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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 2 months

Note

Spencer Reid x reader, Rossi is readers father, she is not part of the BAU, Curvy and much younger than Spencer at 26, loves how smart he is and likes to learn about facts she’s just not as smart, loves baking. Smut?? Maybe?? Thank you!

comfortable (spencer reid x fem!plussize!reader)

in which you & spencer discuss telling your dad, David Rossi, about your relationship

warnings: NSFW!!! MDNI!!! smut, smol age gap, fingering, praise kink, soft!dom Spencer, pet names

word count: 3658

A/N: thanks for this request 🥹 it was really fun and I think maybe a pt 2 where they actually tell Rossi could be a lot of fun, can you imagine the way Rossi’s eyes would bug out of his head 💀

He was standing in the doorway of your off-campus apartment with this goofy grin on his face. He was older than you - only by a few years, but still in an entirely different stage of life - and he worked with your dad, but you’d never felt butterflies like these before.

It felt like movie love. Like romance novel love, and not those cheesy paperbacks with the Fabio-type model on the front. But like the more modern ones, the ones with the cartoon people on the covers and the big, colorful block letters. You had about a hundred of them on your bookcase. You could go reference them right now if you really wanted to.

Spencer Reid blinked those big, brown eyes at you and your mouth flickered uncontrollably into a soft smile. “Your doorbell doesn’t work,” Spencer pointed out by way of greeting. He still had that goofy grin on his face as you stepped aside so he could come in. You locked the door behind him.

“Didn’t I tell you that?” You mused, turning around to face him. He’d been to your apartment before, but usually trailing after you. Never meeting you here. He shook his head.

Then he lifted the bouquet of flowers in his hands and your smile grew into a full-blown grin. “What’re these for?” You squealed, taking the bouquet and immediately raising them to your nose. Baby pink carnations. He remembered your favorite flower.

He remembered everything, you reminded yourself.

“They’re your favorites. You said they reminded you of your mom’s house,” Spencer said, then took one of those sharp breaths that told you he was about to bequeath upon you a boatload of information. You barely had time to swoon over the fact that he remembered why carnations were your favorite.

“Did you know that carnations were actually mentioned in literature as far back as Ancient Greece? The name is believed to come from the Latin corona - meaning crown or wreath, as it was one of the more common flowers used to make laurels and crowns,” Spencer rattled off.

“We should make flower crowns out of them,” you proposed with an excited giggle, walking past Spencer and into the small kitchen of your apartment. He chuckled and followed you, standing behind you as you took the plastic sleeve off the bouquet, holding the flowers over the sink so water wouldn’t get on the floor. “Oh,” you murmured, not realizing how thick the stalks of the flowers were. “We can’t tie these together,” you pouted.

Spencer’s hands found your hips as he stood behind you, his palms contouring to match your curves. His lips met the side of your head, between your temple and your hairline. “You could put them on your table?” He suggested.

You felt stuck with the dripping flowers in your hand and the overwhelming desire to turn around and kiss your boyfriend silly. “Vase,” you blurted out instead of speaking like a normal human being. Spencer made your brain turn into mush.

“Where?”

“Shelf by the fridge.”

Spencer’s hands left your hips, but not before he gave them a gentle squeeze, as if to say I’ll be back soon. You turned your head to the side and watched as Spencer grabbed the vase off the shelf, returning to your side in moments to help you set the flowers in it.

This relationship was still very new. It had been about three months since you went out to lunch with your dad on some random Thursday, and he brought you back to work with him to introduce you to his team. It had been eight weeks since Spencer took you out for the first time - dinner and a walk around the nearest park, where Spencer had grabbed your hand for the first time, where he’d rambled off some fact about willow trees you couldn’t be bothered to remember because shortly after, he’d pressed his lips to yours and you’d made out underneath one.

He was away a lot, which was to be expected, given the nature of the BAU’s work. But he called you when he could, and he made every effort to see you when they weren’t on assignment. You couldn’t really talk with him about work - “it’s classified,” he’d always say with a thin-lipped smile, as if to say he’d really like to tell you, but he just couldn’t.

“What’re you thinking about?” Spencer asked as you floated from the sink to set the vase of flowers on the kitchen table. His voice always pulled you out of your own head.

“Nothing in particular, really,” you told him, turning to face him. Spencer reached a hand out and took yours, tugging you to him. “You, mostly,” you teased as his palms lay against your hips. “I think it might be time.”

“Time?” Spencer asked as he craned his neck down to kiss you, briefly, on the lips. So, his mind was obviously elsewhere.

“Time,” you confirmed. “To tell my dad. About us.”

Spencer pulled his head back so he could look at you properly, his fingers dug into the soft, sensitive flab above your hip bones, and you scrunched your nose up because it tickled, resisting the urge to giggle. “You do, do you?” He asked, a playful smile crossing his lips. “And here I thought you enjoyed the secrecy.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I hate it,” you laughed breathily. “I hate lying to my dad.”

“For the record, we haven’t lied about anything,” Spencer pointed out. “We’ve just withheld information. It’s entirely different.”

That was true, you supposed. When your dad asked you last week at your monthly dinner at his house if you were seeing anyone, you just nodded and told him you weren’t ready to tell him about it yet, and he respected that. You didn’t not tell him it was his coworker.

“I guess so,” you replied, your lips pursing into the corner of your mouth.

To Spencer’s credit, the whole keeping-it-from-your-dad thing was your idea. You’d done it for a multitude of reasons - mostly so you could figure out if this thing with Spencer was going to go anywhere before your dad was in the loop, so you could go with Spencer at your own pace, get to know him without any third-party interventions.

“We’ve talked about this, Y/N. It’s not anything to feel guilty about. Yeah?” Spencer reminded you, lifting one of his hands from your hips to curl his index finger and tuck it under your chin. He guided your gaze to meet his. “You’re an adult, and you can see whoever you want to see. When and if you tell Rossi is entirely up to you.”

“I know,” you nodded, sighing softly, your arms lifting and reaching up to wind around his neck. Spencer’s lips broke out in a soft smile at the action. “Isn’t it weird for you at work, though?”

“Not really?” Spencer phrased it as a question, shrugging his shoulders a little bit. “There’s never really time for personal conversation when we’re on a case, and if there is, I usually just deflect to someone else. Although, there was a close call while we were on our way back this last time,” he began, the hand under your chin dropping and moving back to your hip, guiding you back so you were flush against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, god, what happened?” You asked as you hopped up so your rear splayed out atop the counter, and Spencer moved to stand between your legs. Despite the lack of gap between your thighs, Spencer’s lanky frame fit comfortably between them. His fingers spread palm-side down against the tops of your thighs. You were biting your lip as your boyfriend continued with his story.

“I guess I was grinning down at a text you’d sent me, the one about your Short Fiction Analysis exam,” he explained, referring to one of the classes you were taking this term. “You’d said you thought Shirley Jackson was underrated, that The Lottery was one of your favorite short stories ever and you would stone anyone who disagreed,” you snickered at this, and Spencer’s hands slid just slightly further up your thighs. “That was the same reaction I had,” Spencer pointed out with a small laugh. “And Rossi’d been the one to catch it. He said that my expression was one that could only be caused by a beautiful woman.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. That sounded like your dad, all right. “And what did you say?” You asked, willing the blush in your cheeks to go away. Spencer knew already that he made you feel like you were on fire with just a simple touch, but still. Your lack of experience and the fact that you were younger than him, still in college… it always made you feel even more flustered.

“I said I could neither confirm nor deny,” Spencer laughed self-deprecatingly, rolling his eyes at himself. “And then I changed the subject. I pulled Derek in the conversation and asked him about his girlfriend.”

“Very strategic,” you commented with a bob of your throat.

“But if you want to tell him, and you think you’re ready, then I think we should,” Spencer added, and you smiled just slightly at this.

“Okay,” you smiled hazily, just as Spencer bent down to kiss you. His hands traveled to the waistband of your sweatpants and your breath hitched in your throat.

“This okay?” Spencer asked just as his long fingers curled around the waistband on either side of your hips.

You’d pulled the sweatpants all the way up over your belly button, and your tummy was incredibly ticklish. So your voice was breathy and shaky when you responded. “Mmhm.”

“If it’s not, you need to tell me,” Spencer reminded you in a low whisper, his lips planting along kissing your neck, each one tacky like a postage stamp.

“It’s okay,” you reiterated, forcing your voice to sound more full. Your hands had moved to lay flat against his chest, but now your fingers curled around the crinkly fabric of his blue dress shirt. You’d never dated anyone who dressed so grown up before. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Spencer murmured as his lips traveled up to your chin. He was mapping out your entire jawline with his lips, until finally your mouths met. He was slow and intentional at first, like he was savoring it, probably making observatory notes in his head. When his tongue teased your lips apart, you allowed him in, a small whimper escaping you.

You had scooted forward on the countertop, squeezing Spencer’s body between your thighs. Your toes curled as one of Spencer’s hands lifted to cradle the back of your head, holding your face to his like an oxygen mask. And he kept breathing you in, his tongue expertly dancing with yours, kissing you so that when he finally pulled back, you couldn’t breathe.

You were panting, your whole face red as Spencer’s hand moved from the back of your head to one of your full cheeks. His thumb swiped across your cheek and the corners of his mouth just flickered upward. “I really missed you,” he whispered, his hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear. His other hand still rested on the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping beneath it and padding around your stretch marks.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured back, and Spencer just smiled at this lazily. “Do you… do you want to…”

Spencer’s smile slowly turned into a patient smirk. “Do I want to what?” He asked all-knowingly, his eyes meeting yours. Your cheeks flushed again, bashful and embarrassed to even ask him.

“Do you want to go to my bed?” You exhaled, and Spencer’s head dipped to press a brief kiss to your lips.

“What makes you think I can’t take care of you right here?” He smirked, and the hand on your cheek floated back down to your waistband. “Can I please take your sweatpants off, pretty girl?”

Your breath stopped and you nodded. “Yeah, but… Spence?” You pressed the pads of your fingers into his chest. His gorgeous brown eyes met yours.

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to, like, you know, right here,” you began, your chest rising and falling slowly. “I just don’t think I can, like, spread my legs apart enough for you to…”

“Would you be more comfortable lying down, Y/N?” Spencer asked. What you loved was that he wasn’t impatient about it, he wasn’t annoyed. He could just tell you were having trouble articulating your concerns and he wanted to help. He was reading your mind - well, scientifically speaking, he was probably reading your behavior and your body language - but he just got it so quick.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sighing softly in relief that he understood.

“Then let’s lie you down,” Spencer agreed. He kissed you once more, briefly, stepped back, holding his hands out to help you off the counter. Your knees were weak for multiple reasons as you wobbled towards your bedroom, letting Spencer guide you so you were flat on your back, looking up at him. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer hovered over you. One knee outside your leg, the other very much in between them, his hands gripping your shoulders. Spencer craned down to kiss you again, as if a car had been jump started, and you were once again lost in it, unable to think about anything else but the man on top of you and how much you loved the way he touched you.

He wasn’t afraid of your body or how you’d react - rather, he seemed to find arousal in you being comfortable. His hands moved down to your waistband once again, obviously his fixation for the day, and he asked you again if it was okay that he remove your pants. You just nodded and told him, “yes.”

Even though the word had come out softly and raspy, in the back of your mind, you were screaming for the love of god, yes. If you stop touching me, I might commit heinous crimes.

Soon your pants were off, with some strategic shimmying over your hips and thighs, and you watched with a slightly amused expression as Spencer tossed them aside carelessly. He never did anything carelessly, so the action was a nice ego boost, knowing you could cause his system to glitch just as much as he could yours.

Spencer’s hands went back to your hips, sliding under the bottom hem of your t-shirt, inching closer to your breasts as your pelvis lifted, searching desperately for any kind of friction, your center making contact with Spencer’s knee between your legs. He dug his knee in a little further, your underpants acting as a thin divider.

“Can I take your shirt off, beautiful?” Spencer asked, and all the nerve endings in your face went numb.

“When are you gonna lose some clothes, pal?” You asked breathlessly, taken aback by your own sassiness. Spencer was too, but he laughed, a brimful sound that would have knocked you over if you weren’t already lying down.

Spencer’s laugh still lined his voice as he looked down at you. “I guess it’s only fair,” he chuckled. “Which would you-“

“Shirt,” you tugged at his collar pathetically, your fingers shaking as you tried to undo the buttons.

That stupid smirk rose on his face and Spencer kissed your nose teasingly before he took his hands in yours. “Need me to get those for you?” He asked, and you nodded. Deftly, his fingers worked the buttons until the shirt was shrugging off his shoulders. You watched with your mouth hung ajar like a garden gate.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Spencer bent down at his waist again to continue his cartographic exploration of your neck and jaw, his kisses feather light and so, so frustrating. His hands slid up your shirt again, gliding smoothly over your supple skin, his fingertips tracing your stretch marks. “Now that we’re on a level playing field,” Spencer said between kisses. “Can I please take off your shirt?”

