#this has been sitting on my to-do list for a while | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 3 days

Text

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five, five being the most recent part. read part five here

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list.

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying.

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist.

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him.

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up.

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now.

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you.

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone.

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself.

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much.

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy.

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine.

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol.

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is.

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her.

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall.

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance.

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that.

But god, does he think about you like that.

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee.

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand.

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought.

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?”

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her.

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse.

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom.

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again.

But.

That’s all contingent.

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same.

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t��stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies.

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him.

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him.

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back.

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out.

Not again.

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can.

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is.

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too.

He sends you a text—the third message in a row.

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years.

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

551 notes · View notes

luveline · 17 hours

Note

Hey lovely, How about Hotch and wife!reader having their first family outing with new baby, a walk in the park or grocery shopping something like that you can pick.

Hope your having a good weekend lovely Xx <3 🌼

ty for your request ily <3 —you and Hotch juggle your small family for the first time. fem, 1.2k

“Please hold my hand?”

Having a baby has activated some intrafamily jealousy, but you don’t mind. You’re cooing at Noah adoringly when Jack interrupts, thrusting his hand in the air, the very beginning of a tantrum lining his eyes and his thin eyebrows pinched like a threat.

“Baby, don’t you wanna come and sit up here with Noah?” you ask. There’s not much room next to the carrier, but Jack's slight.

He shakes his head, hand poking your tummy. Grocery shopping with Jack has always been hard, he wants to look at everything, wants to take the list, and doesn’t ever wanna sit in the cart, but it’s proving harder today.

“Aaron, you have to push the cart.”

He’s been begging you to let him for the last half hour. “It’s gonna tire me out,” he says, nudging you aside by the hip, “but I think I can handle it for you. You did call me by my first name for once. We reward good behaviour in this family.”

You roll your eyes and take Jack’s little hand. Calling him Aaron now you’ve had a baby together should feel natural, but it doesn’t. It feels more like a loving nickname than his actual name —over two years of calling him Hotch is hard to ignore.

Jack gives you a loving look that makes the fuss worth it. “This is fun,” he says.

“This is awesome.”

You and Jack got used to doing grocery shopping by yourselves while you were on your maternity leave without his dad. With Hotch now on his own paternity leave to accompany you, it is admittedly easier, and much more fun. You and Jack swing your hands together as Hotch steers the cart and your baby into the cereal aisle, which’ll take hours to get through, no doubt, but it doesn’t matter. What else is there to do?

You make it Hotch’s job to say no to the boxes that are mostly sugar, and, unfortunately for Jack, get distracted by Noah in his baby carrier where it’s locked into the cart. His eyes reluctant to open, tired, dark lashes threaded together at their corners, his tiny mouth. “Aw, look at you, handsome, you’re nearly smiling. You look just like your daddy, he never wants to smile either,” you say, tapping his nose.

Your saccharine tone prompts distress. “Y/N,” Jack whines, “you need to help me choose the cereal.” He yanks at your hand.

“Jack, don’t start, bud.”

“Dad,” Jack pouts.

“No, it’s okay. We’re supposed to be sharing everybody now, so Jack gets to share me too. I’ll help you pick some cereal. I don’t mind,” you say.

You sort of do mind, just a bit. This is Noah’s first time out in the world that wasn’t sitting peacefully in the backyard, and you don’t want him to be scared. Maybe baby’s can’t be scared, you don’t know. It’s nicer to feel close to him in these big moments. But it’s Jack’s first time having a baby brother at the store, too, so you’ll have to make it work.

“You don’t have to,” Hotch says.

“It’s fine, it’s okay.” You bend down to see the cereal selection. “They have your favourite, Cinnamon Toast Crunch. And your second, Fruity Pebbles. It’s up to you, it’s your treat.”

Jack gasps and hits a box of Fruity Pebbles, “Barney’s on the box now!” he says, pointing at the blonde character behind the cereal bowl.

You give a soft laugh quickly lost as Jack’s force topples the box. It hits the floor with a light crunch. “Oh, whoops. Let’s pick this up,” you say, popping down into a crouch without thinking.

“Honey–” Hotch says, which would surely be followed by a Should you be doing that? if you weren’t already flopping onto one knee in pain.

Bad idea. Terrible idea. Having a baby tears a mixture of tissue and muscle, and while the fiery pain of labour has since become a bad memory, a spike of trauma erupts between your legs. “Ow,” you yelp, eyes welling with unbidden tears.

“Y/N!” Jack and Hotch say simultaneously.

“Are you alright?” Hotch asks, bending at the waist to grab you, never cruel but clearly perturbed as his hands grasp your shoulders. They slip down under your arms. “Come on, can you stand up?”

You blink away tears and force yourself to stand with his help. He’s quick to pull you close, one hand on your wrist, head ducked to see your face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You let out a queasy breath. “Something’s not done fixing itself,” you joke weakly.

“Are you alright?” he asks again, lower.

