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bitcofun · 2 years

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This is a viewpoint editorial by Peter McCormack, a podcaster and filmmaker, the host of "What Bitcoin Did" and chairman of Real Bedford FC. Over 7 years earlier, Ross Ulbricht was handed a double life sentence plus 40 years, without the possibility of parole. The U.S. federal government desires him to pass away in jail. The validation for such a sentence asks huge concerns of both the morality of the laws he was sentenced under and the judicial structure which enables what is basically a death sentence. The story of Ulbricht, Silk Road, the examination and his resultant sentencing is subjective. To some, it was an adventurous and brave test of libertarianism within a system that is freely antagonistic to such actions. To others, it was the rightful imprisonment of a drug dealership who triggered excruciating damage. In addition, Ulbricht's story consists of allegations of assassination efforts, concerns relating to the constitutional elements of the examination, corruption within the authorities, the emerging requirement to safeguard online personal privacy and, obviously, bitcoin. Most of the dispute around Silk Road has actually appropriately concentrated on whether the net social effects of offering a completely uncontrolled market are favorable or unfavorable. It is the individual story behind the headings that resonates with me, considered that I'm in the very same peer group as Ulbricht, share comparable outlooks and interests and was a periodic user of Silk Road in its early days. That is the prism through which my views have actually been formed. While I have strong viewpoints, I do not feel as though I have an ethically remarkable view. There are lots of individuals who have really unpleasant individual experiences, which suggests they will pertain to various conclusions about Ulbricht than I have. Ulbricht's penalty was related straight to the nonviolent activities related to running Silk Road, particularly: dispersing narcotics, dispersing narcotics by ways of the web, conspiring to disperse narcotics, participating in a continuing criminal business, conspiring to dedicate computer system hacking, conspiring to traffic in incorrect identity files and conspiring to dedicate cash laundering. It is the factor to consider of these act upon which my viewpoints of Ulbricht's case rest. Ulbricht is a young, well-read, articulate guy who has impressive entrepreneurial abilities and who utilized the capability of numerous technical developments to bring something brand-new to the world. The factor to consider by Trump in 2020 to pardon Ulbricht drew specific criticism. Nick Bilton, who composed a book about Ulbricht's case, mentioned in a 2020 Vanity Fair short article, "I discover it wicked that individuals on social networks are so determined that Ulbricht needs to be released since he performed his criminal activities from behind a computer system." Bilton's argument was that there are presently half a million U.S. residents jailed for drug offenses, with various examples of comprehensive life-altering sentences for much lower criminal offenses than those of Ulbricht. This brings into question how unjustly the existing war on drugs targets specific social groups, which is an argument I would with confidence presume most of Ulbricht's backers would concur with. Ulbricht's case is emblematic of the systemic failure of the war on drugs; it is not an outlier whose promotion and story are doubtful due to the fact that of relative advantage. More notably, Ulbricht has actually not seemed dealt with in a different way by the justice system. Yes, his legal group put up a variety of defenses to support his case, as is his. Once the judgment was made, Ulbricht accepted his errors as well as his requirement to be held responsible. At his initial trial in 2015, prior to sentencing, Ulbricht heard the statement from a few of the moms and dads of 6 victims determined to have actually passed away after taking in drugs purchased by means of Silk Road.

After hearing this, Ulbricht specified, "I never ever desired that to take place. I want I might return and persuade myself to take a various course." Prior to sentencing, Ulbricht pled the judge, "I understand you should take away my middle years, however please leave me my old age. Please leave a little light at the end of the tunnel, a reason to remain healthy, a reason to imagine much better days ahead, and a possibility to redeem myself prior to I satisfy my maker." He was 31 at the time. While Ulbricht confessed his regret and responsibility, it is still worth thinking about whether sending out individuals to prison forever for offering access to drugs is an affordable action in a civilized society. Once again, there are several angles to this problem and both sides of the argument have benefit. Substance abuse is a huge social problem with numerous awful victims. It is difficult to preserve a pro-drug position if you have actually experienced the effect on locations like Los Angeles' Skid Row, San Francisco's Tenderloin location or Downtown Eastside in Vancouver. But there is another side to this dispute that does benefit conversation. Basically, should people be prohibited from consuming compounds due to the fact that of the social damage that can be caused? We permit access to alcohol which, when mistreated, is perhaps among the most damaging drugs worldwide. We likewise welcome drugs for an increasing series of medical conditions: Over 20,000 drugs are authorized for prescription in the U.S. and are utilized by 66% of residents, the majority of whom are looking for to lower high blood pressure, ease discomfort or alleviate psychological health concerns. These drugs too can be mistreated and cause prevalent social damage, something I'll discuss later on. To some, the prohibiting of particular classes of drugs for leisure or medical functions is an approximate choice based upon bias, lack of knowledge and mindsets rooted in political and spiritual dogma. Silk Road was very first and primary a platform for those wanting to take drugs recreationally. As I have actually recorded in previous interviews, I utilized Silk Road straight for individual usage. Silk Road allowed me to get simpler access to my drug of option. I abused that chance, and there are various stories of lives messed up by such activity. I likewise benefited from accessing the online neighborhood within Silk Road that offered open conversation online forums asserted on supporting those having a hard time with dependency. That's not to state that the Silk Road was an effort to assist individuals leave drugs, however neither was it a neighborhood aiming to ruthlessly make use of those struggling with dependency with no issue for their wellness. I likewise gained from the procedures Silk Road executed to enhance quality assurance. It is a recognized issue that an underground drug trade helps with unethical habits where dealerships look for to optimize returns by adulterating the item. This leads to disappointments, disease and even death. Such practices are extensive. In 2004, an evaluation of euphoria tablets from drug seizures in the 1990 s discovered that approximately 20% of the tablets consisted of no MDMA, however were rather consisted of caffeine, ephedrine, ketamine, paracetamol or placebo. In 2018, 150 individuals in Illinois provided themselves to healthcare facilities due to the fact that they were bleeding frantically after utilizing artificial cannabis-based items which contained rat toxin. In 2021, 3 comics notoriously passed away in LA after taking drug laced with fentanyl. Fentanyl is showing up in all type of drugs, which is adding to U.S. yearly overdose deaths surpassing 100,000 for the very first time in 2021-- a five-fold boost considering that 2000; that's a single person passing away of an overdose in the U.S. every 5 minutes. A medical toxicologist composing for The Conversation mentioned, "Buying drugs on the street is a video game of Russian live roulette.

From Xanax to drug, drugs or fake tablets acquired in nonmedical settings might include lethal quantities of fentanyl." Fentanyl is " utilized as an adulterant due to the fact that its high effectiveness permits dealerships to traffic smaller sized amounts however preserve the drug impacts purchasers anticipate." Silk Road, through its user-review system that looked for to imitate legal retail websites, gamified the supply of drugs to reward those supplying better-quality items. It was by no implies a warranty of minimum quality nor, clearly, might it be referred to as a security function, however it was mitigation for a problem that is triggering unidentified damage. Teacher C. Michael White of the University of Connecticut studied this activity and reported on it in 2021, pertaining to comparable conclusions to other medical professionals, "The research study is clear: Adding pollutants to, or adulterating, illegal drugs is a longstanding and prevalent practice with hazardous effects ... the distinction in between what you think you are purchasing and what is in fact in the item can be the distinction in between life and death." Then there is the reality the supplier and purchaser are physically separated. While attempting to prevent cliches, those looking for drugs are most likely to be susceptible individuals, while those offering drugs are most likely to be connected with other criminal offenses and have violent propensities. Having drug deals required underground ways that suppliers are required to communicate with purchasers. This opens all manor of threats, straight associated to the interaction and indirectly to the areas where such interactions occur. There are short-term threats related to particular deals and longer-term dangers related to exploitative relationships that can establish. Silk Road broke this link. The Drug Policy Alliance, a New York-based not-for-profit company, mentioned that Silk Road was much safer than the streets for purchasers and sellers. In a 2015 short article, they asserted that Silk Road "provided us a brand-new method to envision much better management of the drug trade ... We require something much better than what we have now, which is absolutely nothing however failure, cartels and beheadings, mass imprisonment, compulsory minimums, a dynamic and throbbing illegal market, and a jail commercial complex absolutely out of control." An essential (albeit possibly little) mate of those who utilized Silk Road did so to access to drugs for medical functions. While Ulbricht was not clearly inspired to satisfy the particular requirements of those stopped working by standard healthcare, this is an essential aspect to represent, and once again, something for which I utilized Silk Road. There are plainly legitimate issues concerning the dangers of individuals self-medicating. There is likewise a vital requirement to appreciate the requirements of those suffering from health problems looking for treatments outside of main medical practices. There are those dealing with the worst difficulties in life, desperate to eliminate persistent discomfort, severe psychological suffering and even individuals dealing with death. If these individuals wish to look for drugs that are not offered to them through main ways, is it best that society rejects them this option? While it holds true that recommended drugs go through rigorous medical trials, there are likewise legitimate issues that other drugs-- which have similarly effective medical, restorative and life-affirming results-- have actually been arbitrarily forbidden. This consists of psychedelics and MDMA, which are revealing pledge in the treatment of anxiety and trauma, and marijuana, which I understand from individual experience that many individuals are desperate to utilize for a series of recognized and effective advantages. The British Medical Journal reported in December in 2015 that epileptic seizure frequency fell by 86% in kids treated with entire plant medical marijuana.

Marijuana items in the U.K. were made legal for clients with "extraordinary medical requirement" in July 2018, according to a 2021 report in The Economist, moms and dads are having a hard time to gain access to prescriptions: "Just 3 kids ... have actually been offered prescriptions by the National Health Service." It is perverse ruthlessness that avoids individuals from getting com monly readily available, however controlled substances that have actually been shown to distinctively decrease suffering." Reasonable individuals might and do disagree about the social energy of severe sentences for the circulation of illegal drugs, and even of criminal restriction of their sale and usage at all. It is really possible that, at some future point, we will concern these policies as terrible errors and embrace less punitive and more reliable approaches of lowering the occurrence and expenses of substance abuse." These were not the words of any libertarian activist looking for to shine a light on Ulbricht's case; these were the words of the appellate court's viewpoint in their decision of Ulbricht's appeal in2017 The court verified the initial sentence offered to Ulbricht in 2015, however as the viewpoint confirms, it is clear that they were unpleasant with needing to use U.S. drug laws. If the legal occupation imposing the laws honestly concerns those extremely laws, undoubtedly we have actually approached a time for some reasoned dispute. Beyond the arguments about access to drugs within society, Ulbricht's case brings into concern the credibility of charges troubled behalf of the state. The sentence bied far to Ulbricht-- imprisoning him for the rest of his life-- is a penalty scheduled for the most abhorrent wrongdoers. Such penalty is unlawful in a variety of nations, consisting of Mexico, Brazil, Uruguay, Portugal, Croatia and the Vatican City: The Pope explained a life sentence as a covert kind of death sentence. The Penal Reform International specified in a 2018 report, "Life jail time without parole, in specific, raises concerns of vicious, inhuman and degrading penalty, and weakens the right to human self-respect by removing the possibility of rehab." Even amongst those nations that use complete life sentences, there are big variations in the degree to which it is used: In France in 2014, 0.7 per 100,000 occupants were serving life sentences while in the U.S., it was over 50 individuals per 100,000 residents. Then there is the problem of equivalent damage. It is a difficult location to compare various criminal offenses in regards to damage, however in figuring out the sentencing of Ulbricht, as mentioned, the court heard statement from the households of 6 individuals who passed away after taking in drugs purchased from Silk Road. This is a sensible procedure by which to compare the social damage triggered by other criminal offenses. In Between 1999 and 2020, 538,000 Americans passed away throughout the duration described as the opioid crisis. Forbes approximated the financial toll of the opioid epidemic being over $ 1.3 trillion each year The crisis was set off by the aggressive promo of a prescription pain reliever called OxyContin introduced by Purdue Pharma in1996 By 2004, OxyContin had actually ended up being the leading drug of abuse in the U.S. Purdue Pharma was owned by the Sackler household, who had a dominant existence on the business's board. In spite of contesting their liability for several years, in 2020, Purdue Pharma lastly confessed to paying off medical professionals to unnecessarily recommend OxyContin, lying to the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and paying prohibited kickbacks for the functions of promoting opioid recommending to doctors. Purdue Pharma strongly marketed OxyContin, while seriously underplaying its addicting nature, its failure to accomplish marketed pain-relief claims and pressing clinicians to administer alarmingly high dosages. The pain reliever has 10 or 20 times the narcotic material of numerous routine pain relievers and is 50% more powerful than morphine.

A Los Angeles Times examination specified, "OxyContin is a chemical cousin of heroin, and when it does not last, clients can experience unbearable signs of withdrawal, consisting of an extreme yearning for the drug." Time and once again, it turned typical Americans into addicts, who then relied on other drugs (such as heroin and artificial fentanyl) when their discomfort relief was excruciating, their prescriptions stopped and/or their dependencies spiraled out of control. Purdue Pharma understood this, and yet they continued to market the drug-- difficult. Purdue Pharma was helped by McKinsey, the management consulting company. According to a claim brought by the Massachusetts Attorney General, McKinsey revealed Purdue Pharma how to "turbocharge" sales of OxyContin, how to counter efforts by drug enforcement representatives to lower opioid usage and became part of a group that took a look at how "to counter the psychological messages from moms with teens that overdosed on the drug." There have actually been many lawsuit over OxyContin, leading to fines, insolvency and the closure of the company. There are legal fights over whether the Sackler household need to be held personally accountable in civil and criminal courts. No one from Purdue Pharma has actually gotten a jail sentence over their participation. In 2020, activists and reporters discovered a 2007 Department of Justice memo that had actually advised felony charges versus senior Purdue Pharma executives on the basis that they began the conspiracy in 1992, learnt about OxyContin's abuse issues within months of its 1996 launch, lied to Congress and were continuing in the conspiracy. The charges might have led to jail sentences. The DoJ chose not to submit such charges at the time, because, as author Gerald Posner mentioned in his book "Pharma," DoJ authorities were worried that "Purdue's big, well-funded legal group may well overwhelm [ the Department of Justice's] little group of district attorneys." And there's the rub. Justice that looks for to represent similar damage is jeopardized by the wealth and power of those being taken to court. This is perhaps why just one individual in the U.S. was imprisoned-- for 2 years 6 months-- as an outcome of the Global Financial Crisis, regardless of the truth that it has actually left long lasting scars throughout the U.S. and the world. A 2018 research study by the Federal Reserve discovered the crisis expense each and every single American roughly $70,000-- and the social effects have actually been more harmful. A U.K. federal government body specified in a 2018 report, "The ramifications of the crisis on hardship, work and political stability are fretting." This is perhaps why no one has actually been held to represent taking the U.S. and U.K. to war with Iraq in 2003 on the basis of a lie, in spite of it leading to roughly 200,000 civilian deaths, 10s of countless military deaths, the displacement of millions, stability problems throughout the Middle East, and as some have actually argued, possibly the Global Financial Crisis itself. This is perhaps why Exxon hasn't been called to account for concealing the truth they understood the science behind environment modification was genuine over 40 years earlier, however rather of raising the alarm, they invested millions promoting false information, while the concern progressively appears like it's leaving control. Justice postponed is justice rejected. With the above cases, it's not clear that justice will ever be served. At the very same time, in a jail in Tucson, Arizona, Ross Ulbricht is being held without even the faint twinkle of hope that he will even be permitted to contest his imprisonment, not to mention protect any kind of liberty. This isn't whataboutism, this isn't an effort to puzzle the problem, to muddy the waters such that Ulbricht is constructed out to be a brave victim. This is simply to reveal that a problematic boy, who looked for to check the limitations

of federal government controls on individual liberties, is being held to the greatest account, while those who look for to utilize their power and impact to cause uncalled-for damage on substantial percentages of society are permitted to stroll easily amongst us. Civilizations throughout time and throughout locations and cultures have actually developed techniques to drugs that are greatly various to the ones federal governments enforce now. The present paradigm is neither supreme nor irreversible. Laws and guidelines are constantly being checked by development and pugnacious people wanting to represent altering mindsets beyond the guardrails of laws. There are dangers and advantages to these techniques, simply as there are dangers and advantages to keeping the status quo. Regardless of the benefits of reappraising the legal technique to drug usage, laws were broken and a judgment was made. The guideline of law needs that all individuals are held liable. As Theodore Roosevelt stated, "No guy is above the law." It was for that reason a sensible expectation that a just penalty would be needed, simply as it is affordable to require that justice be used similarly throughout society regardless of power and impact. It is likewise a commonly held concept that the enforcement of laws must be reasonable. In this regard, it is affordable to state that a life sentence contravenes Article 5 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, "No one will undergo abuse or to harsh, inhuman or degrading treatment or penalty." Ross Ulbricht ought to not pass away in jail, particularly when lots of effective wrongdoers live totally free. This is a visitor post by Peter McCormack. Viewpoints revealed are completely their own and do not always show those of BTC Inc. or Bitcoin Magazine. Read More

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reidsnose · 3 years

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Black Eye

overview: reader and spencer go to reader's highschool reunion as a fake couple

genre: fluff i think

warnings: mild violence and swearing, a guy being kind of a total creep, and mentions of bullying

a/n: idk if its any good again just love the idea but it was inspired by a dream i had last night (thank you temporal lobe) so yeah let me know what yall think !! :) also im posting this at like ass oclock in the morning so whoops

masterlist

you and spencer had gotten yourselves in quite the situation.

your dreaded highschool reunion was just around the corner and you made the mistake of complaining about it to penelope. she was always trying to make everyones life easier (and more interesting) so when she heard you had no date she took it upon herself to find you one.

it didn't take a lot of looking, none at all actually; because Penelope had already been trying to figure out ways to get you and Reid together.

you two were undeniably perfect for each other. you were an amazing team at work, you hung out alone all the time (though both of you denied these hang out as being dates, Garcia had her own ideas on this), and you were both very obliviously head over heels for each other.

and somehow, through the magical ways of Penelope Garcia, you and Spencer were now sitting in the parking lot, fake married for your high school reunion.