A sound escaped you, a combination of breathy laughter and a desperate whine. “Yeah,” you murmured. Your hands moved to run through his perfect hair. It was so soft, so clean. How did he have time to keep it so clean? Your fingertips dug at his scalp as Spencer’s knee dug once again into the space between your legs. You groaned as Spencer guided you to lift your torso so your t-shirt could be tugged off over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he commented, and you felt your cheeks redden. He kissed your lips, his swollen and plump against yours as his hands traveled down. He swung the knee that was in between your legs over so that he fully straddled you now. He seemed to want to be everywhere - your breasts, your stomach, your lips, between your legs. It was like he couldn’t decide.

“What do you want, Spence?” You asked him, and Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours. Your tongue jutted out to moisten your lips.

“What do I want?” Spencer repeated, looking at you with an incredulous expression. “I want to make you feel good, angel. Do you want me to do that for you? Do you want me to make you feel good?”

“God. Yes.” You huffed. Spencer’s mouth was on yours in an instant, kissing you repeatedly as his hand traveled down. Hovering over your underwear, Spencer’s thumb pressed against your fabric-covered center and you felt him groan, the sound reverberating through your mouth.

“You’re so wet, Y/N,” he observed and your back arched instinctively, needing him.

“Spence,” you rasped.

“Say it again,” Spencer’s eyes met yours and his brow arched just as you felt him dip his index and middle fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Please, Spencer,” you managed to get out.

“That’s it,” he smirked, kissing your lips once as a reward before sliding your underpants down your thighs. You lifted your legs and he helped you out of them, tossing them aside like they were just collateral damage. His index finger was quick to tease at your folds, and you wondered if he had been thinking about this all day. “Open your legs a little bit more for me, angel,” he instructed.

You succumbed to his request almost instantly, and when Spencer’s finger rubbed against your clit, you had to bite back a moan. “What have I told you about holding back?” Spencer chastised you, and your eyes locked onto his. “I told you, don’t ever muffle yourself, baby. I want to hear every noise.”

“Spencer…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Don’t you dare.”

“That’s my girl,” Spencer smirked, and began to pump his two fingers into you. Your legs began to close on instinct, but Spencer’s other hand pushed your hair out of your eyes. “Keep ‘em open, beautiful,” he said patiently, his fingers increasing exponentially in speed. “You hear how wet you are?”

“Mmm,” was all you could say as the filthy, wet sounds emitted from your middle.

“And that’s all for me, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you choked out as your hips bucked towards his fingers.

Spencer’s fingers were relentless as he fucked you with them. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your vision going white and hazy from the pleasure, from your walls tightening around Spencer’s incredibly deft digits.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Just hang on a little longer, yeah?” Spencer cooed, his voice genuinely, tooth-achingly sweet, and you felt his lips beneath your ear. He kissed the skin there, and you felt him move his lips up to your earlobe, taking it briefly between his teeth. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he reiterated in a low whisper.

Your hands clawed desperately against his bare back for some iota of purchase, moving from his back to his hair, to his neck as he fucked you senseless. You were getting so close, whiny, needy little whimpers escaping you as Spencer continued to pump into you. And finally - finally - you reached your peak. Spencer didn’t let up, letting you ride your orgasm for as long as you could. Stars blurred your vision, and all you could see were those dark brown eyes looking so lovingly down at you.

And when you finally started to come down, Spencer’s movements slowed. He was never the type to immediately pull out. No, he merely turned down the intensity as you caught your breath, rubbing your clit gently as his fingers - soaked with you - slowly came out of you.

“How do you feel?” he asked as you panted, your eyes meeting his.

You opened your mouth to say something - anything, but no words came out. “Baby, use your words,” Spencer encouraged, and you huffed, frustrated with yourself, that you couldn’t say much of anything right now.

“G-good,” you whispered with a hoarse voice. Spencer used his clean hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Very good,” you added.

“Very descriptive,” Spencer teased with a smirk, and you were too ravished to play back.

You managed to prop yourself up on to your elbows just as Spencer moved off of you, laying down on his side so he could kiss your neck soothingly. “Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah?” you breathed, turning so you were on your side, so you could face him.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, and your eyes widened. You thought for a second he might be playing some sick joke, but then you looked in his eyes and saw how clear, how serious they were. Your lips flickered into a small, tired yet ridiculously happy smile. “You don’t have to say it back if you-“

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your lips meeting his in a long, slow, lazy kiss, feeling deliriously, stupidly happy.

——

A/N 2: I’ve never actually written smut before (I’ve read plenty lmfao) so if something is weird OR if you have any suggestions plzzzzz tell me I can take constructive criticism on this front xD

#spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #asks

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ja3hwa · 3 months

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♡ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐉.𝐖𝐘 ♡

【Synopsis】 : The thought of Wooyoungie being a photographer at your college campus, but he is completely obsessed with you to the point he starts stalking you...

『Word count』 : 701

-> Genre: Stalker au. Suggestive. College Au

Pairing: Photographer!Pervi!Wooyoung x Artist!Reader

[Warnings] : Stalking. Toxic behaviour. Breaking and entering. Lude thoughts. Wooyoung can't help himself half the time. Socially awkwardness. Toxic relationship??? The illusion of smut. Mention of horny books, hehe.

Note: So I had a random thought while watching a show about a photographer and a darkroom concept about a Pervi!Wooyoung and since of @shinestarhwaa sending me a request, haha I thought this would be perfect.

Masterlist | Navigation | Buy Me A Ko-Fi ♡

He had this red room he went to every day alone cause he wasn't very good at socialising. Now, that doesn't mean he doesn't have any friends, no, no. He's got friends, but they just don't understand the importance of capturing the world in a single frame. No one is better than a still image in a frame.

Until you came along.

You were like a walking art piece. The perfect picture in his eye. beautiful at every angle. When you smile, when you laugh. The way your hair frames your hair or the way you match your clothes to your body shape perfectly. Everything screams perfect.

You are the definition of perfection.

Wooyoung would fantasise about you. Creating scenario after scenario of how he'd say hi. What your first date would be like. How you would look underneath him as he pounded into you with his—

That last thought he was not proud of.

But oh, could he imagine. He took photos of you without you knowing. They started off innocent, of course. You simply walking to class. Sitting under the maple trees on campus or hanging out with your friends. Then, he would get closer. Following your home, just to make sure you got there safely, no other reason, of course. He found you left your side window at the end of your kitchen unlocked and slightly agape to let this stray cat in. A black cat.

Silly you.

The first time he snuck into your house was none other than thrilling. He didn't dare go into your room or any with a closed door for that matter, just in case he woke you. No, he would rather sit in your lounge room, taking in the homey scent. The smell of pine wood timber and vanilla. He noticed you had a bookshelf filled with such a variety of novels. Wooyoung, of course, had no clue what any of them were... Court Of Thorns? Hooked? Touch of darkness? Den of vipers? Hunting Adeline...

He had to remind himself to check them out later.

After sneaking in the fifth time, he decided to risk opening a few rooms. The bathroom first where he would sniff you body washes and perfumes, becoming entranced with the scent. Your study, looking through only a few book shelves. And then Finally your room. The way you slept made his breathing hitch.

Perfect even in slumber.

He wanted to capture it. But alas, he was afraid. He wasn't a creep after all. No, of course not. He just snuck and broke into your house and watched you sleep. No, not creepy at all. You were is muse after all. Just something to admire, he would never hurt you.

He watched you sitting across from him during one of the classes you shared. You were stretching. Again. Your nose seemed to be constantly in that art book or one of your novels for that matter.

By the tenth time he broke in, he spent his time looking through your study. He wanted to find that damn stretch book so he could see what interested you so much. Why would you rather look in a book rather than the elegant world around you? To his surprise, he found it sitting under a bunch of papers and such. He sat down in the chair while taking a deep breath, opening the sketch pad with caution and a mix of curiosity, but what he found was not what he was expecting. Every page, filled with erotic sketches. Monsters, People without faces. Even yourself and...

Him.

It was drawings of him and you, together in lude positions.

"I was wondering when you were going to find it." Your voice made him jump, closing the book as quickly as he could. His wide eyes darted around the room, freaking out. Not knowing how to react. Or what to say. you, however, just waltzed over to him, pushing the chair back slowly, letting it roll against the floor. He was frozen, just watching you sit on his lap facing him before turning to the desk.

"Come on, you haven't even gotten to the good ones yet."

Turns out you were just a perverted as him.

—

Special Taglist : @wlv-asteria @isiloiale @imperfect0angel @sugarnspice630 @yeorisanaxox @maeleelee @uarmytess @mxnsxngie @shuporangporanglinossss @nopension @sanhwalvr @gypsythrift @hyukssunflower @dearinsaniiity

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cameronspecial · 3 months

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Let Me Get Them For You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.9K

Summary: Rafe never hesitates to get Y/N what she wants.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Even though Y/N has told Rafe countless times, he does the best he can to be a provider for her, buying her food, clothes, books, scientific equipment he doesn’t understand what it does and anything else he can think of. He will literally do everything in his power to get her the whole world. They are at the mall shopping for a new leather jacket for him. They’ve been there for a few hours, taking their time to peruse around the stores. Her stomach begins to cry out its need for sustenance. As they continue to the next store, a delicious buttery and salty smell enters the air. Her head turns in the direction of where this sensory stimulus is coming from. The small glance toward Auntie Anne’s Pretzels does not go unnoticed by her boyfriend. He pauses immediately, yet she continues to walk, so he loops his arm through her to pull her back to his side. “What’s wrong?” she questions with a tilt of her head. He points toward the pretzel store, “I’m hungry. Why don’t we get a snack? A cheese one, right?” “You know me so well,” she beams. He chuckles and presses his lips against her temple. He leads her toward the register and orders their salty snack.

———

It is no secret that Y/N is an avid reader. Her TBR list is in the hundreds and it continues to grow. Rafe’s mission is to make that list dwindle to zero, despite what Y/N might say. Sometimes, he’ll add books to that list by himself. The couple is hanging out in the library. She is studying and he is only there to keep her company. An hour into her studying session he pulls her away from her textbooks and notes to take a break and eat a snack. Her eyes wander while she nibbles on the cheese and crackers he hands to her, landing on a book cover that catches her eyes. The pink-themed watercolour cover features a forest with a rope bridge. It’s beautiful and the title is quite simple. Unravel Me. Rafe sees her attention isn’t on him and follows the gaze to the novel in another person's hands. She moves her eyes back to him, but he still takes note of the title. After the snack, she goes back to studying and he focuses on his phone. He decides to search for the book and finds out it is a hockey romance series. It sounds right up Y/N’s alley, so he orders Topper to go to the store and buy her the full set.

———

The most outrageous example of Rafe being Rafe when it comes to buying Y/N things is when he orders expensive objects for her right on the spot. It is date night and he decides to take her to the new upscale bar that opened up off campus. He pulls her chair out for her, allowing her to hop onto the tall chair. While she tells him about her tests, her eyes are trained on something at the bar. She must really like whatever she is looking at because she stands from the chair and approaches a woman. Rafe is right behind her, resting his hand on the small of Y/N’s back. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but I really like your bag. Where did you get it?” she asks the redhead. The other woman grins and holds her bag up, “Thank you! It’s from Coach. I can’t remember what it’s called though. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. You gave me enough to go off of. Thank you so much. Have a nice night,” Y/N bids goodbye to her. Throughout the whole interaction, Rafe’s attention is on his phone. They get back to their table and he holds up his screen to her. The Coach website is pulled up on Safari with a picture of a light tan bag that has a dragon on it. Boxed New Year Rogue 25 With Dragon is written above the picture along with the price of $1,090.

“This is the one you want, right?” he confirms. Her eyes widen at the price, “Yes, but I didn’t know it was that expensive. I like it, just not for that price.” He ignores her worries and goes back to typing on his phone. “Look at this one. I’m gonna get it for you too. I think it’s cute,” he tells her, sliding his phone across the table to her. She sees two items in his cart: the dragon purse and the heart bag in regenerative leather. The total amount before tax is $1,490, which is completely outrageous to her. She shakes her head, “You can’t buy these, Rafe. This is way too much.” “Come on, let me get them for you, Angel. You know money is no issue for me,” he pleads, giving her the best puppy eyes he can.

“It’s not an issue for me. What am I going to do with something so luxurious?”

“Look like an absolute queen while you flaunt it around. Show other men that I can provide for you. Hand it over to me while you put your lip gloss on, so you can mark your territory. You deserve this luxury and so many more, Angel.”

“This is really important to you. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, so… what do you say?”

“Fine. You can get them.”

A smirk craves itself onto his face and he puts in his credit card information to finalize the purchase. He shows her the shipping information, “It should be here by next week, Angel.” “Thank you, Rafe. I can’t wait to use them,” she shows her gratitude by giving him a kiss.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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xiaoluvss · 3 months

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books & café dates . ˚ ₊ ⊹

— your academic rival !

(class president!alhaitham & vice president!reader)

୨୧ president!alhaitham who immediately got nominated as class president, followed by you as vice president.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who also occasionally visits the library, like you, to study or read.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who is also your academic rival, being at each other's throats all the time. (your classmates and his friends question if you're either flirting or fighting . .)

