broke again. Because you believed him. Because you always do Your lip trembled, as you held into his shirt, your eyes too puffy and swollen to keep open properly. You sat there frozen on the table, legs dangling, hands gripping him like a scolded child

"You think you can fix me, huh?" he whispered now, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth not amused "You think a little test, a little paper, gonna tell you what kinda man I am?"

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain that it wasn’t like that you were just scared, you didn’t know what else to do but the words wouldn’t come. All that came was a shaky hiccup and more tears

"I work my ass off," he said, his voice rising again, but his hands were still strangely soft, now cupping your cheeks. "I bought this house, I pay for everything, and this is what I get? You sneaking behind my back like a brat?"

"I'm sorry” you choked out, barely audible. Your hands trembled in your lap now nails digging into your own thighs to stay grounded. "I didn’t mean to…I was just scared..”

“Im soo sorry.. sorrysorrysorry”

He suddenly leaned forward, his nose brushing against yours

"I know you're scared," he said in a low tone, almost mockingly. "You should be”

Then, as if flipping a switch, his tone softened again

"But I hate seeing you like this, baby. Look at you all curled up and messy." His hand went under your chin, lifting your face to his

“You need me to protect you. That’s why I do what I do. Because you wouldn’t last a day without me, would you?”

You shook your head, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights

“Exactly,” he said, giving you a soft, approving kiss on the forehead

“You’re gonna stay right here now, yeah? No phone, no tests, no stupid little ideas. Just me. And you”

Then he patted your cheek twice, like it was all settled

“I will bring you water”

He walked into the kitchen, like he hadn’t just screamed at you, like your phone wasn’t in a dozen pieces on the floor

And you just sat there, trembling on the table, too afraid to move but somehow… feeling safer with him still in the house

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malereadermaniac · 3 days ago

Text

๑_๑ Simp ~ Charles LeClerc x male reader

Word Count: 864

Plot: Image Charles, despite being very well-known and desired, can't help but simp over you

Note: ik Charles has a girlfriend, but this is fanfiction and I see ppl do this with Chris Evans n shit so fuck off ૮ • ﻌ - ა

Warnings: m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI This is a work of fiction purely for entertainment purposes!

Imagine trying on outfits in front of Charles.

You had the day off and really needed to sort through your clothes. Lord knows you're overjoyed whenever your rich boyfriend buys you clothes (or just straight up gives you his card), but it was really getting to a point... Every outfit you'd try on, you'd ask for Charles' opinion; and boy, does he deliver with his comments.

"Well, whad'ya think?" you give a twirl. "Oh my God, you're so pretty~" The F1 driver responds with a breathy tone and softened eyes scanning over you.

"I tried something new!" you say with a smile, showing off the clothes which you'd never normally wear, but they flatter you so fucking well. "Uh- Um- Holy shit. -It's nice." that was all Charles could force out. His eyes were literally zooming all over your body to admire every aspect of you and your outfit.

"Does it look okay with my eyes?" you lean down to face your boyfriend. Your eyes looking into his pretty green ones. "Oh my GOD, you're so pretty" Charles mumbled under his breath as his eyes roamed over your outfit and landed on your eyes.

"Well, I don't hate it..." you mumble as you check yourself out in the mirror, pulling different poses and inspecting your body in ways that showed it off to Charles "uh- uh! Holy shit..!" covering the bottom half of his face with hand; his thumb on one side of his face and the rest of his fingers on the other.

"How do I look?" another flattering outfit. "Oh man... you're so hot~"

An hour had passed by the time you got halfway through your closet. At one point, you got lazy and just stripped to your underwear in front of Charles rather than changing inside your walk-in closet. That was a mistake. Blood rushed to both Charles' face and down south. "Babe, stop- I'm getting hard!" "Huh? We just fucked! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE GETTING HARD?!?!"

Imagine accidentally calling Charles 'Bro' instead of any of your other pet names for him.

You two were just hanging out, TV on in the background as you debriefed about your respective days; your legs up on Charles' lap and his hand lovingly rubbing up and down your leg and thigh.

"-and then I had to check up on him as well! Bro, you have no idea blah blah blah....." It slipped out so naturally. You were swept up in your story and didn't even notice (not like it was even that big of a deal). But Charles noticed, the next couple of words fell on deaf ears.

"Did you just 'bro' me?" his hand had now stilled on your thigh.