“I’m fine.” You’d love to sit down. The pain is a thrum like your heartbeat now, hurting but half as intense. “I’m okay. Really, it just shocked me.”

He slips his arm around your neck to encourage you in for a temple kiss.

“I’m sorry.”

You wiggle out of Hotch’s hold. Jack stands with a large pout near the fallen box of cereal, his hands twisting together over his tummy. “It’s okay,” you say.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, panicked tears slipping down his cheeks. “You hurt getting it and it was mine, I’m sorry.” His voice squeezes out of him in guilty pangs.

“It’s okay!” you repeat, leaning over with a wince to offer your arms, “It’s really okay, it’s not your fault. Don’t be upset, baby, I’m fine.”

You hoist Jack into your arms as he begins crying in earnest. His crying startles Noah, who starts to whimper, and then sob despite Hotch’s gentle shushing. You look at one another in mild defeat, your hand cupping the back of Jack’s head as he clings to you for reassurance.

Noah’s sobbing is like a ringing bell. Jack says he’s sorry into your neck, and it’s such a desperate scene you let a laugh slip out. “Aw, baby,” you say, smiling as you press your nose to his cheek, “it’s really okay. It wasn’t your fault at all, it was just ‘cos I’m out of practice. I’m just tired.”

“You fell.”

Noah gurgles behind you. “I know,” Hotch says quietly. “I know. You’re okay, bud. Jack’s okay. Mom’s okay. Shh, shh.”

It’s obviously not how you’d want your shopping trip to go, but Jack’s crying eventually slows, sapping all of his energy, and so he finally agrees to sit in the cart. The only problem is that he doesn’t fit there as well as you’d thought he would. Hotch ends up carrying him the entire time you’re in the store, and Noah doesn’t ever settle. You’re like zombies when you get back to the car, a headache stark between your ears and evident in his pinched brow.

“Let’s try again in a few weeks,” Hotch suggests. “I can go by myself. Or we can make somebody else.”

You wish you had the energy to kiss his brow, giving a defeated nod as you slouch down into your seat, grateful at least for his hand on your knee. “Okay.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

450 notes · View notes

muddyorbsblr · 2 days

Text

curiosities

See my full list of works here!

Requested by: Anonymous | view request here

Summary: Loki's interrogation tactics left you curious about his powers, and he's more than happy to give you a little demonstration while you worked on your reports.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning/s: 18+ | slightly smutty (think limes not lemons…but still, minors & pearl clutchers leave right now); thigh riding; hand necklaces; naughty use of Loki's powers; semi-public [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship

Dick-tionary: nothing explicit but proceed with caution starting from "Quiet, darling"

"Darling? Are you alright?"

The sound of Loki's voice broke through the hazy thoughts you'd found yourself lost in for the last few minutes, making you realize that your fingers hovered over the keyboard for so long that your computer screen went on Standby. And the text fields of your interrogation report remained blank.

"Sorry what?" you mumbled, realizing too late that the reason you lost yourself in your thoughts in the first place was from recalling the events of the interrogation from earlier. Specifically the way your lover's voice and overall aura darkened as he threatened a variant of reminding them specifically what kind of person he was on the once Sacred Timeline.

Of showing them a sampling of the terrible awful things that he could do, especially now given that the magic barrier had been switched off. You had only the slightest whispers of an idea, given what you'd read from his file and the files of multiple variants of him.

Shadow casting. Duplication casting. An entire pocket dimension filled with who knows what. And then there was the telepathy. The telekinesis. The illusion projection. The mind control.

Which powers did your Loki have, you wondered. And which ones would he utilize in the name of those terrible, awful things?

And why did the prospect of him using those powers on you stir something in you that currently had you struggling not to squirm in your seat from the arousal?

"You look as if you keep drifting off, darling. Are you feeling alright?" Loki reached out to cup the side of your face in his large hand, the contact hitting him with a barrage of the thoughts that had been swimming through your mind since the interrogation. "Oh…" he rasped, moving his hand to weave his fingers through your hair. "I see now what has stolen your ability to focus on this…simple tedious task."

"Hmmm?" you replied absently, soft whimpers escaping you once the god leaned in and started pressing kisses from your temple down to your neck. This wasn't helping your wandering thoughts in the slightest. And then he wrapped his arm around you, lifting you up from your seat and maneuvering you to straddle his thigh. "Loki," you whined, a sharp gasp escaping you when he nipped at the spot between your neck and shoulder.

"Quiet, darling," he told you in a low teasing tone. "You wish to know which powers I possess? I'm more than happy to give you a little demonstration." He brought a hand up to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly at the sides. "I've cast an illusion wherein our colleagues are none the wiser to our…current predicament. All they see is us, sitting side by side, your lover patiently waiting for you to finish your report."

He flexed the muscles of his thigh, the motion causing a delicious friction between your legs. You let out the start of a moan before his fingers tightened around your neck for a fraction of a second.