୨୧ president!alhaitham who you compete with on who gets the higher score on the exam. god, you hate that slight smirk you see on his face when he wins. your classmates watch you two argue like it's some free show.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who shows more of his emotions when he's with you, unlike that stoic expression always on his face. even his friends are surprised.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who secretly smiles (very slightly) and stares at you when your back is turned. he definitely admires you from afar even if his face doesn't show it.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who, one time, purposely answered some questions wrong on a test so that you could have the joy of winning the little competition you two have. he was trying not to let out that tiny smile when you were rambling on about having won to him.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who prefers novels, while you prefer manga. one time you forced him to read one of your favorites. though, you still have a lot of novels that you personally love.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who accompanies you to the bookstore after school because apparently he was 'just about to go there too'. you both ended up in the café after that.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who has made a silent agreement with you that the café is now your usual meetup place whenever you two are partnered for a project or something similar to that.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who memorizes your favorite drink and food.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who noticed you always drinking those korean milk drinks . . and now you always find a milk box sitting on your desk before class. from a 'secret person'. I wonder who?

୨୧ president!alhaitham who you always get stuck with while doing your responsibilities as president and vice president. sometimes you two are alone and stuck together in the classroom after class, stapling papers.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who noticed you slowly progressing into calling him 'haitham' instead of his full name.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who has this secret spot with you near the vending machines and benches to eat with you during lunch. he finds it cute how you're always surrounded by the campus cats as he sits next to you on the bench, with the bento box on your lap and a book right next to you.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who loves your soft spot towards animals, and how you two always sit next to each other in the library, reading in comfortable silence.

୨୧ president!alhaitham who denies EVERY SINGLE sign and statement from his friends that he likes you. he says you're 'just his rival'. yet he so obviously treats you differently from the others.

୨୧ president!alhaitham whose academic rival will always be you. he wouldn't want any other.<3

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yurimother · 8 months

Text

'I'm in Love with the Villainess' Anime - Episode 1 Review

An astounding and hilarious first outing for the series with the power to revolutionize Yuri

We are finally here, the long-awaited and much anticipated first episode of Platinum Vision’s I’m in Love with the Villainess anime aired on Tokyo MX and is streaming everywhere outside of Asia with a plethora of dubbing options, including English, on day one on Crunchyroll.

The first outing covers most of the events of the light novel’s first chapter, or the first three chapters of the manga, at a rapid but steady and not overwhelming pace. At this rate, the anime should be able to cover much of the series’ first arc, or the first two out of five books, in a single cour. Perhaps a bit less, depending on which of the story’s various adventures it elects to include. This is an exciting possibility, to be sure, as the story is a character-driven, socially mindful, and expertly written and, despite its fantasy setting, an exceptionally relevant tale of romance, socio-economic inequality, and of course, queerness.

While the first arc of Villainess is a triumph, it would be a shame not to see at least some of the developments from the extra chapters that lead into the second story, like (spoilers for the end of volume 2) Rae and Claire’s wedding and their adopted twin daughters May and Aleah. If we are lucky, perhaps they will appear in the final episode or, dare to dream, a second season (end of spoilers).

Now, onto the show itself. For those who, for whatever reason, have not read Inori’s masterpiece, I’m in Love with the Villainess follows Rae Taylor. A salary worker who dies and is reincarnated as the protagonist of her favorite otome game, Revolution. However, Rae has no interest in any of the game world’s three eligible royal bachelors and has eyes only for the game villainess Claire François. Armed with exceptionally magical ability, Rae sets out determined to secure a happy ending for her beloved Claire against the coming revolution and perhaps win her heart in the process.

Now, the opening of I’m in Love with the Villainess is the series' weakest moment in all mediums, which, considering episode one’s outstanding quality, only highlights just how superb the Yuri masterpiece is as a whole. Even with its need to establish the setting, characters, and premise of the series, the premiere managed to be an excellent introduction and set the bar high with lots of laughs, entertainment, and service between our two leads.

I watched the Japanese audio, and Yu Serizawa and Karin Nanami are fantastic in these roles, with Serizawa playing up Rae’s teasing adoration and borderline masochism at full blast, and Nanami explicitly giving voice to Claire’s arrogance and frustration. She even manages to deliver a perfect Ojou-style laugh to seal the character’s elite status and lean into the show’s use of otome tropes. And having the leads sing the excellent opening and ending themes is just icing on the cake.

Speaking of tropes, while Ironi’s original work is a genre-defying masterpiece that broke the Yuri mold, it is never afraid to play with the genre’s iconography and its otome game setting. Every other scene had another allusion, including to the book’s cover. As always, I am likely overeager to see connections, however intentional they may be, but the academy’s halls harken to otome staples, the bells and strings of the first scene's soundtrack conjured blistering memories of Strawberry Panic (perhaps a sacrilegious comparison to make but I digress), and even an areal shot of the campus was another check mark on my “Scenic Yuri” theory.

Now, as mentioned, I’m in Love with the Villainess has to establish the groundwork here, and narratively, these are the weakest moments, often direct exposition, with a few exceptions like Rae’s conversation with her roommate Mash about maintaining Claire’s attention. The narration is at least accompanied by relevant and creative, if perhaps limited, animation. But to their credit, these moments are succinct, existing only as long as they have to in order to provide the necessary information and get out of the way for what matters most: the characters.

Rae and Claire are front and center from the very get-go, and there is little time wasted in showcasing Rae’s intense bottom energy or establishing Claire’s elitism and bewildered anger towards Rae’s excitement in the face of Claire’s carefully calculated cruelty. It is a montage of silly and fun competitions between the two that had me laughing and smiling all the way through, as the Yuri was present in full force, and gives glimpses at the mutual obsession the women have for each other that will soon blossom into a wonderful romance.

These early story beats have a light tone and focus on the bullying, teasing, and rivalry between Rae and Claire, a dynamic that previously and understandably made a subset of readers somewhat uncomfortable. However, assuming the anime unfolds in a similar manner to the manga and light novels, the narrative will explore meatier, heavier subject matter and a far deeper lesbian romance, all without losing its sense of fun and adventure. The next episode or two will be incredibly telling - as the source material is perhaps the most profound and forthright depictions of LGBTQ identity in Yuri, and that all starts with a pivotal conversation that, if it is included, will be coming up shortly.

Overall, I am incredibly excited for this series. The first episode is everything I had hoped for out of an adaptation of one of my favorite works of all time, save the animation, which is average at best. While there is a lot more to see, and we will have to wait to know if I’m in Love with the Villainess lives up to its incredible potential and source material, I am extremely hopeful. We have one of the funniest, most thoughtful, and queerest works of Yuri transformed into a stunning anime project unlike anything that has come before and offers the chance at not just a new Yuri “gateway” but to continue the work of its source material in revolutionizing the genre.

Ratings: Story – 8 Characters – 10 Art – 5 LGBTQ – We shall see… Sexual Content – 3 Final – 8

I'm in Love with the Villainess is streaming on Crunchyroll with English sub/dub.

Review made possible by Avery Riehl and the rest of the YuriMother Patrons. Support YuriMother on Patreon for early access, exclusive article, and more: patreon.com/yurimother

#yuri #Reviews #girls love #lgbt #anime #i'm in love with the villainess #ILTV #lgbtq #gay #gl #queer #lesbian #manga #yuri anime #gl anime

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alphajocklover · 27 days

Note

What about a story about a sweet, kind 30something gay college English professor who wishes to get closer to his students so he wishes to be more like them. Only he turns into the worst version of himself. His turned into this younger, dumber toxic straight bro. A total docuhebag sleazebag or something. Instead of singing showtunes he's rattling off terrible jokes or rock n roll/rap songs.

Sam McGreen was a professor. A real, actual professor. He still couldn’t really wrap his head around it. It wasn’t that Sam thought that teaching was beneath him or anything, he had never really seen himself as the teaching type. Despite being a fairly successful writer whose murder mystery series had gained him a cult following, he was terribly shy when it came to public speaking. It was why he always avoided writers panels and interviews, which had sadly only increased the amount of speaking offers he got. People loved the ‘mysterious recluse’ persona he had accidentally created, and everyone wanted to be the first to get the inside scoop. Sam wouldn’t have even thought about taking the job offer to become a professor if he didn’t desperately need money. He had come down with a horrible case of writer's block, so the writing of his next book had unfortunately come to a halt, and even with the sales and royalties he got from the books he had already written, it wasn’t going to be enough to pay for the wedding. Sam had recently gotten engaged to his longtime boyfriend Micheal, and the wedding that had planned was looking… expensive. They had tried to keep it small, but both had romantic hearts and expensive taste, so it ended up getting out of hand. So, desperate for a more steady cash flow, Sam had accepted the offer to teach. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He knew he was going to fuck this up. But… maybe he was overreacting? It wasn’t like he was teaching kindergarten. These were college students, mature adults who paid to be there. Surely they wouldn’t be that bad, right?

It took less than 5 minutes for Sam to realize how horribly wrong he was. These people were savages! He knew the school had a bit of a reputation as a ‘party school’, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. No one in the class seemed to take anything he said seriously. The male students, who mostly seemed to be athletic jocks, were constantly telling crude jokes, laughing obnoxiously, flexing and harassing the few students who actually wanted to be there. The few female students who hadn’t left in disgust just giggled at the nearest jocks jokes vapidly and flirted with them. No one paid attention to a thing Sam said the entire class. Sam spent all of his first class stuttering over words, getting embarrassed by his own lack of experience, and being either ignored by or laughed at by his meathead students. By the end of the day Sam felt completely lost. Every class had been the same as his first, just as embarrassing and pathetic. Sam didn’t understand what he was doing wrong? At first he thought he had just got unlucky with his first class but as the day had progressed Sam started to wonder if something was wrong with him. It couldn’t be that all the classes were filled with bad students. Maybe he was overreacting. It was only his first day after all, but he couldn’t shake this feeling that he was messing this up. Maybe if he could understand these kids better he’d be able to teach better. He had gone to college himself, but he had spent most of his free time working on his first novel. He didn’t really get the same college experience that most people did, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. It was late when Sam left, having stayed late to work on his curriculum. As he walked through campus to his car, he looked up at the sky and saw a particularly bright star. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated. Without even meaning to, he wished on the star. He wished to understand his students better. As he did so his eyes stayed transfixed on the star, which grew brighter and brighter.

And, in a flash, everything was different.

Sam woke up slowly the next morning, his head pounding as he did. What the heck had happened last night? He felt like he had the worst hangover ever. He got up from his bed and stumbled over to the bathroom, splashing water in his face. As his headache began to diminish into a dull throb, Sam looked in the mirror, and felt his brain short circuit. Something was wrong. Really wrong. For some reason it took him a moment to notice but… he had completely changed.

The thirty year old author looked like he was in his early twenties again, and was suddenly in much better shape than he had been before, even in his actual twenties. His eyes trailed down his strong biceps and defined abs, both in fascination and shock. He wanted to yell for his fiancée, but instead he felt himself smirk without meaning to. Without even thinking about it he lifted up his biceps and flexed, reveling in his own body. Sam didn’t understand what was going on. It was like he couldn’t control his body. Someone else was in control now.

As the other Sam, who Sam and everyone else had dubbed Green, went about his day it became apparent that Sam had gotten his wish in the worst way possible. He now understood his students perfectly, because he was just like them. A cock, arrogant, toxic, straight jock. He understood what it was like to find classes taught by pathetic professors boring as shit. He understood how it felt to party with an entire frat full of manly bros. He understood what it felt like to fuck a pussy, not caring how the bitch felt and only caring about how great his cock felt. Sam now knew exactly what it felt like to be one of his students, and he hated it. He couldn’t stop himself though. He was trapped, slowly losing himself to the new identity. Eventually Sam would forget he was anyone but Green. He convinced himself Sam was all just some weird dream. Why would he want to be some dumbass author when he was a fucking college stud?

#muscle growth tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #nerd to jock #professor to jock #muscle tf #reality change #supernova tf

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reiderwriter · 9 months

Note

hi 💖 I’m literally ✨obsessed✨ with your writing atm and I’ve never done a request before so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity!!

I would love to read an established couple fic where reader drops by !professor spencer’s office and spicy times ensue 🌶️👀 the trope where reader is inexplicably jealous of the girls auditing his class gets me every 🤌 single 🤌 time 🤌 (but don’t feel like you have to include that trope!! I’m a sucker for any !professor spencer smut lmao)

- 🐺 anon

A/N: Thank you sm for your request!! I am also slightly unhinged about Professor Spencer (I think this is my second one this month lmao) so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: use of sir, degradation, fingering, no contraception, PinV sex, semi-public sex, jealous reader (she's like 27 beefing with undergrads), age-gap (15 years), Spencer keeps a souvenir of her visit 😊. Also I don't even know if American lecturers have office hours, so like... For context I am a European living in SK lmao. 18+ MINORS DNI

W/C: ~2k

Check out my masterlist!!

You’d lost count of how many times you’d visited Spencer in his office now that he’d started lecturing semi-regularly. The break from his regular activities as a member of the BAU suited him well, and you had no complaints either, loving having an excuse to drop by the college campus he was based on to visit the cute student-run coffee shops and explore the space. And since you’d started working from home while you wrote your novel, you definitely had the time to visit.