"...yeah that's how crazy this is, anyway, you have no idea-" You thought nothing of it, cracking a smile and assuming that your boyfriend was joking.

"We have sex. I am not 'bro'." he interrupted you, a smile on his face but of shock instead of amusement.

"*sigh*...BABE. You have no idea how blah blah blah...." You really didn't get why he was deeping it so much, but the dumb smile on Charles' face after you corrected yourself helped you get over his silly demands.

Imagine catching Charles being the biggest simp ever on video.

You were just lying in bed when Charles plopped his big self on top of you. His head was lying on your chest, and his nose was pressed into your hoodie. You asked him what was up, and he just replied with 'wanna be with you, wanna smell you'. Truth be told, you literally melted when you heard him mumble something so cute. But a sick and twisted side of you told you to whip your phone out and record your boyfriend being a fucking simp. Hey! It was a very rare opportunity - you'd be a fool not to take it!

You held your phone behind Charles' head, hit record, and started asking him questions in a baby/whinny voice - something you knew he always reciprocated, especially when he was like this. "You okay, baby?~" you started. "mnnnnn~ I love you so much" Charles mumbled, pressing his face more into you. "Yeah? Whad'ya love about me?~" you press on "everything~ you're so handsome n pretty" Charles whines, the way he rubs his nose against your neck doesn't go uncaught by the camera. "Hmhm... yeah but what specificalyyy~" you really put that baby talk to work. "Hmmm... the way you walk~ The way you pose for photos~ Your smell~ Your hair~ Your laugh~" Charles goes on and on, not noticing the way you laugh and look at the phone held up behind him.

He did quickly notice it shortly after, though. Charles had brought his head up to kiss your lips after saying how much he loved them, but when he noticed you were looking behind him and not at him, he saw how much of a fool he'd made out of himself.

"YOU'RE RECORDING?! *AHEM* I-Imma go gym..." Charles shouts and then decreases his volume to a mumble as he jolts up from you.

He got so embarrassed, but it was so worth it, wasn't it?

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cafterdark · 2 days ago

Text

Vampires aren't real of course, but imagine if they were?

Let's say you're stumbling home after another lonely night at the bar, trying to avoid seeing your disheveled form in the darkened windows of the stores you pass. You're already dreading working tomorrow. All of a sudden, you hear a noise coming from the alley. It's something between a sob and faint gurgling. You can't say why, but you decide to investigate.

The noise grows as you approach, along with soft whispers in a voice sweeter than any you've ever heard. You turn into an outcropping and see a blob in the darkness, the sound of smacking lips and devouring. You remain frozen, waiting for your eyes to adjust. The blob shifts into two humanoid shapes, one on top of the other, tearing into it. A faint red glow illuminates a dark liquid that you hope isn't blood. The bottom shape twitches, letting out a soaked groan, leading to the top shape biting down where the neck would be, silencing it. You let out a gasp, and the world goes still.

The top figure looks at you, two eyes, blood red. They look human, but they aren't. Something animal, something predatory colors it, awakening some ancient fear in you to run, run. You remain frozen. It's eyes are glowing, lighting up enough of its face to see a mouth full of sharp teeth and a face covered in blood and viscera. The two of you stare at each other, neither moving, until it speaks, in a voice too sweet for it:

"Hello there."

In a blink, it's pounced from its corpse and onto you, and the world goes black

---

You jolt awake as you walk into your apartment. You laugh, must've drifted as you walked home. You should probably stop drinking so much. You stumble inside and collapse onto your bed. The feeling of dread does not leave you, and sleep does not come easy, but eventually, it does come.

---

It's late afternoon when the most attractive woman you've ever seen in your life walks into your gas station. She's tall, built like a super model, hair black as ink, and with a strut that knows she's the hottest person in the room. She's wearing sunglasses and a large black sun hat with a dress to match. She wanders around the store for a bit, glancing your way, as if she knew you were staring at her. Every time she catches you, she grins like she knows something. After a while, she approaches the counter with a few sticks of beef jerky and says:

"What is a cute girl like you doing in a place like this?" Her voice is honey, seeping into your ears. It has a slight accent, but you just can't place where it's from. Every syllable she uttered seemed design to imply attraction. The fact she called you "cute" or a girl are secondary. The fact that someone this beautiful even talks to you in such a way makes your heart flutter. You struggled to think anyone even tolerated you, much less could be into you.