"Much as I would adore to hear those beautifully filthy sounds from you, my love, I'm going to have to implore you stay silent. See, if you make any noise that could draw people's attention to us, the illusion breaks. And we'll be disciplined." With a wave of his hand, your jacket disappeared and reappeared neatly folded on the table in front of you. He kissed at your now exposed arm. "Can you breathe alright?"

Butterflies fluttered violently at your stomach at the question, choosing to nod instead of voicing your answer.

"Good girl." A rush of arousal pooled between your thighs at his words. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from making a sound when he nipped at your skin. Another wave of his hand and you suddenly felt cool wispy tendrils grasping at your waist and moving you to grind on your boyfriend's thigh. "I must admit, dear Y/N, I rather enjoy finding these more…pleasurable uses of my abilities. Especially with how deliciously responsive your exquisite form is under my touch." He kissed his way up to your ear. "I look forward to using them all with you. Perhaps later tonight, in our home."

The tendrils held you tighter, pressing you down harder against his thigh before proceeding to undulate your hips. The increased friction, along with how he was kissing and nipping away at your earlobe, had you letting out a strangled moan before his hold tightened on you again, your head swimming from the pressure.

"What did I say about breaking the illusion, my darling?" he growled, the gravel in his voice making you even wetter. "Do you wish to give every soul in this library a show of how desperate and wanton I can make you? Is that it?" He flexed his thigh again the same time that the wispy tendons ground your hips harder against it, a barely muted whimper coming out of you before you bit down hard on your lip and shook your head. "Then stay quiet, sweet mortal. Lest you wish for me to find something within my pocket dimension to stuff that beautiful mouth of yours with."

You did what you could to look down at what was moving you, your mouth forming in an 'O' when you saw that it was his shadows. You let out the tiniest whimper of his name, the pressure on the side of your neck lessening when he stroked at your skin with his thumb.

"I'm going to lift this illusion and then you shall finish your report so that I may bring you home and we can move on to a more…thorough demonstration," he rasped, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "With a little help from a few friends of mine." A flash of Loki's green magic from the corner of your eye caught your attention, his shadows grinding you down even harder on his thigh once you caught sight of two duplicates of him waving and smirking at you. One was wearing that ruffled tuxedo that on paper looked unremarkable on the average man.

But Loki was no average man. He was a god. Your god.

And the other duplicate was dressed exactly as such. With the gold horns and the black and green leather, his usual obsidian curls straightened and slicked back with a menacing look in his eyes as his gaze roamed your body.

The feel of his thigh flexing against your slit had you bringing back your attention to the Loki that held you in place. Your Loki. The real one.

"But first, I want you to soak my thigh."

A/N: Anon, whoever you are, I hope you're having the absolute best day because getting this in my asks had me staring at the ceiling and immediately typing down a lil note in my writing schedule to make this 🫠 Hopefully I did your thot justice

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #muddyorbs writes

186 notes · View notes

batmanisagatewaydrug · 3 days

Note

Hi. I’m sending this anonymously but if tumblr glitches and it isn’t anonymous please don’t post this because I’m absolutely completely entirely mortified.

I’m 20 FtM. About a year and a half ago, when I moved out and started at college, I discovered fandom, and began to get really into reading fics on AO3. My parents had heavily restricted my internet access growing up, and as new adult I began to discovered the barrage of content online.

Soon enough, I was spending about an hour or two every night reading smut fics. I never thought anything of it, because, well, it’s just words, it’s not *actually* porn, right?

Recently I did start watching some explicit videos but tried to limit myself to only once or twice a month because the shame I felt as well as the strange dissatisfaction just wasn’t worth it.

After doing some research, I found a study that said that watching porn for more than an hour a week was unhealthy. I thought, yeah, okay, fair enough.

Then I realised: does my fanfiction reading count as pornography?

I kept thinking to myself that because it was text it didn’t count, but —does it? Is that the reason that lately I’ve been feeling strangely dissatisfied and empty after reading/watching? Will I feel like this when I eventually have sex?? (still a virgin, mainly for dysphoria reasons)

I found all this stuff online that says porn addictions can screw you over for life, that you can’t find sexual satisfaction with a partner.

Should I cut back?

I don’t normally masturbate while consuming porn. I feel too ashamed. I normally just sit there and read/watch.

Am I a porn addict?????? Should I quit reading smut? Help.

If you can’t tell, I wasn’t raised in a very sex positive environment and I feel very ashamed. I don’t really know who to talk to and I just feel very guilty so I’m resorting to an anonymous ask on Tumblr.

If you read this, thank you for taking the time. I appreciate it.

— Jason

hi Jason,

I don't think you're a porn addict. I think you're probably just an anxious 20 year old from a pretty restrictive background and now that you have a little more freedom you're kind of nervous about it, which is very normal.