Usually, you’d find him in some lecture theatre or the other, but having walked around all his regularly scheduled rooms, he was nowhere in sight. You shrugged a little, figuring that he must be in his office if he was nowhere else. You were right, of course, but he wasn’t exactly alone.

A line of undergrads had formed at his door as you noticed the sign pinned to his door mentioned his updated office hours for the semester in the run-up to finals week. Typical. You were never the best-timed person, and you could see that you weren’t going to get his attention for a while from the look of all the students. You waited outside for him to open the door and summon the next student into his office, settling onto a couch opposite his door.

You weren’t trying to listen in to the multiple conversations going on, but you couldn’t help it when they were being so loud and open.

“God, he’s so fucking hot, I just want him to bend me over that desk and-”

“-wonder if he’s single. If he is, I’m totally going to make a move-”

“-I just know it’s big-”

“- in that lecture about the serial rapist, all I could think about was his hands-”

You blushed a little deeper with each of their confessions. They didn’t know who you were, of course they didn’t, and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell them. But now you knew why it was that they were here, and honestly, you couldn’t blame them for lusting after the man, you’d done the same thing. Your relationship had started in a similar way. You’d knocked on the doors of the FBI with a case back when you were a journalist, and been met with those big brown eyes and it had taken your entire strength to not jump him then and there.

So you understood. But you didn’t have to like it, and you certainly did not. The longer you sat there, the older you felt, constantly resisting the urge to yell at these kids in an old maid's way. Gods he was old enough to be some of these girls’ fathers. You weren’t exactly close in age with him yourself, a gap of about 15 years separating the two of you, but come on.

The door to his office finally cracked open, and you followed the sound of his voice, still rambling out facts as he let the student out.

“Now that you have the difference between stressor and trigger down, you’ll find it easier to interpret some of the readings, just keep in mind that sometimes they can be one and the same.” The student nodded and thanked him before leaving, a slightly disappointed look shadowing her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” His smile lit up the second he saw you, and you held out the coffee you’d bought him earlier to him.

“Thought I’d drop in and see you. I missed you.” Maybe it was petty of you in front of literal teenagers and people who couldn’t even legally drink yet, but you wrapped a hand around his waist, underneath his suit jacket, and looked up at him with a big grin, fluttering your eyelashes. He looked at you with knotted eyebrows, trying to decode your words as if they were the key to cracking a case he was working on.

You felt the eyes of the students burning into you, heard them whispering to each other and your grin deepened. You’d marked your territory successfully.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got office hours for the next 25 minutes, do you mind waiting?” He looked apologetically down at you, speaking with a bit of an awkward tone, not used to the notable PDA.

“That’s fine. I can wait out here, right?” You asked, trying to give him your most innocent look. He nodded his assent, and you returned to your seat, grabbing a book from your bag and settling in as he welcomed the next student to his office.

An hour later, all the students had finally dispersed. A fair few of them had given up after you made your identity known, embarrassingly slinking away from the queue, but a fair few had stuck it out, still just wanting a glimpse of him. The conversation had dimmed though, now back on the topic of college parties and TikTok stars or something.

When the final student slipped out of the office, you jumped up enthusiastically and joined Reid inside, letting yourself in with a small knock and a sing-song “professor.”

He was sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose looking down at some papers, and looking as attractive as he had the day you’d met him. You slunk over to him, swirling his chair around so you could sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips.

“What’s gotten into you today?” He asked, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him, obviously not objecting to the sudden physicality of your affection. “It’s not an anniversary, we’re only on our 1,813th day of dating which doesn’t mark any milestones or other special cultural holidays, so what gives.”

“You know I love it when you talk numbers to me.”

“You know I love it even more when you spill and tell me what’s going on? Come on, Y/N, something’s different.” You pouted at this goddamn superhuman perception. It was going to be embarrassing to admit that you saw the gaggle of girls that had been crowding around his office as competition.

“There were a lot of students today.” You said, simply changing the topic a bit, hoping you wouldn’t have to explicitly name the green-eyed monster that had taken over you.

“Not really, that’s about the amount I get every time I open office hours.”

“Every time?” He’d told you often that you were an absolutely open book, your facial expressions baring your every thought and feeling. So you cursed yourself at the pout you felt forming on your lips.

“Woah, what was that? Y/N, are you… are you jealous?”He laughed a little bit as your frown deepened, a flush coming up to cover your face.

“So what if I am?”

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you, baby?” He trailed his hand up between your thighs and your breath hitched as you felt the tone of the conversation immediately shift.

“They were talking about you, y’know?” your breath hitched at the last word, as his hand found its way to your clit, beginning to press the tiniest of circles around that nerve.

“Oh? What were they saying that made my princess so upset?” The hand gripping your hip was nearly painful now, as he clasped you tightly, letting your legs spread for him as he slowly picked up the pace, your back now flush against his chest as he looked down to between your legs from over your shoulder. Your head was thrown back against him, your chest rising and falling with every small movement.

“They were talking a-about your hands,” you moaned out. His eyes stayed fixed on your center, but his free hand trailed up to your blouse, popping a few buttons expertly so he could see the rise and form of your chest, see your nipples sticking out through the thin bra you’d chosen that morning.

“Hmm, is that it baby? They just talked about these hands?” He continued at his agonizing pace on your clit as his hand lifted to your nipples, pulling one breast free of your bra and beginning to roll it between his fingers. You writhed at the touch, trying desperately to keep quiet, knowing from your time outside just how thin these walls were.

“Baby, I think you didn’t hear me. Was that all they said?” His tone was darker now, and you knew you had to answer before he made you.

“No!” You moaned out, trying to gain back some composure when all you wanted to do was relax into his hands and let him pull your release from you. “They… they said they knew you were big… Down there.” He laughed a little at that and shifted his hips underneath you.

“And are they correct baby?” You feel him pressing against your leg now and it takes everything in you not to let your eyes roll back in pleasure and let him use you as he wants.

“Yes, sir. They were… they were right, you always fill me up so good.” Your hips start grinding down into his, his hand stilling as you use him to get yourself off.

“There’s something else they said, right, baby? You’re holding something back?” He smiled, dropping hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck as you frantically rubbed yourself up against him. Your moans were ripping out from your mouth now in frustrated moans, as you felt needy in a way you’d never quite experienced before.

“Stop teasing, Spencer.”

“No. This is my office, and you come in draping yourself all over me like a whore in front of all of my students. You don’t get to call me Spencer right now, you’re going to have to show a little bit more respect.” With those words he pushed you up to your feet, pulling his hands off of you before quickly clearing a space on the desk and bending you over it.

“I heard this bit. They said they wanted me to bend them over and take them like this, right?” You heard him unzip his pants, bringing the tip of his cock to your entrance as he started teasing you, pulling your panties to the side. You moaned out a yes, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore.

“Use your words, baby. What did they want me to do to them?”

“They wanted you to bend them over the desk and fuck them like a little whore, sir.” With that confession out in the open, he finally pushed into you, stretching you out with a sinful groan slipping from his mouth.

“Fuck baby, so tight and wet for me…” His thrusts were hard and slow, and you could feel the wetness seeping down your legs, the wet sounds of your activity filling the space infinitely. His pace picked up and so did your constant mewls from the contact, the sounds completely unmistakable for anything but base lust.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart. Going to come, right here on my cock in my office, huh?”

“Yes, sir, I’m going to…. Shit, I’m going to cum.” He grabbed your hair and pulled your face up to his, swallowing each of your moans with his mouth as he let his tongue explore, your body twitching still under his ministrations. He kept his rough pace up for another minute or two before hitting his peak as well, pulling out to empty himself out on your thighs.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mumbled, falling back into his chair and running a hand through his tousled hair as you fell forward back into the desk, chest heaving. He was at eye level with the results of his labour and you heard the sound of his phone camera clicking before you could pull yourself together.

“Spencer!” You giggled awkwardly, looking back at him with an incredulous look as he pulled some tissues out of the desk drawer and started cleaning you up.

“What? I always take notes during my office hours.” He grinned up at you, as you turned around and planted another kiss to his lips, pulling him back up to you.

“How many students do you think will actually turn up to your class tomorrow?”

“I’ll be lucky if the module actually has any sign-ups next term.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #Requested #🐺 anon

1K notes · View notes

captainamericasmotercycle · 10 months

Text

cherry

i noticed that there’s a piece of you in how i dress

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: cursing

wc: 1.2k

a/n: i’m back!! also please note that i am not crazy and that i do know my characters! the theodore nott mentioned here is theodore nott sr.!! not theodore nott jr. (the “slytherin boys” theo)

absolutely DO NOT steal my work and post it on other platforms. DO NOT feed my work to AI fuck that.

It was a gorgeous, late, fall morning - one where you surprisingly did not have class. You were lounging in the common room by the fireplace with a novel when someone stormed through the portrait hole.

In came an enraged James Potter dressed in his practice uniform cursing under his breath.

You were quite close with James, just not as close as you’d like to be.

“James, what happened?”

He glares at you, “What happened? Oh, I’ll tell you what happened.”

He storms off to the dorms without telling you anything. You close your book and quickly follow him.

Once in his dorm you sit on his bed and watch as he starts throwing his quidditch gear everywhere.

“Alright, would you like to calm down and tell me what happened?” You ask him as if he’s a small child who had just gotten himself into trouble.

“No.”

He starts to undress and change when he finally talks to you, “We have the most important match against Slytherin tonight and my fucking teams not ready,”

He pulls off his shirt and interlocks his hands behind his head, you can’t help but to stare and drool a little.

“I need to win this match you don’t understand!”

“James, why?”

“Because I hate their fucking captain.”

Ahh. Theodore Nott. James has had it out for Theo ever since 1st year when Theo knocked James off his broom during a match, causing Gryffindor to lose.

“Okay,”

“I have to win and my fucking team won’t fucking listen to me,” you’ve never heard James curse this much. He’s pissed, “I just don’t have time to reteach 6 fucking players the basics of quidditch.”

Sirius timidly opens the door and sees you on the bed and James yelling at you, well more yelling in your general direction, but Sirius didn’t know that.

“Looks like you lot are busy, um, I’m gonna.. go,” Sirius was on the team, contributing to the problem. James rushes over to the door and slams it in his face.

“Don’t come back until you learn to fucking fly.”

“Don’t you think you were a little harsh?”

“No.”

He stalks over to his wardrobe and pulls out 6 quidditch uniforms, tossing them on the bed next to you.

He always wears the match jersey the day of and has a spare of the three uniforms that the team rotates out.

He pulls his favorite red jersey over his head, “Merlin, if the team could even get the uniforms right I’d be fucking shocked,”

“James you need to take a walk, clearly,”

He looks at you and his eyes soften, “Alright, only if you come with me, I can’t trust myself to see anyone from my team alone right now.”

You smile and nod, following him out of the dorms, noting that he left the door ajar.

It takes 3 laps around campus and about a thousand rants to get him to calm down, but you finally manage to do it. Once you make it back to Gryffindor tower the two of you part and he goes to the quidditch pitch (once again) and you stay in the common room.

You look around for the book you began to read this morning but don’t see it anywhere, you try to retrace your steps when it hits you. You’ve left it in James’s dorm room.

He wouldn’t mind you going in there, right? To be fair, it is your book.

You climb the boy dormitory stairs and enter the empty room. Walking over to James’s bed, you look near his night stand and on the bed when you finally see the hard cover of your book peeking out from under a piece of red fabric.

You lift the spare jersey and pick up your book. You set the jersey back down and turn to leave, then an idea hits you.

If you wore his spare jersey tonight, would that be over stepping? No? You two are friends and he does need a little more encouragement tonight, so why not?

You fold the rest of the jerseys up and put them away, taking the spare of the one he has on, back to your dorm.

The rest of the day is spent lounging and snacking. Until an hour before the game, you were sprawled out on your bed with your second book.

Mary walks into your shared dorm and smiles, “Get up! It’s time for the match!”

You turn to look at her and stretch, “I’m coming!” You say through a yawn.

“Good! Lily, Remus, and Peter are already down there, and pray for Marlene and Sirius, I’ve heard James had been an arse today,”

You smile, “Tell me about it,”

“We’ll save you a seat but you better hurry,”Mary giggles and leaves you alone once again.

You layer your clothes for the chilly weather, slipping James’s jersey over your outfit. You all but sprint down to the quidditch pitch to meet your friends.

You find your seat and sit, right in the front row with James’s jersey on full display for everyone to see. You collected quite an amount of wide-eyed stares from the other students.

Why wouldn’t you? Wearing the most sought out guy at Hogwarts’ jersey.

Just moments after you sat, the players started to emerge from their respective preparation rooms.

The game began and James flew right past you, almost flying into the stands.

Were you trying to make him lose? How could you wear his jersey and expect him to focus on the game?

An extravagantly quick-moving bludger snapped him out of his trance of admiration. He had to win this game, especially now since you have his jersey on.

He scored point after point on Slytherin, hardly giving them a minute to catch their breaths. The game ended when his seeker caught the snitch, and James could not get off the pitch faster than he did.

You came down from the stands and waited for him at the entrance of his team’s tent. Though he had just beaten Slytherin, something he’s been talking about for weeks, the thing he was most excited about was you.