You must've been frozen in shock because she just starts laughing. Not a harsh one of mockery, but soft, understanding, like you told her a bad joke.

"My name is Elanor, and yours is?"

You tell her, and she cringes.

"That's not a proper name for someone like you."

You don't understand what she means by that. A name is just a name, your parents, for better or worse, picked it, and its the name you've just responded to ever since.

"We'll need to pick a better one at some point."

You manage to work up the courage to ask, "we?"

"Ah yes, I forgot. I saw you at the bar a few nights ago, and I seemed to have caught feelings for you. But you left before I could ask you out. So here I am."

She... wanted to go on a date with you? She was attracted to your shlubby, anxious mess of a body? You pinch your thigh to make sure you're not dreaming.

"How about this, can I come to your place at some point?"

Your heart races. Don't blow it, you think to yourself.

"Absolutely," You give her your address. "when?"

She grins, showing off a sliver of her very shiny teeth. "Oh I don't know," she says. "I'm a very busy woman right now. I'll let you know when I'm free."

"Uh, uh, okay."

"See you then!" She says, turning and walking out the door. You look down to see a couple of crumpled bills and you realize you never gave her you number.

---

You spent the rest of the shift kicking yourself for such an amateur mistake. Stupid, stupid, stupid, how would you two ever go on a date now? Night had fallen as you walk inside your apartment. You shiver and look behind you. Nothing. Strange. You could swear you felt like you were being watched.

You do your nightly rituals and tuck yourself into bed, still not over losing such a chance. Your nerves are hard to shake, but eventually you drift to sleep.

That thing is still chasing you. It's faster than you. Two red eyes hunting you down a never ending alley. You can feel it's blood soaked breath behind you. It pounces on you and...

You jolt awake, heart pounding out of your chest. Your room is dark. You take deep breaths until you're no longer panicking. You fall back to the bed and wonder why you had such a horrid dream when you notice two red eyes in the corner of your room. It approaches you, crawling onto the bed and pressing you onto the mattress. You're frozen. This couldn't be real, this wasn't real. It gets close to your face, and you can smell the blood that stains it's sickening smile. It raises a finger up to it's mouth and simply says:

"Sshhhhhhhhhhh."

And everything goes black.

---

You wake up with a terrible headache. Groaning, you thought you left your sleep paralysis demon behind when you moved out of your parent's place. Getting ready for work is a painful affair, every light pounding at your skull. Stepping outside, the sunlight is even worse. You stumble back in your room, half blinded by the pain, and put on a pair of sunglasses. It doesn't stop the headache, but it does make sunlight bearable.

Your coworker asks if you're doing alright. You explain that you've been having trouble sleeping and have a bad migraine. He says you look pale too, though looking in the mirror, you can't understand what he means. You've always been very pale.

The girl doesn't show back up, so there goes any chance that your virgin ass goes on a date. The shift goes by fast, and mercifully, the night lessens your symptoms.

---

Another dream, this time a soft memory. Your mom is cradling you in her arms after you broke a vase, whispering that it wasn't your fault and that she's not mad at you. You know it'll be short lived, soon Dad will be home to scream at you, and then Mom will standby and watch.

And yet, it never comes. The tranquility is never broken. Mommy just holds you and kisses you and tells you you're the best little girl...

Wait. You look up, and instead of your Mommy, it's that woman you saw at work. She smiles at you, teeth razor sharp, as she tells you she loves you, more than anything else in the world. You try to be scared, but you can't help but believe her. She loves you, She will protect you, you're her precious child, forever. She says that she knows what you need, peeling off a shoulder strap to reveal a deep cut, blood spilling from it.

"Drink up, little one." she says, in a voice that allows no compromise. You lean in and suckle the wound, tasting blood sweeter than anything else you've ever had. Any apprehensions you had fade as you drink more, more, more. All the while, she rocks you, humming a soft song.

---

The migraine is worse, making any action a lesson in pain. It's a miracle you drag yourself to work at all. Not that it did any good. Even with few customers, your shift is hell. Your unkempt hair keeps getting into your eyes, a constant reminder that you need to get it cut. Your body is achey and sensitive, especially in the chest and hips. And no matter how many snacks you ate, there was this subtle hunger gnawing at the edges of your stomach, refusing to be mollified.