I want to be super clear: written porn is porn. porn is any sexually explicit material designed to titillate; it's existed since WAY before the moving picture existed and it will exist long after the internet has crumbled to dust. people like porn! and it's okay to like porn. the text-based stuff is particularly high on the list of porn that's pretty unambiguously fine, morally-speaking, because you never have to worry that the performer you're watching has had their video stolen by pornhub or that, god forbid, anyone onscreen isn't a willing participant, but I want to be super clear that liking sexually explicit photos or videos of real people is also 100% fine.

obviously I have no idea what study you read, but I'd be cautious about any study being boiled down to such black and white, attention-grabbing headlines. you can interpret a study to mean virtually anything if you want to, and there are a lot of interest groups with a vested interest in demonizing porn. if reading smutty fan fic makes you happy and isn't interfering with the rest of your life, you should do that.

unfortunately it sounds like it's not making you happy lately, dissatisfied and empty feelings. in the kindest way possible, I don't think much of that is being caused by the porn itself. it sounds like it's coming from your gnawing worry that you're a porn addict. maybe it's best to take a little step away from porn and smutty fic for a while, if only until you feel able to engage with it without feeling bad.

also, speaking of porn addiction: that's a very dubious condition, and one that's not scientifically or medically recognized. to be certain, people can develop a reliance on porn that disrupts their daily function and can wreak havoc on their lives, but that's true of anything that causes your brain to spit out happy chemicals. anything that become a maladaptive coping mechanism, including and especially things that are fine and even necessary in small doses. sleeping, exercising, and going shopping are all things that can be life-ruining if done to harmful excess, but that doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong if you like to sleep in, go for runs, or browse your favorite online stores every once in a while.

if reading smut isn't causing you to skip out on your more important obligations, fail to take care of yourself, or bringing on bankruptcy, I think you're probably alright. the biggest danger I see here is you beating yourself over the head with your own anxiety about this, which may be a sign that it's a good idea to take a step back for entirely different reasons than you were worried about.

#sex edventures 2024

97 notes · View notes

scoonsalicious · 19 hours

Text

6.1 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of sex, nudity, Bucky's lies come back to bite his ass.

Please note: I'll be taking a break from posting starting on Thursday, May 16th to focus on writing, and will resume posting on Thursday, May 23rd.

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: Porn. The last chapter was porn.

A/N: Sorry, besties; not sure what happened. I set this up to post at 445 per usual, and when I came back on, I saw it still hadn't gone up, so I'm doing it manually. I apologize for this screw up!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Bucky woke the next morning in a tangle of sheets and Major. He had to pee, but he didn’t want to get up. God, he never wanted to get up. If he could stay wrapped up with her like this, for the rest of his life, he thought, he would die happy. The very idea struck him like a brick– he’d given a lot of thought to his own death over the years, but never, not once, did he ever consider the possibility that he might actually die happy until this very moment.

If she was in his life when he went, he realized, he very well could.

Major shifted in her sleep and snuggled further into Bucky’s chest with a contented sigh, and he felt his heart swell. If he wasn’t careful, at the rate his feelings were going, he was at risk of proposing to her before lunch.

After about fifteen more minutes of blissfully watching Major sleep in his arms, Bucky couldn’t hold off his bladder any longer. Gently extricating himself from Major’s embrace so as not to disturb her, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before heading to the bathroom.

After he’d finished and washed his hands, he made his way back toward Major’s bed. As he passed by the string of clothes he’d discarded the night before, he heard a buzzing coming from his pants. He reached down and pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the caller ID.

Lily. Again.

Bucky sighed and took himself back to the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him as he accepted the call.

“Hey, Lil, what’s up?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of Major’s whirlpool tub.

“Hey, Jamie,” she said, and Bucky could immediately tell something was wrong. She sounded… off, distressed. “Listen,” she continued, “I know you and Sam probably had a late night last night, and I hate bothering you…”

“What’s wrong, Lil?” Bucky asked, growing concerned now.

“Well, I drove out to Langston Park to run the trails,” Lily began, “and I don’t know if I ran over a nail or had a slow leak, or what, but when I got back to the car, my tire was flat. I was kind of hoping you could meet me up here and help me change it?”

Bucky ran a hand over his stubble. “Shit,” he said. “You know I would in a heartbeat, Lil, but–”

“No, yeah,” Lily interrupted him. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m sure someone will drive by and I can flag them down for help–”

“Lily Anne McIntyre, you are not going to wave down a stranger and just hope that they’re not a murderer or a rapist,” Bucky said into the phone, a little louder than he intended. “Listen, I’m on my way, but I’m in the city, so it’s going to take me a little while, okay? Just… just stay in your car with the doors locked until I get there.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much, Jamie!” Lily’s voice was full of relief. “You’re my hero! I owe you, big time!”

Bucky cracked a smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Give me about forty-five minutes to get to you, okay? And remember, lock. your. doors.”

“I promise,” Lily agreed before ending the call.

Bucky stood up from the edge of the tub and went back into the bedroom and quietly put his clothes back on. Sitting down at the edge of Major’s side of the bed, he leaned down and began pressing kisses to her shoulder and collarbone until she stirred and started to stretch.