He met you outside the tent and smiled as he walked up, “Did you join the team?”

You looked away from him bashfully, there was now barely any room between you two.

He lifted your chin with his finger to look at him. You smiled up and he smiled back, “Merlin, you look gorgeous in my uniform. I could get used to this,”

You grabbed the collar of his jersey and pulled him down to your lips. He pulled away and his smile grew larger, “Merlin, I could get used to that as well!”

He rested his hand on your cheek and pulled you in for another kiss - the kiss turning into a near make-out in front of the player’s tent.

Once you managed to break away, he rested his forehead against yours before giving you a feathered kiss on the top of your head.

He slung an arm over your shoulder as the two of you walked back towards the castle, “Come on, I want to show everyone how good you look in my clothes.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #x reader #marauders era #marauders #marauders x reader #sirius black #quidditch #james potter is perfect #i love james potter #remus lupin

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mulloey · 4 days

Text

restraint • seonghwa

you embarrass seonghwa in front of his colleagues.

tags: hard dom!seonghwa, sub!reader. professor seonghwa. this is quite intense. specific warnings below.

word count: 8.3k

warnings: punishment, pet play, humiliation, impact play, mean angry dom!seonghwa, scolding, praise, heavy degradation, mild piss play (reader pisses on the floor), deep throating, gagging, fingering, choking, safeword mention, begging, fucking, sir kink, mild cum play, bdsm dynamics. this is a little gross sorry. the sections with piss are marked so they can be avoided without taking away from the fic.

DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ. HATE IS DELETED AND BLOCKED.

—————

You should be at home right now. On a Friday night at 7PM, you should be falling asleep on the couch while waiting for your boyfriend to serve dinner. Or curled up next to him, one hand in his hair while you watch TV. Or kissing him. Or touching him. Or…anything. Anything but this.

But here you are, in a strapless dress and painful black heels, silently observing the laughing gaggle of your boyfriend’s colleagues, dressed to impress for another very important, cannot-be-missed-under-any-circumstances work event.

Your boyfriend, Seonghwa, is on the other side of the room, talking to some girl from his work with a little too much enthusiasm for your liking. Not that you're worried that he’d cheat on you, no, Seonghwa is the single most loyal person you’ve met, and he reminds you of how much he loves you every single day. It’s just that you're not ignorant to how goddamn attractive he is. You're not ignorant to the undeniable fact that wherever they go, there'll be about 15 girls and a couple of guys who would take your place by his side in an instant. You see it in their eyes. See it in the eyes of the girl he’s talking to now.

You don't blame her. He’s easy to fall for, with his soft hands and loud laugh and impossibly brown eyes. And that, of course, is just at first sight. The layered, complex man underneath that perfect exterior is more than enough to rival his more superficial appeals.

The pristine Professor Park, the picture of class, intellect, and pretty much every positive adjective you could possibly think of. Always impeccably dressed, never without a quote from a novel or paper or film, always knowing what to say and how to say it. Just completely and utterly perfect.

And, rumour has it, nothing less than an animal in the bedroom. You both know the tales that are told of him across campus - tales of hickeys hidden beneath turtlenecks, strange noises and suspicious silences from behind the locked door of his office, and of course his insistence that if a certain someone calls his office, no one, under any circumstances, is to ask if they can take a message. That rule, and the incident that had spawned it (and spawned a whole lot more in the privacy of your bedroom), is more than enough to paint a picture of what you definitely heard a student refer to as a ‘love-making beast’.

You swallow a laugh at the thought. If only they knew. If only they fucking knew.

The girl he’s talking to certainly seems keen on finding out. You watch her closely, following her eyes as she looks the man up and down.

Seonghwa says something and the girl giggles, twirling a strand of brown hair round your finger with nothing but heart eyes for the man before her. If Seonghwa is aware of what she’s doing, he doesn’t show it. He just listens to her as she speaks, her soft, admittedly almost velvety voice only just heard above the clash of music and chatter. But he looks slightly bored, which brings you some comfort at least. You catch his eye when he turns away briefly and he frowns at your expression. He excuses himself from his companion and strolling over to you, looking concerned.

“Baby,” he murmurs into your hair, snaking an arm around your waist. “You’re annoyed.”

You relax into his touch, closing your eyes for a second before turning to meet his gaze. You swallow. Even now, as his eyes stare into yours, full of love and concern, his stare is somehow intimidating. Everything about him is, even in his softest moments; the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he touches you is all power and control and dominance, a constant reminder of exactly who’s in charge, exactly who owns you.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks softly.

“Nothing,” you say all too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“Well. You.”

“Me,” he says with a hum. “What about me?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flinch at the coldness in your voice, a coldness that clearly doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who stares at you in confusion. You soften slightly, words quiet and as gentle as you can get them right now. “I’m going to get a drink. I just… sorry.”

Seonghwa nods, and, clearly trying to figure out what’s got you so irritated, grabs your arm as you turn to leave, immobilising you.

“Baby,” he says, voice low. “Watch it.”

Then he releases you, shoves you into the crowd and you gulp, ignoring the fire his words had started in your stomach as you weave through the guests crowding the living room. The smell of alcohol is all around you as you approach the kitchen, but right now you're intoxicated on something else entirely. His words echo in your head, emboldened by the dangerous tone with which they’d been spoken and you can’t make yourself think of anything else.

Just three words. Three little words, and you're dizzy. He knows the effect he has on you. Practically feeds off of it.

When you return to the living room, clutching the two bottles of beer you’d retrieved for your and your perfect boyfriend, the girl from before is back next to him. This time, her hand is around his waist.

Your resolve snaps, vision clouded as you, barely aware of yourself, drop the beers to the floor and stride towards the two.

“What the fuck is this?” You seethe, trying and failing to keep your voice at a whisper — by now, the party has all but stopped to watch the much more interesting show unfolding.

Seonghwa mutters your name, tone warning. “Don’t,” he says but you barely hear him, your focus on the woman who has quickly distanced herself from him, face pink.

“I’m sorry,” she starts. “I didn’t know he—”

“Yeah?” You laugh. “Well you do now. Go whore yourself out to another one of your seniors.”

You hear gasps echo around the room, but no one looks more surprised — or angry — than Seonghwa.

You mumble an apology and retreat to the kitchen, more embarrassed than you’ve ever been in your life. You can’t believe you stood and berated someone over a man like you’re a fucking teenager.

You hear the kitchen door open then close and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“What the fuck was that?” Seonghwa hisses.

“Baby, I—”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he snaps. You flinch, caught off guard by his tone and he seems to soften slightly at your surprise, but the anger on his face remains.

“You—” you start, but he cuts you off as if he hasn’t even heard you.

“Explain,” he says. “Now.”

“Seonghwa, please-”

“Now,” he repeats, nearing a yell. “I mean it. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

“She was touching you, Seonghwa,” you whine. you reach for his face but he gently slaps your hand away.

“I know she was,” Seonghwa says. “And I was going to deal with that. Until you decided that it was your responsibility, your right, to try and discipline my colleagues.”

“I—”

“No,” he says. “Go and get your coat, we’re going home.”

You nod, mumbling another apology before walking to the cloak room. You sit in there for a few minutes, trying to calm down, and give Seonghwa the chance to do the same, before you walk back to where he is. But when you see him he’s barely moved, and his expression is, dangerously, still the same.

“Are you really angry at me?” You ask softly. You know you’ve fucked up but you’d thought he’d have calmed down enough to not be overly angry. But apparently not.

“Yes,” he says, apparently electing not to sugarcoat the severity of the situation. Not that you were expecting him to; Seonghwa has always been upfront like that, seeing no point in lying to soften the blow. You’ve fucked up and he’s not going to waste time pretending that you haven’t.

He helps you put your coat on, still gentlemanly (for now) but briefly grabs the back of your neck as you fasten it. He stares at you for a second, expression blank before he releases his grip with a scoff.

“I don’t want to fight when we get home,” you say softly.

“We’re not going to fight,” Seonghwa responds.

You blink, caught off guard by his statement. Based on his reaction, you were certain this was going to end in a screaming match. Hopefully one that ends with the best sex you’ve had in weeks, but you don't want to risk the off chance that the night will instead end at a friend’s house if things get messy.

“We’re not?”

“No.” Frowning, Seonghwa turns back to face you. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

—————

The drive home is silent, Seonghwa clearly too irritated to do anything but focus on the road and you too afraid to speak lest you make it worse for yourself, but the tension between the two, and the lingering threat of whatever the hell Seonghwa has planned for you when you get home, is louder than anything either of you could say. It’s everywhere; in his body language, written on his face and in the intensity of the gaze that he never moves from the road. It’s in the way his hand grips your thigh, normally gentle touches suddenly rough, hard, a vessel through which he channels the anger that cannot wait until you get home to be released.

What’s he going to do today? At the party he’d promised punishment, but that could mean any number of things. you try to recall the previous punishments you’ve faced at his hands, browsing through memories to try and figure out which one he might choose today. That’s if you're lucky (or unlucky) enough to receive only one.

He’s fucked your mouth a few times, but once he caught onto how much you enjoyed it it became a less frequent punishment. Humiliation is common - you shudder at the memory of his smug smile as you’d walked around the rooftop garden of your shared apartment, completely naked save for the collar you wore only when he felt you needed reminding of who you belonged to. Or when he’d suddenly revoked furniture privileges, demanding you kneel on the floor as he ate, watched TV, slept. A shudder runs down your spine at the thought, but as you consider it more you realise that Seonghwa is most likely too angry to choose something like that today. That’s for when you've been teasing him, toying with him, for when the punishment is as much a form of fun as it is discipline. But today, you can tell you’ve pushed him beyond that. He’s properly, dangerously angry, and he needs release. He needs to show you who’s in charge, and exactly what happens when you disobey him.

What the fuck is he going to do to you?

Looking back out the window, you realise you’re pulling into your street, and as the car starts to slow you feel your heart begin to race in anticipation, the sound of it echoing in your skull with a similar intensity to the fear that fills your body when the car stops and Seonghwa turns off the engine.

“Get out,” he says, leaving no room for conversation or argument.

You huff but comply, dragging yourself towards your building and up the steps. Your steps are small and slow, an attempt to delay the punishment that surely awaits, but your plan doesn’t escape Seonghwa and he shoves you towards the door with a low chuckle.

“Not gonna work, baby. Faster.”

You curse every God that could possibly exist when you see the elevator is already waiting for you, as if Seonghwa had somehow called ahead to ensure that every effort would be made to speed up your punishment. Seonghwa says nothing as you step in and press the button of your floor, and though you dread the thought of what’s going through his head, you almost wish he would say something. Just so you could get an idea of how angry he is.

As if he’d read your mind, he speaks. “Just so you know,” he says, and the tone alone tells you more than enough, “If I were less opposed to the idea of being arrested, I’d belt your ass black and blue right here in this elevator.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh.” Belting is rare. He’s done it a few times, of course, but it’s generally reserved for your very worst behaviour. Surely you haven't been that bad tonight. Have you?

“But I’m not going to belt you tonight,” he says, placing a hand on your lower back as you exit the elevator. “Unless you decide to be even more of a brat. It’s just that what I have planned would be… well, as disgusting as I am, doing that in an elevator is a line I still won’t cross.”

Okay, he definitely has some sick shit planned for you. Probably something illegal.

Your heart quickens as you turn the corner, bringing your apartment into view. You feel Seonghwa tense next to you as you walk and turn your head, quickly sneaking a look at his face. Fuck. You know that look. Eyes dark and scheming. Lips curled into a small smile. Eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. This is not Seonghwa, your sweet, caring boyfriend who makes you breakfast in bed and looks at you like you have the world in your eyes. This is Seonghwa, your dominant, whose every move oozes power and control, who uses and abuses you however, whenever he wants.

Who can do anything he wants to you and knows it.

You are so fucked.

————

“Look at this.”

His words are soft, arousal filled as he takes in the sight before him. And what a sight it must be.

You stand in the middle of the living room, sleek black collar the only thing covering your otherwise naked body. The word carved into the inside is an ever-present and all too familiar feeling on your neck. The burn of humiliation as you’d watched Seonghwa put it on you, pausing to point out the engraving, still lingers within you as it presses into your tender skin. Slut.

You’re cold and uncomfortable and you feel completely humiliated. Seonghwa, on the other hand, appears entirely at bliss, lounging comfortably on the couch and sipping a glass of red wine as his eyes roam your naked body. Despite you being too nervous, too embarrassed to meet his gaze, you feel his eyes on you, examining you as though you were a priceless work of art rather than the girl he’d stripped and abandoned in the middle of his living room.

Your hands are raised above your head, at his orders of course, making it impossible for you to cover your breasts, to cover the nipples that have hardened as a result of the air conditioning, which you have no doubt he had turned up to full on purpose.

Seonghwa takes another sip of his wine, a small smile on his face, then speaks. “Enjoying yourself?”

You huffs. “You know I’m not, Seonghwa.”

Forgetting yourself, you almost slap your hand across your mouth. What the fuck did you just say? That’s not his fucking name.

“What was that?” He asks coolly.

“I’m sorry, sir, I meant sir, I promise.” You start to trip over your words in your panic, but Seonghwa gets the message.