Now even your manager has noticed, and when he asks you if you're doing okay, you throw up, half digested food mixed in blood. Needless to say, he tells you to go to the doctor and stay home till you were better.

You're too poor to go to the doctor, so you drag yourself home, sun hot and harsh on your skin as you do. When back, the hunger demands attention, and you devour whatever is in your fridge, then in your snack cabinet, then pantry.

By the end, every crumb of food in your house has been eaten, and still that hunger claws at your stomach. Maybe it's part of whatever illness you have.

You crawl into bed, enjoying the warmth it provides, and drift asleep.

---

You're chasing something. No, that's not right. You're hunting something.

You can't see it, but you can hear its pounding heart, its ragged breath, its panicked whispers of self delusion. It's slower than you, and now it's running out of breath. Soon you shall feast, soon your hunger will come to an end, soon.

You catch up, the shadows revealing its shape to be human. It's a poor excuse for one, shabby, poor fitting clothes, clearly out of shape. An easy meal.

You can almost taste it's blood, almost. You're so close, just one more lunge and...

---

The work alarm you forgot to turn off wakes you up. The hunger pains are almost as bad as the migraines, and it takes over an hour to force yourself out of bed. You drag yourself to the kitchen before promptly realizing you already ate everything there. You sigh, don a mask, and stumble to the grocery store.

Everything there is too much. Too loud, too bright, too overstimulating. All of your senses are under attack as you pick some meager supplies that don't break the bank. The cashier calls you Ma'am, and when you try to correct her, your voice comes out high pitched and warbled, sing-song. That too doesn't seem to convince her, and she says "have a nice day miss," as you leave.

Arriving back home, you stumble to the bathroom to puke. Afterwards, you wash your face, and notice that despite it being days since you've shaved, there isn't a lick of stubble on your chin. You're too tired to cook, and collapse onto your bed, trying in vain to sleep. As the late afternoon drifts by into night through your curtains, there's a knock at the door.

You wait for it to go away, but it keeps getting more and more persistent. Finally, you work up the last of your energy to limp to the door and look through the peep hole. It's Elanor.

You panic. Of course she comes when you're the most disheveled you've ever been. You scramble to put on your least bad looking T-shirt and jeans and race to the door before she changes her mind. Opening it, she flashes a quick grin before it shifts into a frown.

"My, My, look at yourself?"

You mumble out an apology, saying you're sick and that maybe you should reschedule your date.

"Oh no," Elanor says. "We're still going on our date. There will just be some adjustments when we get there."

Before you can ask her what kinds of adjustments, she has grabbed your hand, and drags you down the stairs. Her grip is a lot stronger than you would've assumed, and despite your feeble resistance, she drags you out of the apartment building. Outside is a car that looks like it's worth more than what you could make for the rest of your life.

Elanor opens the door and pulls you inside, placing you in seats that are oh so soft. She says something too quick for you to understand and the car drives off. The black out windows prevent you from seeing where you are going. In a better state, that would've made you anxious, but you're so tired and it's so comfortable. You find yourself drifting, jolting awake, only to drift again. At some point, Elanor is holding you, running her soft fingers through your messy hair. You're too embarrassed to tell her you had a dream like this, so you let her coddle you, drifting in and out of consciousness. She whispers sweet little nothings for you in words you cannot understand. Everything feels so right.

At some point, the car stops, and you feel yourself being carried into a building. Someone kisses your forehead and you jerk awake to find yourself in a bedroom ripped straight from the Victorian era. Elanor is sitting above you, grey eyes so full of care and curiosity.

"Ah, the cutie's awake." she says, smiling. Her teeth are so shiny, so pristine.

You blush at her compliment. You've never been cute, certainly not in this state. But before you can counter, she interrupts:

"Let's get you properly dressed for the occasion."

She gets up from the bed and strolls over to the dresser, shifting through clothes until she finds something. She turns and tosses it at you, landing in your lap. It takes you a moment to realize what it is.

A dress.

And not just any dress, but an expensive one at that, all frills and almost invisible designs.

"I can't wear this," you say. "I'm a..."

"I'm sorry, but we simply don't have anything else that would fit you, darling. And besides, it would be quite rude not to dress well for a date."

There's something about how she said the last few words that told you that there would be no compromise. How would you look in a dress anyway? They had always looked so pretty on your mom and sisters. And yet, the idea of wearing one terrified you. This was something meant for women, not you.