"do we need to go over our back story again?" you worried, looking up at him.

"our backstory is basically all true anyway we just fall in love after a little bit. and i have an eidetic memory so i remember; you're my wife you should know this!" he joked, trying to relax you. "we got this! we're gonna be so married!"

Spencer had actually never been this nervous in his life but he was trying to be brave for you. it would be more embarrassing for you both to show up like nervous wrecks than if you had just come alone. he was just happy to get to be fake married to you.

"the marriedest!" smiled, fist bumping him.

"now lets go make some people jealous!" he chuckled getting out of the car and jogging over to your side, opening your door before you got the chance to; like a true gentleman.

you stuck out your hand which he happily took into his, neither of you commenting on the redness you both had sprinkled across your cheeks. as you walked in, you saw all the people you dreaded seeing.

the boys who tormented you were balding and the girls who made sure you felt awful everyday had wrinkles riddling there skin. you were surrounded by botched botox and bleached blonde to cover graying hair. you felt terrible to admit it, but you were a little happy to see that their beauty had faded like this; they made their looks their whole personality in high school, you couldn't help but wonder what was left for them to be. not that it mattered, but you and Spencer were undeniably the most attractive couple there.

you actually had an ok time, you had spotted a few of your friends that you hadn't seen in quite a few years and it was nice to catch up.

Spencer had wondered a bit, but not too far, he was talking to some guys who used to be in science club when you were younger. you smiled at the thought of what they might be talking about.

"y/n! hey youve really filled out!" you heard a gruff voice from behind you.

you turned around and were met with the very unappealing face of the ex quarterback. Spencers attention had been caught at the sound of your name.

"um..hello," you muttered, trying to covertly back away from him.

"i see youve got a ring, interesting i dont remember us getting married!" he said in an incredibly creepy tone.

"do you know im a federal agent now?" you said through a gritted smile.

spencer had already begun walking towards you, he could tell something was off.

"ill tell you what sweetheart," he put his hand on your shoulder, pulling you slightly closer to him, "you can put me in handcuffs any day."

you threw his hand off of you and drew back your fist, but were cut off before you could deliver the punch but his hand engulfing your own, and squeezing.

"THATS MY WIFE!" spencer yelled in a voice you had never heard from him before.in the blink of an eye he was standing between in front of him. "do not ever talk to her like that, let alone lay a finger on her or so help me God i will-"

"what beanpole? what are you gonna do? what if i did this?" the man asked.

and then he sent a swift punch to Spencer's face.

thats gonna leave a mark.

in a matter of seconds, Spencer had him overpowered, laying face first on the floor with his hands uncomfortably angled behind him, completely helpless.

"now i'm going to let you go and you're going to walk out of here unharmed. if you try anything like that again, ill let my wife handle you. and i promise if she gets a hold of you, you'll be a dead son of a bitch." Spencer muttered in the mans ear, gruffly pulling him up by his collar and shoving him towards the door.

"were leaving." you said, grabbing Spencer's hand, trying to ignore how incredibly attractive he looked right now.

"babe if you want to stay we can stay," he offered as if he didn't just have his shit kicked in by a coward with misogynistic tendencies.

"honey, i want to take you home," you smiled, liking the way it felt to call him a pet name. you walked into the parking lot, "what were you thinking?"

"i was thinking this guy is trying to hurt you and i was not going to ever let that happen." he answered confidently as you two reached the car. "plus this totally made the marriage thing more believable. i wouldn't get a black eye for just anyone."

"thank you. i'm sorry you got punched trying to protect me." you sighed, feeling incredibly awful about the whole thing.

he chuckled, "id do it again."

you fought hard against the blush creeping up your face.

"i gotta say, the black eye really suits you. you look pretty badass." you chuckled, trying to change the subject before it got too sappy and you said something you shouldn't.

"maybe it should just be my new look," he joked, looking down at a ping from his phone. "uh oh."

"we have a case?" you asked.

"yep. and hotch wants us in the office asap which means we cont stop by either of our houses." he sighed before starting the car.

the drive was mostly silent. but a comfortable silence. Spencer thought about how in the moment, he didn't care how many punches the guy threw at him, as long as it meant you were ok, he was willing to take it. he knew he loved you far before that moment but that truly solidified it.

at the same time you were thinking of how quickly your time as a 'married couple' was over. it felt so right to call Spencer yours. so unexplainably perfect for the two of you to be together. if only your time wasn't cut short by a sucker punch.

you neared the building's parking lot. you looked over at Spencer who you could very easily tell was lost in his own world.

"whats going on in that beautiful head of yours?" you asked, causing him to stifle a smile.

"just thinking." he answered.

"what about?"

"us." he stated, pulling into his parking spot.

oh. oh.

"do tell."

he hesitated, "if i tell you, and you disagree, do you promise it wont change anything about us?"

"i promise."

"did it feel right to you? us being together?" he asked, his eyes innocent and filled to the brim with a mixture of anxiety and adoration as he looked at you.

"yes. it absolutely did. and i was so mad at the assclown for cutting our time short," you admitted, "and punching you in the eye, obviously."

"i- i'm not sure how to ask this but- do you...would you..sorry i-" he stammered.

"yes."

you cut him off, pressing your lips to his. his hand gently cupped your face, deepening the kiss and you both felt like you were on cloud nine.

"thats exactly what i was trying to say," he cracked a dopey smile, causing you to chuckle.

"i've been trying to say it for so long." you confessed, causing him to smile impossibly wider, "we gotta go hotch is waiting."

"just one more kiss?" he asked, which you gave in to, obviously. and then another. and another.

maybe it was good thing that he got a black eye that day, because when you got to the office the whole team was so focused on it they didn't even notice the hint of your lipstick left on spencers lips.

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #reid #garcia #penelope garcia #morgan #derek morgan #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #fluff #hotch #prentiss #jj #rossi #cm #bau #bau x reader

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spencers-dria · 3 years

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Can you maybe write something where the reader meets spencer in prison and when they get out, they meet up and they have really rough and kinky sex like you can literally go as dirty and kinky as you want

Four Feet Apart

🎉150 follower celebration! Day 6

Spencer x fem reader

Content/Trigger Warnings: 18+ Smut, oral female receiving, anal play, blindfold/sensory play, and handcuff/restraint use, protected penetrative sex, mentions of murder, prison

The beginning is a little angst, little fluff, plenty of smut!

“Alright inmates, listen up! There’s been some budget cuts. For the time being, the old west wing building will be taken by overflow from the women’s prison.”

The guard’s voice was overtaken by wolf whistles and hollers.

“That’s enough! Now you will not share a building with them. You will not see them during meals. However the courtyards do share a fence. If you are caught harassing them in any way, you will be punished accordingly!”

The announcement had caught the attention of just about every inmate, except one. Spencer Reid had bigger problems to worry about than women. He didn’t get them outside of prison, so why should he worry about them on the inside. He needed to worry about how to stay safe, stay alive until his name was cleared. That is, until he met you.

_______________________________________

I sat on the bleachers, popping some bubble gum as I searched for some worthwhile eye candy. The sun was a bit hot so I shrugged my button down off my shoulders, opting to tie it around my waist, leaving me in a white tank. This of course leads to many wondering eyes and a few whistles from the men’s side of the fence. I’m not even sure what i’m looking for, but none of the men giving me the time of day have it. I finally notice a slender man sitting on the men’s bleachers, just a few feet away from the fence on his side. I scoot up , slipping my fingers through the women’s chain-link side. Of course I could never touch any of them, with each side having about four feet between their respective fences. But there were no rules against looking or talking even.

“Hey. Think too hard and you’re gonna mess up that pretty face of yours.”

He looks up a bit startled, but his posture changes once his gaze lands on me. He almost looks shy, which seems in direct contrast to his rugged look. But once I look in his eyes, I see depth and warmth and kindness that belongs far away from this place, and it hurts me for a moment, to think of what will happen to him here.

“I don’t bite. The name is Y/L/N. Got in for killing my ex husband. How about you?”

He blinked, speechless at first.

“Doc- I’m uh, Spencer Reid. They think I killed someone too…”

“Well, didn’t you?”

He shook his head. Based on the look in his eyes, I want to believe him I really do.

“Did you know that incarceration of women has been growing at twice the rate of men’s incarceration?”

“Now how in the world would you know that?”

He simply shrugged.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just looked like you could use some company is all.”

He looked like he wanted to respond, he really did. But before he got the chance, the women were called back inside.

I give a quick salute. “Nice meetin ya Spencer Reid. See ya when I see ya.”

___________________________________________

The next time I saw him he looked different. Scared, fragile, and a bit bloodied up.

“Hey- what uh- I mean, are you okay?”

He refused to look up or give much of an answer. But he was sitting in the same spot, close enough for us to have another conversation so I have to believe he wanted to talk again.

“I’m guessing you’re relatively new. It happened to me too ya know. Especially when I wouldn’t just go along with everything they asked.”

That drew his attention, and I could see tears in his eyes.

“You can’t let them see they get to you, that you’re scared. I learned that long before I got here though. That’s why I killed him ya know- he hurt me and I couldn’t just take it anymore. Police wouldn’t listen. I just wanted it to stop.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I shrugged it off. I’m paying my time but I’m safer in here than I ever felt with him.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Now he has my attention. I nod, trying not to seem too excited to be sharing schoolyard secrets with the handsome stranger.

“I uh, was in the FBI. I was framed by a, well you can almost call her an arch nemesis of sorts.” He laughed to himself. It was a warm sort of laugh that filled me with butterflies. “I was just trying to get medicine for my mom. She has Alzheimer’s and schizophrenia. She was getting worse and I-“ his words are quickly cut off by the sounds of sniffles.

“Why are you telling me this?” I don’t mean it to be rude, but I had to know.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people and- you’re not a bad person. I trust you.”

In that moment, our eyes met again, but something new was there. Desire? Lust? Caring? Who knows. But that was the start of something. Of daily meetings, and quiet longing.

Day after day we would sit by our fences, sharing stories of our lives before prison. I learned that he was kind, hard-working, and actually quite funny. Spencer Reid was the best company I’d had in years, and not just within the prison walls.

He also told me about the rough time of it he was having on his own side. I gave him pointers where I could. How to get in with the right people, how to avoid the wrong ones, and how to get himself safe when necessary.

At one point, the politics on his side did endanger his life, and that’s when we came up with the plan together. A plan that would help take down the very man targeting him while getting Spencer somewhere safe for now. This meant I wouldn’t see him while he was in solitary, but we both knew it was necessary.

We never spoke about exactly what it was we wanted but- it was there. We devoured one another with our eyes. Biting and licking lips, drawn out breaths, and lingering gazes. We knew.

I watched him change overtime. His hair and beard grew yes, but so did this darkness in his eyes. The soft, Bambi-eyed boy was seemingly gone, replaced by a man who needed to hurt someone, anyone. And oh was I ready to let him hurt me.

I waited by the fence each day for his return, but it never came. I finally decided to ask around until I heard something that thrilled me but also left a huge gaping hole in me.

“He left.”

I couldn’t be happier for him. Had they cleared his name? From the sound of it, federal agents, friends of his had come to retrieve him. I could only hope that he was safe and happy.

Then one day I received a letter.

Dear Y/N,

I miss you. Just you. You made my time there worthwhile, worth missing. There’s so much more I wanted to say to you, and a letter just won’t do it justice. I have a feeling you’ll be out on parole sooner than you think. Come find me when you can. I’ll be in D.C..

Counting the days,

Spencer

____________________________________________

Parole? I had at least another year before that could even be a consideration. But I started counting too, which didn’t last long. Imagine my surprise when I got out on parole only two weeks after receiving the letter.

Did he- no he couldn’t, could he? Spencer had been gone for months. Clearly he had cleared his name, thank goodness. I knew I needed to see him as soon as possible.

I couldn’t leave the state, but luckily I didn’t need to. With what little I had, I made my way to D.C.. I figured I’d start out at the return address on the envelope, the one I clung to like my life depended on it.

With a bag slung over my shoulder, I raised my hand with the letter to hesitantly knock on the door, completely unsure of what to expect on the other side.

My mouth fell open at the sight before me. Spencer Reid in a cardigan, a tie? I had never seen him outside the prison. He looked so put together. And all I could think about was how much I wanted to tear him apart. I did my best to suppress my lust in hopes of a civil and normal greeting.

I don’t know what I expected. Tears, hugs maybe? We stood there staring at each other for who knows how long before I finally spoke. I’d had a well rehearsed speech in my head. One I’d had two whole weeks to work on since he sent the letter. But that all went out the window the second I saw his face again.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Who was I kidding? We could see it in eachother’s eyes, the same desire from before, but stronger somehow. Maybe because it was quite literally within reach. Months of daydreaming about what it would feel like to touch him, kiss him, get absolutely railed by him.

The man I had met initially was so gentle, timid. I watched him change in that prison. I had initially imagined ruining him, breaking him for my own pleasure. By the time he left I wanted something completely different. I wanted him to do the breaking. I wanted him to use me for his own personal pleasure. And he knew it.

He grabbed my face to pull me in for an all consuming kiss that quite literally took my breath away. I had to pull back, gasping for air before I could get any words out.

“Missed you too.” I smiled.

“Can we take this to my bedroom?” The words came out rushed, as though he might die if he couldn’t have me in that very moment.

I give an enthusiastic nod. A small squeal and uncharacteristic giggle leaves my lips as he scoops me up in his arms, whisking me away to his bedroom.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he pants, frantically removing his clothes. “Can you get undressed and lay down on your stomach for me?”

I follow his orders without question. He leans down by my ear and asks one question. “Safe word?”

“Cherry blossom.”

“Anything off limits?”

I don’t even have to think. “No, I trust you.”

Next thing I know I feel soft silk over my eyes as he ties a blindfold in place. This allows me to focus on the sounds of whatever else he is preparing. I hear a distinctly familiar jingle of metal, which is confirmed as it touches the skin of my wrists. Handcuffs. I wiggle my hips in delight, which earns me a playful spank.

“Like what you see?”

“I definitely can’t complain.” I can almost hear his smirk.

His fingers dig into my hips before pulling them up in the air. I feel cold air hit my core immediately.

“Fucking beautiful.”

Without any warning I feel a finger coated in cool lubricant coating my other opening.

“Try and relax for me, beautiful.” His fingers run through some of my hair, dragging across the skin of my back and I feel my muscles immediately follow his command. I attempt to mentally and physically prepare for whatever could be coming next.

I feel him work in what feels to be a decent sized anal plug. I’ve tried them before but only by myself. I’m already enjoying the added stimulation. My hips jolt when he suddenly brings his head down to lick up through my slit and I can’t help but yell.

“Fuck!”

“Mmm you like that, dirty girl? You’re quite literally dripping for me.”

He says it so calmly, I can hardly wrap my head around how smooth he’s being.

“Yes sir, please!” I beg.

“Please what, hmmm? What do you need?”

“Need you to eat my pussy please sir!”

Damn I sound absolutely pathetic. To think I ever considered myself a feminist. So much for my leg up on domineering men. Here I am willingly let one take me, have me anyway he wants. And that’s just the way I want it too. For Spencer Reid, I would be anything he needed.

“Good girl.” The two words have me writhing in pleasure with the combined sensation of his tongue back on the place I need it most. He sucks and laps at me like I'm his favorite dessert . He reads my body like a book, every movement and moan. He knows just what I need, when to let up, when to push harder. It’s unfair just how talented his mouth is.

And then, I’m coming undone on that beautiful mouth of his. Too bad I can’t see it. But oh it’s all I can imagine as waves of pleasure wreck my body and he’s running his fingers down my back, squeezing my ass as he gets in his final victory licks.

There’s a distinct sound of a condom wrapper, and I appreciate the consideration. I feel him sit on the bed next to me, against the headboard perhaps?

“Come sit on my lap.” His voice is dark and commanding, and my body is already responding with a fresh dose of arousal.

“But I can’t see sir.”

“No excuses. Come sit on my lap or you won’t get to come again.”

Not only can I not see, but my hands are still handcuffed behind my back. Not to mention my knees are weak from my most recent orgasm. This oughta be interesting. I try to scoot on my knees towards where I had heard his voice, only to lose my balance once I bump into his legs. I fall face first into his lap. Not the worst position to be in. I hear a soft, dark chuckle above me.

“Poor pathetic thing, are you already too weak? Can you handle another one?”

I swear, I never knew I was into degradation and humiliation. I don’t even know if I truly am, it's just something about him, about Spencer, that turns me on with everything he does.

“Yes sir, please! Please I can handle it! Let me try!”

I feel his fingers grasp my jaw, pulling my face up till I’m sitting on my knees again. I can feel his breath on my face and I wish I could just lean in and feel his lips on mine. My wish is granted for just a second. I feel his plush lips brush against mine, but they’re gone just as quick.

“Pretty thing. Let me help you, hmm.”

His long fingers wrap around my hips and guide me till I’m sitting in his lap, one leg on either side.

“Do you think you can ride me without your hands for balance?

“Yes sir!” I nod with an embarrassing eagerness.

“Show me, baby.”

I raise up and with his guidance again, lower myself until he’s making sure my other hole is filled as well.