“Much better. I’m really not in the mood to put you over my knee tonight, my dear, as much as I think you expected me to.”

You almost miss the smile that flickers across his face at your reaction. You’re so transparent.

The smile disappears, replaced with the straight, unreadable expression from before. “You do know why you’re being punished, don’t you?” He asks.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Tell me,” he says, leaning forwards in his seat. “Tell me what you did.”

“I insulted that girl,” you say. “And I embarrassed you in front of everyone.”

He shakes his head, unsatisfied. “Not just a girl. A colleague. A new colleague. Are you trying to tarnish my reputation?”

“What?” You say before you can stop yourself. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. You correct yourself. “No, sir, of course not.”

“Yet there you were,” he says. “Humiliating me in front of my colleagues, disobeying my orders in public while they look on. Where are your manners, pet?”

You bite your lip, almost whining at the mention of that nickname. Dirty move.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was annoyed.”

“You made a fool out of me,” Seonghwa says. “As your boyfriend, and as your dominant.”

You hang your head, ashamed. Now that your head is clearer you feel his words even deeper. He’s right. Seonghwa has never cared for others' opinions on your relationship. It’s only his professional reputation — the thing that puts food on the table and keeps the cupboard stuffed with toys — that he cares about. And you should have known better than to risk it like that.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“I know you are,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to punish you. You know I do, sweetheart. It’s how you learn.”

There's no anger in his voice now. Just disappointment. And you fucking hate it. Hate it when you let him down, hate the sadness in his eyes when he watches your misbehave, watches you ignore his rules and lessons and guidance, everything he’d created for your benefit, your protection, you. Everything you so easily disregarded for the sake of a jealous rant. Fuck. You’ve fucked up.

A twinge of guilt pulls at you and you nod demurely. If you’ve ever deserved to be punished, you deserve it now.

“I understand, sir.”

“There we are,” he smiles. “It’s so much easier when you behave, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good,” he says. “Keep this obedience up and it’ll be a lot better for you.”

He leans back, keeping his eyes on you as you stand there. After a few minutes confusion overtakes you and you shyly speak.

“Sir, are we— are you going to make me do anything else?” You ask, still baffled by the mildness of the punishment.

“That depends on your behaviour,” Seonghwa responds. “If you decide to be good, there'll be no more punishment. If not…” he pauses, leans back in his seat without shifting his gaze from you. He reaches for his belt, finger tracing the black leather. His hand twitches as it crosses the buckle and the slight smile on his face suggests that the memories of the belt impacting your ass are just as present in his mind as they are in yours. “This is still on the table.”

“Oh,” you say.

He stares for a moment then smiles, tilting his head almost cutely. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. You’re not sure what exactly you’re supposed to be getting, so you guess he’s right. Whatever ‘it’ is, you don’t get it.

He laughs slightly, shaking his head like you’re missing something obvious. “No matter, then,” he says, “just stay like this. No moving.”

You nod and do as he says, wanting to be good now. Seconds stretch into minutes which pass by like hours, but still nothing happens. You stand in position and Seonghwa watches you, slowly making his way through a glass of wine that you too could really use right now. His gaze is sharp but not particularly interested, more like he’s monitoring you than watching you. Which you guess is accurate; in a way that’s what he’s doing, monitoring you and your punishment, looking for any signs of you faltering or disobeying, or more importantly, for any signs that you’re reaching your limit. But you’re not reaching your limit. You’re not doing anything.

Eventually Seonghwa gets bored and, apparently, is satisfied that you’re being obedient enough for him to pick up a book next to him. You recognise it as one he’s mentioned wanting to start; something Greek, you think. You watch as he reads; his brows are furrowed slightly as the small amount of alcohol he’s consumed has made it slightly harder to focus. After a while you feel the familiar feeling of discomfort and shyly speak up. “Sir?”

Seonghwa hums, not lifting his gaze from his book.

“I— I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Then go,” he says, still not looking up.

Brevity is the soul of wit, they say. You linger for a second, unsure of yourself, then start to walk. You barely make it two steps before Seonghwa’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Who told you to move?”

‘What?’ you think. Of course you’re going to move. How else are you supposed to— oh. Oh. The realisation of what he’s suggesting, commanding, almost knocks you off your feet. Holy shit. “Sir, I don’t— are you kidding?” you splutter.

Seonghwa says nothing, the words does it look like I’m fucking kidding? written across his blank face. Bastard.

“You’ve lost the privilege of using the facilities of this house.” He says it so seriously, so formally that he seems like a businessman closing a deal rather than a man directing his girlfriend to piss on the living room floor.

You have no idea what to say, what to think, how to react to his request— no, not request. Seonghwa doesn’t make requests. This is nothing less than an order. “Sir, I—”

“That privilege,” he continues, “is for good girls. And you have not been good. So you can piss on the floor like a dog.”

You baulk. Holy shit. He’s actually serious. That… is beyond anything you’ve ever done. Or discussed. Is he actually going to make you do this? Do you even want this? Sure, you love when he treats you like an animal, when he humiliates and degrades you until the only thing on your mind is being fucked, but this is something else. You can’t do this. Can you?

“If you’re not comfortable,” Seonghwa says, “You can safeword. I won’t be angry. But I don’t think you want to, do you?”

Fuck. The safeword hadn’t even crossed your mind. You’re unsure about this, of course you are — it’s new and unclear and beyond anything you’ve ever even considered — but the idea of using your safeword, of ending all this, never seeing where it would go, what would happen, had never even occurred to you. Maybe you do want this. To piss on the floor while Seonghwa watches, to feel the burn of humiliation that he’s made sure is painfully familiar. To feel like the animal you become only for him. Because of him.

You speak quietly, voice barely a whisper, and the words send a rush of humiliation down your spine.

“I don’t, sir.”

Seonghwa smiles. “Good girl.” He leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving your reddening face. The book is closed on his lap now, and he takes a small sip of his wine as he waits for you to begin.

You have no idea what to do. Well, you know what you have to do, you have to piss on the floor while your boyfriend watches, but how do you… do you just start? Do you just stand there and piss?

He watches you silently, blank face a contrast to impatient eyes and you shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze. You wouldn’t dare ask him to turn away while you does it — it would kind of defeat the point, anyway, and you don’t want to know how he’d react to you resisting punishment — but the knowledge that Seonghwa — tall, strong, domineering Seonghwa who’d been the apple of so many eyes at the party — is about to watch your piss on the floor, ass naked, like some sort of animal, does nothing for your pride. Not that Seonghwa allows you much of it, anyway.

“I’m not a patient man, you know,” he says. “So I’d advise you to hurry up.”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry, it’s just— how can we— how will we even clean it up?” You splutter, unable to select just one of the millions of questions burning in your mind.

“That is none of your concern,” Seonghwa answers with a smile. “All you have to do is be a good little girl and piss on the floor like you’ve been told to.”

You nod but don’t move, still not quite able to force yourself to do it.

“Don’t act like this is beneath you,” Seonghwa says. “I know you. I know you’re just a dog built for the sole purpose of taking my dick, and it’s about time I treated you like one. So piss on the fucking floor before I think of another way to punish you.”

Shit. Okay. You can do this. you just have to— fuck...

“Whatever’s making you hesitate, let go of it,” Seonghwa says, leaning forward. “You don’t seem to know your place. I do. So let go.”

“Sir,” you whisper.

“Let go,” Seonghwa repeats. “I won’t say it again.”

—

[STARTS HERE]

—

Eventually you manage. You close your eyes, trying to shut out your surroundings and it works. You feel it start, trickling down your legs and you flush crimson. You want to die.

“Look at you,” Seonghwa spits. “You’re filthy.”

“Fuck, Seonghwa, I—”

It keeps going, trickling down your legs and pooling around your feet and it’s disgusting. You feel disgusting. Not to mention how humiliating it is to be ass naked while your boyfriend still has his fucking shoes on.

But that same humiliation twists in your gut, colliding with your arousal and the emotions crash into each other like waves against a rock, eating away at you, wearing you down so slowly you doesn’t realise it until it’s too late and you’re drowning in it and the only thing you want to do is fall to your knees in pure worship.

You cry out, overcome by the millions of sensations that explode in your body and mind like fireworks. Who knew pissing could be so… this?

“Dirty bitch, aren’t you?” Seonghwa says. “Pissing on the floor like a fucking animal.”

“I- fuck, sir- I am.”

“What are you, baby?” Seonghwa asks. “Say it. Tell me what you are.”

“An animal, sir,” you say between gasps. “I’m your animal.”

“That you are. And such a good one, darling. Are we done?”

Unable to form any sound resembling a word, you nod. Seonghwa gives a proud smile and rises from the couch, discarding the glass of wine on the side table. He doesn’t approach you. Just stands there.

“I would come closer,” he says, “but I don’t want to step in your mess.”

You say nothing, just turn your gaze towards the mess he speaks of with such disgust. It’s disgusting, you're aware of that. You both are. It’s disgusting to stare at your own piss on the living room floor while your boyfriend degrades you, and you’ve never felt so humiliated, so embarrassed, so ashamed. But you’s also never been this fucking horny.

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Seonghwa asks, slowly inching towards you. He scoffs. “Stupid dog. Can’t think of anything but getting fucked, can you?”

“Sir,” you almost scream, “Sir, please, fucking hell, please.”

“Please what, darling?” He asks, cocking his head. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t— fuck sir.”

Seonghwa chuckles, amused eyes looking you up and down. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you and you’re already a fucking mess. Come here.”

You blank for a second while your clouded mind processes his words then move to walk towards him, but you’re stopped in your tracks by Seonghwa’s noise of disapproval. “That won’t do,” he says.

“What?”

“I don’t think you’ve earned the right to walk. Crawl.”

You pussy throbs at the command and you swallow, cheeks flushed as you get down on all fours. In a pool of your own piss. Holy shit.

You go slowly, one hand after the other and you feel absolutely fucking vile. You can’t believe you're doing this and some part of you doesn’t want to believe it, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. You’ve never needed your boyfriend, his dick, more in your entire life than you do right now. And based on the dent in Seonghwa’s dress pants as he sits back down on the couch, and the sweat that’s already building on his face, the feeling is mutual.

You crawl to his feet, stilling when he places a firm hand in your hair and pulls your face towards his crotch. “Good girl,” he hums, then lifts your face and pulls it towards him, forcing eye contact. “What a good dog I have.”

“Fuck. Sir,” you whisper.

“I’m here, pup. But you aren’t quite forgiven yet.”

He hands you wet cloth you didn’t know he had, instructing you to dry your hands and you do. “Stand,” he orders.

With shaking legs to stand up and he takes the cloth, using it to run up and down your legs until you’re clean. He scrubs you harshly, until your shins are red and irritated, before he drops the cloth and orders he back down to your knees.

—

[ENDS HERE]

—

“I think you need some reminding of who you belong to,” he says. “Open your mouth.”

Hesitantly you obey him, watching as he pulls his dick out of his pants. Even now, you’re always a little surprised by the size. He doesn’t give you any time to speak, shoving his dick into your mouth without warning. You choke at first, surprised by the intrusion but you quickly get used to it His dick is thick and wet and you devour it; lick it, suck it, gag on it, let Seonghwa force it down your throat over and over until it’s the only thing you feel, the only thing you want, the only thing you can think about. Seonghwa grunts and moans, gives rough praises that you can’t comprehend. He grabs the back of your head, pushing you further down onto his dick and he smiles.

“You don’t really need to breathe, do you?”

He doesn’t give you time to react before he forces himself even further into your throat and it burns, burns in the most delicious fucking way and you love it, love the way he thrusts into your throat with no mercy, no concern for you or your comfort. This is about his pleasure and his only. Right now, you exist solely to serve him, to serve his dick and you fucking love it.

“That’s it,” he groans.

He thrusts into your again and it fucking hurts but the scream you let out is muffled by his dick, drowned out by his loud, pleasured groans.

You rise off your knees, trying to get closer to him, to take more of him in your mouth, but he pushes you back down.

“No fucking moving, dog. Remember your place,” he says. “Remember who’s in charge here.”

You say nothing, paying no attention to his words as you lean forward again and force him down your throat. you don’t care who’s in charge. Don’t care about following his orders or respecting his authority. You need him. All of him.

But instead of giving you what you want, he pushes you off his dick and slaps you across the face.

You gasp at the impact, lifting a hand to your stinging cheek with a moan of pain. Seonghwa gives you a second to recover before he slaps you again, just as hard on the other cheek and you scream.

“Greedy bitch,” he spits. “Are you that fucking desperate?”

“Sir,” you whine, still clutching your stinging cheeks. “Ow, sir, please.”

“Quiet,” he says. “I don’t want another word out of you. All I want you to do is be a good little mutt and suck my dick exactly how I tell you to. Am I clear?”

“But sir, I want—”

He grabs a fistful of hair, pulling your face towards his. “I don’t care,” he says lowly, “what you want. You are nothing to me. Now tell me. Am I clear?”

You say nothing, just give a small whine and Seonghwa’s grip in your hair tightens, a small sneer on his lips.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks mockingly.