"You know," Elanor says. "I think it will look quite good on you."

The words worm themselves into your mind. Maybe it would? Part of you scoffs at the idea. You'd look ugly, a caricature. Elanor would laugh at how you look. There was no point to this.

"Hey," Elanor says, her hand grabbing yours with a sort of tenderness it hasn't felt in a long time. "Just try it, I promise I won't judge." She smiles, and you can tell she's being sincere.

You sigh and say, "No peaking."

"Wouldn't dream of it darling." She points to an object covered with a blanket. "Under that quilt is a mirror to look at yourself when you're done."

She walks to the door, looking back at you and saying, "Let me know when you're ready for our date," before closing the door.

You look down at the dress and apprehensions start bubbling in your gut. Were you really going to put on a dress just because a hot girl asked nicely? But she would be disappointed if you don't wear it, and she said she wouldn't judge. You sigh and take off your clothes, trying your best not to look down. Putting on the dress took a bit of trial and error, but your worries of it being ill fitting proved wrong. It in fact, fit you almost perfectly, except for a hint of space in the chest and hip area. Working up all your bravery, you slide the quilt off the mirror and brace for the horror on the other side.

Instead, you see yourself.

And you look... good?

you've been avoiding mirrors for longer than you can remember, and yet, you don't remember ever looking this good. The dress suits you very well, accentuating your eyes, hugging your body in all the right places, hiding the parts you hated.

You looked different too. Paler, yes, but there were some others too. Your hair was a lot longer now, and you seemed a bit thinner. Was your face softer too? And your shoulders weren't even massive anymore?

What had happened? It wasn't perfect, and there were still certainly areas that you cringe at, but you looked better than you had for most of your life. You feel tears swell up in your eyes and don't know why. This is all so confusing, you think, better focus on the date.

You call Elanor, and she steps in, face glowing with pride, glee, and attraction. "My, it appears I was wrong," She says. "You're even prettier in that dress than I ever could've imagined."

Your face feels on fire. she steps forward and wipes away a tear that trickles down your face, "Awwwwww, don't cry. You look gorgeous."

"I-I don't know why I'm crying," you say. "I haven't cried in years."

"Because you're happy, darling." She picks up your hand and kisses it, and you could swear your face could melt steel. "Now come, my sweetest rose, dinner awaits up."

She leads you down a maze of halls. Wherever you are, it's big, and expensive. You could swear you've only seen a fraction of it as she leads you into a dining hall, table lined with food.

This was all too much, but when you stammer out your worries, Elanor just says, "Only the best for someone as beautiful as you." She pulls you to your seat, forcing you to sit with just the slightest pressure, and then takes her place across from you. You sit there, paralyzed by choice, until she laughs and calls you silly, warmer than a ray of sunshine.

You start picking at the food at the table, but soon begin to dig in, eating more and more. Yet, none of it is filling. You devour a whole chicken and are still famished. Elanor watches you, occasionally taking a bite through grinning lips. You'd be ashamed if you weren't so hungry.

Then, you hear a soft, "ouch."

You look up to see Elanor cradling her hand, blood trickling from her thumb. That gnawing hunger in you roars, and you realize you're drooling. Why are you reacting like this? This isn't normal.

Elanor looks at you and smiles. "Well don't just stare," she says. "Come over here and clean this up."

Before you know it, you're crawling towards her, she laughs and every tone feels like it could reawaken your dead heart. You kneel in front of her, watching every drop of blood trickle down her thumb. You know it's wrong, know you shouldn't want this, but you want to drink every ruby jewel that spills from her.

Elanor looks down on you, smile wider than you ever thought possible. Her mouth is so, beautiful, teeth so pretty and sharp. "I suppose you've been a good girl," she says. "Still... Beg for it."

"I'll be a good girl for you," you say. Any pride you had is secondary to the hunger. You will say anything to taste her. "Please just let me clean it, please, please, pleaaaaaaase."

She laughs. "Good girl. Such a good girl for Mommy. Drink up, little one." She tilts her thumb down and a drop falls onto the soft carpet.

You don't need to be asked twice. You lunge at her hand, wrap your lips around her thumb, and suck. You expected a metallic taste, but her blood is sweeter than anything you've ever had before. It tastes like your favorite fruit, dipped in chocolate, and smothered in sugar. Elanor looks down on you with her beautiful red eyes, whispering sweet little nothings you're way too far gone to understand. You can almost taste her pride, her joy, her love in her blood, and it makes it even better.