Each bounce against his lap is adding pressure against the plug, combined with the bump of his cock against my cervix. With no sight, I’m so in tune with every sensation, especially the way his fingers feel roaming every inch of my body. He’s pinch my nipples, grabbing my ass, tugging at my hair. I may have been the one begging but he was clearly just as desperate.

When he decided he needs more, Spencer grabs my hips and starts thrusting up into me at a completely

ridiculous pace.

“You look so pretty bouncing on my cock. See for yourself, little girl.”

Before I have time to realize what he means, his beautiful fingers are ripping the silk away from my eyes, only to be met with absolutely heavenly eyes. They’re golden, warm, filled with lust but also something kinder. They devour my body like I’m his goddess. I absolutely love watching him enjoy the view. He licks his lips hungrily as he watches my breasts bounce and the way he looks sliding in and out of me.

Spencer pulls me in so he can leave a trail of kisses along my shoulders and neck. I love the way my face feels buried in his soft curls, he smells of lavender shampoo and it’s intoxicating. When he pulls back he’s got a knowing smirk on his face.

“What?”

In seemingly one move, I’m off his lap, on my back, with my hands pinned over my head.

“But the hand cuffs? How did you-“

Instead of answering he silenced me with an all consuming kiss. We’re biting, sucking, moaning, on one another like animals in heat. I can’t help but feel sorry for his poor neighbors.

He keeps my hands pinned above my head while realigning himself ready to pick back up where he left off. Before I can even register what’s happening he’s pounding into me like it’s his fucking job.

“You feel that? You feel how perfectly I fill you up? So pretty with my cock in you. Fuck- you take it so well!”

Words are gone from my mind. I’m left with moans, tears, and one name. Spencer.

“Spencer!”

He lets go of my arms and they instinctively wrap around his neck as I use my legs around his hips bringing him close.

“I’ve got you pretty girl. I’m here. Be a good little thing and come for me. Come on.”

I’m wrecked, shaking and moaning, unsure if I’ll ever be able to stop. He’s right there with me, filling me up in the best way. The pleasure is intensified by the extra pressure from the plug. I cling to him for dear life as I ride off my high, enjoying the way he looks above me. He’s angelic with the light sheen of sweat causing his skin to glisten in the low lighting, the natural sparkle of his eyes, the way his curls fall in his face, the pretty pink lips softly parted as he pants.

He’s dominant but also so soft and kind with me. It's clear tonight he cared about my pleasure just as much as his own. Maybe I don’t ever have to let him go. Maybe we can just stay here, twisted up in one another, blissfully unaware of all our troubles and the world around us.

I’m embarrassed at how much I whine as he gets off of me and slips away into the bathroom. I don’t know why I was surprised when he returns with a warm washcloth and lotion. He’s cleaning me up, tending to my wrists and any other spots sore from friction, and removing the plug. All the while he’s littering my skin with gentle kisses, all along my back and shoulders, my hips, my chest, my face. I’ve never been so pampered.

“Are you okay?” His voice is sweet and smooth like honey, leaving me tingling in the wake of its sweetness.

“Never better.” I leave kisses across his knuckles and he gives me that look again, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

After some convincing, I get up to use the bathroom, returning to a very sweet looking boy waiting for me under the covers, looking up with puppy dog eyes. I see the man I first met in the courtyard months ago. The one that stole my heart. I slip into the spot next to him, and we tangle back together, skin against skin. It’s so warm, soft, inviting and I think I’ll stay forever.

#criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer x reader #prison reid #post prison spencer #spencer reid x y/n

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phantaloon-books · 3 years

Text

Alright I got a couple comments asking for a continuation so here's part 2 of neil finding out the feds were onto smth when they recommended witness protection program

part 1

(Also thank you so much, I genuinely didn't expect such a good reception, everything I write is purely self indulgent)

Andrew is gonna fucking lose it. It's been over three weeks and not a single word from Neil fucking Josten. He's never hated him more, and this time he means it when he says hate. Actually he's not sure he hates himself or Neil more, but he feels hatred and rage and that's what matters. But of course the rabbit just left. Once a rabbit, always a rabbit.

He wanted so desperately to believe that, that Neil chose to run, that he chose to leave him them and keep running because that's what he knows best. Even if believing Neil chose to leave hurts him more than he'll ever admit, it's the best thing to believe. It's best to believe that Neil left than to believe something happened. It's best to believe Neil grew tired and bored of him them than to listen to the worry and dread Andrew's been feeling for months. It's best to believe Neil didn't want him than to let himself think of worst case scenarios.

But he can't make himself think that Neil left willingly and because he wanted to (and not it's not because he wants to believe that Neil wouldn't leave him). Neil would never run without his things, not without his stupid binder and money and contacts, not without clothes or any resources. If he ran away he would do it properly. He wouldn't leave with running clothes and his stupid flip phone. And most importantly Andrew knows that Neil has been restless lately. He's seen the way Neil checks every corner or every place, observes the people, looks for threats. He'd left those habits behind, so something has to have happened. Neil didn't just leave him.

The best thing is the other foxes aren't convinced Neil would run either. He had no one to run from, and he had a family now. And even if he was feeling overwhelmed or anxious, he would have come back. He wouldn't have taken three weeks. So they know, they know, Neil didn't leave because he wanted or needed to. And they're all anxious as hell about that bc if he didn't leave where is he?

They narrow it down eventually, and conclude that he got in a fight and is dead in a ditch somewhere, he had an accident in a coma in a hospital somewhere, he somehow got lost and/or lost his memory, someone killed him accidentally or not and his body is buried somewhere far away, or he's been taken. And Andrew cannot take the stress that he doesn't know where the fuck Neil is any longer.

He almost killed Kevin and several federal agents when Neil went missing for a few hours. This time, he hasn't tried to kill anyone yet but that hasn't stopped him from tearing every dorm apart and the stadium and the police station and the hospital and getting in fights with the FBI. He's desperate enough that he called Browning, hell, he's desperate enough that he contacted the Moriyamas, which wasn't a pleasant experience, but Ichirou had promised Neil protection and this definitely called for mafia intervention. So far neither the FBI or the Moriyamas had helped - yes they had, they informed him regularly that they were looking for Neil, but they had nothing, no clues no trails, and Andrew couldn't believe their incompetence, like for fucks sake the Moriyamas were yakuza, they ought to know what could have happened to one of their most valuable assets. And anyway if he ran, and wasn't taken, they for sure would be behind him, looking to kill him of course, but they still couldn't find him.

Andrew hasn't tried to kill anyone yet but he will soon if he doesn't find Neil, and he's sure he will start with himself. He can't remember the last time he slept or ate well, or went to exy practice, but he doesn't care. He can't care until he knows something. The lack of knowledge is driving him crazy. At this point knowing that Neil is dead and has been rotting in the countryside of Poland would be better than not knowing anything.

He hates this so much. He hates Neil for disappearing. He hates whoever went and got him. He hates the Moriyamas for not being able to find him and not keeping him safe in the first place. He hates himself for becoming so attached. He should have known better. He knew better. He knew it was a bad idea to feel all the things he feels for Neil, especially because it's Neil, the unpredictable rabbit. But he fell for the fake hope that they would make it, that he wouldn't be hurt again, that Neil would stay. He knew letting someone in again could kill him. He knows that if they don't find him, it will. He can't keep going like this. He was stupid enough to feel hopeful, but he won't be able to live once the hope dies.

He's laying in Neil's bed. He knows it's pathetic, but frankly he doesn't care. Everyday is worse than the last one. He's slipping and when he falls it's game over, he's going to make sure of that. If Neil genuinely cared, he'd be pissed at Andrew for even thinking about this. No he'd be upset, but not pissed, about the fact that he's considering taking his life over this. But he opened the door to feelings, and he won't be able to cope with them and he won't be able to close that door again. He's giving up.

Faint buzzing interrumps his thoughts. Someone's calling him. He couldn't stomach the runaway song that matched with Neil's but he couldn't stomach changing it either, so he leaves in on vibrate now. He looks at his screen. It's an unknown number. Most likely the FBI or the Moriyamas or a random police station ready to take him out of his misery and just tell him they found Neil's body. The code says it's from Minnesota. He considers not answering, but he might as well get over it.

He flips the phone open, "I only care about this if you are from the FBI or the literal mafia, so if you aren't from either, feel free to hang up." The other line stays silent for a few seconds, but when he looks at his phone, it's still going. The person didn't hang up. He doesn't have the patience for this. "I'm just gonna hang up then-"

"Andrew, wait." It's barely a hesitant whisper. The voice is absolutely shattered, rough and hoarse and very painful-sounding. There's wheezing too and labored breaths. But god. No matter how wrecked he sounds, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. In half a second he's up and falling from the bed in his haste, alert at last. He can't believe it. He wants to but he doesn't want to believe the call is real.

"Neil? Neil is that you?" He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but the thought dies quickly. There's no way, no way this is real. A sob breaks through the line, and oh it sounds so full of pain and fear.

"Andrew, I-I need you to stay safe. I don't know if they're coming for you, for the foxes. I need you to find a place where you're safe. Call Browning or Ich- the little Lord and make sure they can protect you guys for a while."

Okay that's definitely Neil even if he didn't answer the question. And Andrew's heart is going a thousand miles an hour, he doesn't feel his body anymore.

"Neil where are you? I'm coming to get you, I'll call Browning but where are you?"

"'Drew," another sob, and this one manages to break Andrew's walls more than than the whispered 'Drew', "promise me you'll stay safe, don't come looking for me, you can't take them down, please don't come looking for me."

The exhaustion and terror in his voice doesn't sit well with Andrew. The Neil he knows is not this. "For fucks sake Neil just tell me where in Minnesota you are, I'm coming to get you."

"No- no you're not, I'm not calling you because I want you to come. I just need you to promise you'll be safe."

"Neil who took you? Where are you? I can send the FBI or the japanese shits over, I swear to god I can send them to come get you if you just tell me where you are and who took you. I'll - I'll try my best to keep the others safe, but who took you?"

"I'm sorry, Andrew, I- I didn't mean to, please believe I didn't mean to leave, they- some of the Butcher's pals found me, I'm so sorry- I put all of you in danger again."

"Okay, that's something we can work with, now where are you Neil?"

"Andrew-" his breath hitches, he gasps and whimpers, "I'm so sorry, I have to go, I need to leave Andrew. Please stay safe. Look I- I love you okay? I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier."

"Neil wait don't hang up-"

And the line goes dead.

The world is falling apart, collapsing all around Andrew. He's numb but he feels encompassing terror. He can't feel a thing, he can't think. He was so close. It feels like Neil just slipped past his fingers, like he just let go of Neil and let him fall to the darkness. He thinks he may be falling too. He needs to call Browning. He does it instinctively, he doesn't register he has his phone to his ear until the FBI agents voice is calling to him. He also goes with what he's gonna say with the same instinct he pulled in Baltimore, knowing he can't mention certain mafia.

"Neil just called me, I have no idea from where, I have no idea how he got a hold of me, he didn't say a thing, he refused to say a thing other than we're in danger, the foxes, and that whoever took him will come for us- oh and apparently it's someone involved with the Butcher."

How he managed to be as apathetic and unattached to everything he said is beyond him. But whatever he says and whatever Browning says, FBI agents are now guarding them in the locker room of the Foxhole Court, with mattresses and mats laid down on the floor. and he doesn't know how they got here and he's cuffed all over again, but this time to Renee even if he doesn't remember being violent. Even the stupid rookies are here, looking extremely panicked and terrified despite most of them not giving a fuck that Neil was gone just hours ago. The other foxes - Neil's family - are pressing Andrew for answers, but he can't deal with anything at the moment.

He needs to call Ichirou too. That's the call that matters, because that's the call that can bring Neil home because he can't do that himself while cuffed to Renee and being guarded by the fucking FBI. He somehow convinces the agent to let him make a call, to his therapist he says, to grant him privacy even if that's utter bullshit. He's dragging Renee into the eye of the storm but oh well, why did they cuff him to her in the first place, it's not his fault. He calls the Moriyama representative he's been dealing with and thank Renee's god the woman answers.

"I need to talk to- to Lord Ichirou, it's about Neil Josten's whereabouts, I got important information about him." He can feel both the condescension from the other end of the line and poorly veiled shock from Renee. "I know where he is, I know about who's got him, I need to talk to Lord Moriyama."

He isn't sure how he managed it. He doesn't know how he convinced them to let them talk to their mafia boss, or how he's able to keep his cool for long enough to actually talk to the man himself. He thinks having Renee there, who asks no questions and keeps her hand on top of Andrew's with no hesitation, is part of the solution but he's not admitting that. Either or, he talks to Ichirou (he can't deny he's not terrified of messing up with the man who keeps Neil alive, but he's not admitting that either), reminds him of how Neil is important to the Moriyamas, both as an exy player and as a Wesninski, and how Neil, Kevin and Jean are loyal to the Moriyamas, hints at how Ichirou promised protection. He has perfect memory, but he will never remember how he convinced Ichirou Moriyama to send people to Minnesota and look for him all over the state and surrounding states, all he knows is that Ichirou stuck to his promise, all is good, he didn't fuck up.

Weeks pass again, nothing happens. There's no news from the Moriyamas, the FBI keeps telling him they're doing what they can. Andrew is done. No one came looking for them at least, which is nice bc they didn't die but it doesn't feel worth it when Neil wasn't back. He feels stupid for hoping he would come back safe and alive. The Moriyamas might as well have killed him for being such an inconvenience. Things are going to hell. Andrew was an idiot for falling so hard for Neil Josten. It was a mistake. He should have known better.

His anger is gone, and numbness has settled. It was becoming a habit for him to remain lying down most of the day. It was also becoming a habit for the foxes to take care of him when he did this. He can't even bother to shower if someone doesn't remind him every day, or eat, or drink water for that matter. He's a mess and he would be incredibly embarrassed if he cared a little, but he's slipping and he doesn't mind falling. Nothing is fine. Until it is.

It comes in the form of a text one morning, while he's lying on the couch in the living room. An unknown number again, New York code, and it only reads, "Threat has been dealt with - I". And what the fuck does that mean. It tells him absolutely nothing. If Ichirou bothered to text him he could at least be clear as to what the fuck that meant. Was Neil even alive? There is a soft knock at the door. Of course, someone bothers him when no other fox is at the dorm. They couldn't ditch every class to make sure Andrew didn't combust spontaneously.

He truly doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to go answer the door. It's too much a bother. If it's someone important they'll either knock again aor shout for him to open up. He curls up in bed. He honestly wants to disappear. There's another knock, a little harder than the first. But there's no voice, no demand, no nothing. Maybe it's a Moriyama. Maybe he'll feel so disrespected or whatever he's gonna barge in and end his misery. Whatever. "Fuck off", he shouts from the couch, hoping for the best. There's another knock, for fuck's sake, can they just walk in already? Another, and he's up. Pissed and going for the door.

"Fucking hell, what do you want?" His anger is back with a passion, and he's practically stomping to the door, throwing it wide open, "Just barge through the fucking door, and get it over with-"

He has to stop exploding when people don't answer to him right away. Maybe he should work on his patience. Because frankly it has been working against him at the worst times. No it's not his fault. It's the idiot's fault for appearing at out nowhere and stealing his breath away. Everything is Neil Josten's fault.

"Hey Drew," said idiot's voice is impossibly more hoarse than when he called him before. Andrew can't tell if his heart is beating too fast or not at all. He thought he was a mess, but Neil looks like he's been through hell and back. Well, he's been through hell and back too many times before, but he's never looked this bad, and he was a mess after Evermore. His face is beaten so badly, so swollen, if he didn't know him and those stupidly blue eyes so well. Even his eyes are different, there's no spark, they're dull and hazy. He's wearing a large hoodie and sweatpants, so Andrew can't see the damage beyon his face, but at least his hands remain okay, there's no new damage. "Looks like I still have it in me to leave you speechless, huh."

Andrew takes a deep breath and he sighs. And his heart breaks. Neil. Neil. Neil is here. Andrew wants to craddle him and hold him and never let him go again. He doesn't care if it's soft, Neil is here. He raises his hands, frames Neil's face like he has before. He presses a hand to Neil's neck, looking for a pulse, and he finds it. He's alive.

"Neil," he breathes, and he feels. He feels. "You're alive, I thought, you-"

They're both silent. Andrew doesn't notice when Neil raises his hands, framing his own face. They've been here before.

"I'm not leaving you, I promised right? You're not getting rid of me that easily. "

He hates feeling this much, "You've got some explaining to do, but- it can wait."

"That's good yeah, because I'm not sure how much longer I can remain conscious and the Moriyamas weren't the best at patching everything up, so I'd really appreciate it if you call Abby."

He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth, so he guides Neil inside, holding on to his hand like a tether. Neil deflates, he grimaces as Andrew helps him to the couch. He's obviously hiding something below the clothes. Andrew stands to call Abby, but Neil grips his hand tightly. When Andrew looks up, he sees the fear and exhaustion he heard on the call weeks ago. Neil isn't able to keep up the act of being okay for long.

"Stay, pl- just," he looks away, and Andrew doesn't know how to feel about the pause, he didn't say the word, "can you stay?"

And he does. Things aren't fine. Neil is a mess. So is Andrew. They have to work through stuff. Andrew clearly has to work on the apparent dependancy issues. But they'll have time now. Neil is safe. He's alive and safe. He lost consciousness not long after he sat down, but Abby, Wymack and the foxes are on their way. They're not fine. But Neil is lying next to him, and he isn't gonna let him go again. They'll be fine.

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boredoverlord · 3 years

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Bucky X Reader - Hold the Line

I came in here to show you a good time, so here's my personal work and my very first fanfiction of all time. And because I'm a thirsty bitch, of course it's smut.