With a lazy moan that sent the blood straight to Bucky’s dick, Major sleepily blinked her eyes open. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” she asked him, her voice seductively husky with sleep. “Come back to bed.”

Bucky wanted to. Oh god, he really, really wanted to. “I’m so sorry, sugar,” he told her, leaning down to give her a proper kiss.

“Bucky,” she laughed, pulling back from him, “I just woke up; I’m sure I have horrible morning breath.”

“Like I would ever care.” He cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers, gently running his tongue along her lips so she opened her mouth to him.

After a long moment, they broke apart, and Bucky rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said softly. “But I’ve got to go.”

Major nuzzled her cheek against his. “So, don’t,” she murmured. “Stay.”

Bucky sighed. “I can’t. Lily’s got a flat tire; she’s waiting on me to come help her change it.”

Major let out a puff of air through her lips. “Well, give me five minutes to get dressed and I can come with you,” she offered hopefully.

“I’d love that, doll,” Bucky said, frowning, “but Lily’s still pissed off about the bar and…” he ran a hand behind his neck, suddenly realizing how stupid this was going to sound, “I haven’t told her I’ve been seeing you.”

The change that came over Major was nearly imperceptible, but Bucky clocked it, all the same. Her eyes narrowed, her shoulders tensed and she pulled back from him by a hair.

“So,” Major began slowly, “where did she think you were last night when she called you, then? You said you’d already told her what you were up to. If she didn’t know you were with me, what did she think you were doing?”

“I told her I was having a guys’ night out in the city with Sam,” Bucky admitted, hating himself now for even deeming the lie necessary in the first place.

“I see.” The words were clipped, Major’s voice void of any emotion, and Bucky knew he’d fucked up. Immensely. “Well, you better get going, then, if Lily’s waiting on you.”

“Major.” Bucky put a hand on her arm, but she got up out of the bed, dragging the topsheet with her to wrap around herself and keep her body covered from him, as if now, suddenly, after everything they’d already done together, she no longer wanted him to see her naked. “Can we just–”

“You should go, Bucky,” she said again, not meeting his eye, and Bucky felt like absolute shit.

“Can I call you later?” he asked, and he heard the note of desperation in his own voice, but Major just shrugged a shoulder. He tried to lean in to her to give her a kiss goodbye, but she stood there, still as a statue, so he simply pressed his lips to her forehead and sighed before showing himself to the door.

He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up, and he’d blown it. She’d probably never want to see him again, and honestly, could he blame her? He’d lied about being with her, like she was some kind of dirty secret. Sam had been right, though Bucky would never admit it to him. Why was he letting Lily’s opinion dictate how he lived his life?

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

130 notes · View notes

everythingacotarbxm1012 · 3 days

Text

They Mates - with Y/N Pt 4

Summary - Hybern’s a problem (but when is he not) and this whole Cauldron situation, out. Of. Hand. Based on Ch 19 of ACOMAF

Notes/Other Warnings - Vulgar gestures, language, my grammar. As always lines/plot points directly or heavily inspired by the series itself. 1.4k words. 2nd pov again for a more intimate look into Y/N and Az’s relationship.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

You stood with Azriel near the window in the sitting room of the townhouse. It was snowing lightly outside, dusting the outside world. Cassian lounged near the fire, next to Mor. He felt tense, like an animal waiting to jump out of its cage after spending too much time cooped up. Amren was not present—where she was, you did not know. You all were waiting for your High Lord and Feyre to return from their trip to the Bone Carver for information.

As you watched the snow build up outside your mind wandered back to earlier that morning. Nearly five-hundred years Azriel had been your mate, and still every morning was utter bliss. You could still feel his teeth scraping lightly across the shell of your ear and his lips trailing—

“Amren’s right,” Rhysand said.

You snapped out of your thoughts to see him standing in the threshold. Feyre stood next to him.

“You are like dogs, waiting for me to return home. I ought to buy treats for the lot of you,” Rhys continued.

Cassian flipped him off, the tension in his system still evident. You stepped forward to smack Cassian’s shoulder. The general gave you a withering look. The High Lord of Night narrowed his eyes at the pair of you. You stepped back as Feyre, who looked chilled headed for the armchair near the hearth. You returned to your spot next to your mate who stood in contemplation, a constant for him.

“How’d it go,” Mor asked to quickly glance between Feyre and Rhys, who had finally stepped into the room.

“The Bone Carver,” Rhys said with a sigh, “has too much time on his hands considering how often he likes to pry into others people’s business.”

You reached for Azriel’s hand, unsure of what to do in the moment. Your mate didn’t protest, his shadows swirling around your wrist for a few moments. You could see Feyre’s eyes dart to the sight. The mortal said nothing.

Cassian broke through the silence, his hands falling to brace his knees. “But…?”