You drink and drink and drink, only stopping to breathe. Now that you've tasted heaven, everything else feels bland. You need more, you cannot live without this. Even as you start to become drowsy, you continue to suckle on her thumb, and she's so proud of you. You use the last of your energy to lick the wound dry and then fall into her arms. You feel her pick you up and carry you as you drift into dreamless sleep.

---

You wake up from that strange dream, feeling better than ever. The headache and fatigue is gone, replaced with newfound clarity and energy. The hunger is still there, but is only a background thought. You sit up and stretch, then scream as you notice someone else is in the room with you. A girl sits in a bed in a luxurious room, beautiful but equally panicked. She's shirtless, small boobs accentuating her thin frame. Her doe eyes stare back at you, wide, at the brink of tears. You ramble off a variety of apologies, chastising yourself for being such a perv, when you realize she's mirroring you. You wave a hand, and she waves back. Wait...

Elanor bursts in, face sharp and eyes ready to kill. "What's the matter little one?"

You point to the mirror, and sputter out, "That- that can't be me."

Elanor tilts her head slightly, looking at where you're pointing, then all the tension in her face melts away. "Of course it is darling." She comes toward you, picking you out of bed like you weigh nothing. She poses you in front of the mirror, forcing your face to stare at it.

You remember being taller than Elanor when you first saw her, now you're a good foot shorter. Your blonde hair is to your shoulders, and the face looking back at you is much too soft and pale to be yours. You body is thin, but any fat you had has moved to your hips and... breasts. If there wasn't still a dick between your legs, you wouldn't be able to tell it was you.

"Of course my darling little girl looks that pretty." Elanor says, then leans in. "And its only just starting."

You don't know why, but the idea that this wasn't the end, that you would continue to change, made your heart jump. You see your face consumed by blush in the mirror, along with your dick twitch.

Elanor laughs, even better than the last time. "Someone is excited."

"W-what am I doing here?" you ask. "I thought it was a dream?"

Elanor squeezes you. "It was all real darling. You fell asleep after our meal, so I put you to bed. You're much too sick to be out and about."

"B-but what about my job?"

"You quit it, remember? Such a terrible place for a beautiful girl like yourself."

"I'm not a..."

Elanor's piercing stare and frown stop you from finishing your sentence.

"But..." you continue, picking your words carefully. "If the rest of the dream was real, then does that mean..." Your stomach growls, loud.

Elanor giggles. "Looks like someone is hungry. Well, let's get you some food."

You expect her to take you back out to the dinning room. Instead, she pulls out a knife and slices open a finger. Blood pools, then spills, and you scramble to prevent a single drop from hitting the floor. it tasted even better than before, sweeter, each drop lovingly made to make every taste bud in your mouth sing.

The last thing you comprehended before falling to a fugue was Mommy Elanor saying "Good girl."

---

This pattern repeated itself for the next while, you couldn't tell how long. You'd wake up, pick out the changes as you became more and more of a girl, Mommy Mother Elanor would come in, slit open a finger or wrist, and have you drink her blood until the wound healed after a few minutes.

The rest of the day, you would be caught in a haze, only half comprehending what Elanor was having you do, or what she was telling you. Sometimes it was putting you in exquisite dresses, others it was doing your make up until any trace of manhood was erased, sometimes she would teach you how to braid your growing hair, or how to properly walk and dress. She constantly complimented you, asked for your input, told you how much she loved you. In the evenings, she would feed you while cradling you in her arms, leaving you feeling safe and warm in ways you hadn't in a long time.

You don't know how long it took you to realize that all the windows were blacked out or how there were no lights in the entire house. Yet, you could see just fine, better even. Still, anytime you looked for an exit, the mansion confounded you, hallways appearing to shift, leaving you in a maze. On the occasions when Mother Elanor took you out, it was at night, and for short spans of time. You didn't really know how long you had been here.

One day, you wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of distant moaning. Even as sleep demands your attention, you force yourself out of bed and towards the sound.

As you get closer, the sounds become more distinct, soft moans mixed with sweet whispers. They echo through the halls, leading you to a door you never tried opening before. Part of you wants to ignore it, to go back to bed and hope its gone when you wake up. Another part wants to run and hide with Elanor and have her investigate. You scoff at both, and turn the doorknob.