Summary : As a young and talented psychologist specializing in difficult people in prison, you believed in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the SHIELD. Turned out you were tricked to work for HYDRA.

For three years they made you do horrors in the name of an ideology you despised, but you may have found the occasion to finally make a change for the good, when they introduced you to your new patient.

The Winter Soldier.

Rating : Explicit, please kids, look away ( of course you won't because you're cute little rebels, but please do it)

Word count : 6.4k (chapter 1)

TW: Light BDSM (for now) Because Bucky is a massive Sub and it seems nobody agrees with me, so I have to do the lord's work here.

Foul language, mention of violence and murder, Masturbation, male orgasm and a tiiiny bit of choking. I started lightly

Please consider reading this on Archive of our own or read it below the cut. Lemme know what you think !

Chapter 1: A Story of Almost Everything

You never were the type to brag. But one thing you know is : you’re damn good at your job. Years and years of psychology studies, you barely got to parties, you hardly made any friends, and your sleeping schedule is still a nightmare. Those were sacrifices you did for one sole purpose : helping others. To be the last resort for people who have lost everything. You always firmly believed that you could make a change in the world, even the slightest, even for just one person. That would have been enough to make your lifetime worthy. What's more noble than just a genuine try to make it better, after all ? So you wasted your youth on studies, without a damn blink. And never one ounce of regret. You did it because it felt right. You’re not very brave, but you decided to face your fear a couple of times. You even were an intern in a high security prison, talking to broken men and women who hated your guts. Trying to lead them to another path of life. You heard stories that could break any mind. Only time could tell if you actually helped them. But that’s part of the job. Hope. And hard work.

That’s why when you started to have a growing reputation, at 26 after five years of studies and several years working in prison and rehabilitation, you were ecstatic when S.H.I.E.L.D contacted you. You quit everything, starting with your homeland in Europe, to fly to Washington DC, to visit the headquarters. The new building, the thrill of novelty, the clean rooms, the medical wing, and Alexander Pierce himself coming to shake your hand and telling you personally the wonders they have in mind for the psychology field. You could prepare people to save the world, you could have all the resources to make research, and fix minds that were supposed to be beyond repair. It was supposed to be just a quick trip, but the visit wasn’t even done when you looked at your guide with enthusiasm : you weren’t going home. Just cancel the fly. You’re taking the job immediately. It was three years ago.

Enough to understand how fucked you are.

You didn’t save anyone, you didn’t even work to make the world a better place. Oh but you did work to make a change. A change for HYDRA. They tortured you to make you swallow their ideology, but even if your body surrendered, your mind didn’t, even if it was still a perpetual work on yourself. You never believed in this masquerade, but you know it doesn’t matter. Because HYDRA knows how good you are at your job, and you’re a precious asset. So precious that they pushed all your buttons to make you obey. You tried to act and escape. Their last resort is the Damocles sword they put over your family’s head. Next act of rebellion, heads will roll. And it won’t be yours : no, no. HYDRA won’t give you this relief. It will be your loved ones. So you’re doing what you have to do. It’s the most cowardly choice, you know it. And you’re ashamed. But you’re too terrorised to make it otherwise. So you’re here to twist people's minds to swallow whatever Hydra wants. You make them understand the importance of the organization, when they can’t take it anymore, you make them understand that not only they can, but they must . You saw vulnerable people giving their life to this awful cause, and you are the person to make them understand it was the right thing to do. They gave you kind people with dreams, morals and passion, and you turn this into anger, hate and war, worshipping a crazy doctrine that spoils everything you believed and fought for. You have blood on your hands. You’re THAT good at your job.

So when they called you for a highly secret mission, you weren’t exactly surprised. Just disgusted by them, and mostly yourself. In the guts of what was called the Ideal Federal Saving Bank, you’re obediently following the chef himself : Alexander Pierce, to your next place of action. “I believe you have read your mission’s order, Y/N ?” “Yes Sir.” You said. “It did mention I will have the whole file today, though. I need to take a look at my patient so I can work in proper condition.” “Whatever you call it.” He said, opening the door of the clandestine laboratory in the now abandoned bank. If not for the machinery, we could still believe that those art deco walls filled with safes would still contain treasures of a lifetime for some people. Now there is nothing of value in here, not even the very skin of every PoS present. And you were including yourself. Making your way in the middle of the heavy set up, you slowly reach the pod in the middle, chewing secretly the interior of your cheeks. You know what’s inside, and it makes you want to puke. Mr Pierce continued “Doctor, as your mission was presented to you, your one on only assignment will be the physical and mostly the psychological perfect condition of the Winter Soldier, for the entire length of this mission on american soil.” Basically, be sure his brain is a fucking slushy. You reluctantly nodded and drew closer. “What’s his condition ?” At the top of your height, barely 5’3, you tiptoed to actually look at him by the window of the cryostasis chamber, since you never got this close of a look, not without the file and basically crumbs of info that were thrown at your face. They expected you to keep a dog on a leash, not making actual work on him, and it shows. White man, late 20s to early 30s, approx 5”7, long dark messy hair, not shaved, geez, it seemed like the poor guy was barely cleaned up before being pushed here. Good physical condition, breathing was steady. You could see the steam of his breath on the glass. He may be clinically asleep, but she highly doubted he would be in his best shape. He looked uncomfortable, and tired. It wasn’t a restorative sleep. It was a prison. You couldn’t help but notice his prosthetic arm, even if that was the only thing you knew about him. It’s a fascinating work of science, that’s for sure. And even if transhumanism and biomechanical wasn’t your forte, you wanted to have a closer look, to satisfy your curiosity. One of the scientists watching his screen responded : “He’s gently defrozing, should be half conscious in 5 minutes. You may want to take a step down.” You ignore that, and lean your hand to your superior. “May I finally have what I have been asking for ?” With the most irritating smile, he gave you the Winter Soldier’s File and you quickly opened it to have a first look at all the fuss. Basic physical information, previous missions report, date of entering and ending of cryostasis, bare minimal medical record, notes by her predecessor, fucking trigger words to make him kneel like a 12 years old in front of any boysband... nothing about his previous life, his antics, his name, actual disorders, no name, nor adresses… You glaced a bit at Pierce and threw a polite smile. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows you know. You’re extremely good with very violent patients. You have endured rapists and murderers spiting in your face and swearing to bite your head off and fucking your skull. You were traumatized and you cried yourself to sleep, but the following day you did your job again. You’re just here to handle the worst of the worst. And you’re going to do it.

Or he’s going to break your neck and fuck your skull. You’re fine with that.

“Thank you it’s going to be very helpful.” As helpful as a band-aid on a wooden leg. “What’s this device ?” You point your chin to another machine not far away from it. One of the two men finishing installing it, raised his head to look at you. “A memory suppressing machine. Usually he doesn’t need it as much as he used to, but it’s mainly for safety. He must be prepared.” “He’s in a state where he willingly takes it. So don’t hesitate if he’s starting to be annoying, or excited. That can happen. But that mean you would probably have to work more with him to make him fully ready for his mission,” “Understood, thank you for clarification gentlemen.” You smiled and they smiled back. You’re a woman, so you’re used to it. Basically this shit was supposed to hack his brain, and it must be painful. “I would strongly recommend not using it at such a time. From what I quickly read he needs stability and time. Wiping everything out will more likely create more confusion.” You took a look at the file again and took it upon yourself to not have your eyes double in size and screaming at this bunch of idiots. “... and it does seem he’s using it a lot.”

“We want the asset to be as focused as possible.”

“I understand that, but that's a temporary solution at best. He’s got a brain, not a harddrive. We still don’t know how it can store information, and if it can…” “The last time we used him was five years ago…” Started Pierce, with diplomaty, but also with a tone that wasn’t allowing any more debate on the matter. “And this mission is an absolute priority. The asset is strictly under cryostasis procedure as soon as he’s not needed anymore. The machine will be used if needed.” “I understand your point.” You absolute psychopath. “Then my request is simply to be here if it happens, and to be able to control the shocks. Also, I insist that he must be in perfect condition when you launch the procedure, I’ll personally make it happen and give you a green light.” “Thank you for your hard work.” He said, raising his hand, that you promptly and politely shook. You could feel the angry grasp. “I know you’re the perfect woman for this hard job. Your work is an inspiration for us all.” You wish you could end your life right here right now, instead of being told such atrocities. But you think about your mom and dad. At this time of year they start to prepare the pool for the summer, for the future neighborhood barbecues where they will brag to everyone about their incredible psychiatrist daughter who is doing secret stuff over sea to help save the world. You have to be strong. At least for them. At least for now.

“Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.” You responded, while your tongue feels like sandpaper.

“Ok he’s starting to wake up…” Someone warns, as Pierce leaves the room, unbothered. The pod opens before your eyes, as the asset -you hate this term- is being roughly handled and carried away by two dudes to his seat. The one dangerously close to the memory suppressing machine. You squatted in front of him, the time for him to blink several times and look around him. Confused, but it’s not exactly his first rodeo either. His eyes are quickly focused on the first thing in front of him : you. He looked like he was trying to remember who you are, but quickly realized he didn’t know you. Two blue spears digging right into your soul. That’s making you a bit uncomfortable. The same weird feeling of unease you have when a cat is watching you taking a shower. “Hi.” You started, in english, even if he could be from italy you had no freaking clue. You guessed that he was probably slavic. But the file says he’s speaking more than ten languages. And it wasn’t specified when and how the hell did he learn that. “Can you hear me?” He took a few more seconds to look at you, probably the time to finish reading every embarrassing moment of your life, right into your eyes, like your drunk 18th birthday when you finished in your panties swimming in a city fountain, but he nodded eventually. You actually know this look. But it’s the first time you have a super soldier in front of you so it’s of a rare intensity. He’s dissecting you. Gathering information. His eyes moved slightly down : a recent scar on your neck. Right : an ex piercing on the top of your ear, now unusable. Down left : he just realized you’re slightly unbalanced so he knows you have a hip issue. And down right : he’s looking at your hand, you don’t really know what he saw here, maybe calculating how to break them ? You were literally a foot in a viper’s nest. Were you terrified ? Absolutely. Will that forbid you to do your job ? Nope. “Can you follow the light ?” You asked, moving slowly your phone’s lamp from left to right in front of his eyes. He did it without questioning. “Ok good.” You tried a smile, not really knowing why. If he was at least a tenth as clever as the file said he was, he perfectly know that you’re here to fuck him up. But you couldn’t help it. Poor dude. He was visibly more or less your age. He could have been a prince, or thief, a womanizer, or a priest, whatever, HYDRA took everything from him. From his free will, of his right to grow old, to his sleep. “Can you tell me your name ?” He frowned, perplexed. “Winter Soldier.” Shitty answer but at least he was fully aware, and his tongue was working properly. “Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Y/N. We’re here to work together in preparation of your next assignment. Do you understand ?” He nodded, unimpressed. “Good, can you get up ?” He did, so you did it too. And he realized that you were… very short. His eyes literally went up and slooowly down. That was a bit mean, actually. You carefully took a glance behind you, and your eyeroll could probably trigger an earthquake. “Can you all nice gentlemen let down a bit of their weapon ?” You said at the 6 dudes with rifles literally fixed on him, ready to shoot at the wrong twitch of muscle. No wonder he wasn’t talkative. “You won’t say that when he will break your neck with two fingers, ‘mam.”

“He’s pretty stable for now. Plus he’s not fully awake, let’s give him time before threatening him, shall we ?”

Nobody moved for ten seconds before one of them complied, since you didn’t move. The rest of the bunch reluctantly followed . You looked at your patient, hoping that that would have made him a bit more relaxed. Nope, he didn’t give a shit. He wasn't even looking at them. He was looking at you. You’re the mystery of this room to him. But you didn’t need extra vision to understand that Docs treated him like a guinea pig, so he was very understandably extra careful with you. Standing on his feet, all his muscles ready for action, that’s the exact moment you realized how close you two were. Indeed, if he decided to, your jaw would fly across the room in a single move. You never had such a display of sheer raw strength, and you could feel the heat of his body radiate.

“He needs a shower, and clothings.” You said, having a look at his 5 years old combat suit still reeking the smell of his sweat. It was intoxicating. They didn’t even allow him to clean himself. Poor dude was frozen in his own filth for the last five years. And you didn’t know why you took an even deeper breath. “And I’m talking about comfy workout clothes, no combat suit. Please escort him and handle him with care, before bringing him to my office.” You actually decided to be sure he wouldn’t be mistreated, by waiting outside the man’s bathrooms. You weren’t certain of how he could react, and you didn’t trust anyone here. If one of them decided to do a piss contest with your patient, it could end badly. So you put your hands in your pockets, looking at the two armed men waiting for the most dangerous assassin in the world to finish scrubbing himself with soap. The atmosphere was heavy and the silence was loud in itself. Even the sound of the shower was stressful and menacing.

When the Soldier was escorted to your improvised office into the archive, directly linked to a storage room that will be your bedroom for the next weeks, you let him take a seat and promptly blocked the access to the room of the two escort members. “Thank you sirs, that will be all. Please wait here.” They look at you like you just told them you were dating their daughters. “Sorry Miss, but we can’t…” “Sorry Doctor , and I can’t work properly with weapons in my office.” You raised your hand, showing your device on your wrist. Something that would not only call for aid by a simple pressure, but could stun an opponent. Neither them nor you were stupid : it wouldn’t stop The Winter Soldier, maybe he would blink a second at most. But you really wanted to be alone with him. Was he dangerous ? Yes. Were you absolutely certain that you would leave this room alive if you closed this door to their face ? No. But it’s been three years since your priority wasn’t your survival anymore. So you forced a smile and slapped the door. They needed you more than you needed them, so they will obey.

“Douchebags.” You muttered to yourself while coming back to your desk. Your patient didn’t even move a muscle at your little argument. He wasn’t totally inexpressive actually, mostly terribly broody. His hair was still wet from the shower he took, wearing cargo pants, heavy boots and hoodies, generic clothes by HYDRA. You got those too, since you’re not allowed to carry anything personal for mission to mission. You had a tablet for books, music and movies, but that was it. You haven’t opened your shelves yet, but you know it’s full of ugly clothes and generic black panties of doom.

You took a large inspiration, sat on your desk in front of him, and started : “Ok ‘Winter Soldier’... how are you doing ?” He didn’t even flinch. He was staring into your soul with his eyes lost into dark circles. Depriving someone of proper sleep is a basic rule for brainwash. “You enjoyed the shower ?” Nothing. You waited for a bit to see if he would finally respond. Ten seconds. Twenty. fourty. a minute. When he gathered that you were actually looking for an answer, visibly a first one for him, he finally gave you the courtesy of one. “Yes.” “Perfect.” You didn’t hide your slight smile and tiled your head. “I’ll be sure you’re in your best condition for your next mission. If something’s on your mind, I need to know about it. Nothing will get out of this room. Both of our priorities are your goal, and your condition is the key to success. Which makes you , my high top priority. Do you understand me ?” “Yes.”

“Ok so let’s get going.” You took another file, and took a picture out, ready to handle it to him. “Is the name : Nicholas Fury, ringing some bells to you?” “Yes.” He took it inside his titanium fingers and finally moved his piercing blue eyes away from you to look at the picture. “In two weeks, you’ll be in Washington DC. An entire squad will be deployed to assassinate him. Fury is the leader of the S.H.I.E.L.D, not a mere target. He will break free and fight back. That will be when you’ll show up.” He wasn’t looking at the picture anymore. One thing for sure : at least he was paying attention to you, and what you were saying. And that made you actually kind of proud of yourself. “That was part one. I’ll personally supervise your training with the VR machine and your physical health and condition. I really need you to communicate with me all the time about anything that could be in your mind. The more focused you are, the more Hydra’s plan will succeed.” And what’s that plan ? You have not a single clue. You were a cog in the machine, disposable. Not much more than him. “Do you understand ?” “I understand.” Oh shit, two words this time!

“Good.” You smiled. He didn’t. You move your hands closer to him, to take a grip on the picture. He opened his prosthetic hand, leaving you to take it back. Nothing in his gesture seems dangerous. Just normal, somehow cordial. “I must ask : are you in any pain right now ?” His eyes significantly get from right to left. He must probably wonder why you are asking him that. Did nobody ever ask him such basic questions like : ‘are you in pain?’ This man's sole purpose was to fight, that made no damn sense for you.

“Sir ?” You insisted for an answer, even if the ‘sir’ sounded absolutely ridiculous to your ears. You didn’t know his name, and you don’t feel comfortable calling him “Winter Soldier” , “Soldier”, “Sir De Winter”, “Hey you,he soviet assassin” so it will be “Sir” for now. “Sir are you in pain right now ?” “I’m not in pain.” A complete sentence, that’s progress. You breathed a bit better “Ok good.” You got up from your desk, which was honestly barely taller that him remaining on his chair. He didn’t let go of your eyes and you decided to make a bold move. For now, he was always being responsive so you slowly moved your hands toward him. To his prosthetic hand. “May I take a look, please ?” You glanced at each other, nobody made the first move. In complete silence, if it wasn’t for both of your breaths. You’re almost sure that it has been at least 5 minutes since you decided to speak again. Slowly, and gently, with no signs of confrontation in your body language or speech. “I will not do it until you comply. And you can refuse the contact.” He didn’t answer right away but he finally nodded.

Slowly, you took his hand into yours, lifting it from his thigh where it was resting. At the beginning it was just taking a look. But he wasn’t making any moves, so you decided to take your observation a little further. You used your other hands to start to move each finger separately, taking a step closer to him. Finally, you made one of your hands slowly sliding into the hoodie, to feel the muscles, the nerves, how it feels like a real arm. It was cold, but you felt it shudder to your touch. That was the line you decided to not take it further.