“But, the busybody can be useful, when he chooses,” Rhys replied with another sigh. “He informed us that the Cauldron was originally hidden at the bottom of the frozen lake in Lapplund, but vanished a while ago. But three of the feet on which the Cauldron used to stand were cleaved from it, in an attempt for power. Each foot was hidden in a different temple.”

You didn’t exactly need Rhys to spell out the rest for you. People were after the Cauldron, after its power again. “Shit,” you murmured. Cassian, to your surprise said nothing, only sat up a bit straighter.

“Cesere, Sangravah, and Itica,” the high lord listed out. “The King of Hybern seeks to return the Cauldron to its full glory.”

It was a suspicion most everyone in the room had. You could sense the grimness of it all, the way the room shifted even though most were expecting it. You glanced to Mor who looked back at you, giving a well this isn’t good look.

“The mortal queens have one part of the Book, Tarquin the other,” Rhys finished.

You sucked in a breath before Azriel stepped forward, his shadows lightening from around his form. “I will contact my sources in the Summer Court about the other half of the Book of Breathings on where it is hidden. I can aldo fly to the human world. See if I can locate their half before we ask them for it.”

The High Lord of Night shook his head. “I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, Azriel. Not anyone outside this room, except for Amren.”

“They can be trusted, Rhysand,” you defend as Azriel’s shadows grew thicker for a moment before lightening up. Az let go of your hand, fists curling slightly, staring at his high lord. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“I, we, are not taking risks where the Cauldron or the Book is concerned,” Rhys responded calmly. Rhys returned his spymaster’s stare.

You reached for your mate’s hand, and his fingers slowly uncurled, eyes drifting away from Rhysand’s face and back to your own. You gently intertwined your fingers with his.

“So what do you have planned,” Mor asked.

“Well,” Rhys responded as he picked at absolutely nothing on his leathers. A habit you had noticed he got when growing up. “The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples for a piece of the Cauldron, which, as far as I am concerned, is an act of war.”

“Of course he wants war,” You interjected more strongly than you had anticipated. “For the Mother’s sake we were an ally to the humans during…the War. He would never dare sway you at risk of revealing his plans.”

Cassian nodded in agreement before adding, “Amarantha’s cronies likely reported to him Under the Mountain.”

“Hybern and his forces successfully infiltrated our lands, without detection. I have every intention of returning the favor.” Your high lord straightened himself up slightly.

“How?” Mor asked, before you could.

“We go to Hybern to bring the Cauldron back or go to nullify it.”

You thought you might just laugh at that. “Hybern would already have countless wards to protect it.”

You could feel Az’s thumb over the back of your hand, gently rubbing as if to try and ease some of the tension from your body. “Y/N’s right. We would need to find a way to get through them, undetected,” your mate added.

“Then we start, now while we hunt down the Book. We do it swiftly, so by the time we have both halves we can get through without word spreading quickly,” Rhys said like it was the simplest solution possible—the simplest task possible.

“And how qre you planning to retrieve the Book?” Cassian added.

“These objects are spelled to each high lord and can only be found using their power.”

You looked to Feyre, almost apologetically. Thrown into this life and world and she was being asked to find pieces of the Book of Breathings itself using powers she received because she died. A shuddering feeling went through you. As if in defense of the girl you looked at Rhys. “You don’t know that it will work.”

Rhys smiled slightly. “True—but there is a way to test it.”

“Mother’s tits! Here we go again,” Cassian grumbled from his place besides Mor.

Your eyes danced over to your mate whose eyes had narrowed slightly, your fingers still intimately intertwined.

“With your abilities, Feyre ,” Rhys began, ignoring his Inner Circles words, “you might just might be able to find the half of the Book in the Summer Court. To be certain, to make sure when it counts, when we need it, when we need you, we’re going on another trip… see if you can find an object that I’ve been missing for quite some time.”

You let out another heavy sigh knowing exactly where this was going, Az still rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Shit,” Mor groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Where,” Feyre asked tremulously.

“The Weaver,” Azriel responded. His thumb stoped rubbing your hand.

“Who is the Weaver,” the new fae asked.

“An ancient and wicked creature,” Azriel responded with a sharp exhale, that tickled the back of your ear. “Who should remain unbothered,” thr spymaster shot in Rhysand’s direction.

Rhys pushed on. “I want to see of Feyre can identify the object amongst the Weaver’s trove.”

“Oh! By the Cauldron!!” Mor exclaimed. You couldn’t disagree with her.

“The Weaver,” Feyre began to press, “the Bone Carver. Can you just call someone by a name?”

You let out a soft chuckle with a slight angling of your head. She had a point. Something in the sound your momenary joy eased the shadowsinger.

“What about adding another name to that list?” Rhysand asked Feyre who had finally seemed to warm up.

A few grumbles sounded about the room, including your own.

“Emissary,” Rhys said ignoring the room. “For the human realm,” Rhys clarified, looking to you as if ensuring you weren’t about to be fired from your position.