It's the woman on the bed you notice first. She's beautiful, despite her chestnut hair being a complete mess, and her eyes far off and cloudy. Blood covers her chest, red on tan, sparkling even with no light source. You feel drool pool in your mouth, hunger gnaw at the edges of your stomach.

On top of her is a mound of wild black hair, glimpses of a pale hand groping the woman and a long tongue licking blood off her. You gasp, and the mound freezes, turning to you. Two red eyes stare back at you, animal like and ravenous, a maw full of sharp teeth covered in blood smiling. The same eyes and mouth from that nightmare so long ago

"Hello there." It says, and you realize, it's Mommy Elanor.

"Lucy," Elanor continues. "My daughter."

The woman gives a lazy smile and wave. Your cheeks go red.

"Lucy is one of my frequent prey. Don't worry, I ne..." You don't have a chance to hear the rest as you bolt. You run, twisting and turning, trying to find an exit. Instead, the mansion coughs you up back in your room. You can hear Elanor behind you, and out of options, you scramble under the bed.

You hold your breath as she enters.

"Now where did my little girl go?" She says. You hear the closet open "Is she here? No. What about here? Nope." Your heart pounds in your chest and you know she can hear you. She's playing with her food. "What about..." A hand grabs yours and in a moment you're pulled out from under the bed and left hanging in the air. Mommy Mother Elanor looks at you with a mix of amusement and joy.

"There's my daughter," She says words full of glee. "Now why did you run? Were you jealous that someone else was getting Mommy's attention?"

"I'm not your daughter, you monster!" You shout.

All the humor drains from her face. "Nonsense, you're my daughter and will be forever."

"You- You changed me!" You said. "You're making me..." The word remains stuck in your throat, too horrific to escape.

"A Vampire, a ghoul, a creature of the night. I did..."

"You won't..."

"Silence," She says, stopping you dead in your tracks. "You will not interrupt." All the softness in her eyes is gone, replaced with blood red eyes looking at a meal. You shake your head until your neck hurts.

"When I saw you in that alley way, I saw you. Not the disguise you wore to survive, but a terrified little girl in need of a mother to protect her. I decided then and there to make you into my daughter, to gift you the body you deserved to have and immortality to enjoy it. And this is how you respond?"

"I have parents!" you responded. "They love me!" It felt hollow

"Those things that birthed you aren't even worth being drained. I've walked through your memories, and they showed over and over again to be less than scum. They treated you like an object, something to use and abuse until no longer useful. You've been missing for over a month, and they haven't even noticed."

"T-that, can't be..."

Mommy Elanor grabs your head and forces you to look at the mirror. "Look at yourself, do you see any of the boy your parents raised?"

Looking back at you is the soft, sweet girl you've watched yourself grow into. Even full of terror, her eyes are soft. Her body is perfect, curves in all the right places. Her skin is pale and flawless. Her face is round and beautiful. Her hair is magnificent even with bedhead. You try, you try so hard to see the old you, and you can't. The more you look, the more you see things that say otherwise. The shape of your face, the way your eyes glimmer, the soft expressions you have, and all at once it hits you. You look like her. Not exactly, but like a close relative, like a daughter.

You can feel her smile on the back of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your skin. "You see it now. It's time to finish my work."

"W-what?"

"I'm going to drain the last of your manhood, the last of your humanity, out of you."

Before you could object, she starts stroking your incredibly sensitive penis, making you moan. Your voice is so high pitch and feminine, how did you never notice? She smiles again, exposing all her teeth, and leans into your neck. The bite makes you jerk and moan even louder. Your blood spurts out, spilling down your body and painting your breasts. A new hunger fills Mommy's Elanor's eyes and her tongue rolls out of her mouth, long and wet. She licks your blood, a slow stroke that goes from your abdomen to your collar bone. She shutters, then says

"You taste delectable, little one. So full of fear and lust. I wish I could bottle your blood and savor it."

Each lick is heaven, burning arousal growing in the aftermath. Your skin becomes more sensitive, overshadowing the stimulation she's giving your penis. The air is full of the smell of metal and lust, and your head spins. You don't know which way is up, down, or where you are. Your only ground, the only thing keeping you on this earth is Mommy Mommy Elanor.