“Thank you, Soldier.” You said with a smile, taking away your hands from him. You moved behind your desk, opening your notepad to take a bunch of notes, breaking the contact with him. Just a second. But when you raised your eyes again, The Winter Soldier wasn’t in sight.

You shuddered and didn’t make a single move. If it wasn’t for your fingers grasping your desk. You did your best to have a steady respiration and not start to panic. Your throat dried up immediately. You took a deep breath and say : “Please, get back to your seat.” You slowly moved your head to look right back at him. He was standing. His eyes were black, taking loud deep breaths, fixing your behind your shoulder. Tall. Dangerous. You were terrorised. And he could smell it. He didn’t move so you stood up as well, and slowly faced him. You try to remain in total control of your body and not start to fidget. You could scream for help, but for whatever reason, you still had the feeling you could handle the situation. Trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t the first time a patient was disobedient. The only difference was that this one could crush your skull in a bat of an eye,

“Get back.” You said once again, bearing his piercing eyes, but he didn’t budge. So you took out your hand and put it on his chest. You felt like an ant against a mountain, but you pushed him a bit. “We will go nowhere this way.” You resumed trying to get a step closer, even if it will be creating a proximity that could be even more lethal to you. “So please, get back to…”

Something happened. It was obvious, and clear as day : you felt the bulge between his legs. Right above your navel. Hardening even more now that he could feel your body. You decided immediately to repress the shameful feeling of your very inside warming up and tickling you. “Winter Soldier.” You growled, angry but trying your best to remain as professional as you could. Of course, of fucking course. This guy was gorged on serum and hormones, quick, violent actions, and adrenaline. Pumping in his veins, burning 24/7. His body was on the edge all the time, and he just awoke from a dreamless slumber. He was a human, whatever all these idiots were thinking, not a freakin’ cyborg. When was the last time he saw a woman that he didn’t smash the head on a wall ? You even suspected that Pierce was counting on it. Nonetheless, you were alone in an office, literally glued with the world's most dangerous assassin, who was having a massive hard-on. Throbbing against you. You had your share of very awkward situations in your short life time. But nothing, nothing prepared you for this. And you had even less of an idea of what to do because he was doing nothing . He was feeling uncomfortable, that you could say, but he wasn’t really doing any moves to attack you, or even take you. He was standing here, with heavy breathing, his eyes still piercing you. And you slowly slided your gaze to his lips, finding the vision of his hard laboured breath strangely mesmerizing.

Short of ideas, your reflexes took the best (or the worst) of you, and without you realizing it, your hand was around his neck. Your palm pressured on his glottis, and you clearly felt him swallow. As clearly as you felt him becoming even harder. Your breath was starting to shake, as you felt a not-so subtle chill coursing your spin. You drew his face and your face closer, as you finally moved forward, forcing him to move as well. Forcing was a strong word : the last time you hit a punching bag, you hurt yourself and sobbed for an hour. But for whatever reason, he did whatever you wanted. As if he was testing your resolve to make him obey. But there was nothing on his file about this behaviour. He tried to attack, kill and escape. Nothing about testing the limits of anyone.

“You. Will. Sit. Down!” you spat, through your teeth, forcing even more your grip around his neck, as your other hand was reaching for his hair. You pulled it, not too harshly, but you could definitely smell the musk, and the wetness of what stayed of his shower.

You did it. He was sitting down again. And your bodies departed for one another. For once he tried to escape your gaze, which was a strangely human reaction. You both managed to get your breath back, before you decided to call the guard to adjourn your observation.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you felt your legs giving up and you sat on the ground, back against your desk, a small wimp leaving your throat. You felt your eyes starting to wet, and your teeth rattled a bit so you tried to cuddle yourself to try to retake control on your body. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as his intoxicating smell was still all around you. It was by far one of the most terrifying experiences you ever felt, and it was all clouded by the phantom feeling of his body against yours. You could still feel his gaze, his heat, his… well, his cock against your belly. You were still chilling, trying to repress whatever you were feeling at this instant. Because it wasn’t right, for you. Nor him. Everyone in this godforsaken organisation was treating him like a dog, just here to attack and do tricks, but you swore to yourself not to do the same. You will succeed at your mission, but you’ll do it from the crumbs of humanity and morality that HYDRA left you. You will do anything possible that the mission will be complete, the most painless possible for this broken man you just saw. Wait a second.

Painless .

You jumped on your feet, ignoring the numbness of your legs caused by the shock, and you ran at the door, screaming at the three men at the end of the corridor. “HEY !” The guards startled a bit and looked at you “I changed my mind. Bring the Winter Soldier back to my office.” They briefly exchange what seems to be a bunch of insults about you, but they comply to bring the Soldier back. Him ? He seemed absolutely unbothered.

You closed the door behind the both of you, to the face of the guards yet again. He was standing here, showing his back as you slowly got back in front of him. Hands in your pocket, not really sure of what to do nor how to do it. He was looking at you, this same feeling of unease than before. And for reasons : a small glance confirmed that he was still rock hard. You didn’t make any move for a long time, until you finally put your hand on his chest. You felt his breathing becoming slightly quicker. “You’re not in pain.” You whispered, and he shook his head, negatively. “That was the wrong question. I’m sorry... “ Without you noticing, you had the palm of your hand on his cheek, scrubing lightly his stubble with your thumb as an apology. You breathed in, just couldn’t believe what you were about to say. “Do you need help ?” His expression didn’t change, but his eyes ? They became a bit brighter, you could even see a bit of relief when you saw him nod.

You swiftly move your other index on his pillowy lips as you still lower your voice. “They cannot hear us.” He nodded again as the only feeling of your finger as close to his mouth made him shiver with anticipation. He was literally dying of anything that could relieve him. And for what you understood, as your conversation continued, he trusted you with his body, to provide him with the sweet touch he has been totally deprived of. You slowly push away your index to gently slide your thumb between his lips, and he sighed with pleasure as he took it with an eagerness you would never have believed possible. The most deadly assassin in the world, the legendary Winter Soldier that everyone wishes he wasn’t real, was purring while sucking your finger. If you weren’t the shrink, you’ll be needing one immediately. You gently moved him to make him sit in his chair, he was way too tall for you to handle this with ease. “What about the showers?” You asked him, as you removed your thumb to make it gently slide on his lips, your other hand crawling across his chest to his pants. He swallowed before whispering. “I could but... “ his well built square jaws started to tense, with a visible revulsion. “... They can watch.” Disgusting. He couldn’t even close the damn door of the shower. “You’re safe here.” You said as your hand was finally reaching the bulge behind his Hydra cargo pants. You didn’t know what you expected but… it was way beyond that. He hissed a bit at the feeling of your hand as you started to touch it gently over the fabric.

Now he was panting, looking at you as you were a single oasis after years of thirst in the desert. “Please…” You heard, barely audible when he was starting to lose it. “I got you, but you have to promise me to be good.” “Anything. Please…”

And at your very surprise, you obliged him. Using your hand to plunge into his pants, while the other fast pressed into his mouth, muffing the immediate deep moan that escaped at the very second you touched his pulsing penis. He started panting even more, as he used his flesh arm to drive you onto him. His forehead against yours. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer and closer. Actually you let go of his -massive- erection a second to just drop out his pants, and his breach. You stopped a second, only to watch him begging you with his eyes, as you could feel his saliva at the palm of your hand while you muzzled him. It was it. You realized what kind of power you have over this man. He has been used and abused in every single way, but for once : someone’s finally doing what he wanted. You had his pleasure in your very hands, and for once in years, you could finally help someone. So you’re gonna do it, you’re going to make him feel good. Very good. “Good boy.” You muttered, without knowing where the hell that could come from, and you reached him again. Stroking your hands up and down his shaft, nourishing yourself over the vibration of his muffled moans against your hand. His eyes weren't leaving yours, if it wasn’t for when they seemed to roll to the sky. His vision periodically blackened by the waves of forbidden pleasure he was feeling over his body, who was barely him anymore. Your eyes were gorging on the vision of his handsome muscular man, surrendering himself to your touch, sweating, trembling and panting for you. You were saluted by an utterly satisfied noise the moment you decided to lean over his manhood to drip a large amount of your own saliva moist what was already on the edge of ruin. You rolled your thumb against his tip, massage his veins with just one finger… anything to make him feel something. Anything that wasn’t pure anger, hatred or apathy. You were inclined to believe the file saying that he was nothing but a perfectly built weapon for HYDRA to command. But now, when you tickled, teased and made him shiver, and you felt all his sincere gratitude, you were certain : There is a man in here. And he was finally feeling good .

But soon, it wasn’t enough anymore. Seeing his bare thighs, powerful, thicken by years of training and super soldier serum, tensed by all the nerves and muscles deliciously answering to your call, made your inside warmed up. Your core was aching, screaming for proximity and intimacy, and before you understood what happened, you sat astride on his left thigh. The soft flesh between your legs immediately responded with delight, making you shiver. Almost instantly, you felt his grip on your hip, of the cold metal digging into your flesh with despair. It was a super soldier, with the stamina of several dozen men, but it’s been so long, and you were touching him with perfection. You felt his head on your shoulder, and slowly you started licking his temple, tasting the very fruit of your hard work : his sweat.

Galvanized by his intoxicating smell, and the thrusting he started giving to your hand, you started to move like a snake, rocking against his skin, looking for some pressure despite the fabric of your pants, mercilessly acting like a barrier of your own pleasure. You could get it off, but it was a limit that you forbid yourself to cross. But it’s true, as you were working him, you couldn’t stop yourself to think of how this would feel. Sliding inside you. You were so very short and fragile, and compared to your hand, his phallus was gigantic. He could ruin you, split you in half, using his bare hands and make you do anything. But the only person in control here, were you. And only you. You never felt anything like this before. And it’s highly probable than neither did he. You tried to vanish the thought, but the more you could feel his thigh between yours, the more you became obsessed.

The more he was approaching, the more eager the soldier became. Both of his hands firmly gripped on your behind, almost certain that it will leave bruises, but you didn’t care at this very moment. His grunts against your hands became more and more intense, and you started to feel he was about to give in. In between your fingers, small drips of salivas were started to escape. You couldn’t give up your grip now, so you made it even more tight, drawing your lips closer to your hands, you whispered as your sore wrist fastened its path “I’m here for you. Give everything to me.”

His panting became incontrolable, his eyes rolled out, his head dropped back, before he finally reached his peak. You felt the deep vibration of his ultimate cry on your hand, as your other hand was dripping of hot seed. You slowly removed your other hand from his face, and could contemplate your masterpiece : the Soldier absolutely looked like a mess, with his red face, his eyes blinking furiously, covered with his own saliva. You left his leg, both your hands dripping of his bodily fluids. You used the one that was on his lips to pick his head and forced him to look at you. You ravished your vision of this man who absolutely surrendered to your good care, deeply satisfied with your attention. You cradled his face, and you took a large lick of his spit from his chin to his mouth. Where he leaned for a wet and warm kiss. You took a good taste of him, intoxicated by whatever pheromones he could diffuse around you.

You look at him another few seconds, before recluandly moving away, to the bathroom where you not only washed your hands, but came back with a wet towel. You first cleaned with infinite care his face, and then his genitals, making sure he wouldn’t have any kind of unpleasant sensation as he had a big day ahead of him. You were his doctor and caretaker, and he had a mission to prepare. He seemed to respond well to the cleaning, not really expressive, but he made no sudden move. You could see him sighing with ease, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek in your palm again, when you were caressing him with the wet towel. You could still hear a loud satisfying purr. If you didn’t specifically ask him to kill someone less that an hour ago, you would actually find this absolutely adorable.

You breathed in and out, making sure he was okay. “Are you feeling better ?...” He nodded, visibly relaxed, as he was closing his pants but not much more expressive than before. He stood up, in front of you, like nothing happened. “Yes.” But to your surprise he added a second later. “Thank you, doctor.” You smiled at him as you couldn’t keep yourself from making your knuckles caressing his cheek, and finally tracking the shape of his jaws. “Good boy.” You heard yourself say, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you.He didn’t react. All the shivers, purring, sighing, and moans disappeared as soon as his pants closed. It was for the best, and you quickly took your hand back, clearing your throat. You call the guards. The Winter Soldier was fully ready for his mission preparation, and you asked them to give him some time to recover from… his cryostatic, before you would start the procedure.

In the meantime, you need a shower. A long, hot, steamy, shower.

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a-n-conrad · 3 years

Text

Coffee Shop (Spencer Reid x Reader)

[Summary: After a new Coffee shop opened up near the FBI headquarters, Spencer found a new favorite place to pick up his coffee on the way to work. And after making friends with the owner of the little shop, he was even more motivated to spend time there. (They/Them pronouns)

Warnings: Not proofread, Maybe swearing (I don’t remember)

Request:From my Request Survey(https://forms.gle/D9rsJtkERoBPaKvv8)]

It took you a few years to save up the money you needed to open your coffee shop. You managed to secure a little shop not too far from the FBI headquarters, meaning a good portion of your customer base was FBI agents. It was kind of nice to not have to worry about your security too much. With the amount of federal agents in your shop at any given time, it’d be stupid to try to rob you.

One of your favorite customers came in a few weeks after you first opened. He was dressed a bit better than most of your other customers, or at least more creatively. You were getting a little bored with black and white, so his purple tie and button-up was a welcome change, and his hair looked just fluffy enough that you kind of wanted to pat his head.

“I heard a new coffee shop opened nearby, but I wasn’t expecting you to have quite this nice of a collection of classic books,” He motioned to the tall bookshelves that wrapped around your shop.

“Thank you. It took me quite a while to get this many. You’re free to borrow any of them that you’d like, though, just make sure you give me your name and number, so I can keep tabs on my books,” You say, a smile on your face. You always appreciated when people recognized the effort you put into the books, “Is there something I can get you?”

“Oh, uh, just a large salted caramel mocha,” He replied sheepishly.

“For here or to go?” You already knew the answer. You had seen his FBI badge, so you were already reaching for the travel cup. But it was always better to ask than assume.

“To go,” He was still looking at one of the book shelves when he responded, “Is that in french?”

He was pointing to one of your favorite books. It rarely drew much attention, because it was old and worn out, and the attention it did get was normally driven off by the fact that it was, in fact, in french.

“Yes, it is,” You reply, starting to make his drink, “It’s one of the original prints of that book, so it’s a little worn out.”

“I think I’ll borrow it, if you don’t mind. I’ve been looking for a french version of this book for a while,” He said. He walked over for a moment to carefully pull the book from the shelf. Somehow, even with his tall, slightly lanky build, he managed to look graceful and at home among the book shelves.

“Alright, your name and phone number, please?” You set his completed drink down on the counter and pulled out a ledger that you were using to keep track of the people borrowing your books.

“Spencer Reid,” He said, “(702)-555-0103”

- - - - -

Spencer came back the next day to return the book. And just about every day after that. He borrowed books and read through them quicker than you thought was humanly possible. And eventually you stopped keeping track of the books that he was borrowing. You trusted that he’d return them. You had even started to get his order ready before he got there to pick it up, checking that he would actually be there with the number that he gave you when he first checked out a book.

You had started talking regularly, too. Whether it be about books, or coffee, or his work. Though, he did try to keep most of his work to himself. Eventually, you started keeping the shop open late on the nights that he told you he’d be coming home from a case, and he’d stop by. If it was a rough one, you’d make some calming drinks and sit with him for a little while. You knew better than to try to make him talk about the bad cases, but he seemed to appreciate the company.

You came to know him as a very good friend, and you hoped that he thought of you the same way. Well, sort of. While you’d only ever admit to thinking of him as a friend, you held a bit more affection for the good doctor than you originally expected to.

He was obviously smart, and a little awkward, but when you got him onto a topic that he liked, he could talk nonstop. While some people may have thought it could get annoying, you admired his passion, and liked to listen to him talk. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him a little cute when he rambled. You were proud to call him your friend.

And when he invited you to come to one of the outings his team was having, that feeling of pride almost overwhelmed you. His team was a big part of his life, and the fact that he wanted to introduce you to them, made your heart melt.

- - - - -

You were nervous when you showed up at the sushi bar that Spencer had told you to meet at. Were you at the right place? Was it the right time? Did you dress alright? You wanted to impress Spencer’s team. You felt the way you felt in highschool, meeting your highschool boyfriend’s family. But that was ridiculous, right? You two were just friends, so you really had nothing to worry about. Plenty of people had friends that didn’t always get along with their other friends.

“Hey, you don’t have to be so nervous,” You nearly jumped at his voice, “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep picking at your nails like that.”

“Oh, uh, hey,” You respond sheepishly. Normally you’d be embarrassed by the awkward response, but you knew that your favorite FBI agent wouldn’t mind all that much, “Sorry, I’m just a little nervous to meet your other friends, Spence.”

“Don’t be,” He responded. His smile was sweet and you felt your face start to heat up just a little. You hoped that he didn’t notice, “I’m sure they’ll love you.”

You nod, and take a deep breath. You were still quite anxious, but you hoped that walking in with Spencer would help you feel a little more confident. Something about standing right next to him as you walked through the door made you feel like nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Woah, hey,” You heard a deep voice whoop as Spencer lead you towards a table. You figured that his team must have gone there pretty frequently, “Looks like pretty boy brought a guest. You gonna introduce them to us or what?”

Spencer sighed a bit at the sight of the man that had called out for him. It seemed as though his friends had already ordered a couple of drinks, “(Y/n), this is Derek Morgan,” He motioned to the man, before introducing the rest of the team, “Guys, this is (Y/n). They’re my friend that owns that coffee shop that I told you about.”

“The one that you keep borrowing books from,” The woman that was introduced as Penelope Garcia asked, “They must have quite the collection.”