You turn away, biting your lip. Seonghwa chuckles, hand still in your hair, and pulls you back to face him. Your tear filled eyes stare into his and he gives a small smile.

“So pretty,” he mumbles. “But so worthless.”

“Sir,” you breathe.

“And so polite,” he praises. “Too little too late, though, unfortunately.”

“I know, sir.”

“I’m sure you do. But it’s too late,” he says, shaking his head. “So here's what’s going to happen.”

You perk up, ready to listen. Seonghwa smiles for a moment, almost fond.

“You’re going to do everything I say,” he says. “When I say it. Starting with this.”

He grabs you again, pulls you towards him with a groan and shoves his dick back into your mouth without warning. You choke, caught off guard and you almost fall back but Seonghwa’s grip in your hair is strong; it forces you to sit upright, forces his dick further and further into your mouth — further than what you’d tried and failed to take minutes earlier and it’s almost too much. You whine and moan and scream around his dick but he ignores you, presses on as if you were nothing to him and you fucking love it. This is what you needed.

Seonghwa sighs contentedly. “You’re so much prettier with your mouth full,” he says.

As usual, his words go right to your stomach and he seems to notice, for he chuckles slightly before giving a quick thrust into your mouth. You take it all, letting him thrust in again and again with no regard for your or your pleasure. Just using you, carelessly like a toy.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Yeah, baby. Take it.”

You whine but nod, letting him thrust in and out as he pleases.

“I’m going to cum in your mouth,” he says matter-of-factly. “And you’re going to swallow every last drop. Aren’t you?”

Too preoccupied with the dick in your mouth, you just groan. Seonghwa, of course, gets the message. “Good. Because if you don’t,” he says, “I will make you wish you’d never met me.”

His voice is sweet but the words send a shiver down your spine. You have no doubt that he would follow through on his promise should he deem it necessary. And as much as you love pushing him, seeing how he reacts; love being on the other end of him at his very worst, you're not in the mood for that now. Right now, you just want to be fucked. And you're going to do everything you can to make it happen.

He thrusts again, a soft groan escaping his lips and you lean into it, taking everything he gives you until he comes with a groan, unloading into your mouth. You swallow it all, careful not to miss a drop as he watches you with dark eyes. When he’s done he pulls out, grabbing the back of your hair and pulling your face towards his cock.

“Lick it clean,” he says.

You obey, licking every inch of his cock until it’s as good as new.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your groan, rubbing your head against Seonghwa’s legs and he runs a gentle hand through your hair. “Took that so well, baby. Gonna fuck you soon.”

Oh thank God. “Please,” you cry and Seonghwa chuckles.

The hand in your hair suddenly turns rough and then it’s pulling you from where you kneel and up towards Seonghwa, until you stand on unsure feet, staring right into his dark, blazing eyes.

“Be a good girl for me, will you?”

Before you can react, he’s dragged you to the edge of the couch and shoved you forward. You blush — as if you have any shame left in you — and settle into the familiar position. Bent over the couch. Exactly where he wants you. Exactly where you belong.

You feel his presence behind you, feel his stare on your back as you adjust to the new position, and it feels exposed, vulnerable, but at the same time safe and secure. He’s silent, but his heavy breathing shows he wants you just as much as you want, need, crave him. But he doesn’t move. You know what he’s doing. He’s waiting. Waiting for you to be ready. Waiting for the right moment to take what he wants.

When the moment comes, he doesn’t hesitate. He pounces, like a predator ready to devour its prey. And right now, that’s exactly what he is.

A firm hand presses into your back, immobilising you. His other hand traces your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to your pussy and you clench around his hand, already dripping.

“What to do with you?” He mumbles.

“You know what I want,” you mutter.

Seonghwa laughs and presses a finger to your pussy. He makes a noise of surprise when he finds you already wet and pulls away slightly. You whine at the loss and his hand returns, but this time, he doesn’t waste a second before slipping a finger in. You gasp, kneeling further forward and he chuckles.

“Do I?”

“Fuck me, Seonghwa,” you says. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Seonghwa stills behind you and you can see the smile forming on his face. You know him well enough to know that what he does next is going to be nothing less than torture.

��Anything, huh?” He asks, voice playful and almost dangerous.

You squirm, almost wanting to take it back. It’s true, you nothing but to be fucked. But something about the tone of his voice, the way he says those dangerous words, has you curious. He’s already taken you further than you’ve ever gone tonight and you’re unsure how much you can handle. But he’s also never been hotter than this and you want him, need him inside you. Filling you to the brim.

“Anything, sir.”

“Oh, dear,” he says. “Surely by now you’d know better than to say things like that.”

“I should,” you whisper. “But you know I don’t.”

“Yes I do,” Seonghwa says. “I also know that as soon as I get my dick out you lose the ability to think. Isn’t that right?”

You nod, so desperate to get fucked that you eagerly agrees with his degredations. He laughs softly, amused by your unravelled state.

“Mhm. All you can think about is my dick. How it would feel inside you.” He presses a second finger to your pussy, lets it linger for a second before slipping it inside and you gasp at the feeling. “How it would fuck you. That’s all sluts like you think about, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, sir,” you moan.

Seonghwa chuckles, pulling your head back and planting a soft kiss to the top. “Oh, I know, baby,” he whispers. “Gonna put another one in now. And you’re gonna take it like a good little slut should be trained to do.”

The third finger slides in before you can respond and you choke, lurching forward. He tuts, pressing down on your hip to keep you in place.

“Nice and still for me, baby,” he says. “Just like I’ve taught you.”

You do your best, lying limp in place as he pumps in and out of you. A million sensations fill you at once and you eventually start to squirm, unable to keep them inside. Seonghwa notices, pausing to lean over you to whisper in your ear.

“When do you come, baby?” He asks.

“When you— fuck, sir.” You throw your head back when he hits your spot with particular precision and Seonghwa grabs your hair, tugging your head back to meet his gaze.

“I’ll ask you again,” he says darkly. “When do you come?”

You moan, writhing slightly in place. “When you say so.”

“When I say so,” he says, satisfied. “And not a moment before. Clench it.”

You squeak, doing your best to tighten yourself around his thick fingers while they continue to pump in and out of you at a punishing pace. You feel his eyes on your pussy and he lets out an affected-sounding noise as you clench around him. “I have no fucking idea,” he grunts, “how you’re still so fucking tight after all this time.”

You groan, voice strangled now as you feel yourself hurtling towards a climax. You’re in no position to respond to him now, not verbally at least, and he recognises that, laughing softly. “God, baby,” he groans. He keeps up his pace, unwavering as he opens you up — in, out, in, out without a break. “I could stretch you out all day and I’d still need to do it again ever. Damn. Time.” He emphasises each word with his fingers and it’s almost too much.

He notices, pressing his other hand down on your back, holding you still against the arm of the couch. “No coming,” he grunts. “Not yet.”

You nod through tears, the only word you can form is his name; over and over again like a prayer. He slows down slightly, letting you breathe and softly asking you for your colour — green, of course, without hesitation — before he starts up again. He eases you back into it but wastes little time, and soon you’re back where you were, hurtling uncontrollably towards your orgasm.

He recognises the signs, observant as ever but lets you suffer for a few more minutes, pushing you to the brink before abruptly pulling his fingers out, leaving you empty and dripping beneath him. You must look pathetic, but you know he loves it. You love it too.

With the strength you have left you turn your head to see your boyfriend standing tall behind you, eyes fixed on you. He keeps eye contact as he inserts each of his soaked fingers into his mouth, sucking the juice off of them one by one. Seonghwa’s always loved the way you taste and as time goes on he’s only gotten more addicted. It's his favourite place to be; kneeling between your legs, each of his hands forcing your thighs apart with his mouth latched onto your pussy, tasting every part of it. He can — and does — stay there for hours. But you can tell from the look in his eyes that tonight he has no such plans.

“It’s so good, baby,” he grins. “Know what you taste like?”

You shake your head and he laughs. He walks closer to you, leaning down to reach your level where you’re still awkwardly bent over the couch. There’s a cocky yet admiring lilt in his voice when he speaks. “Like a slut.”

You make a guttural noise, embarrassed, aroused and proud and he laughs. “Do you want a taste?” He asks.

You nod fervently and he runs his other hand through your hair and down to lightly grip the back of your neck. “Easy, baby,” he says, “you can have it.”

He slips a finger back into you, more carefully this time and it slides in easily with a humiliating squelch. He moves it around inside you, collecting your juices on his finger before pulling it out and feeding it into your mouth. He’s right, you taste good, and you suck on his finger until it’s clean. “Mmm,” he says, “that’s a good slut.”

He pulls his finger out of your mouth with a pop, wiping it down on his black dress pants. He pats your ass, tinged pink from the slaps he’d leisurely rained down on it throughout the evening. “Up,” he says.

You stand on shaking legs, faltering at first but Seonghwa quickly grabs your arms, steadying you and not letting go until he’s certain you can stand independently. He sees the dazed look in your eyes, like you’re in a haze, and smiles. “You’ve been good today,” he says softly. “Well, some of today.”

You smile shyly, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you sir.”

“Look at me,” he says and you look up, meeting his now almost fiery gaze. “You want my dick?”

You exhale, nodding excitedly and he smiles. “And where do you want it, exactly?”

“Sir,” you whine. You know he knows; he’s just furthering your torture as he always does. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Where, pet?” He repeats.

You whine quietly, hanging your head. “My pussy, sir,” you mumble.

He reaches his hand down to cup your pussy and you push into it. His fingers start to move, gently stroking it back and forth and feeling your slick on his fingers, until he pulls away. “Still wet,” he mutters.

You flush, casting your eyes down as you shrug. He smiles, brushing his wet fingers across your lips. He eases them in to let you lick them clean before pulling away. “Get on the couch,” he says, “stick your ass.”

You perk up, squeaking out a ‘yes sir’ before scrambling into position. Seonghwa watches you with an amused expression before taking his place behind you. He pulls his dick out, slapping it against your ass cheeks before he pulls them apart and settles so his dick is pressed against your pussy, soaking up the juices but not quite going in. You whine, wriggling desperately to try and get some friction but he slaps you ass, stilling you. “Don’t be desperate,” he says.

You nod, resting your head on the back of the couch and trying to seem patient. He takes his sweet time, teasing your pussy with his fingers and cock before he finally plunges it in.

Your wetness makes it easier but his size means getting used to him is always a challenge. You feel the stretch as he goes in deeper, just slight enough to be pleasant. It doesn’t take him long to ease all the way in and his dick presses against your spot deliciously. You moan loudly, a guttural sound, and he grabs your hair. He doesn’t speak as he starts to move, focusing on his thrusts as they gradually increase in speed and power until he’s pounding you. Each time he slams into you it makes your whole body shake, moving uncontrollably in tandem with him. You groan, scream and cry as it gets more and more intense and he grunts, only spurred to go faster. After an evening of teasing you know you won’t be able to take this for long and he seems to feel the same. He grunts, shouts and splutters with each movement, losing control of himself the longer he’s in you, the more of a mess you become.

“S-Seonghwa!” You shout, gripping the back of the couch so hard your knuckles turn white.

“F-fuck, I got you,” Seonghwa says. “I got you, my girl.”

You cry out, throwing your head back with lips parted in pleasure. There’s nothing now except you and Seonghwa, the expert blend of pain and pleasure only he can provide you and it’s pure bliss. You could stay like this forever; used and abused and adored by him in whichever way he pleases. And so could he.

He’s relentless as he slams into your cervix again and again and soon it starts to get too much. You feel the tears start to prickle at your eyes and you sniffle, crying louder. He notices, pressing a wet, desperate kiss to your lips as he speeds up. “Take it,” he grunts. “Take it for me, puppy. Make me proud.”

You nod through tears, gritting your teeth as he keeps going. You do your best to stay still, only moving when he makes you, and he presses kisses to the back of your head and neck as he goes.

Eventually you feel him at his edge, on the verge of orgasm and you gather your strength to push back, fucking back into him. As you do so you clench your walls around him, squeezing his cock and he shouts. He lasts a few more thrusts, making them as brutal and pleasurable as possible, before he comes with a yell, unloading inside you. You take it all, though it feels more than usually, and he fucks you through it with grunted praises that you can’t quite decipher. He stays still inside you for a minute or so, pressing kisses down your back before he starts to pull out.

“Keep it in,” he says. When his dick finally pulls out completely

You feel his come start to spill out of you, trickling down your thighs and you whine. Seonghwa tuts. He uses two fingers to gather the cum that’s trickling out of you and pushes it back in. The feeling of his fingers in your pussy again makes you gasp as he kisses your back.

“Come on,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around your body, still kneeling in the position he’d left you, and pulls you into his arms. He takes a seat on the couch and settles you in his lap, your head resting in the crook of his neck as he starts to rock you back and forth.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “That was incredible, baby.”

“Seonghwa,” you mutter, still fucked out and exhausted.

He chuckles, kissing your head. “Seonghwa’s right here, honey. I’m not leaving.”

He speaks low and gently to you as he rocks you and it’s peaceful and perfect. Soon he notices your eyes drooping, lulled to sleep by his voice and he smiles. “Goodnight, baby.”

He thinks you’ve learned your lesson.