She continues, an endless assault on your flesh, on your sanity, bringing you closer and closer to the peak, but never over it. Some part of you knows you're not allowed to, haven't been told you can yet.

"It's time."

You blink the tears out of your eyes to see that Mommy Elanor is cutting her throat with her nails, ruby blood gushing out. You lunge at her, licking and sucking and drinking with endless gluttony. It tastes of love and pride and joy and lust that makes your head spin. All the while, she gropes, fondles, plays with, and whispers sweet nothings in your ear, building and building and building, pushing against the wall, but never breaking. You drink and drink and drink, coating your mouth in the warm, wonderful, sweet, beautiful substance, gulping it down. You need it, more than anything else in the world. Food and wine is ash and mud compared to her blood, her beautiful, gorgeous blood.

It goes on for who knows how long. A minute, an hour, an eternity? It doesn't matter, she has you, she loves you, she will love you forever. Then a pressure starts below, burning, mind melting heat searing your pelvis. Mommy is doing something down there and you don't know what until her strokes stop and her skilled fingers start pressing into you. It feels better than anything you've ever experienced. Her fingers find all the right spots inside to play your moans like a fiddle. Her thumb massages your new clit with the skill only centuries could provide. If your brain wasn't flooded with pleasure, you'd tell Mommy how much you loved her.

"Claire, cum."

Mommy's voice cuts through the haze, breaking through whatever parts of yourself you somehow still have kept hidden from her, from yourself. She says:

Before you can even comprehend the words, your body complies. Your whole body orgasms, every muscle and synapse firing in devotion to Mommy. And when you think it over, the second wave hits, then the third and fourth wave. Any delusions of a life before her, without her, is decimated. Mommy is everything, your shining star, your beckoning moon. How were you such a fool to fear her.

As the final wave crashes and recedes, you're left in the buzzing afterglow of her love. Mommy carries you into bed and cradles you, telling you how proud she is of you, how much you'll get to do together now. How much she loves you. You drift asleep to her telling you these things, and smile, because you know she means it.

---

You bite into Kathy's breast and feel her body shake to yet another orgasm. Her moans echo down the alleyway behind the bar, letting all the passerby know without shame. You can taste the heady lust and terrified love in her blood and it is delectable. Not as delicious as Mother's blood, but good in a different way. This is the third time she's let you drink from her and she's fast becoming one of your favorite prey.

You drink your fill, not enough to kill her, but she's definitely a bit light headed, especially with the alcohol in her system. You call her an uber and escort her to her ride, bidding her adieu till the next rendezvous. After, you step back into the bar to pay both your tabs and leave.

When you step up to the bar, it's only through your improved sight that you notice the man slipping a roofie into an unattended drink. He's one of those frat boys, from wealth based on his watch. You're about to just dump the drink and walk away when you realize you're still a bit hungry. You smile, then drop into a drunken stupor. Stumbling up to him, you give him some not so subtle flirts, and watch as his ego balloons. You can smell the false pride on him, could from a mile away.

It doesn't take long to convince him to give you a ride back to his place. The apartment is a mess, and you pretend to trip on one of the bottles littering the ground. In response, he lifts you into a princess carry and tosses you onto his bed, scrambling to peel off his clothes. You watch this display and hold back a laugh. When he looks up, stupid grin plastered across his face, you strike.

You're on him before he can even react, and it only takes one quick bite to shred his throat. His blood is sweet and sour with pride and bitter with terror. Different than what you're used to, but still delicious in your own way. You gorge yourself, gulping down blood spurting out of his hollowed out throat. His face is stuck in that giddy grin, but eyes wide and scared. Perfect

You hear a creak at the door and look up. Looks like he had a roommate. Another guy, but wait. The way he holds himself, the way his terror is not like those of his roommate, the loose pajamas that cover his body. Mother would adore another daughter, and the idea of having a sister fills you with warmth. It's only for the best. You smile and say:

"Hello there."

---

This fic is heavily inspired by the superior "The Crimson Red Door" by @thecrimsonreddoor, which I highly recommend reading, along with its sequel.

#lesbian nsft #queer nsft #mtf ns/fw #vampire k!nk #tw blood #cw blood #blood k1nk #forcefem #fauxest #dom mommy #mommy k!nk #domme mommy #wlw nsft #lesbian ns/fw #found family k!nk #cw gore #tw g0re #transformation #slow burn

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