You spent a little while talking about your shop. And then a little more talking about Spencer. And the longer you talked with his friends, joking and laughing, the surer you were that you were completely head over heels for this man. While they were impressed by his genius, they didn’t seem to admire him in anywhere near the way that you did. And none of them seemed to like his rambling like you. You didn’t just admire his genius or think of him as a really good friend like you sort of hoped. You were genuinely and completely in love with him. And you had a feeling that his friends could tell.

It was on your way back from a trip to the restroom that you had that worry confirmed.

“Oh, come on, Spence, you’re a profiler. Don’t tell me that you really didn’t notice how big of a crush they have on you,” JJ sounded exhausted as she said it. Like she had been trying to explain flirting to him for weeks, and he still just wasn’t getting it. “So what? What if I did notice?” Spencer asked in return. His tone was that of a teenage boy whose parents had been nagging him about his crushes for months.

“Do you not have feelings for them?” Morgan was the one to ask next, “You go to their shop enough, even when you don’t actually want coffee. And you brought them along here when you’ve never done that with anyone before. It��s alright if you don’t wanna date them, but if I’m getting mixed signals, I’m sure they are too.”

You chose that moment to make your appearance. You really didn’t want to hear that response. You were fine with mixed signals. You were fine not knowing. Because not knowing wasn’t rejection. And you rather not know than be rejected.

“What were you guys talking about,” You ask as you sit back down. You hoped that your acting skills were good enough to fool the profilers around you. Maybe they weren’t paying that much attention to you.

“Nothing super important,” Spencer answered before anyone else did, “I should get going pretty soon. I have to check in on my mom.”

You followed as he stood up, not wanting to be left alone with his friends. Especially knowing that they knew about your crush on their coworker. Not to mention, you had taken a cab there, and really didn’t want to take one back, “Do you mind giving me a ride home? I can grab a cab if you want, but if you don’t mind, I’d love a ride.”

“Oh, sure.”

- - - - -

The ride started out pretty awkward. Just you giving Spencer directions to your house between longs gaps of cold silence. The tenson was thick, and you felt like maybe you were wrong. Maybe not knowing wasn’t better than rejection. Maybe rejection was much better than this.

“How much of the conversation did you actually hear before you walked up,” Spencer eventually asked. You could hear the same tension in his tone that you felt in the pit of your gut.

You weren’t sure how to respond. You knew this conversation was going to bring your pining to an end. You just weren’t quite sure how it would end exactly. But you were pretty sure that it would hurt.

Spencer was too good for you. He was a successful FBI agent with multiple doctorates. He was charming and handsome and could probably get any partner he wanted. And you were what? A glorified barista with a book collection?

“Just a little. You really don’t have to worry about it,” You said, trying a last ditch effort to get this to hurt you less.

“(Y/n),” He sounded like he was scolding you a little, “You know that I know you have feelings for me, don’t you.”

God, why’d he have to say it like that? Why’d he have to say it like he was about to lecture you? You were stuck in this car. You had to sit through this conversation wherever it went. And you were sure that you weren’t going to like it.

“Look, Spence, you don’t have to do this. We really could just not talk about it,” You try again, desperate to at least push the conversation back.

“So you do actually have feelings for me?”

“I-” You really should know better than to deny it. He’d see through you. He always knew when you were lying, “Yes.”

You felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. You couldn’t understand why. You didn’t say anything that he didn’t already know, so there’s no reason for him to feel relieved. Especially if he didn’t feel the same way. Why would he be relieved that he has to reject you?

“This make this a lot less awkward,” He said, pulling the car up to your house, “Would you like to go on a date with me next Friday? After you close up the shop?

You froze. That wasn’t what you expected the response to be, “I-, uh, yes! Of course!”

It was then that he got a little red in the face, his blush matching your own, and he sheepishly asked, “Could I kiss you?”

Your body answered before your brain could, and before you knew it, your lips were on his.

[A/N: Sorry if this is really bad. I’ve been dying from the writer’s block recently. Please, feel free to take the quiz if you liked it, though.]

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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soft-thrills · 4 years

Text

XF Fic: Too Much, Just Right

I fear that if I don’t post this now, I may never post it.

Summary: Mulder/Scully smut. Dom Mulder. NC-17. Classic PWP. Mulder and Scully get kinky on a vacation to Big Sur. That’s it, that’s the plot. It’s embarrassingly long, what else is new.

It satisfies two prompts from the Dec ‘18/Jan’19 @xfpornbattle, which, LOL, could I be any slower?

Those prompts are:

Dom Mulder draped over Scully's back, pounding into her and whispering the dirtiest things in her ear while playing with her clit. Bonus if there are people nearby.

and:

Dom Mulder blowjob, slapping Scully's cheeks with his dick while she touches herself

I reserve the right to revisit this setting, by the way, because Big Sur is the most surreal landscape I’ve ever visited, and it’s a BIG Mulder/Scully mood.

If I’ve not scared you off, keep reading, friends. Unbeta’ed. Sorry for the typos or tense slips. I tried to catch ‘em all. If you like it, hate it, it makes you feel something, anything, please let me know.

He books them a cabin in a redwood grove on the California coast. Their cell phones lose reception as they begin the winding drive through Big Sur, dramatic scenery seemingly all around them — jagged cliffs and primal, roaring ocean waves on one side; mountains and thick forest on the other. It feels like the edge of the universe.

They are in a rented Jeep, with the top taken off, and Mulder had popped The Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds — somehow at once upbeat and melancholy, not unlike him — into the CD player.

They are relaxed, happy. Blessedly alone.

“No shared apartment walls out here, Scully,” he says, his voice dark and low, the way it always sounds in the evenings when he takes charge.

His hand lands on her thigh and she jumps. He smirks. She feels off balance — the rush of the wind around the Jeep, Brian Wilson’s voice, the sheer edges and the blue sky — and it feels good.

“No neighbors. I’m going to have so much fun making you scream,” he promises. “Just you and me in the middle of nowhere.”

...So he hadn’t realized there would be another cabin about 20 feet away from theirs, occupied by a friendly couple in their twenties who wave when they pull up, just as the sun is setting. She shoots him a trademark raised eyebrow.

“All alone in the middle of nowhere, huh?”

In the end, it works out. Ed and Mary are lovely, and they spend the evening sitting around a fire pit between the two cabins, sharing a cache of West Coast IPAs, pinot noir and marshmallows. Sadly, Mulder and Scully have to politely turn down the couple’s generous offer to enjoy some fine California Gold marijuana, what with the federal employment and all.

A couple hours later, it is well and truly dark. Scully knows from past trips out to Big Sur when she was young that the sky is full of stars, though they can’t see it from their vantage point beneath the thick canopy of redwoods. She feels warm from the fire and the drinks and the easy camaraderie. She feels happy, relaxed, far from her responsibilities.

“Ready to hit the hay, Scully?” Mulder asks, a voice so sweet she’d almost forgotten the mood he’d been in earlier.

Almost.

She felt warm all over again.

“Yeah, if we want to get up early tomorrow and hike, I suppose we’d better.”

And so they say goodnight to Ed and Mary, who say they’d be outside a little while longer, making sure the fire safely dies down. Very responsible.

The cabin is small but well appointed — for once it really is a nice trip to the forest. It has sliding glass doors, and once they were inside, Mulder drew the curtains almost all the way. Almost. It would be unlikely Ed or Mary could see anything from their vantage point, but not entirely impossible if they ventured out of the clearing. The walls are thin enough that she can hear Mary laughing at something Ed said outside.

“Guess it would be a little rude to make you scream, Scully,” he says, and she jumps, because Mulder’s low voice is right against her ear, and she hadn’t even realized he was behind her.

“I guess so,” she says, not happy about how shaky her voice is already.

“Maybe I’ll just have to settle for making you whimper. Making you beg. Making you moan.”

She could settle for that. Doesn’t really feel like settling at all, actually.

“And maybe, Scully, if you’re very good, and you promise not to make too much noise, maybe I will let you come.”

She watches her own chest rise and fall, listens to the sound of her own breath. He is so annoyingly, wonderfully good at this. It was hard, at first, for her to accept that she liked it — that bossy Dana Scully liked being bossed around in bed. She supposes it’s not particularly shocking. It might even be predictable. It took Mulder next to no time to figure out, brilliant profiler and whatnot. But it’s still hard to be vulnerable with someone when you want them to treat you as an equal in a relationship. Harder still when you also work with that someone in an environment where it is imperative that they treat you as an equal.

Needless to say, she got over it.

“Would you like that, Scully? Would you like me to make you beg?” he asks, running his hands up her sides, and she can’t help but shiver.

“Yes.”

“Take your clothes off,” he says, not a whisper anymore, and his voice is enough to make her jump.

He stalks out from behind her as she sheds the fleece jacket she’d worn to keep warm by the fire, then her t-shirt, then her jeans.

“Stop,” he says, when she was down to her underwear and bra, simple but matching black cotton.

He kisses her, hands in her hair, like he’d been waiting to do it since he’d made his now-amended promise back in the Jeep all those hours ago. A needy sound escapes from the back of her throat, and she can’t tell if she’s squirming because of embarrassment or desire but she’s pretty sure it’s both.

She is out of breath when he pulls away.

“You’re so beautiful, Scully. You’re perfect,” he says, and while she doesn’t think of herself that way, in that moment, she believes him.

“I want to make you deliriously happy,” he tells her.

She leans into his chest as he strokes her hair.

“But first,” his voice drops again, his hand goes from stroking to gripping the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling back so she looks up at him. “You’re going to suck my cock.”

He is good at that — setting her at ease with sweet little touches and then jolting her back into their kinky little game — and she is a real sucker for it.

She glances in the direction of the bed, but he shakes his head. She feels herself get hotter. He pulls a pillow off the bed and places it in front of him. She knows what he wants, but she wants to hear him tell her.

“On your knees, Scully.”

She’s always been good at following directions. When she is settled, he unbuttons his fly. He takes his cock in hand, but instead of pressing it against her lips, he rubs it against her cheek. She feels herself blush and then he gently taps it against her cheek, and then a little harder, and that’s something new and Christ, it’s almost too much, which means it makes her wet.

“Does sucking my cock turn you on?”

She silently curses him for expecting her to speak in this condition. “Yes. Please,” she says, although she’s not entirely sure what she’s asking him for.

He slaps his dick against her cheek again and she squeezes her legs together. Too much. But God, she likes it.

“You can play with yourself,” he says. Of course she can, she is a grown woman, and she can do whatever she likes to her own body… and yet on this evening, in this mood, she wouldn’t dream of it without Mulder’s permission.

He puts his cock in her mouth, and she takes him up on his offer, slipping her hands inside her panties and finding herself predictably wet.

She takes him as deep as she can, concentrating until she gets into a rhythm, then looking up at him and making eye contact. He groans, and she’d smirk if she could.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this, Scully,” he mutters. “Been thinking about sliding into your mouth since I started teasing you in the Jeep. I could barely concentrate out by the fire, I wanted you so bad.”

She moves the busy fingers under her underwear a little faster, and he notices.

“It makes you wet to have my dick in your mouth, huh?”

She moans around his cock. Too much. Just right.

Kinky sex with Mulder never fails to remind her what a good interrogator he is. He is constantly talking to her, asking her to react, asking her to admit her secrets — yes, I want you to make me beg, yes, I want to suck your cock, yes, I like having your dick in my mouth. It is a temporarily lopsided power dynamic — there is no doubt that Mulder is in charge right now — but there’s rarely any sense of force. She wants every filthy thing he does to her, and he makes her tell him that.

It is overwhelming to be the object of his intense focus, his questioning, his curiosity. At first it was terrifying how little she could hide from him. It is still a little scary — in an exciting, pulse-quickening way that reminds her why she turned in her stethoscope for a gun. It’s also oddly comforting: She doesn’t have to hide, or pretend, with Mulder. She just has to be herself, strange quirks and kinks and all. He could see through any pretending she could try.

She takes him a little deeper, deep enough that it makes her eyes water. A gentle thumb wipes away a tear that had formed at the edge of her eye. She looks up into his eyes and when he smiles at her, she nearly melts.

“Hands where I can see them, now, Scully,” he says, and she reluctantly stops touching herself.

Mulder withdraws from her mouth a moment later, and helps her to her feet. He steps out of his jeans, then pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“Did you enjoy that, Scully?”

That he calls her by her last name, even now, as she wipes the corner of her lips, it’s somehow a thousand times more intimate than if he’d used her first name. It’s like he sees right through whatever walls she might want to build, flimsier than the walls of this cabin, outside of which the fire is still burning as Ed and Mary keep talking.

“Yes,” she says simply, finally, answering his question. Then she flicks her eyes at his erection. “I could feel that you enjoyed it as well.”

Despite how much she likes it when he’s in charge, she can’t help but try to claw back a little pride.

“Of course I liked it,” he says, pulling her close against his erection. “What’s not to like about my buttoned-up partner getting on her knees to take my cock down her throat while she plays with herself?”

She moans -- an embarrassing, unintended, not very quiet moan.

“What did I tell you about being quiet, Scully?” he teases, followed by a sharp swat on her ass.

Too much. Just right.

“I can’t help it,” she whines, a whisper.

“Well you’d better try, if you want me to let you come.”

On any other evening she’d laugh. She’d scoff at the idea that anyone could *let* her do anything. But it isn’t any other evening and she’s ready to dissolve into a puddle at his feet and so she bites her lip and she nods like a --

“Good girl,” he says.

When she is back in her right mind she is going to murder him. Or buy him breakfast. She can’t really be sure.

He shoves her -- shoves her! -- onto the cabin’s king size bed, which takes up most of the small space. Her pulse is racing.

Scully knows, rationally, that there are lots of reasons people like any manner of kinky sex -- the trust, the intimacy, the letting go of responsibility, all of those things are appealing to her. But she thinks the biggest draw is the sheer thrill. She doesn’t know what Mulder will do next. She is a little afraid but terribly excited, the way she is as a roller coaster cranks its way up a hill, or when her heels click on the pavement as she chases a suspect. She slinks backward on the mattress, away from him, back up against the headboard, even as all she wants is his touch.

He slips out of his boxers.

“Where ya going, Scully?” he asks, all boyish charm and wolflike grin. He yanks one leg, hard, pulling her down the bed until she’s flat on her back again.

“Mulder, please, I --” and she stops, because she doesn’t even know what to say.

“You looked very pretty with my cock in your mouth, Scully. Would you like me to touch you? I haven’t yet, have I? Touched your pussy, I mean,” he says, marking that last bit with a firm squeeze of her left breast.

“No,” she replies.

“No, you don’t want me to touch you?”

“Oh, god, please touch me. You haven’t, but please,” she begs, and it’s embarrassing to beg, but it’s also hot, and it’s also all she can do, because if Mulder doesn’t touch her soon she’s going to lose her mind.

He slides her underwear, embarrassingly wet, down her legs, his fingernails scraping their way.

“Turn over,” he says.

She does, arching her ass up almost unconsciously. He gives it a playful smack and she moans.

“What do you want?” he asks her, drawing his penis up and down her labia, teasing.

“I want you to touch my clit,” she says.

He waits. She waits.

“No,” he says, the only real warning she gets before he slides his cock inside her, to the hilt.

She cries out -- and his hand covers her mouth.

“What did I tell you about being quiet?” he growls.

The feeling of him inside her -- hot and hard and so big -- is overwhelming. But she knows she won’t come without his fingers on her clit, and so does he. He’s going to keep teasing her.

He moves his hand away from her mouth. She’s prone on her stomach and he’s draped over her, all over her. His lips are against her ear.

“Are you going to be quiet for me, Scully?” he asks her.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good,” he says. “We wouldn’t want our friends outside to hear what a little slut you are, now would we?”

Too much. Just right. She whimpers, muffling the sound into the mattress beneath her.

“I bet you’d like to rub your clit right now, wouldn’t you?” he asks her.

“Yes, please,” she says.

“But you’re not -- why aren’t you touching yourself?” he asks.

She squirms, just another subject of his interrogations, just as helpless against his probing questions as any of them have ever been.

“Because you haven’t let me,” she admits. “You haven’t given me permission.”

“That’s right, and I’m in charge, aren’t I?”

She has heard Mulder’s voice crack like a whip. She has heard him bellow, heard him snarl, heard him command a room of men with just his words.

But this — this rough, ragged whisper, so close to her ear she feels it more than she hears it — it’s so unbearably intimate, so unnerving. It reverberates to her very core.

“Yes,” she admits. “You’re in charge. Please.”

“Please what, Scully?” he asks, as he slams into her. “Do you want to touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathes. And then: “No. I want you to touch me. Please.”

“That’s my girl,” he says.

Before she knows it, two fingers are working her clit in tight little circles as he pounds into her. In another moment she might envy his athleticism, be impressed by his coordination. But all she can do right now is moan into the pillow beneath her, overwhelmed, overloaded.

Too much, just right.

“I told you to be quiet, but you just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks.

She assumes all he can hear is a moan, but what she’s muttering into the pillow is: “Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“I like it when you can’t control yourself, Scully,” he mutters. “Because even if you can’t -- I can. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes yes, please, please.”

“Come for me,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “Come for me, Scully.”

She’s so worked up that a few flicks of his wrist is really all it takes for her to tumble over the edge, as sharp and severe as the cliffs they drove past a few hours ago.

“That’s right” he says, so fucking smug she wants to suffocate him, except she’s busy gasping for air herself.

She’s coming down as he starts moving faster. She realizes, appreciatively, the amount of self-restrain that was probably necessary for him to focus so singularly on her orgasm. She arches a little higher, moans a little breathier. He deserves it, doesn’t he?