Good, Azriel thought to himself. You needn’t make any more travels than you were doing at present as Rhysand’s emissary in every other aspect. One less place for you to be caught in something dangerous. One less thing to pull you from his arms in the morning, and leave half of the bed empty at night. Truth was, even after nearly five-hundred years together, all he wanted to do was lay in bed with you and never leave the comfort of your embrace. Too bad the world had other plans.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria, @5onedirection5, @emryb

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #rhysand #feyre #cassian #mor acotar #cassian acotar #amren acotar #2nd person pov

143 notes · View notes

nightgoodomens · 2 hours

Note

God i'm in love with that podcast and here's why (which nobody asked for)

1) It was the PERFECT example of banter and taking the piss.

Michael: " He's far too egotistical to let me now the parts that i got over him. That shows what the relationship is like" Bang. David crashes his podcast with " what can i say that he didn't say about himself." Back and forth people, back and forth! And with that much sweetness and affection underneath that you could feel it in their voices. ( tone matters while joking)

2) I loved how David has the best descriptions for him. He spent the whole podcast being unapologetically welsh, witty and clever af, kind, sensitive and caring about other people and David summed it up with " The world would be a lot less welsh without him." Also "he wasn't to everyone's taste but i've ALWAYS quite liked him" You sure David? Or you just want it all to yourself?😏

3) I was laughing so hard imagining antis when he said you could just fill your head with nice things and revel in the brilliance of it all or you could stew in your envy and misery and hatred. UP TO YOU! He unintentionally came up with the best roast 😂

5)It should go without saying but who would you want to do your euology for you? The love of your life. The one person who knows you the most. Who did Michael chose? Right

I am sitting here with such a massive grin since I listened to this podcast this morning, it made my day. Everything you listed! The banter, they go back and forth so easily and with such affection. The roasting Michael did. All the mentions of David. David saying he always liked him. Without a blink saying David is his favourite costar. Wanting David to be both Aziraphale and Crowley reminded me when he said he wouldn’t want to be Aziraphale without David as Crowley… I cracked up with the he wants his haters at his funeral so they can see how loved he was and they can stew in their hate, because it’s basically what I’ve been saying about haters too 😂 And, yes, the eulogy… who else if not the love of your life… David.

And even the description of the episode summarising Michael as egg custard, David Tennant, and snagging fetish…

Also have you noticed how he used “relationship” for David? Just a little thing, considering he was specific with others.

Fantastic podcast.

#NightGoodOmens talks Michael and David

56 notes · View notes

foxgloveprincess · 3 days

Text

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: Dr. Rogers has a problem.

Word Count: 1,308

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark (Soft Dark), Bets/Wagers, Medical Themes, Smut (implied Masturbation, Video Recording with Dubious Consent, Fingering, Squirting), Infatuation, Obssessive Behavior, Possessiveness, Yandere Vibes. Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: While he’s happy to make house calls, Dr. Rogers works mainly in his clinic. Like Breakable Girls, this is a side story for A.W.A. that I wanted to peek into and I can’t guarantee any more parts. But Enjoy!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

“Good morning Dr. Rogers,” follows him down the hallway to his office. Sweet, sincere. The new receptionist not too distracted by work to greet him with a smile. The most adorable thing he’d ever seen. By the time the door locks behind him, he’s hard as steel and aching for relief. Just the thought of his new girl laid out on his exam table enough to take him right to the edge.

He grumbles to himself and sits at his desk, grabbing a towel and some lotion from the bottom drawer and taking care of business.

An hour of paperwork later, a soft knock interrupts the quiet.

“Dr. Rogers, Mrs. Carter is ready for you.”

That voice. Again. His cock twitches and he has to direct his mind back to the matter at hand. Zipping himself up, he stands and opens the door to find you. So innocent and kind. The ways he could ruin you.

“I sent her file to the computer,” you say, oblivious to what your voice does to him. “And I had her strip under her gown, so there shouldn’t be anything obstructing the exam, just like you asked.”

“Thank you,” he replies, compelled to reach out a brush his fingers over your shoulder. At your questioning look, he merely says, “lint,” before turning toward exam room 4.

Mrs. Carter waits for him on his exam table. She grips the bottom of her gown in tight fists, ready at a moment’s notice to hitch it up to her waist. But her expression remains cool and collected, almost aloof. He swallows a sigh.

You wouldn’t act like that. Not for him.

“Mrs. Carter,” he greets, tossing his white coat aside and sitting on the rolling stool, “it says you’re here for a pelvic exam.” His sleeves roll up his forearms, her eyes lock on each inch of revealed skin. “Have you noticed anything different or out of the ordinary?”

“Yes, doctor,” she purrs. Mrs. Carter leans her body back and spreads her legs, ready for the stirrups, eager. “I’ve noticed some tingling that I can’t quite explain and some discharge.”

Steve hums, lip pressing together to suppress a frustrated sigh. Such an inane dialogue, one repeated for every yearly check up and ever monthly ‘emergency’. A dialogue indicating she’s all ready for him. Under his control. Trusting him to do whatever he wants. So he does.