—————

thank you for reading! please reblog and comment if you enjoyed :) i did proofread but it is long so there may be errors, please forgive them. i’m a little unsure about posting this fic as it contains things ive never written about before; piss isn’t really my thing but i received a request about it and was fine writing about it. so please tell me what you think!

requests are open! love🖤🖤🖤

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez hard thoughts #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #dom seonghwa #seonghwa hard thoughts #seonghwa hard hours

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yuurei20 · 1 month

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Hi! Just wanted to ask, have you talked about if the overblotts are covered up by the school or if they are openly known? I feel like you might have talked about it before but I don’t know where I would find it! :(

Hello hello!! Thank you for this question!

This was mentioned a little bit before in response to a question about if overblotting is common knowledge, but am happy to summarize with newly updated information! ^^

After Vil's overblot Jamil offers on behalf of the group to "hold off on explaining this to the faculty until after the competition," with Vil saying that he will be explaining to Crowley personally.

It is unclear how much time passed between the overblot itself and when Vil confessed to it, and it is possible he never had the chance:

When Vil is kidnapped a few days after the incident, Ruggie says he didn't know that Vil had overblotted at all.

This doesn't necessarily mean that they hadn't informed Crowley yet, but it does seem like there hadn't been enough time for the news to spread throughout the school--and maybe the NRC Tribe had been trying to hide the information from the other students, for Vil's sake?

In Book 7 Idia mentions "the whole incident" he caused at the Island of Woe in front of Trey and Cater, who were not there, but how much they know might be a little vague!

Riddle says he will tell them the story of what happened on the Island of Woe, though we do not technically see anyone spreading the news of Idia's overblot on screen.

Idia says that "people all over the world" will be holding him accountable at the same time he says he has "joined the ranks of the SSR Epic Troublemakers" (his name for the overblotters), so he seems to expect that the news will get out.

Crowley has confirmed that the Department of Education and the Department of Magic are aware of NRC's overblot incidents (as is STYX), but did they only learn about them after the "anonymous tip" that called for an examination of the overblotters?

It is mentioned multiple times that they underwent treatment and counseling post-overblot, which makes it seem like multiple people have always been aware and some sort of procedure is being followed. But if those doctors and counselors belong to the medical facilities of Sage's Island, it is not impossible that they've been keeping the information local.

Except it seems that families are being told! Jamil says that, while his parents are unaware of the real reason behind his overblot, they do know that it happened.

While not canon to the game, in the novel Riddle reflects on how hard his mother protested to keep him from being expelled after he overblotted.

To answer the initial question: with how parents are being kept up to date and Idia's comment that "people all over the world" are going to naturally know what happened, it does not seem like overblots are being covered up by the school!

(Whether or not parents choose to cover it up might be a separate question. Idia's overblot also happened off-campus, unlike the other five--perhaps his situation is moreso the exception than the rule? So many possibilities!)

The closest we come might be Crowley's evasiveness with Ambrose in Book 5, but we technically don't know that the "large-scale" magic being referenced was from Vil's oveblot (or Malleus' magic, or something else entirely), and we do not know if Crowley was even aware at the time that Vil had overblotted, so it might not count :>

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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floralcyanide · 2 months

Text

ɪғ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɪs ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ — ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ

john “bucky” egan x fem!reader

Lunch with Dr. Egan leads to him showing you old photographs at his home, which opens a door to a new side of your advisor and your relationship with him.

(Headcanons: One | Two)

warnings: age gap (reader is 23-25, Bucky is in his 40s), descriptions of war, the insinuation of ptsd, smoking, drinking, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

author’s note: here is the first part (maybe) to my Professor Bucky au!! if ya'll want more just let me know, I'm indecisive about it tbh. I probably won't write smut for this series though. feedback is appreciated!

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

based on this song | (If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Wanna Be Right - Barbara Mandrell

(when it’s from Bucky’s point of view, I will use Bucky rather than Dr. Egan.)

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

You’re giddy, like it’s the first day of class all over again, except it’s a different type of nervousness. It’s not like you’re going on a date or anything, but you’re seeing your advisor outside of campus. It’s a little nerve-wracking. Especially because he’s so interesting and attractive and… are you crushing on Dr. Egan? Absolutely, positively not! He’s your superior and advisor, and you will never cross that line. Even if you find him fascinating in numerous ways.

The small restaurant that Dr. Egan suggested is bustling with people when you arrive. You sit patiently in the booth as you wait for your superior to show. When he finally approaches, he apologizes profusely for being late.

“It’s okay, Dr. Egan. You’re a busy man.”

This launches the two of you into a conversation about your extracurricular activities and life outside of work and school. Dr. Egan wants to know more about your work at the museum. You tell him all about how it started and where you see it going. He listens intently the entire time, asking questions throughout the conversation. You eventually order your meals and continue discussing the museum until the topic strays.

“I have a lot of photos of us from where we were stationed,” Dr. Egan mentions around a sip of water, “I think I have some of your father, actually.”

You sit up at that, “Really?”

“Quite a few of me too. Would you want to see them?” Dr. Egan chuckles at your sudden interest.

“Of course I would,” you say with a grin, “When and where?”

“If you’re okay with it, I don’t live too far from here. I have a lot of stuff you can look at if you’d like.”

After lunch concludes, you and Dr. Egan head over to his quaint home near downtown- a mere walk from the restaurant. The living room has a large array of books and records on a bookcase the size of a wall, some paperwork is strewn on the couch and on the dining room table. Dr. Egan profusely apologizes for the mess.

“I can’t imagine how many assignments you have to grade,” you say, taking in the various novels and history books on the bookcase, “I don’t mind the mess.”

“All the stuff is in the extra room,” Dr. Egan says, motioning to the hallway with a smile.

He appreciates your love for literature and history and your patience with his lived-in home. Bucky would never ask if you had a partner as it isn’t professional or his business, but he’d be surprised if you’re single. If he were your age all over again- he would stop his train of thought there before it travels any further. You giddily follow him into his guest room, where there are shelves full of things, including photographs.

“Here’s one of just your father,” Dr. Egan says, holding the photo over his shoulder to you as he scuffles through other pictures.

You carefully take the photograph, look over it, and take in your father in his youth. He’s never shown you many photos of him from the war; usually, they’re of him with other soldiers or aren’t of the best quality. But this photo is up close, and your father is alone.

“You can have it if you want,” Dr. Egan says as you stand next to him, still eyeing the picture.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I’m certain. I collected most of the photos and stuff the others didn’t want. If I can pass them down, I will.”

You smile at Dr. Egan, who returns it as he looks back down at the table, “This one is me.”

You grab a hold of the left side of the photograph, and Dr. Egan lets you take it from his grasp to look closer, “This Is you?”

“Sure is,” he says.

Dr. Egan was beyond handsome- still is, of course. His curls were darker, and his skin less freckled. He had a little more light in his eyes. You happen to glance up and see a photo of him where he appears much different. Dr. Egan has quite a bit of facial hair and looks shell-shocked. He quickly moved the photo, which looked like a POW card, under some others. You glance over at him, and he gives you an uneasy look before turning his attention to a photo of another young man.

“This is my good friend, Gale,” Dr. Egan clears his throat, “he was with your father and me a lot through training and overseas.”

Sensing a change in the older man’s demeanor, you change the subject, “We don’t have to go through your things if it brings back sore memories.”

“Ah, don’t worry about me. I’d rather tell the stories over and over than forget.”

You hesitantly reach for the area where he shoved the POW card out of sight, sliding it out from under some other pictures.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know more about this,” you hold up the photo, giving Dr. Egan an earnest look.

“You’ll have to get a few drinks in me first,” he half-jokes.

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk, “That’s all it takes, Dr. Egan?”

The layered comment doesn’t go past him as he takes a step closer to you, your chests almost touching, “Just know my life can get a little dark.”

You stare up at him, your gaze careful, “I can handle it.”

The tension is palpable but Dr. Egan breaks it by taking a step back, “I hope you like whiskey ‘cause it’s all I’ve got.”

You follow him to the living room, where he pours two glasses of whiskey, handing one to you as you take a seat on the couch. Dr. Egan sits on the side of the couch that’s by the record player, where he puts on something to play quietly as you talk.

“I was shot down back in forty-four and landed in Germany,” Dr. Egan pulls out a cigar from his pocket before clipping it and lighting it, “You don’t mind, right?”

You shake your head and let him continue his story.

“Managed to hide for a day before I was found. It was a rough few days of being captured. I thought I was going to die for sure until I made a run for it when I had the chance.”

You watch Dr. Egan carefully, his eyebrows furrowed as he replayed the memories in his head. He puffs the cigar before sighing, “Then I got captured for real by the Nazis, and they interrogated me. Didn’t say a word.”

“I bet that was terrifying,” you frown.

“Yeah,” Dr. Egan nods, his face breaking out into a solemn smile, “Before I got shot down, Gale had been declared MIA. I was worried he had gotten into trouble, but Gale is Gale, he always got himself out of any trouble he got into. Anyway, when I got to the POW camp, I found him there. So we stuck together.”

“That’s good that you had someone you knew there,” you say.

“Knew a few men there, actually. Some didn’t make it out.”

You put a hand on Dr. Egan’s knee, the whiskey making you a little brave, “You don’t have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to, Professor.”

Dr. Egan glances down at your hand before moving his eyes back to yours, “Like I said, I’d rather remember than forget.”

Your hand doesn’t leave his knee as he continues his story, describing the work he had to do over the months he was at the camp. Dr. Egan finally gets to when he escapes, and they end up at another POW camp, where the Nazis fail.

“I ran around like a madman looking for a flag,” Dr. Egan chuckles, shaking his head, “Did finally find one. Scrambled up to the pole and put up that American flag, and for the first time since the war started, I felt safe.”

“Do you still feel that way? Safe?” you ask.

“I don’t think there’ll be another war anytime soon if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Egan lets his cigar go out.

“No, I mean, do you feel safe in general? My father still has nightmares about it all. He refuses to get help,” you say sadly.

“There are times I’ll wake up sweating without remembering what I dreamt about, and there’s no doubt it’s about the war,” Dr. Egan polishes off his second glass of whiskey, “But I’m in a good place. I do what I love, and I get to teach brilliant minds like you.”

“That’s great. What more could you want?”

Dr. Egan snorts at that, waving his hand dismissively, “Nothing that I could discuss without embarrassment.”

“We tell each other just about everything, Dr. Egan,” you say, leaning in a tad closer, “You can trust me.”

Dr. Egan lets his eyes flutter to your lips for only a second before boring his eyes into yours, “But can you trust me?”

“I do. I do trust you,” you say softly, taking in the odd look on your superior’s face.

“I’m just alone whenever I’m not in class or on campus. And it gets to me sometimes,” Dr. Egan shrugs, “No big deal.”

“Many of us wish for more in the romance department, Dr. There’s no embarrassment there.”

Your palm burns through Bucky’s slacks, and he feels fidgety when making contact. It had been a while since anyone had laid a hand on him in any way. It didn’t help that you made him nervous. You’re quite the looker and intelligent beyond your means. You’re compassionate about everything and seem to notice Bucky more than everyone else. Maybe it’s because you knew there was something about him the day you met him that was different. And now that you know what it is, you don’t treat him any differently.

“It’s just that not everyone wants to be with someone with a past like mine or deal with the current consequences of that past, you know?”

Your face contorts into one of sadness, “Oh, that’s not true, Dr. Egan.”

“You can call me John, you know,” Dr. Egan says abruptly.

“There’s a lot of people who wouldn’t mind being with someone with a rough past, John. A lot of us have things we carry that we aren’t proud of,” you say.

“Would you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“A rough past.”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t mind it.”

You suddenly notice how close the two of you have become in proximity, and you struggle to snap out of the haze filling the room. Bucky knows better, but he still lets his hand find your hip. His touch is blazing hot, and you nearly gasp at the sensation. He gently guides you onto his lap, where you perch yourself without much thought. Bucky’s other hand finds itself on your other hip, his fingers squeezing deftly into the fabric of your skirt. He stares up at you without a word, the room now quiet as the record had long since stopped playing.

“What else would you not mind?” Dr. Egan asks you, his gaze taking in your form.

You exhale shakily and let a laugh escape your lips, “Not much.”

Dr. Egan lets his right hand slide up your body until he reaches your neck, his thumb lightly caressing your pulse, “That doesn’t help me any, doll.”

You know it’s wrong, but it feels so right. It feels so perfect to be the center of Dr. Egan’s attention and to be so close to him physically. You’re both adults and are capable of making decisions, even if they have consequences. You decide to end Dr. Egan’s teasing and you move your hands from where they were on his shoulders to his cheeks. Pulling him to you, you meet halfway to press your lips to his. Something in that moment feels complete, like the stars are aligned and the world is standing still. Dr. Egan’s hand grasps the back of your neck as he kisses back, throwing all caution to the wind.

You feel yourself getting too warm, so you pull away from the embrace with a little reluctance. Dr. Egan follows your lips before opening his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?”

“It has been a while for you, hmm? Take a lady to dinner first, John,” you fix a piece of hair behind his ear, chuckling at his expression.

“Dinner it is, then.”

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