“Give it to me,” she moans, knowing what buttons to press, wanting it to be as good for him as it was for her. “Please, Mulder.”

A moment later he spills into her, collapsing on her back, overwhelming her, surrounding her in the best possible way.

For a moment they both just lie there, flattened, useless, happy, sated people. Scully feels empty in a good way, a way she rarely feels. Divorced from her worries, from her expectations. Elated.

He slips out of her, slides to her side and spoons against her.

“God, I love you, Scully,” he murmurs into her shoulder.

“I love you too, Mulder,” she says, pressing back against him.

“I hope I wasn’t --”

“Stop. It was perfect,” she sighs.

A beat.

“But I hope we don’t run into Ed or Mary tomorrow.”

#xf fic #xfiles fic #dom mulder #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #Mulder/Scully #msr fic #msr smut #xfpornbattle #myfic

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 year

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GOP House priorities. Clay Jones Editorial Cartoons Fan Page

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On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, November 22, former president Trump hosted the antisemitic artist Ye, also known as Kanye West, for dinner at a public table at Mar-a-Lago along with political operative Karen Giorno, who was the Trump campaign’s 2016 state director in Florida. Ye brought with him 24-year-old far-right white supremacist Nick Fuentes. Fuentes attended the August 2017 “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, and in its wake, he committed to moving the Republican Party farther to the right. Fuentes has openly admired Italian fascist dictator Benito Mussolini and authoritarian Russian president Vladimir Putin, who is currently making war on Russia’s neighbor Ukraine. A Holocaust denier, Fuentes is associated with America’s neo-Nazis. In February 2020, Fuentes launched the America First Political Action Conference to compete from the right with the Conservative Political Action Conference. In May 2021, on a livestream, Fuentes said: “My job…is to keep pushing things further. We, because nobody else will, have to push the envelope. And we’re gonna get called names. We’re gonna get called racist, sexist, antisemitic, bigoted, whatever.… When the party is where we are two years later, we’re not gonna get the credit for the ideas that become popular. But that’s okay. That’s our job. We are the right-wing flank of the Republican Party. And if we didn’t exist, the Republican Party would be falling backwards all the time.” Fuentes and his “America First” followers, called “Groypers” after a cartoon amphibian (I’m not kidding), backed Trump’s lies that he had actually won the 2020 election. At a rally shortly after the election, Fuentes told his followers to “storm every state capitol until Jan. 20, 2021, until President Trump is inaugurated for four more years.” Fuentes and Groypers were at the January 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol, and at least seven of them have been charged with federal crimes for their association with that attack. The House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol subpoenaed Fuentes himself. Accounts of the dinner suggest that Trump and Fuentes hit it off, with Trump allegedly saying, “I like this guy, he gets me,” after Fuentes urged Trump to speak freely off the cuff rather than reading teleprompters and trying to appear presidential as his handlers advise. But Trump announced his candidacy for president in 2024 just days ago, and being seen publicly with far-right white supremacist Fuentes—in addition to Ye—indicates his embrace of the far right. His team told NBC’s Marc Caputo that the dinner was a “f**king nightmare.” Trump tried to distance himself from the meeting by saying he didn’t know who Fuentes was, and that he was just trying to help Ye out by giving the “seriously troubled” man advice, but observers noted that he did not distance himself from Fuentes’s positions. Republican lawmakers have been silent about Trump’s apparent open embrace of the far right, illustrating the growing power of that far right in the Republican Party. Representatives Paul Gosar (R-AZ) and Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) have affiliated themselves with Fuentes, and while their appearances with him at the America First Political Action Conference last February drew condemnation from Republican leader Representative Kevin McCarthy (R-CA), now McCarthy desperately needs the votes of far-right Republicans to make him speaker of the House. To get that support, he has been promising to deliver their wish list—including an investigation into President Joe Biden’s son Hunter—and appears willing to accept Fuentes and his followers into the party, exactly as Fuentes hoped. Today, after the news of Trump’s dinner and the thundering silence that followed it, conservative anti-Trumper Bill Kristol tweeted: “Aren’t there five decent Republicans in the House who will announce they won’t vote for anyone for Speaker who doesn’t denounce their party’s current leader, Donald Trump, for consorting with the repulsive neo-Nazi Fuentes?” So far, at least, the answer is no.

[Heather Cox Richardson:: Letters From An American]

#political cartoons #GOP House #corrupt GOP #criminal GOP #Clay Jones #white supremacist #Nick Fuertes #Bill Kristol

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rawiswhore · 3 years

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Rowdy Roddy Piper x Fem Reader- "Flash Forward"

This has to arguably be my corniest, cringeworthy fanfiction I've written so far.

But...this is a fantasy I've had, and I hope I'm not disrespecting Rowdy Roddy Piper with this fanfic by typing and posting it on his birthday...

____________________________________________________________

A lot of professional wrestlers during the 1980's weren't really pretty boys and sex symbols in the looks department.

However, there is one pro wrestler from the 80's that's an exception, and he is one of the most iconic wrestlers of the 1980's (and of all time in general): Rowdy Roddy Piper.

He got even cuter and dare I say it, sexier during the end of the 80's and early 90's when his hair grew longer, especially when he didn't have those bangs over his forehead.

In the 80's and early 90's, the World Wrestling Federation as it was known then didn't have hardly any profanity, almost no sexual content besides the Ravishing Rick Rude, barely any bleeding, didn't have wrestlers breaking tables set on fire or falling off of the tops of cages and landing in thumb tacks, and didn't have wrestlers playing porn stars, pimps, sex addicts, or even rappers that say politically incorrect insults.

The WWF was like a live action Saturday morning cartoon aimed at kids during the 1980's, but...it was still over AF back then.

What it means to be "over" in the wrestling world is something wrestling audiences really enjoy; and the WWF was really popular during the 1980's despite not having Attitude and Ruthless Aggression era-esque content.

Hulk Hogan, Macho Man Randy Savage, Andre the Giant, Rowdy Roddy Piper and the Ultimate Warrior were massive draws in the 1980's and early 90's without swearing, throwing middle fingers, drinking beer, or anything else "adult like", Hulk even tried sending positive messages to kids with drinking milk and saying prayers, and these were wrestlers that were household names, popular enough to cross over into pop culture, appeared on talk shows, and people got out of their seats and cheered loudly for them.

The WWF in the 80's was proof that you could still be over and popular without having R-rated content.

However, during one moment in the late 1980's WWF, there was a particular moment that wasn't quite so family friendly and kid friendly, and even a bit Attitude and Ruthless Aggression era like.

During the late 1980's, Rowdy Roddy Piper no longer had his iconic Piper's Pit interview segment, but instead would sometimes appear on Prime Time Wrestling in the WWF, where wrestling commentators would speak behind a table and it looked like a news program.

That'll do just fine for your little plan.

Rowdy Piper had grown his hair longer by the end of the 1980's, and he looked so much more handsome with long hair.

During a segment on Prime Time Wrestling in 1989, Rowdy Roddy Piper had hosted it and didn't have any little bangs clinging to his forehead.

He looked so handsome like this and you told him you didn't want him to have bangs during this segment.

You had your hair teased and hairsprayed, this was the 1980's, and wore a midriff bearing halter top and short little denim shorts that reached the tops of your thighs.

There's a reason why you wore this.

This moment of Prime Time Wrestling was filmed for television, and you set next to Rowdy Roddy Piper while he was rambling about something.

You were just staring at him, grinning and thirsting over him and how hot he looks, biting your bottom lip and looking like you wanted to fuck him.

You didn't wear red lipstick in this segment because you're afraid if you bite your lip, you'll get red lipstick on your teeth, although you're worried you'll get lipstick on your teeth in general.

The other person Rowdy Roddy Piper was talking to noticed you looking at Hot Rod, mentioning how you're staring at Roddy like you want him.

Eventually, you leaned into the little microphone in front of you and put one of your hands on Roddy's shoulder, telling him he's really cute.

Pretty soon, the camera focused solely on Rowdy Roddy Piper sitting down behind a table as well as you, not the other person the Hot Rod was talking to, the camera filling the entire television screen with the room Roddy and you were sitting in.

You had then lifted your feet off of the floor and placed them on the chair you were sitting on, standing on the chair and then placing one of your feet on the table in front of you, then the other foot on the table.

Roddy's eyes grew wide seeing you now standing on the table, and your back was turned in front of the camera while your torso and head were in front of Rowdy Roddy Piper.

You began to slowly sway your hips back and forth horizontally, swaying your hips to some sexy mood music that fit the pace of your dancing, you were trying to sexually arouse the Hot Rod.

Rowdy Roddy Piper had an ear-to-ear smile spreading across his face while you danced for him, his eyes looked at you, thank goodness he was standing behind a table to hide his boner.

Even though this wasn't filmed, your fingers were grabbing onto the bottom of your top and started lifting it up your torso more and more, and Rowdy's eyes were staring at your hands, he knew what was up next.

'Tis a shame that the camera isn't filming your torso, however...

As your top elevated up your torso more and more, pretty soon, the bottom of your top was over your breasts, showing your barenaked tits in front of Rowdy Roddy Piper, flashing him.

You didn't have a bra underneath your top or even nipple pasties, but you were showing the Hot Rod what Jerry Lawler would eventually nickname "puppies".

Roddy's eyes grew wide and wild seeing your tits, he had a huge ear to ear smile plastered and spread across his face.

You flashing Rowdy Roddy Piper predated when Drew Barrymore flashed David Letterman in 1995.

(Author's note: yes, this fanfic is inspired by when Drew flashed David, since David has his iconic late night talk show and Rowdy Roddy Piper had his Piper's Pit interview segment...)

Unlike Drew, it wasn't a quick little blip where she quickly lifted the bottom of her top, flashed her tits and then covered her boobs, you showed Roddy your breasts for quite some time.

Not just that, but you wiggled your breasts a little bit back and forth, as well as slightly bounced and jiggled your breasts.

You then got off of the table and straddled onto Rowdy Roddy's lap, where you can feel his erection under his kilt.

You removed your hands off of the bottom of your shirt and put them on the sides of his face, where you pulled him into your face and locked his lips in between yours.

His eyes were slightly bugging out and looking at the camera while you kissed him, whereas your eyes were closed.

Surprisingly, he isn't trying to push you off of him, no, he likes this.

You want to do more than just kiss him and flash him your boobs, and your hands moved from his face to his shirt collar, where you tried to rip and tear apart his iconic Hot Rod shirt a la Hulk Hogan.

Would he be angry if you did that to his signature, iconic shirt?

Rowdy Roddy Piper used to disrespect and troll people all the time, sometimes saying things that were downright problematic and shocking.

You feel a little horrible deep down inside for tearing apart such a wonderful shirt, but goddamn it, you want him, and your hands tore the middle of his shirt, more of his skin was showing under his shirt.

The camera eventually cut away from this, just in case things get too naughty.

Despite the WWF's Golden era of the 80's and early 90's being a family friendly era, this moment wasn't so particularly kid friendly and quite risqué.

Though, compared to Katie Vick, Jacqueline in thong swimsuits that left little to the imagination, Sable showing her breasts covered in handprints, and the Kat flashing her puppies to the audience, this moment is tame.

The WWF's Attitude era was an era that was popular around the same time Jerry Springer's infamous talk show, Jenny Jones and Ricki Lake's talk shows, Howard Stern, "South Park", Tom Green, Marilyn Manson, Lil' Kim and Eminem at his most shocking were all at the heights of their popularity, these things being notorious for being trashy shock value pop culture.

And guess what? The WWF during its Attitude era was very shocking and dare I say it, trashy.

However, during the late 80's and early 90's, Andrew Dice Clay and Sam Kinison were popular and controversial comedians infamous for their vulgar, obscene comedy (that was considered shocking even back then), 2 Live Crew were a popular and heavily controversial rap group notorious for their sexually explicit, pornographic lyrics that got them banned in their native Florida, Madonna was at her most hypersexualized during the early 1990's, Morton Downey Jr. and Geraldo Rivera had infamous talk shows that were predecessors to "The Jerry Springer Show", and so many hair metal bands sexually objectified women.

Maybe in the late 80's and early 90's the WWF could've had an Attitude era-esque era back then.

Actually, if you think about it, Rowdy Roddy Piper was a bit of a predecessor to the WWF's Attitude era; with his trash talking, insulting others and even saying and doing some things that are politically incorrect and problematic nowadays.

#rowdy roddy piper #1989 #80s #birthday #happy birthday #wwf

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 years

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Compelled

Have you ever had a really bad day at work? I’ve never had a day quite as bad as Brandi’s - but damn, I’d love to use this method to relieve the stress...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Brandi Neal (female OFC)

Word Count: 5075 (blame him)

Warnings: The usual smut, very gentle dom Dean, nothing y’all ain’t seen before in my other fics

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Brandi nodded attentively as the homicide detective spoke, but later that day she wouldn’t even remember what he’d said. The shock of finding her co-worker literally in pieces in the office next to hers was taking its toll, leaving her more than a little shaken. “Ms. Neal, thank you. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions,” he said, leaving her with a sympathetic nod.

“Brandi? Can I get you anything?” her assistant asked, and she drew a shaky breath, shaking her head.

“Thanks, Sarah, but I think I just need a minute to absorb everything. Please, no phone calls for a while, okay?” Sarah nodded with a smile, then turned to let Brandi enter her office and close the door. She blew out a breath, forcing herself to unclench her fists. The stack of files waiting on her desk would at least be a distraction, something to keep her mind off the carnage she had witnessed that morning. As she moved to go around and take her seat, a sharp knock at her door made her jump, and the entire pile hit the floor, papers spilling out everywhere. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before lowering herself to her knees to begin gathering the mess. “Come in!” she said, her frustration obvious in her voice.

Sarah opened the door, peeking in apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Neal – but there’s an FBI agent here to see you.”

God, what else. She sighed. “Okay, send him in.”

“Already in. Need a hand?” She bristled at the tone of his voice. He sounded almost amused.

“No, thanks. What can I do for you? I already spoke to the police.”

“I understand. But I’m afraid I’m going to need to hear it again. For our own records.”

She felt her temper flare, channeling it into scooping up the scattered papers. “As I told the police, I walked into Denny’s office to ask him a question this morning, his door was open, and there he was, torn to pieces.”

“Did he have any enemies that you know of?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “I don’t know him that well.”

“Is there anything he was involved in here at the office that could...”

“I told you, I don’t know.” She stretched out a hand, reaching for a sheet of paper that had flown a couple of feet away.

“You realize, Ms. Neal, that this is a federal case. We can compel you to speak to us.” His voice was clipped, authoritative, and she bit her tongue for a moment, retrieving the last document and pulling them all together into a messy pile.

When she spoke again, it was with a cold, controlled anger. “I am speaking to you. And I don’t know how you can ‘compel’ me to tell you something I don’t know anything...” She stood and turned, the disorganized mess in her arms, and a pair of striking green eyes froze her in place. “...about.” Her face grew warm, and suddenly she was painfully aware of the wisps of hair in her face, the button that had come undone on her blouse, the dryness of her mouth. My god, he was attractive - chiseled jaw, perfectly sculpted lips, thick lashes framing those stunning eyes. The thought crossed her mind that he could probably compel her to do a lot of things, and his eyes narrowed just a touch as he watched her reaction to him. It was almost as if he could read her thoughts, his eyebrow raising just a touch, his eyes roaming to her now-exposed cleavage, those lips curling into a sinful smirk for just one second before his professional demeanor took back over, and he cleared his throat.

“So there’s nothing you can think of that might have, uh, put him on somebody’s hit list?”

“There’s nothing work-related that I can think of, and I really don’t know him very well personally, Agent...” Brandi answered, swallowing nervously.

“Gibbons. Dean Gibbons.”

“Agent Gibbons. I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help. I was just unlucky enough to find his body this morning.”

“So you saw no one leaving, anything like that?”

“No. I think it must have happened last night, although I don’t know that for sure.”

“I can check with the coroner on time of death. Nothing else you can think of that might be helpful?” His voice was more relaxed now, almost kind – not to mention deep and rich and sexy as hell, now that she no longer wanted to stab him with her letter opener.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“All right. If you think of anything else, anything at all, please give me a call.” He handed her a business card, and she took it from him, careful not to touch him.

“I will.”

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Neal.” He gave her a nod with a little smile, then turned to leave, and she dropped into her chair, shaking. Her assistant peeked in, a remorseful look on her face.

“Brandi, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sarah. Not your fault. It’s the FBI, not like you could have sent him away.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll try not to disturb you.” Sarah pulled the door shut, and Brandi cradled her head in her hands, closing her eyes. What she really wanted to do at the moment was go home, pour a very large glass of wine and climb into a hot bath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, she did just that. The bath soothed her, and the wine didn’t hurt, either. She was well into her second glass, feeling much more relaxed, when the doorbell rang. She was only wearing a camisole and a pair of yoga pants, but it was probably just a delivery, anyway. She opened the door, then felt her cheeks flush with color as she looked up into the green eyes of Agent Gibbons.

“Agent. I… wasn’t expecting… how did you know where...”

He grinned. “FBI.”

She laughed nervously. “Well, of course, I mean… Come in, please.” She backed up and let him step into the room, closing the door and turning back towards him, her arms hugging her middle as she spoke. “What can I do for you?”

His eyes swept over her, lingering on her chest for a moment before he met her gaze again and smiled. “Now that’s what I’d call a loaded question.”

“Is this… about the murder?”

“Actually, I’m off duty. I’m here because I picked up a vibe from you today. And I wanted to see if my hunch was right.”

“A – a vibe?” A million butterflies were fluttering in her belly, and she tried to heed the inner voice telling her to calm down, but the delicious curve of his lips as he smiled, his self-assured manner, his focused stare were all making her feel very much the opposite. When he took a step towards her, she backed up against the door, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his eyes roaming over her again.