Feet in the stirrups. Gloves snapping onto his hands. Lube uncapped and dripping. Set before his subject. He begins his work. Prying her apart with the speculum to take his samples. Listening for the gasping hitch in her breath as the tool opens. He craves it. To know their pain. To soothe them after.

His thoughts drift to you. How would he play with you? Break down your walls until you crumble. Build you back up. Would he even need to? A girl as sweet and soft as you? Maybe you’d melt for him.

“Doctor?” Mrs. Carter gasps, nails digging into the flimsy medical paper covering her seat. High pitched and whining, close to her release.

You distracted him. He can’t have that. His attention turns back to the labia before him. Plump and sensitive. His fingers poking and prodding her vaginal canal until he finds the Gräfenberg spot. Her whole body tenses, her breath hitches. He curls his fingers against that slightly spongy texture inside, hoping to further his research. His chin tilts to the camera and he nods, an indication for later. A timestamp. To document his findings in this appointment.

It doesn’t take long. The muscle contracting and her body straining. The stimulation prompting female ejaculation. It spray out and coats his shirt. From the nearby table, he grabs his specimen cup, catching as much as he can to study. He must be thorough.

Mrs. Carter’s chest heaves with her breath. Deep lungfuls trying to revive her sense of reality. Her legs twitch. He makes a mental note. Like previous appointments, her labia minora pulses with her heartbeat. He’s pleased with the consistency.

His thoughts drift back to you. Would you fit his standards? No—you’d exceed them. The perfect subject to test and analyze. He could spend hours with you. Documenting each reaction, each sensation. Finally find the answers to all his hypotheses.

The gloves rip when he pulls them off his hands. Mrs. Carter tilts her head up, a question in her eyes.

“Are-are we done already?”

“I’ve taken all I need,” he replies, curt and a little too gruff.

She recoils, nodding and pulling her legs from the stirrups. Clutching the gown closed, she shifts, the paper sticking to the wetness on her upper thighs. She doesn’t meet his eye.

“Once you’re redressed, you may go. You know the way out.”

Steve turns and exits the room. Steps sharp in the hallway. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—complete their usual appointment. You filled his thoughts too full. His body unresponsive to the usual stimuli. He didn’t even experience the slightest tumescence with Mrs. Carter. Unacceptable.

He stops short, almost to his office. You’re there, leaning against the wall, his colleague by your side. Chatting, merry. A deep, possessive instinct sparks to life. Wanting to grab you, snatch and bundle you away from all prying eyes. He tamps it down with the thin, fraying threads of logic left to him.

And like a magnet finding its mate, your gaze turns to notice him.

“Dr. Rogers,” you greet, smile sunny and bright. “Dr. Kemp was just telling me about your research.”

“Was he?” He turns to his colleague, a suspicious furrow to his brow.

“I didn’t think you’d be done with your appointment yet. Mrs. Carter give you the results you need?” Steve Kemp asks, brow cocked in a smarmy sort of gibe.

“Everything went according to plan.”

Kemp hums, smile breaking over his features. “Always the man with the plan.”

You shift on your feet and pipe up, “Well, I should go back to man the front desk. Just in case someone’s early for an appointment or the phone rings.” You duck out of the hallway toward the waiting room.

The door to room 4 slams, heels clicking brisk and clear toward the exit.

“Doesn’t sound too happy to me,” Kemp chuckles. His hands shove in his pockets, hips thrusting forward subtly. “Able to give her the full treatment?”

“No.” The growl in Steve’s voice grates against his throat, an aftertaste of frustration lingers on his tongue. “I was distracted.”

Kemp puffs out a lengthy breath of air. “I know what you mean. What were we thinking, hiring a sweetheart like her?”

“We were thinking she was qualified and interviewed well over the phone.”

“Well, I’m having a hard time keeping it in my pants,” Kemp confesses before nodding toward Roger’s trousers. “Looks like you, too.”

Rogers adjusts himself and grunts.

“I mean,” Kemp continues, a taunting jab lacing his words, “I guess that doesn’t matter as long as we do our jobs.”

“I can do my job,” Rogers snaps, glare fierce toward his colleague and long-time friend. “I have it under control.”

“If you say so,” Kemp challenges. He steps away from the wall, hand extending from his pocket to shake. “How about a little wager, then? One month and the most orgasms gets her first.”

Rogers contemplates a moment, already knowing he’ll take the bet. Of course he will. “Just the patients,” he asks, “or do others count?”

Kemp’s fingers flex, folding toward a fist as he thinks. His head tilts. “It has to be documented,” he finally says, clicking his teeth, “and it should be in the clinic only. To make it fair. And we are allowed to try to win her over for ourselves first. Whoever does it quickest gets bonus points.”

Rogers shoves his hand in Kemp’s without another thought.

“Deal.”

#steve rogers x reader #dark #dark fic #smut #yandere vibes #dub con #tw dub con #attic wives anonymous #18+#minors dni

43 notes · View notes