“I got the feeling that you wouldn’t mind too much if I – compelled you to talk. Or to do other things, maybe.” The timbre of his voice flowed over her like melted honey, a smoky edge to it that made her insides quiver.

“Wha...what do you mean?” Her voice was nearly a whisper, and she stopped breathing as he leaned in a little closer.

“Oh, I think you know what I mean, Brandi.” He straightened, looking down at her with that piercing gaze. “Now if you tell me I’m wrong, I’ll go. Maybe I didn’t read you like I thought I did.” He didn’t touch her, but it felt as if he did when he let his eyes wander down over her body again, slow and deliberate. “Was I wrong, Brandi? Or do you need someone to take charge for a while?” He raked his gaze back up, staring down at her until she tilted her head back to look into his eyes, her lips parted, the breath frozen in her lungs. She gave him a slight nod, her face hot, and averted her eyes, but he reached a finger to her jaw and held her in place. “Baby, I’m gonna need to hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Dean.”

She shivered at the authority in his voice, then nodded again. “Yes, Dean.”

He dragged his fingers along her jaw line, down the slope of her neck, resting them on her shoulder. “And you’re sure you want this? Because if you don’t, I can leave.”

“I’m sure, Dean.”

He bent closer, nuzzling his nose in her hair. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her, assertive, demanding, taking whatever sensible thought or will she had left with him. She wobbled against him as he pulled back, and he took her by the shoulders, steadying her.

“Whoa, there. I think somebody needs to sit down.” He took a step back, stripping off his jacket and tie, tossing them to a nearby chair. She watched as he unbuttoned his cuffs, quickly rolling his sleeves up, then reaching for her hand. “Come with me.” She let him guide her to the sofa, where he took a seat and looked up at her. “Hop on, sweetheart. I’m not finished kissing you yet.” He guided her to straddle his lap, pulling her up tight against him, and she inhaled sharply as she felt his erection between her thighs, unable to stop herself from pushing harder against him. “You like that, baby? Got me all hard. You like my hard cock between your legs, don’t you?” She whimpered softly, nodding as he nibbled at her lips. “What did I say about answering me?”

“Yes, Dean. I like it. I really like it.”

“That’s better. Well, go ahead, take what you want.” His hands gripped her hips, encouraging her to move against him as he captured her lips again, kissing her hard, his tongue stroking into her mouth in rhythm with her thrusts, his big hands squeezing and urging her on. Her heart was pounding, her clit throbbing, her head spinning, and she felt herself beginning to shake, but he grabbed her tight, holding her still. “Not yet, baby, we’ve got a long night ahead. Don’t want to go finishing too early, do we? Just take a breath.” He gentled her down with little kisses, drinking in the soft whimpers from her lips. “Such a good girl for me, Brandi.”

Okay, she was going to come just from hearing him say things like that if he wasn’t careful.

He reached one hand to lift her chin a little, his thumb tracing the shape of her lips, then pushing gently between them. She closed her eyes, running her tongue over the digit, then sucking lightly on the tip, and he hummed appreciatively. “I’ve been imagining those lips around my cock all day long, Brandi. Wanted to take you right there in your office when I walked in and you were down on your knees like you were waiting for me, that sweet ass in that tight skirt… Mmmmm. Would have liked to bend you over your desk and...” Brandi let out a pitiful whimper, sucking even harder on his thumb, and he pulled it out slowly, reaching for a throw pillow and dropping it to the floor between his knees. “Why don’t you get down on your knees for me, sweetheart, I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

He gently urged her back, and she lowered herself to her knees, looking up at him as she reached for his belt, then unfastened his suit pants. He was fully erect and twitched beneath his boxers as she reached for the waistband. “Oh, somebody’s really eager to meet you, baby.” Her heart was pounding as she pulled his boxers down enough to free him, letting him bounce free and slap against his belly.

She scooted herself in, snug between his thighs, and he inhaled, a slow hiss between his teeth, as she leaned forward to lick him from root to tip, then wrapped her hands around him and took the head into her mouth with a quiet moan. He swore under his breath as she suckled at him softly, her tongue sweeping over the smooth, hot skin. When she pulled off, nudging the tip of her tongue into his slit and then plunging down to take him in as far as she could, he groaned, his hand moving to grasp a handful of her hair at the back of her neck.

He swore steadily in a low rumble as she moved up and then forced herself down further each time, fighting not to gag as he breached her throat. She sucked hard, working her tongue over him, finally just letting herself relax as he lost himself and began to thrust, his hand wound so tight in her hair that her scalp throbbed with her heartbeat.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna blow, sweetheart,” he growled, then unloaded, filling her mouth and throat as she struggled to swallow. He finally relaxed enough to let her back away and take a deep breath through her nose, and she continued sucking softly as he finished, untangling his fingers from her hair and slumping against the back of the sofa.

She leaned against him, spent, cleaning him off before laying her head on her forearm, and he reached up to comb his fingers through her hair. “Surprised me there, Brandi. I didn’t intend to come this soon. But damn, you’re good at that.” She smiled, and he moved his hand. “Look at me, baby.” She pushed herself upright and tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “You doin’ okay? Tell me the truth.”

“Yes, Dean. I’m good.”

His lips curved in a one-sided grin. “Damn straight you are. Now I think this party needs to move somewhere more comfortable.” He leaned up and bent to kiss her, fingers trailing down her arm and sending goosebumps over her, making her shiver. “C’mon, gorgeous.” He stood, reaching for her hand, and she led him down the hall to the bedroom.

He stopped her next to the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her until she was dizzy, his hands moving over her back and down to grip her ass, pulling her close. “Mmmm, Brandi… Intoxicating, just like your name,” he muttered against her lips, then turned her around so her back was pressed against his chest. His fingers began to work at the buttons of her camisole, slow and deliberate, moaning in admiration as he pulled the last one free and slipped the garment off her shoulders. He cupped her breasts in his hands, squeezing and kneading at them, nibbling at her neck as his fingers began to pluck and tug at her nipples.

“I need you naked and on the bed, baby, on your back,” he instructed, letting his fingers roam over her back as she bent to remove her pants and panties. Before she could move towards the bed, he pulled her back again, one hand slipping down between her thighs to just hold her for a moment, and groaning in her ear. “So wet for me, baby. I can’t wait to taste you.” He drug his fingers through her folds and then let her go to crawl up on the bed, her legs shaking. He had her in such a state that she’d probably come the second he touched her, and she hoped like hell that he was going to let that happen.

He stood over her, looking down at her as he ran his fingers lightly along her jawline, her collarbone, barely grazing the upper swell of her breasts. Then he slid his palms down the length of her arms, taking her hands in his and pulling her arms up over her head, wrapping her fingers around the slats in the headboard. “Be a good girl and hold on tight. Don’t let go.”

She looked up at him, then closed her eyes as ran his thumb over her cheekbone, leaning into his touch. “Yes, Dean,” she whispered, and he bent to brush a feather-light kiss over her lips before he turned and moved down to the foot of the bed.

He settled himself between her thighs, propping them apart with his broad shoulders, and she gasped as his tongue swept over her with a firm, broad stroke. He growled softly at his first taste, going back for more, then taking his time to explore her thoroughly, teasing and nudging at every spot that made her moan and twitch. He tugged at her clit with his lips, then sucked at it briefly, and Brandi’s back arched as she cried out his name, begging. “Dean! Please, please, Dean, oh god, please...”

“You want me to make you come, pretty girl?”

“Yes, Dean, please, please...”

He smiled, slipping one arm under her thigh, wrapping it back around and bracing it across her lower belly to hold her in place. Then he slipped his index finger inside her, stroking and petting at her walls as she whined and sighed softly. After a moment or two, he added his middle finger, seeking until she shouted as he found the sensitive patch inside her, and began to plunge his fingers into her, hard and deep, hitting that sweet spot unerringly. He bent to pull her clit into the heat of his mouth again, sucking hard and flicking his tongue over it until she let out a rasping cry and came, shaking violently, the headboard creaking from her grip as her orgasm surged through her body. He didn’t stop, not until he had sent her rolling into another climax and she was begging him to stop. He slowed, then pulled his fingers from her, gently laving over her and then rising to his knees between her feet, sucking his fingers between his lips to clean them off. “I knew you’d be delicious.”

He moved around to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, reaching for her hands. “Let go, sweetheart,” he coaxed, pulling her arms back down and rubbing her shoulders gently. He leaned down and kissed her, little nibbles at first, then deeper, more intense as she began to respond. He trailed one hand down from her shoulder to palm her breast, squeezing with a moan, pulling away from her lips. He worked his way down her throat and chest, finally taking the other nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly before sucking it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

Her hands now free, Brandi buried her fingers in his hair, grasping the short strands tight as he growled in approval. When he had her writhing from his pleasurable torture, he raised his head and looked down at her, his eyes dark with arousal. “So you got one more in there for me, baby? Because I want to bury my cock in that sweet pussy, feel you come undone. I want you to be my good girl and squeeze me tight until I explode.”

“Oh, god... yes, Dean!”

He stood once again, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a condom, dropping it to the table before efficiently stripping down. She couldn’t take her eyes from his toned, lean body, lightly tanned and dusted with faint freckles and multiple scars, and she wished for the time to explore and learn every mark and swell and rolling muscle of his physique. He turned to rip open the package and sheath himself, and a wanton moan escaped her lips. He smiled, reaching over to squeeze at her nipple. “Like what you see, sweetheart? I’m kind of loving the view you’re giving me, too.” He climbed up over her and settled between her thighs, shifting his hips to make more room, his heated stare making her breathless with anticipation.

He caged her in with his forearms, letting her slip her arms around him, her hands gliding over the smooth muscles of his back as he kissed her feverishly, done with teasing. He moved his hips, his erection nudging against her, then notching at her opening, and he pressed forward, filling her slowly, inch by inch. She pulled away from their kiss, panting, head pushed back into the pillow as she arched up beneath him, trembling. “Dean… oh my god… please don’t stop, please...”

He finally buried himself to the hilt, holding still for just one second before pulling back and then smoothly stroking back in. “Baby, don’t worry, I’m not gonna stop until you’re coming for me again. Damn, you feel so good, so hot, gripping me so tight I can barely move.” He leaned on his left arm, reaching for a pillow with his right, urging her to lift up so he could wedge it beneath her lower back. Then he pulled out and drove back inside her, watching as she gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head for a moment as he hit just the right spot. “There we go. Hold on, sweetheart, I’m gonna take you for a ride.”

He began a steady rhythm, a smooth drag out then a hard thrust back in, reaching the deepest parts of her, his pelvic bone rubbing against her clit with every down stroke. Every powerful thrust sent sparks zipping through her nerves and forced a muffled cry from her throat, and it only spurred him on. He began to drive in hard, their bodies slamming together until she was shaking and begging, for what she didn’t know. He pushed her knee up towards her chest, tipping her back even farther, and groaned as she shouted at the impact when he fucked into her harder and faster, the whole bed rocking with his effort. His teeth were clenched, jaw working as he kept up the punishing rhythm, determined to see her fall apart before he let himself go.

He reached down between them, capturing her clit between his fingers and rubbing, and she screamed hoarsely, going stiff, squeezing his cock so hard it hurt before she began to thrash and quake underneath him. He could hold back no longer, slamming into her with such force that they would both feel bruised later, feeling himself swelling, molten heat exploding from him in seemingly endless streams. All thought left him, the pulsing pleasure, the fierce, all-consuming release the only thing he was aware of, her mindless cries and whimpers almost faded into the background.

His legs were shaking as he felt himself throb weakly, finally empty, and he lowered himself down, his head on her shoulder. His back burned with the scratches he hadn’t even noticed until that moment, her arms now flung out to her sides, her muscles too spent to move them. He winced and grunted as aftershocks still hit them both randomly, weak little whines barely escaping her throat.

He finally mustered the strength to pull out, taking the condom off and disposing of it, then collapsing back onto the bed. She hadn’t moved yet, and he shifted her arm to rest across her ribs, then pulled her close, coaxing her to her side, her head on his shoulder. “Okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, and she let out a couple of incoherent sounds before finally nodding.

“I’m good. ‘Course, I might be dead.”

“Hey, if we’ve gotta go, that’s the way to do it. Holy fuck,” he breathed.

They laid there, silent, for a few moments before Brandi reached up to lay a hand on his chest. “Dean – thank you. I didn’t know how much I needed this. After what happened… I was acting like I was okay, but I was falling apart.”

He smiled down at her and leaned for a soft kiss. “Don’t need to thank me, you just gave me the best couple of hours I’ve had in… I can’t remember when.” His eyes fell on the clock, and he sighed quietly. “I suppose I should get out of your hair, you probably have to work tomorrow. Sorry about coming over so late – but I’m really not too sorry.”

She snuggled a little closer. “You really don’t have to go, unless you want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s nice, having you here.”

He kissed her again. “Well, if you don’t mind… we’d better get some sleep.” She nodded, finally letting her eyes drift closed as he wrapped her in his arms.

The next morning, Brandi rushed around, getting dressed and trying to keep her eyes off the naked man still asleep in her bed. She had gotten up, showered, tiptoed around to keep from waking him, but now she almost wished… But there wasn’t time. She was standing on one foot, reaching behind her to put her foot into the other pump when he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice making her want to crawl back under the covers. “Morning, pretty girl.”

“Good morning, yourself, sexy man.” She smiled as he actually blushed a little, a crooked grin on his face, his hair rumpled and adorable. She really, really didn’t want to go to work. “So, listen. If you have any more questions, or anything, I’ll be in my office all day. My office with the lock on the door, and my own bathroom. Just in case you need anything, you know, at all.”

A low, sexy laugh rumbled in his chest. “I think Miss Corporate Executive is deep-down a very naughty girl.”

“Really not that deep.” Dean laughed as she smiled, shrugging. “I have to be all proper and business-like at work, it’s kind of like – acting,” she smiled, shooting a wink his way. “Pretending to be all classy.”

He cocked an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes at her. “Listen – you’re one of the classiest women I’ve ever met. Nobody says classy means not having any fun.”

“So true.” She finally managed to get both shoes on, turning to the mirror to put on her earrings. “Well, I have to leave. Feel free to use the shower and raid the fridge, whatever you need. But can you lock up, and bring my extra set of keys to my office when you leave?”

The slow smile that curved his lips made her stomach do a little flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll be there. Pretty sure there’s more investigating to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that morning, he showed up at the office, and she welcomed him in with a smile. “Agent! Please come in. Can we get you some coffee or anything?”

He gave her a little smile and a wink that Sarah, standing behind him a step, didn’t see. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Brandi said with a smile, and her assistant backed out, closing the door behind her.

Before the latch clicked, Dean was behind her desk, pulling her up and into his arms, kissing her hungrily, his hand gripping her ass.

“These damn skirts of yours, they drive me crazy,” he mumbled against her lips, and she giggled.

“Wait till you find out I didn’t put any underwear on this morning.” She laughed softly again at his moan, and his hand moved down to the hem of her skirt, his fingers slipping underneath and pulling the fabric up and out of his way.

“I think you’d better have a seat, naughty girl. Pretty sure there’s some investigating I need to do right here,” he teased, working his hand between her thighs. “Sit down and spread those legs for me, gorgeous. And remember, you have to be quiet. This is a place of business.”

He gently pushed her back until she was in front of her chair, and she sat down, scooting up to the edge as he dropped to his knees in front of her, one large hand on each of her knees as he spread her wide. “Fuck,” he growled, then ducked down and buried his face in her pussy, his tongue thrusting inside of her as she gasped.

“Dean, oh my god...” she whispered harshly, holding on to the arms of her chair for dear life. She had just thrown her head back against the chair, so near the edge that she could taste it, when a knock sounded at her door. Her eyes widened, and Dean looked up at her, his eyes shining with mirth. He gathered his legs in, hunching down farther so he wouldn’t be seen, and Brandi took a breath, calling out, “Yes?”

Sarah stuck her head in the door. “Sorry to bother you, Brandi. The Kowalski contract is due today, do you need me to do anything with that?” Brandi struggled to keep her face composed as the devil between her thighs slipped a finger inside her and wiggled it. She cleared her throat, her hand flying up to rub at her forehead. “Brandi? Are you all right?” Sarah glance around the room. “Where’s Agent Gibbons?”

“Bathroom,” she said bluntly, trying not to squirm. “He’s in the bathroom. Listen, the file with the completed contract is on the table there by my door. If you would please go through it with a fine-tooth comb, that would be wonderful. Yesterday was traumatic, I just want to make sure I didn’t miss something. Thank you, Sarah.” As the girl turned to leave, she continued, her voice a little strained. “Also, please, no interruptions unless it’s a dire emergency. Agent Gibbons wants to go over some company information, making sure it had nothing to do with the murder. There’s just so much to go over, if you could just take messages and put out the small fires, I’d greatly appreciate it. Thank you, Sarah, you’re a gem.”

Sarah nodded and smiled, grabbing the contract and leaving, closing the door. Brandi bopped Dean on the head as he laughed, shoving him back with a giggle. “Now, Agent Gibbons, go lock the damn door!”

There was a lot of investigating done in the next few hours. In her chair, over her desk, on the counter in the bathroom… It all went off (and so did they – a lot) without a hitch, other than the struggle to keep the entire office from hearing what was going on behind Brandi’s closed door. And damn it, Dean forgot to drop off her keys. Guess he’d have to drop by her place again that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags for mah babes:

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#compelled #dean fic #dean smut #dean x ofc #gentle dom dean #smutty smut smut #maybe a li'l fluff #this is what happens when i talk to liz about dean #so basically her fault #:D

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